We Can Be Heroes (25 page)

Jed glares at her then says, ‘Maybe he thinks something's going to go down right here.'

‘Is that what he said?' I ask.

‘Can't give you that level of clearance,' says Jed.

‘Jed reckons he's got some inside information he's not telling us,' I say.

‘From his dad and his imaginary anti-terror squad?' Priti laughs.

‘What's that supposed to mean?' says Jed.

‘It means, I reckon your dad's more nine-to-five than MI5,' says Priti.

‘Oh, yeah?' says Jed. ‘Come on then. Let's go over and check out what's going down.'

‘If you say so,' says Priti. ‘We can nick some of their lager while we're at it.'

Uncle Ian is adding his cans of lager to those already floating in Mr Sanders' bucket of ice water.

‘Is he allowed to drink on duty?' I ask.

‘He's got to blend in, hasn't he?' says Jed.

‘An ex-squaddie necking beer at a Muslim wedding,' says Priti. ‘Oh, yeah, he really blends in.'

So we sneak out from under the table and hide out behind a bush that divides the Sanders' driveway from Granny and Grandad's.

Jed wants to start mine-sweeping straight away, but Priti's more interested in checking out his
dad's bomb-squad credentials.

‘For a spook, he's not exactly good-looking,' Priti whispers, peering round the bush then pulling her head back in quickly.

‘He's supposed to be catching terrorists, not entering a beauty pageant,' Jed whispers, trying to nab a half-finished can of beer by Uncle Ian's feet.

Just then his dad turns around and catches him red-handed. Uncle Ian grabs Jed's arm and yanks him to his feet so hard it looks like he's going to dislocate his shoulder. ‘If you take even one sniff of my beer, I'll break your neck, kid.'

We all freeze.

There's a long moment before Uncle Ian starts to laugh. ‘Only kidding, son. Never too young to start learning to hold your beer.'

He pulls Jed's head to his chest in a rough embrace that looks like it hurts and all the other adults laugh.

‘Where have you stashed your Paki mate and that deaf mute cousin of yours?' says Uncle Ian.

‘They're just . . .' Jed tails off, waving in the
direction of the bush that me and Priti are crouching behind.

Rumbled, we stand up and step forward, trying to make it look like we weren't hiding, but not really succeeding.

‘Been fumbling around in the bushes with your girlfriend, have you, Ben?' says Uncle Ian. I feel myself reddening to the very roots of my hair. I try to answer, but nothing comes out. ‘So come on, who's your Bombay babe?'

Jed looks at his feet and mutters something.

‘Speak up, son. Don't mumble!' barks Uncle Ian.

‘Priti,' Jed says quietly.

‘I asked you what her name was, not if you thought she was fit!' says Uncle Ian, knocking back a mouthful of beer and laughing. The others all join in, even Stevie's mum.

‘That
is
my name,' says Priti. ‘Are you deaf or something?'

I tense, waiting for Uncle Ian's response.

‘No, but your mother must have been blind to have given you a name like that,' he says quietly. Then
he laughs, too loud, too quickly. ‘But I guess even the elephant man's mama thought he was beautiful, eh!'

Everyone laughs again. Priti looks furious.

‘So which one is the suicide bomber then, kid?' says Uncle Ian. ‘Sorry, little lady. I hope that doesn't cause you offence?'

‘Don't mind me,' says Priti.

‘My son reckons one of your neighbours is part of a terror cell,' Uncle Ian says, turning to Stevie's dad and releasing Jed from the headlock with a shove that sends him flying.

Stevie's dad laughs and says, ‘Oh, yeah? Which one should I steer clear of then?'

‘That one,' says Jed, picking himself up and pointing to Shakeel.

‘So much for keeping it to ourselves,' Priti hisses.

Jed doesn't even look at her. He's rubbing his neck, but I reckon his pride is hurt more than anything else.

‘Yeah, he looks like the type,' says Stevie's dad, his face red with alcohol.

‘They all look the type,' says Uncle Ian. He takes a swig of his beer. ‘I'm surprised you can stand to see
your street overrun with this lot. Can't stand the sight of them, me, and I've heard the stink of curry brings the house prices down by ten per cent.'

He grins like what he's said is really funny.

