East of Hounslow. Khurrum Rahman

efforts I couldn’t not like him.

      Parvez was knelt down picking up broken prayer beads and books and not quite knowing what to do with them. I stooped down on the floor next to him and immediately started to help out. Parvez looked at me with glistening eyes and just like that I felt my own eyes spiking with tears. I blinked them away and placed my hands on his shoulders.

      ‘They’ve stained our home‚’ he said. ‘We must get the Masjid back to a state of cleanliness.’

      ‘Parvez. What the f— What happened?’ I said‚ watching my language. ‘I… I don’t understand. What happened?’

      ‘Kafirs‚’ Parvez said‚ by way of explanation. ‘Kafirs is what happened‚ Brother.’

      ‘But‚ how? There’s someone here at all times.’

      Parvez shook his head and wiped away his tears. ‘Everything will come to light in due course‚ Inshallah‚ and we will act accordingly.’

      I nodded in agreement even though I didn’t quite know what I was agreeing to.

3

      I left the mosque feeling pretty good about myself. My initial anger had melted away and was replaced by something similar to… I don’t know what. Faith? Respect? Solidarity? There were initially only about a dozen of us cleaning the mosque. Word had spread fast via social media and old fashioned word of mouth that Sutton Mosque had taken a beating. I wasn’t surprised that word hadn’t reached me; I didn’t move in those circles. The regulars were redirected to attend neighbouring mosques for the all-important Friday prayers‚ but as soon as prayers were over and the clock hit two‚ Pakis turned up like they were giving away free samosas.

      No word of a lie‚ about two hundred of them all bearing the necessary tools: bleach‚ rubber gloves‚ tins of white paint and paint brushes‚ mops‚ refreshments and of course some of the finest home-cooked‚ butter-infested‚ blazing hot‚ heart-attack-inducing food. I watched as they made a social event of the whole scene. There was the sound of laughter bouncing off the walls‚ there were tears and embraces. The hall was treated to a brand new paint job and a local Sikh businessman – a Sikh‚ the old enemy! – who owned Punjabi Carpets‚ graciously donated a variety of new carpets and rugs until the prayer mats were replaced.

      We turned that place inside out‚ leaving it looking brand new‚ and we left feeling holier than thou.

      Those stupid fucking two-bit vandalising motherfuckers didn’t know the first thing about Islam and about our strength within. Attack us again. Go on‚ I fucking dare you.

      My phone rang as I approached my Beemer. Before answering‚ first things first‚ I checked the boot and made sure that the gear and the bills hadn’t been jacked. Satisfied‚ I checked my caller display. It was Parvez. What’s he want? I had just spent the best part of the day with him‚ helping to clear up the mosque. I hoped he wasn’t taking the time we’d spent together to be some sort of bonding session‚ and he now wanted to hang out with the cool kids. He was a good guy‚ but well and truly part of the God Squad‚ and I think he’d always seen me as some sort of project. Parvez the Preacher‚ we called him. I ignored the call and pocketed my phone.

      I closed my boot and over the roof of my car I saw the cops walking towards me. Just one copper‚ actually. He wasn’t in uniform but I have a sixth sense when it comes to picking out the fuzz from a line up.

      And besides‚ this particular copper happened to be my best friend‚ Idris Zaidi.

      I would never tell him this but Idris is one cool motherfucker‚ and the reason I would never tell him this is because he knows he’s one cool motherfucker and I don’t feel the need to indulge his already inflated ego. We go back to day dot‚ born within a day of each other. Our mums became friends in the maternity ward at West Mid Hospital. Aunty actually helped Mum a lot during that period‚ as my old man was busy decomposing. They were like sisters‚ and we like brothers. We were at nursery together‚ and then we hit junior school hard‚ making the right noises and earning respect at the grand old age of nine or whatever the fuck it was. Right little tearaways. But it was secondary school when things turned somewhat. Idris showed more of an interest in his studies and I showed the same commitment towards having a good time. The amateur shrinks amongst you would probably put that down to the lack of a father figure‚ but I was too busy having a good time to give it thought. So‚ soon-to-be PC Plod plodded off to university‚ and did pretty well too‚ according to the Masters degree hanging askew over his fireplace. He became a cop and I became a robber. Or‚ to put it more accurately‚ he a detective and I a dealer.

      As Idris approached I surreptitiously checked him out. A dark blue casual blazer‚ with a crisp blue shirt. Wrapped around his neck in a loose knot was a lightweight black-and-white polka-dot scarf designed for design rather than to serve purpose. A pair of tight skinny grey trousers which made me wonder how the fuck he was going to give chase if the occasion occurred. Nice shoes though‚ black suede Fila hi-tops.

      We shook and I nodded for him to jump in. I waited nonchalantly for him to acknowledge my new whip.

      ‘Nice‚’ Idris said‚ smirking at me knowingly. Always knowingly.

      ‘Yeah‚ it’s alright. Gets me from A to B.’

      ‘Look at you trying to act cool with your new ride‚ you crack me up.’

      ‘So‚ what’s the latest? You don’t call‚ you don’t write. Bad guys keeping you busy?’

      ‘Yeah.’ He smiled. ‘Something like that. Keeps me in a job.’

      My phone rang again‚ I looked at the display and frowned. ‘Shit. Parvez!’

      ‘The Preacher? That Parvez?’ Idris asked.

      ‘Yep. One and the same‚’ I said‚ weighing up whether to answer it or not. ‘I better get it. It’s the second time he’s called in the space of a minute. Hang on.’

      ‘He loves you‚ you know that‚ right?’ Idris said‚ poking me in the ribs. ‘He lurves you!’

      ‘Fuck off.’ I swiped my screen and answered. ‘Yeah‚ Parvez. ’Sup?’

      ‘Aslamalykum‚ Brother.’ Parvez said. ‘Thanks for helping out today.’ Helping out? I didn’t like the way he said that. He didn’t mean to say it in that way‚ but it came across as a touch patronising and it wound me the fuck up.

      ‘Of course.’ I said. ‘Thank you for helping out today.’ Yeah‚ that’s right! How you like me now? Two can play that game.

      Parvez comes back with. ‘Please‚ Brother. It was my duty‚ my Farz.’

      Oh‚ I give up. He played the Farz card. Fine. Whatever. You’re a better Muslim than me. Sanctimony is not becoming. I inserted the key into the ignition and the Bluetooth immediately kicked in and the technology gave me a small thrill as I placed my phone down on the centre console. However‚ my thrill was short lived as Parvez’s voice was now emanating through my Blaupunkt speakers‚ sounding twice as annoying.

      ‘Am… Am I on speaker?’ Parvez asked‚ at the change in transmission.

      ‘Yeah… So‚ what’s going on?’

      ‘Right. So some of the Brothers are assembling at Ali’s Diner at eight tonight.’

      ‘And?’

      ‘We need to talk about what happened at the Masjid. Discuss best way forward. Security and that. You know?’

      ‘Yeah‚ I know‚’ I sighed. I looked at Idris who was predictably shaking his head at me. I turned away from him. ‘What time?’

      ‘Eight‚ Brother. I’ll see you there‚ yes?’

      ‘Yeah‚