Homegrown Hero: A funny and addictive thriller for fans of Informer. Khurrum Rahman

protector‚ before finally pushing my bedroom door open‚ tantalisingly close to my single bed. Fifty percent of the time I would succeed‚ the other fifty…

      ‘Imran.’

      Silence. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Hope that it passes.

      ‘Imran‚ is that you?’

      The jig is up. Double back‚ lean against her bedroom door frame to stop from wobbling. On would come the lamp‚ then would come the questions. Her words‚ as always‚ running into each other at pace‚ her English better than ever before but still broken in places.

      ‘Where were you?’

      ‘Khala‚ sorry I’m late. Go back to sleep.’

      ‘Sleep? You think I sleep? I wait for you. Why your eyes red?’

      ‘I was on my phone most of the night.’

      ‘Astaghfirulah.’ She would always say Astaghfirulah when she was annoyed. Similar to how Christians use Jesus‚ but with more drama. ‘You and your phone. You’re going to ruin your eyes‚ how many times I tell you? You want to go blind‚ Imran? Do you? Well‚ do you? Because you know what is going to happen? You’re going to go blind!’

      ‘Yes‚ Khala.’

      ‘It is two in the morning‚ you not have work tomorrow? You know how difficult it was to ask Kumar to give you job? You humiliate family name.’

      ‘It’s fine. My first viewing is at ten.’

      ‘Why do I smell smoke? You smoke‚ Imran?’

      ‘No‚ it was Shaz‚ he was smoking around me.’

      ‘He is a stupid boy. I do not like him.’

      ‘Goodnight‚ Khala.’

      ‘Shall I make something to eat?’

      ‘Goodnight‚ Khala.’

      She sounds like a ball breaker. She isn’t. She is the sweetest person I have ever known. She took me in at sixteen‚ and a damaged sixteen at that‚ and knocked the damage right out of me with her overbearing brand of love. It didn’t matter that I was now in my mid-thirties‚ I was fine with her treating me like I was still that sixteen-year-old. Now that I was away from her‚ in my own place‚ she was very much still part of my daily life. One phone-call a day‚ numerous texts and three visits per week‚ minimum.

      It was fine.

      After the death of my parents I’d spent the remainder of my childhood in Afghanistan as a man. One with order‚ discipline and responsibilities. A way of life drilled into me from the age of ten until the age of sixteen when I was sent to London‚ to Hounslow‚ to live with my Khala. Now I’m of age‚ the hardness has softened‚ but it’s still within me and I pray that it doesn’t see the light of day. My life‚ if I’m honest‚ is easy. I feel love for and loved by those close to me. All I want is to live carefree for a little longer before I settle down with Stephanie and Jack.

      I realise‚ though‚ that my destiny is not in my hands. One day‚ somebody may come calling and try to turn me back into that violent‚ angry boy. Dangling revenge as my motivation‚ reminding me who I really am and what I owe.

9

       Jay

      It was a little strange having a day off from work‚ as opposed to always being able to do as I pleased. In keeping with my new‚ straight-edged life I had to structure my day to ensure that things got taken care of. It felt good knowing that I could function like a responsible adult‚ but at the same time it was boring the life out of me.

      My first task today was to pick up plane tickets from Shaan Travels in Southall. You can keep all your online deals; nobody touches Shaan when it comes to budget flights. He went down from £470 to £390 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