‘There's no way he's actually bomb squad,' Priti whispers in my direction. ‘I mean, he's not exactly deep cover, is he?'

‘Do you reckon he's going to blow us all up today?' Jed says. Priti snorts. Jed ignores her. ‘With all these people here?'

I glance at Priti, who just rolls her eyes.

‘It'd be all too easy to hide a bomb under that poncy robe,' says Stevie's mum, pulling on a cigarette and glaring at Priti.

‘Yeah, I thought the bride was supposed to be the one in the white dress!' says Mr Sanders, winking at me.

‘Nah, it won't be today. There are too many of his own kind here,' says Uncle Ian in a serious tone now. ‘It's good, honest white folks he wants to kill.'

‘Not you then!' whispers Priti under her breath.

‘You got something to say, little memsahib?' says Uncle Ian.

‘No,' says Priti, who has her hands on her hips and a defiant look on her face.

‘Cos the terrorist – he's your brother, right?'

‘One man's terrorist, another man's freedom fighter!' says Priti.

‘You say tomato and I say . . .' He hesitates. ‘I say, shut your little black mouth or I'll . . .'

‘What exactly
will
you do to me in full view of two hundred of my closest friends and family?' Priti cuts in. ‘Or perhaps
you'll
just blow us all up? That's what you ethnic minorities do, isn't it?'

Stevie's dad laughs at this, but none of the others join in.

I feel as if I should say or do something, but I don't. Instead, I imagine Uncle Ian blowing himself to smithereens.

Boom!

‘She's got a right gob on her that one,' I hear Mrs Sanders mutter.

‘I'd love to blow up the piggin' lot of you!' says Uncle Ian.

‘Dad!' says Jed quietly.

‘I'm sure my brother can lend you some explosives,' says Priti. ‘I can ask him if you like?'

‘Smart-arse little Muslim, aren't you?' says Uncle Ian. ‘Just make sure you don't get your clever little butt kicked when your curry-house friends aren't around to take care of you, you know what I'm saying, kid?'

‘Are you threatening me, mister?' says Priti.

‘I'm not Supernanny. I don't bother with warnings. Just remember that.'

Then he turns to Jed whose face is flecked red and white, puts an arm round him and says, ‘You've done good work here, kid! Get in with the natives to keep an eye on the terror suspect – nice tactic. I like it.'

Then he shoves his can of beer into my hand. ‘Here, have this, daddy's boy. I'm dying for a slash.'

I feel my fist forming into a ball by my side. I imagine a giant boxing glove knocking him out cold.

Thwack!

But I don't say anything. Uncle Ian laughs and slaps me hard on the shoulder so that the beer spills all over the front of my trousers. Then he staggers off in
the direction of our house. I watch him go, and in that moment, I can't decide who I hate more: him or me.

‘Come on!' says Jed.

For once Priti doesn't argue and I'm too angry to. So, armed with what turns out to be nearly a full can of beer, which Jed grabs off me and hides not very successfully under his T-shirt, the three of us head off in the direction of the tree house for ‘a bender'.

‘Thanks for standing up for me, you two,' says Priti crossly.

‘Sorry,' I mutter. Jed says nothing.

‘Is your dad always so delightful?' Priti asks.

‘He's only doing his job,' says Jed, not looking at her.

‘So did he miss out on the Charm Offensive section of his James Bond training?' says Priti. ‘Or is harassing little girls part of the MI6 handbook these days?'

‘You shouldn't have answered him back,' says Jed. ‘He hates that.'

‘Oh, yeah. Cos what happened back there was definitely my fault!'

But Jed doesn't have a chance to answer because
suddenly there's a deafening roar of engines and the screech of brakes. A biker gang are at the bottom of the road, blocking the entrance to the cul-de-sac: five or six of them on gleaming motorbikes, red and black and silver, glistening in the sun.

All the people at the party turn around to look at them and the talk and laughter fade away until all that can be heard is the tinny sound of the singer over the speakers and the hum of the bikes' engines. Then the biker in the middle takes off his helmet and we can all see that it's Tyreese.

I glance over to where Mik and Shakeel are standing, next to the curry van. Mik makes an angry movement like he's about to go and confront them, but Shakeel puts a restraining hand on his arm.

