reason!’
Hassan’s voice rose a register. ‘They were here?’
Sameena gripped his shoulder. ‘Yes, but don’t worry. They didn’t find anything.’
He jerked out from under her hand. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Jahanara’s mum told me what these police do, so I took all your things and washed all your clothes. If they say they found something, I will know they planted it.’
Hassan sucked in a short breath. ‘What did they take?’
‘Your TV and some of your father’s clothes. Everything else I took from your room.’
Hassan almost laughed – a sound that was strange and strangled. ‘Mum, you’re crazy. What did you hide?’
She pictured the items in the Tupperware box. ‘Your laptop, that old games machine, a broken mobile phone and the small silver sticks from your drawer.’
‘Where did you put it?’
Sameena watched him closely, noting his sharp relief. She held his gaze and said, ‘I’ve thrown it all away.’
He flinched. ‘You did what?’
‘I’ve thrown it away.’ Her voice was calm and firm. ‘In the canal. I didn’t want the police to find it.’
Hassan reared away from her. ‘You didn’t.’
‘Your phone was broken anyway. You don’t play games on that machine anymore and you’re always complaining about your laptop. We can buy you a new one now.’
Hassan’s eyes grew narrow. ‘Mum, there’s no way you’ve thrown my stuff away. Where is it?’
She gestured at her sari, the hem muddied brown by soil. ‘I walked to the canal and threw it all in.’
Hassan’s jaw fell slack. ‘But I need my stuff. It’s got my pictures, my files, everything.’ He turned to appeal to his father. ‘Aba, she’s got to be joking. Tell her I need my things.’ His voice was whiny to even his own ears.
‘Hassan, go up to your room. Let me talk to your mother.’
‘But—’
‘Go,’ he repeated.
Hassan’s face burned red but he knew better than to defy his father. Saying no more, he turned and walked upstairs.
‘Sameena, what did you do?’ Irfan’s voice was low.
She held up a hand to calm him. ‘Don’t worry. His things are safe but he’s not getting them until this is over.’
Irfan sighed. ‘The boy needs his things.’
‘Why does he need these things?’ she asked. ‘His exams are finished.’
‘Boys need ways to keep busy. Do you want him out on the streets?’
‘Do you want him in jail?’ she shot back. She watched a rift of anger crack open across his face. ‘I’m just protecting him,’ she insisted. ‘You look at your son and you see a nice religious boy and Hassan is a good boy, but a mother knows the nature of her son and she protects him no matter what.’
Irfan scowled. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
Sameena smiled serenely. ‘Please – just trust that I did the right thing.’ She patted on the sofa. ‘Sit down. I’ll make you some tea.’
He began to protest but she had already turned towards the kitchen, using three quick steps to end the conversation.
At the top of the stairs, Hassan strained to hear but caught only murmurs. In silence, he crept to his parents’ room and dialled Amir’s home from the landline.
‘Jesus, what a fucked up day.’ Amir’s voice was weary.
Hassan took a shallow breath. ‘Have the feds been round?’
‘Yeah.’ Amir paused. ‘You?’
‘Mate, you won’t believe this. The feds at the station took the phone you lent me, but my mum threw away the one that got broken. She’s chucked all my stuff away. My laptop, my games. Even my stash has gone. The feds got none of it.’
Amir whistled. ‘Mate, your mum’s a gangster.’
‘She thinks she’s done me a favour.’
Amir laughed. ‘Well, she has, hasn’t she?’
‘How can you be so chilled about it?’ said Hassan. ‘We got arrested. She told them we raped her, for fuck’s sake.’
Amir was silent for a moment. ‘Mate, I have to be chill. Mum’s hit the roof as usual.’ He sighed. ‘She’s been going on about it for hours: all the tutoring she’s spent money on, all the school reports, all the parents’ evenings and meetings and on and on. I have to be chill or else I’ll go mad.’
Hassan tightened his grip on the phone. ‘But aren’t you worried?’
‘No,’ said Amir. ‘Jodie won’t go through with this. It’s a fucked up situation for sure, but once she calms down, she’ll take it back.’
Hassan slid onto his parents’ bed. ‘If you say so.’
‘I do. Just be cool. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.’
Hassan swallowed his weaving nerves. ‘Okay, man.’ He hung up the phone and sat motionless, unable or unwilling to return to his room.
Farid Khan let the ball fall from his grip and watched it roll away. Shoulders slumped, he sat on the wooden block by the path and felt his sweat cool, sending chills down his spine. Shivering, he sat still, not quite ready to leave.
He spotted the slim woman with cropped hair walking purposefully towards him. Instinctively, he lowered his gaze. It was only when she stopped directly in front of him that he looked up and met her eyes.
‘Hi.’ Her voice was husky but soft. It made him think of warm sand slipping through his fingers.
‘Hi,’ he echoed.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
He looked at her leather jacket, her skin-tight jeans and knee-high boots. ‘Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.’
‘Ha!’ She sounded amused.
‘What do you want?’ he asked less certainly.
‘Can I sit?’
Farid looked over her shoulder, then back up at her. He shrugged.
Erin
