She knew her family respected their cultural teachings, as she did. But this? She knew this wasn’t part of it. Couldn’t they see she hadn’t done anything wrong? She’d tried so hard to be obedient for her uncle but the harder she tried, the angrier he seemed to get. The more she asked questions about things, the more infuriated he got. She’d heard time and time again about what happened to girls in the community who brought shame and dishonour on their family. But she hadn’t brought shame. She’d walked less than the length of the high street with Raymond. Refusing his requests to go to McDonalds. Refusing his requests for him to walk her all the way home. It’d been innocent.
Mahmood dropped her arm and walked towards the door, deciding not to bother with a jacket. He turned to Laila as Tariq opened the dining room door.
‘You might have been lucky, but your boyfriend’s not going to have such an easy ride.’
Laila ran to her uncle, grabbing at his sleeve. ‘What are you going to do? … Uncle, please. He’s done nothing wrong.’
‘For someone who’s so innocent you seem to care an awful lot about what happens to him? You’re a disgrace.’
‘I don’t care … I mean I do care but not like that, I care because he’s done nothing … uncle, please, don’t touch him.’
Mahmood grabbed Laila’s hair, pulling her head back. ‘Try stopping me.’
He let go of her hair and started for the front door, but Laila refused to let him walk away. She grasped hold of him, trying to pull him back. She was beside herself with anguish and the tears rolled down her face as she cried. Her uncle sneered. She was out of control and he was going to enjoy seeing Raymond Thompson squeal. ‘Izzat, Laila. Honour. Doesn’t it mean anything?’
‘It means everything to me uncle, you know it does. But not like this. It isn’t about this.’
She let go of her uncle and ran to Tariq, pulling on him and hearing his shirt tearing as he tugged it away from her grip. ‘Tariq … no, stop. You can’t do this, leave him alone.’
The fear in Laila’s heart was mirrored in the look on Tariq’s face. He spoke in an urgent hush to his sister. ‘What do you want me to do Laila? I’ve got no choice.’
‘For me, please Tariq. Do what you want with me but leave him alone.’
Tariq couldn’t listen any more. He didn’t want to hear his sister like this. Couldn’t she see what harm she was doing by acting like this? It was just making their uncle more determined. More angry. And it made Tariq afraid his uncle would go back on his word and instead of just marrying Laila off, something worse, something more permanent would happen to her. Pushing Laila to one side, Tariq walked out of the dining room.
‘Tariq, no!’ Laila shouted after her brother. She needed to stop them but she didn’t know how. No one would help her. No one would get involved. This was family business; family honour and most people she knew would either think her uncle was doing the right thing or be too afraid to say anything.
She didn’t even have Raymond’s telephone number to warn him but she couldn’t let them hurt him. Not because of her. Without thinking, she picked up the phone.
‘Police, please.’
The phone went dead. Laila turned round. The first thing she saw was Mahmood come back into the hallway with the telephone wire he’d pulled out of the socket in his hand. The second thing she saw was his fist coming towards her. A moment later, Laila Khan blacked out.
2
Raymond Thompson or ‘Ray-Ray’ as his friends and family called him, looked in the mirror and smiled. He’d been blessed with good genes. His natural sun-kissed blonde hair tumbled onto his forehead, falling short of his dazzling blue eyes. And his big white smile gleamed out cheekily, charming both old and young.
He didn’t have to search far to see where his looks came from. His parents were a handsome couple. In his youth, his father, Freddie, had made Robert Redford look plain. His mother, Tasha, had been a hostess in one of the Soho clubs, persuading the punters to part with their cash for expensive glasses of champagne, whilst keeping their straying hands away. But she’d turned her back on it when she’d fallen in love with his father. And even years later, he knew his parents still turned heads.
Thinking of them made Ray feel sad; taking the edge off his good mood. He sighed heavily. His missed his father. He missed his old life. He wasn’t used to being up north. He was born and bred a Londoner, and had spent his whole life growing up in Soho. And then ten months ago, everything had changed. His father had been given a stretch and everyone, including the police, had been surprised when he’d actually been sent down.
His father was Freddie Thompson. The biggest face in London. One of the untouchables, or so he was supposed to have been, until the coppers had come knocking.
Almost three million in stolen jewellery had been found in one of the hundreds of lock-ups his father owned. Of course, everyone knew it was a set-up. A sting.
It hadn’t mattered that the coppers on the case had been bent, or that the evidence had been tampered with and the jury members squeezed. The powers that be had just wanted to get him off the streets, and the end result was the same. They had Freddie Thompson. The most dangerous man in London. The biggest villain in the south. But to Ray-Ray Thompson, they had his dad.
The eight year sentence had been bad enough, though the barrister and his father’s highly paid legal team had put in an appeal based on a technicality, getting his sentence reduced. So at worst they’d said his father would be walking free by Christmas.
That had been the plan and everyone had been happy. A couple more months inside had been doable. What wasn’t good was what happened after his father’s successful appeal. That was where the real problem lay. And that problem had added a life sentence to his prison term.
Ray-Ray shrugged his shoulders, trying to get rid of the sadness he felt. He didn’t want to think any more. It was summertime, and he refused to let another month go by when all he did was mope around.
Only this morning his mother had told him the best news he’d heard in a long time. They were moving back to Soho. By the end of the summer they’d be back in London amongst their friends and family. They could finally try to start to get some of their life back.
Neither his mother or him had wanted to come up to Bradford, but his father had insisted, and no one argued with Freddie Thompson. Not even when he was sat behind a bulletproof screen in Belmarsh prison. They’d moved to the north for two reasons.
Firstly, his Dad hadn’t known exactly who else besides the coppers were behind the set-up, so he’d wanted to get them out of London whilst his men sounded out the danger; if of course there was any. The second, and the reason they’d ended up specifically in Bradford, was that one of his father’s friends had moved to the north a few years ago to get his daughter away from the drugs scene, and his Dad had asked his friend to keep an eye out for them.
Putting on his black Alexander McQueen shirt, Ray-Ray knew he should’ve been more excited about the move back down South than he was. Yes, it was good news, but each time he thought about it, within a few moments the shine had been taken off his excitement. And two small words told him why. Laila Khan.
It was stupid.
