attack on the Mosque was celebrated across the country‚’ Kramer replied. ‘I made it my business to find out who was responsible.’
Anthony looked around nervously. Kramer smiled behind his coffee as he took a sip‚ amused at how Simon held his gaze like an equal.
‘Who are you?’ Simon asked.
‘I am one of many. And we’re making a stand.’
‘So are we?’ Anthony shrugged.
‘Don’t be daft‚ son. You think a few fucking marches and rallies is making a stand. Talk is cheap‚ and ineffective.’ Kramer leaned in and lowered his voice. ‘After desecrating the Mosque‚ you hid when you should have built on its momentum. Instead you wear a hole in your Doc Martens‚ marching relentlessly‚ trying to spread the word.’ Kramer straightened up‚ took his time looking them both in the eyes. ‘I work with a small organisation whose members believe that...’ he paused. ‘Action speaks louder than words. A belief that you once shared.’
‘We still do‚’ Anthony said‚ then looked across at Simon who slowly nodded his agreement.
‘That sounds like words to me‚’ Kramer said. ‘If I see that you are serious‚ if you are capable in making a difference‚ a real difference‚ then...’
‘Then what?’ Anthony asked.
‘My partner‚ who runs operations‚ would like the two of you to join us.’
The door to the dessert lounge opened with a cheery chime. The third lad‚ who’d been hanging around with Simon and Anthony‚ walked in and tentatively approached the table‚ trying his hardest to avoid eye contact with Kramer.
‘Where were you guys?’ he said‚ softly. ‘I was looking for you everywhere.’
Simon leaned over the table and locked eyes with Kramer. ‘Tell your partner we’ll show you both just how serious we can be. And...’
‘And what?’
Simon glanced across at the boy who smiled unsurely at him. He turned back to Kramer.
‘Tell him there’s three of us.’
I never did find the remote control so‚ back at my flat‚ I had to go back in time and operate the television up close and personal. Channel set to Sky Sports‚ I settled in‚ a bowl of crisps‚ two glass tumblers next to a jug of water‚ a bowl of ice and an unopened bottle of Jameson on the coffee table in front of me.
Compact was the word I would have used to describe my flat to any potential clients; pokey would have been more apt. The rent was set quite low‚ but I paid even less‚ one of the few perks of being an estate agent. A touch of damp on the walls‚ questionable décor courtesy of the previous owner‚ and a carpet which electrocutes. It sat nicely above The Chicken Spot which some may find distasteful – especially as the smell of greasy food was a constant guest – but‚ geographically‚ I found it convenient.
It was far from perfect‚ but for now it was all I needed. I could have easily moved in with Stephanie and Jack into their comfortable home in Osterley‚ and that remained the eventual plan. I know that she would like that‚ and Jack would be absolutely thrilled to have me always there playing Dad. However‚ for the time being I was enjoying living on my own after having lived with my Khala for the last twenty years. She was my mother’s elder sister. They were both originally from Pakistan‚ but while mother had moved to Afghanistan‚ my Khala had built a life in England. Both following their husbands in the name of marriage.
Khala brought me up with more love than I could ever have wished for. I owed her everything‚ but eventually I’d had to get out and do my own thing. Even though I’m thirty-six‚ she was horrified at the thought of me moving out.
‘People will talk‚’ she had proclaimed when I finally found the courage to tell her. ‘They will say that I kicked you out.’
I didn’t patronise her‚ she was right. In our community‚ people did talk. The textbook thought process was: Thirty-six. Not married. Not living at home with his parents. Something terrible must have happened!
I had to go though. I had to find a way of making things work with Stephanie and Jack – and I couldn’t do that living at home with my Khala. She wasn’t happy when I left home‚ so God only knew what her reaction would be when she found out that I have a white girlfriend who has a son from a previous relationship. For now‚ that had to be my secret.
*
I glanced at the time on my phone‚ considered pouring myself a small shot but decided to wait for Shaz who had just texted his arrival. He was downstairs ordering a bucket of hot wings. I shifted along the the two-seater as I heard his footsteps approach my door‚ which was left on latch so I wouldn’t have to get up.
‘You know what I don’t understand?’ Shaz opened with‚ as we touched fists. I could tell from his eyes that he was already high. ‘If you’re gonna hit a deer‚ would you get out of your car to check if it’s alright?’
‘You got skins?’ I asked‚ before he unloaded whatever was on his mind.
‘It’s a fucking deer‚’ he said‚ flinging a packet of king size silver Rizla and a small ziplock bag of skunk onto the coffee table. He placed the bucket of chicken on top of it and I knew that he would very soon be searching for the gear. ‘And then‚ and then‚ he goes to the boot of his car and finds something to put the deer out of its misery‚ as his bird who‚ by the way‚ is wearing a posh frock‚ ’cos they’re on the way to a dinner party in the middle of a fucking forest‚ looks on from the passenger seat. I mean what the fuck does he know about whether the deer is suffering? For all he knows‚ it could just have a sore fucking head‚ it could be right as rain in a bit. That shit is just wrong‚ taking a metal cross spanner to the deer’s head and going to town on it‚ whilst he gets soaked in deer blood just to impress his girl!’
‘The match is about to start in a minute‚ Shaz. Is there a point to all this?’
‘Just this film I was watching. It won two Oscars! Shit‚ what was it called again? Whatever! The point is... what’s my point?’ He shuffled out of his puffa jacket and sat himself next to me.
‘Why didn’t he just run the deer over?’ I know Shaz‚ I know how he thinks.
‘Yes! Why didn’t he just run the deer over? If he really wanted to put it out of its misery‚ drive back and forth over the fucker until it’s finally dead. There was no need to bludgeon it to death! I swear they give out Oscars like penny sweets these days.’
I liked Shaz. He liked to talk and I liked to listen to him muse about the unimportant things in life. It was one of the reasons that I was desperate to find the remote control. Frequently I needed to pause live television so he could spill whatever random nonsense that popped into his head.
I first met Shaz – Shahzad Naqvi‚ when I started working at Kumar’s Property Services. The first few months I was kept in the office carrying out basic admin as Kumar inducted me. Shaz had been there for almost a year and had graduated to viewings. He would check back to the office twice a day‚ and I’d smell the alcohol on him. I’d see the red in his eyes. It’d make me furious that a Muslim would behave in such a manner.
After my induction‚ Kumar sent me out to shadow and learn from Shaz. Every lunch time‚ Shaz would take me to The Rising Sun pub.
A pint for him... a lemonade for me.
I couldn’t help myself‚ I couldn’t let it be. I had to ask. ‘Are you not a Muslim?’
‘Course