LITMIR.BIZ

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eyes taking in the barmaid. She smiled easily at him. If he wasn’t my best mate‚ I swear I would hate him.

      ‘Oi‚ Pakistani Ryan Gosling‚’ I said‚ ‘Drink up‚ I wanna get out of here and hit the pillow. I’m shattered.’

      ‘Didn’t you have a day off from work today? Don’t give me that exhausted crap‚ Jay. I’ve been up since before dawn‚’ he said. I sighed and waited for one of his never ending supply of cop tales. ‘We raided a family home today in Feltham‚ three young children under the age of four‚ including a baby girl only six months old. The nursery upstairs‚ where she slept‚ was a fucking treasure trove of Class A drugs. Check this out‚ the sick fuck had… You know what Aptamil is? It’s powdered formula that’s used to make milk for babies‚ right. He had about a dozen of these Aptamil containers all laid out neatly on a shelf. Inside half of them were exactly that‚ powdered milk‚ but the other half…’

      ‘Coke.’

      ‘Yes‚ Jay‚ fucking cocaine.’

      I may have had a day off from work‚ but I did have a scary little run-in in the queue at Wilko’s‚ and then I’d heard Naaim recount a pretty traumatic story. I had a right to be exhausted too. God bless Idris‚ but he could be patronising‚ his cop stories always seemingly aimed at me because of my own drug-dealing past. I love him like a brother‚ but he didn’t half love to straddle that high horse as though he was the only one making a difference.

      I once made a difference‚ too‚ but he could never know that. I could never tell him. It would change our friendship into something else‚ and at that moment I just needed a friend.

      ‘The fucked up thing was‚’ he continued‚ ‘what separated the coke from the formula powder was a tiny black dot on the bottom left hand corner of the container. His wife‚ the baby’s mother – who‚ may I add‚ was high at the time of the raid – can you imagine if she’d scooped out a couple spoonsful of coke instead of Aptamil? And fed it to –’

      ‘Yeah‚ alright Idris. I get it.’ I knocked back my Fanta. ‘I don’t do that shit anymore.’

      ‘I know‚ I know‚ I know‚’ he said. ‘I know you don’t.’

      ‘I’m just trying to get by‚ that’s all.’

      ‘I know.’

      ‘Just seems like these stories are always aimed at me. I was never like that‚ I was small time‚ yeah‚ just a little skunk.’

      ‘I know.’ He sighed.

      ‘And I do have the right to be exhausted too‚ you haven’t got a monopoly on being tired.’ I shrugged my jacket on aggressively‚ just to make a point‚ and walked out of the pool hall and into the car park‚ where I waited for him in my Beemer. I let the purr of the engine cradle me to sleep‚ only to wake up a few minutes later when the door opened and Idris slid into the passenger seat grinning; he was holding up a piece of paper with a phone number.

      ‘Good for you! Shut the fucking door‚ you’re letting the cold in.’

      ‘No high five?’ Idris said‚ his hand held high. I slipped the car into first gear and manoeuvred out. ‘You used to be a lot more fun‚ Jay‚’ he said‚ and for some reason‚ I wanted to cry. ‘This has really affected you… what’s her name again? Lyla?’

      ‘Layla! Fuck‚ Idris. Did you not listen to a word I was saying?’

      ‘Alright mate‚ keep your topi on! And what’s his name?’

      ‘Naaim‚’ I sighed.

      ‘Listen‚ Jay.’ Idris took his time‚ choosing his words carefully. ‘This is going to sound harsh‚ but it’s not your problem.’

      ‘Did I say it was my fucking problem?’ I spat‚ choosing my words without the same care.

      Idris gave me a look and shook his know-it-all head at me. He was right‚ annoyingly he was always right. But I couldn’t get Naaim’s weepy face out of my head. What he told us was disturbing enough‚ but it was that look in his eyes. I had seen it before‚ a look of anger and determination. A man hell-bent on retribution. Once upon time‚ not long ago‚ my friend Parvez carried a similar look. It didn’t end well for him. Nor‚ I had to remember‚ did it end well for me.

      I would not allow myself to get involved.

17

       Isleworth and Syon School

      ‘Lewis? Lewis...? Daniel Lewis!’

      ‘Here… sir‚’ Daniel gazed through the window. He’d been watching the groundsman on his ride-on lawn mower who was spending his morning lazily cutting the grass‚ not methodically as he should‚ instead making random turns. He should have been going in a straight line to the end of the field‚ a neat turn and a straight line in the opposite direction. It bothered Daniel. At home‚ when he mowed the grass in the back garden‚ that’s how he did it. Straight lines‚ up and down. He even made the same effort for Mr Wilmott‚ his elderly neighbour.

      ‘It looks very much like you want to be anywhere but here‚ Daniel‚’ said Mr Brick‚ the science teacher‚ as he glanced out of the window to see what was taking Daniel’s attention. ‘Continue as you are‚ and you’ll soon be cutting grass for a living too.’

      The rest of the class sniggered‚ a mocking sound that filled the room. They had been waiting‚ wanting to see him taken down a peg or two. Daniel wasn’t liked‚ but the dislike wasn’t harsh. There was no bullying or cruel remarks. It was worse than that. They just simply ignored him. They didn’t like that he didn’t have to make an effort to make them all look intellectually inferior. They didn’t like that he dressed as though he was from another time. Steel cap boots‚ bomber jacket‚ shaved head.

      Daniel drifted easily through double science‚ and then ate on his own in the canteen. He was a few months in at Isleworth & Syon School. His father had moved him away from St Marks. He saw potential‚ the teachers at St Marks saw potential‚ but the company that he kept outside of school saw an altogether different potential. His grades slipped from A’s to B’s to C’s‚ around the same time that he started to skip class‚ instead spending time getting drunk on the cheap down Lampton Park with Simon Carpenter and Anthony Hanson‚ who were both a few years older.

      Daniel’s father had suffered greatly the last year‚ losing his wife in a senseless car accident. Daniel had suffered more. He had been close to his mother‚ a friend-like quality they shared‚ the result of being an only child. His father tried desperately to replace that closeness‚ but it was inevitable that Daniel‚ at sixteen‚ would react. And react he did. The regular phone calls from school‚ the truancy. The odd visit to the police station for the odd shoplifting spree‚ all whilst preparing for – as had been drilled into him – the most important exams to date.

      People fear intelligence‚ his mother had repeatedly told him. It hadn’t made him feel any better. He was desperate to be liked‚ to be a member of a group‚ or a crew.

      These days‚ he was a member of a gang.

      They even had a uniform. Bomber jackets‚ black jeans and cherry Dr. Marten boots.

      Just because his father had moved him to a different school‚ it didn’t stop him from seeing his only friends.

      Simon and Anthony liked him‚ genuinely liked him. They said he was funny‚ and around them he was funny. It was no secret that Daniel’s new friends did not like the colour brown. Especially if that colour brown happened to be a Muslim. The word Paki was spoken frequently. It had made him uncomfortable at first‚ but he soon realised that Pakis

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