Homegrown Hero - Khurrum Rahman Jay Qasim

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before I even had a chance to finish the complimentary crusty samosa and microwaved masala chai that he had laid out in front of me. I paid in cash and pocketed the ticket before moving onto Hounslow and its legendary Treaty Centre for a spot of holiday shopping.

      In keeping with the rest of the Treaty dossers‚ I adjusted my walk as soon as I entered. A little more bounce‚ a little more swagger. It had been a while since I had been to Treaty and the memories embraced me warmly and I couldn’t help but smile at the much-changed but same-old shithole. I think I was around twelve when it first opened its doors‚ and at the time it felt like a shift in direction. Hounslow High Street was ready to join the likes of its glossy neighbours Richmond and Chiswick. Problem was‚ there were just too many fucking Asians‚ loitering or on the pull or just getting up to mischief. Idris and I used to chill there most days after school‚ sat at a table right by the escalators‚ books laid out in front of us as a guise so the mall cops wouldn’t ask questions‚ passing judgement on the girls from Green School as they sauntered by. Yeah‚ Treaty was the only place to be. A couple of quid in your pocket saved from skipping lunch‚ to be spent on penny sweets‚ fizzy drinks and the Daily Sport.

      A few years later‚ to add to the Asian invasion‚ the Somalis arrived‚ and a few years after that‚ the Poles invaded the Treaty. Small cliques were formed‚ the odd fight broke out. It lost some of its charm. Now every second person in the high street is from a different background‚ chats a different language‚ wears a different colour. But they are all after the same fucking thing.

      A bargain!

      That’s why I was there too. A holiday on the horizon‚ I was ready to spend some money – but not too much! I ducked into some fashion boutiques where even the mannequins looked embarrassed‚ and bought myself some travel essentials. Lairy Hawaiian shirts‚ luminous shorts‚ flip flops‚ and a panama hat which I was never going to wear apart from in the odd novelty photo.

      Qatar‚ here I come.

      Mum had recently moved to Qatar with her boyfriend Andrew – her white boyfriend Andrew. She didn’t give a fuck about the gossip‚ and I certainly didn’t either. Good on you‚ Mum‚ do whatever makes you happy. She had tried being a good Muslim wife. Didn’t work out‚ Dad was more interested in playing terrorist.

      Holiday haul complete‚ it was time to get some chores done around the house. So I popped into the cornerstone of the Treaty Centre‚ a delightful little place called Wilko – quality products at ridiculously low prices – for some cleaning products. I was stood in the queue‚ my basket filled with all sorts of hocus-pocus sprays and detergents which guaranteed sparkling results in seconds. I couldn’t see how long the queue was as the person in front of me was well over six foot‚ wide as a motherfucker and black as the night. There is only one person I know with such a frame and he really doesn’t like me… So‚ rather than stay and confirm my suspicions‚ I decided it was time I bounced.

      I took a tentative step back‚ right onto the foot of a pensioner. He let out a raspy yelp. I threw my hand up in apology but it was too late‚ the mini commotion had got the attention of the man mountain in front.

      Staples‚ right hand man to Silas‚ the man that I’d helped put behind bars.

      ‘Alright‚’ I smiled brightly‚ as if I’d just bumped into a Facebook friend.

      ‘Jay‚’ he said. ‘Still knocking about‚ I see.’

      The fuck’s that supposed to mean?

      ‘Yeah‚ you know.’ I shrugged. ‘Where’d you think I’d be?’

      ‘We were just talking about you the other night. Wondering what you’re up to. If you’re in good health.’ Staples smiled long enough for me to admire his latest gold tooth.

      ‘I thought I could feel my ears burning.’ I was trying to play it cool. I think it was working‚ even though every instinct in me wanted to spin on my heels and get the hell outta there. ‘You know what they say when you talk about someone and then they unexpectedly show up?’

      ‘Why don’t you go ahead and enlighten me‚ Jay?’

      ‘It gives the recipient long life‚’ I said‚ wondering if I had used recipient in the right context.

      ‘Yeah?’ he said. ‘You may well be the exception to that rule‚ Jay.’

      Yeah‚ it was a threat and yeah I was shitting myself‚ but I knew he couldn’t do anything. With Silas tucked away in jail‚ Staples knew that the eyes of the law were on the rest of the crew. Besides‚ what the fuck could he possibly do in the middle of Wilko‚ in the middle of the fucking Treaty Centre?

      I looked down at Staples’ basket. He had Radox bubble bath‚ candles and shampoo‚ which was odd as his head was as shiny as a snooker ball. He didn’t seem so tough after all‚ with his pampering products. I smiled up at him knowingly‚ refusing to take the bait.

      ‘Say hi to Silas from me next time you go visit him in jail.’ I couldn’t help myself‚ I had to get a dig in. I placed my basket on the floor and left my place in the queue and walked away‚ pleased with myself for delivering the parting shot.

      ‘Jay‚’ Staples said‚ and I ignored him‚ kept walking. ‘Jay‚’ a little louder. ‘You haven’t heard?’

      That slowed me in my tracks. I wanted to turn around and ask him what he meant but I just knew whatever knowledge he wanted to impart would only play on my mind‚ and that was the very last thing I needed before my trip. I shook my head clear and walked out of the shop.

      On my drive home his words kept creeping back‚ I tried to figure out what Staples could possibly have meant. It wasn’t in my nature to sweat the small stuff‚ but where that psychopath Silas is concerned‚ I couldn’t take it lightly.

      You haven’t heard?

      The day had started off so well. I’d been getting shit done‚ but the run-in with Staples had knocked me sideways. So instead of donning my marigolds and going on a cleaning expedition around the house‚ as planned‚ I spent the afternoon watching crappy daytime TV whilst throwing a few choice expletives at Staples from a safe distance.

      Frustrated‚ I decided that I needed to be amongst people. I killed the television and got cleaned up. It was Tuesday. Paki night at Heston Hall.

       Imy

      Like always‚ Khala announced her latest plans in a particular way. Not a request‚ not a question. She was simply telling me that it had to be so. Knowing that nothing could ever come of what she was setting me up for‚ I should have battled it‚ made my excuses. She was wasting her time and mine‚ and she was definitely wasting the time of the family who were looking to make a Relationship‚ a Rishta.

      But‚ again like always‚ I couldn’t bring myself to fight it. Reluctantly‚ I agreed and ended the call. A minute later‚ Khala messaged me a photo of the girl that I had to meet tonight. I could see Shaz curiously peering at me from behind his computer.

      We were in the office. It had been a quiet morning. Two of my clients had cancelled viewings and Shaz’s next client was due late afternoon. So we had set about carrying out some rare admin. Kumar’s Property Services was a small set up. Two branches‚ one located in Cranford and the other‚ our one‚ in the parade of cheap shops in Hounslow West. The office had two rooms. A separate office for Kumar to lock himself in‚ and the main room which Shaz and I operated from‚ our desks situated opposite each other‚ separated by a seated waiting area against the back wall which the clients never used.

      ‘What’re you looking at?’ Shaz enquired.

      ‘Khala

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