The bikers only stay a minute, less than that probably, although it feels like loads more. Then they rev up their bikes, turn around and leave.

Uncle Ian is the first person to say anything. Emerging from our house, he gives a cheer and shouts like he's at a football match. ‘Come on, England!'

From the Sanders' drive comes an answering cry of,
‘Eng-er-land! Eng-er-land!' from Mr Sanders.

Everyone else is frozen, like a game of musical statues.

I think everyone is hoping it won't all kick off.

And it doesn't. Less than a minute after the bikers have gone, the Sanders and Uncle Ian start laughing and someone turns the music up and people start talking again, but it's not the happy buzz of chat it was previously.

‘So much for keeping a low profile!' Priti hisses at Jed.

‘What the hell do you know about counter-intelligence anyway?' says Jed.

‘More than your dad, I reckon,' says Priti.

Just then Zara appears and grabs Priti.

‘Keep lookout for me, will you?' she hisses, looking around her nervously.

‘Please tell me you're only hooking up with that idiot to tell him he's dumped?'

‘Will you keep a lookout or what?' she says, not answering the question.

‘What's it worth?'

‘Same as usual.'

‘You'll have to make it worth our while if we're going to be stuck up a tree while there's a party going on!' says Priti.

‘What do you want then?' Zara says impatiently, glancing at her phone.

Priti thinks for a moment. ‘I want your pink ankle bracelet and that new toe ring. AND I want your old handset – with a new top-up card.'

‘And who are
you
gonna call?' says Zara. ‘Ghostbusters?'

‘Close,' Priti grins.

‘You haven't got any mates apart from these two losers!' She smirks at Jed, who can't come up with a quick enough comeback.

‘Then it's no deal,' says Priti, crossing her arms to show she's not budging (although we all know she's dead easy to bribe).

Zara looks well cross. Her mobile beeps and she glances at it. ‘OK, fine,' she says quickly.

‘What do
we
get?' Jed asks.

‘A slap in the gob!' is Zara's response.

‘Then we'll just go and tell your mum and dad, shall we?'

‘If you're after another snog, you can have one,' says Zara. Jed grins. ‘But if you think I'm kissing you here in front of everyone, you are off your rocker.'

The smile fades on Jed's face. ‘When then?' he asks.

‘Later, all right?'

‘You'd better not be messing because I've got pictures on my phone that your parents would love to see,' says Jed.

Me and Priti exchange glances, not sure if he's bluffing.

Zara isn't sure either, but she says, ‘Yeah, right!'

‘Don't believe me then,' says Jed with a big grin on his face, hand still stuffed up his T-shirt holding the beer, so he looks a bit lopsided. ‘But what if I'm telling the truth?'

‘Just get up that tree, you little perv,' says Zara. ‘You'll get what's coming to you later.'

Jed seems happy enough with this response and he blows Zara a kiss as we head off in the direction of the garden. She just holds her fingers up to her forehead
in a ‘W' sign, which Jed reckons means ‘Whatever!' although Priti says she thinks it's something else!

So the three of us end up in the tree house drinking warm beer while everyone else is partying in the culde-sac.

‘Have you really got pictures of Zara and Tyreese?' I ask.

‘Wouldn't you like to know!' says Jed.

‘I bet he has too,' says Priti. ‘He's a peeping Tom!'

‘I like to think I'm more like the paparazzi,' Jed grins.

From our vantage point we can see the bikers in the park, their motorcycles parked up against the swings. When Zara appears, they all start to whistle and catcall, but she just stands, hands on hips, and stares them down and that makes them shut up.

Then she goes right up to Tyreese, whispers something to him then turns and walks off in the direction of the woods. Her hips are swinging and she doesn't look back. Tyreese hesitates for a moment before getting off his bike to follow her. The other lads call after him, but he just ignores them. He looks
a bit sheepish and it occurs to me for the first time that he might actually really like Zara.

While he and Zara are off in the woods doing whatever they do (Jed reckons they've made up – Priti doesn't, and she also refuses to discuss what they might be doing if they
have
made up) we take turns to sip the beer, which tastes warm and bitter. Jed says it's called ‘wife beater', ‘Cos it makes you want to beat up your wife!' He laughs.