We Can Be Heroes (33 page)

For a moment I think it must be my mum.

‘It's Priti,' he says.

I take the phone off him and put it to my ear. I hear her voice on the other end of the phone. ‘Hi, Ben, it's Priti!' She sounds all crackly and distant – like she's ringing from abroad or something.

‘Priti, what are you calling here for?' I ask.

‘I know my rights. I'm allowed one phone call. They said I hadn't been arrested, but I said I wanted my call anyway.'

‘Are you OK?' I ask. They're all listening in – Grandad, Granny and the policeman – everyone except Jed, who legged it upstairs the minute he heard who was on the phone.

‘I'm fine. Did you see it on TV?' Priti always said she wanted to be on TV.

‘Yup,' I say.

‘I wasn't sure if you'd really call the police,' she says.

‘Neither were we,' I say.

‘Do they know yet if he had a bomb?' she asks.

‘Don't
you
know?'

‘No, why would I?'

‘I thought you said you saw one?'

‘I saw him put that belt on, but that's not why I called.'

Then I hear Jed's voice on the line. He must have run up to Grandad's room and picked up the phone there. ‘Are you OK?' he asks breathlessly.

‘Like you care,' says Priti.

‘Did they try to beat a confession out of you?' Jed goes on.

‘No,' says Priti. ‘I don't think they were very nice to Shakeel though. They stripped him down to his pants looking for explosives.'

‘Did they find any?' Jed says.

‘Not yet. It turns out the bomb belt is actually one of those bumbags – you know, for putting his
keys and wallet and phone in and stuff!'

‘Oh,' I say.

Jed doesn't say anything.

‘I know, tragic, isn't it?' says Priti. ‘I thought only tourists and American college students wore bumbags.' She pauses then says, ‘Is it bad that I kind of hope they find something else on him? I get the feeling we're in big trouble if they don't.'

‘We were only doing our civic duty,' says Jed.

‘If you're so hot on civic duty, why don't you tell the police what really happened the day Stevie disappeared?' says Priti.

There's a pause on the line then Jed says, ‘Is that really what you rang to talk about?'

‘I figured it out while I've been waiting at the police station,' says Priti. ‘I thought I might as well make my one phone call count.'

‘So you didn't even ring your mum and dad?' I ask.

‘I wanted to get Jed to confess.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about,' says Jed.

‘The police reckon Mik was the last person in the park. Except he wasn't, was he, Jed?'

Another long silence.

‘Is this call being tapped?' asks Jed.

‘Who cares?' says Priti. ‘You're going to have to tell them anyway.'

‘Tell them what exactly?'

‘That your dad was still in the park after the bikers left.'

Jed doesn't say anything so Priti goes on, ‘Zara and Mik said he was there the whole time. They also say he didn't do a thing to help Mik while the bikers beat him up.'

Another pause. Then Jed says, ‘So?'

I wonder if his dad told him any of this.

‘So it means Mik wasn't the last one to see Stevie alive. Your dad was.'

Jed doesn't say anything.

‘And I've been thinking,' Priti goes on, ‘if you let the police keep on thinking my brother did it then it'll be your fault if they never find Stevie.'

‘They'll find her,' says Jed.

‘Not if they're following the wrong leads,' says Priti. ‘She might be alive still, but how are the police
going to find her if they've got the timings all wrong?'

‘She's probably dead by now anyway,' says Jed.

‘Why doesn't your dad want the police to know what he saw? That's what I've been trying to figure out.'

I look around. Granny and Grandad are staring at me and so is the police officer.

‘I don't know,' says Jed.

‘I think he must have something to hide.'

‘You reckon
he
took Stevie!' Jed tries to laugh when he says this, but it doesn't come out right: more like a cough or like he's choking or something. And I wish I could see his face because, even on the phone, I can hear that he's not certain as he says it. Not like he was when he was defending his mum.

‘Maybe, I don't know. Maybe he and his phoney bomb squad – and they
are
phoney, I asked one of the real bomb-squad men and he'd never heard of them – maybe they had it planned all the time. Ben told me what that Tattoo thug said about kidnapping white kids.'

‘That was just a joke!'

‘Maybe. I just think you need to tell the police, that's all.'

‘And if I don't.'

‘Then I will.'

Pause.

‘They're not going to believe you though, are they?' says Jed.

Just then the policeman standing next to me gets a call over his radio. I hear it crackling into life – a voice comes through on the other end, but I can't make out what it's saying.

‘I have to go,' says Priti. ‘Something's going on.'

‘What's happening?' I ask – the first words I've managed to get into the conversation for several minutes.

‘I don't know,' she says. ‘Just make Jed tell the police, OK?'

‘I'll try,' I say.

The policeman is listening intently to a call on his radio. Jed comes running down, taking the stairs four at a time.

‘What's going on?' he asks, not looking at me.

‘Negative for explosives,' we hear a crackly voice over the radio announce. Our policeman groans.

‘That's negative,' he repeats. ‘Can you confirm?'

A static pause then: ‘Confirmed – negative.'

I hear Grandad moan. Granny lets out a little sob. I daren't even look at Jed.

I imagine a round, black bomb with a sparking fuse. A bucket of water dashing out the flame.

‘What do you want me to do here?' the police officer asks his colleague at the other end of the radio. He's glaring at me and Jed – his hopes of a knighthood fading before his eyes.

‘Await instructions,' the voice comes back.

‘Roger that.'

The policeman puts down his radio, turns to look at me and Jed.

‘The Muslim lad didn't have any explosives, did he?' says Grandad.

‘No,' says the police officer. ‘He didn't.'

‘That's good news then,' says Grandad.

‘It is,' he replies.

‘But not for the boys?' says Granny.

‘No, not for the boys,' says the police officer grimly. ‘Or for me. I'll probably lose my job over this.'

‘9/11 cost one of my sons his life,' says Grandad quietly. ‘And it changed the other one so much it cost him his job and his marriage. He's so angry now, I hardly recognise him . . .' He pauses. I glance at Jed who is just staring at Grandad, his face pale, but his expression unreadable. ‘Little wonder then if their boys see the world through warped glasses.' He puts an arm round each of us and the police officer gives a quiet huff and looks away.

‘Why aren't they saying on the TV that he didn't have a bomb?' I ask. The running headline at the bottom of the screen still reads, ‘Attempted terrorist attack at cathedral . . . Stevie suspect's brother named as bomber.'

‘We can't convey that information to the public until the investigation is complete.'

‘Why not?' I say.

‘Police protocol,' is his reply.

‘It's going to cause a riot,' says Grandad.

Jed doesn't say anything.

* * *

It's long after midnight by the time we finally get to bed. Granny says we'd better get some sleep because the police will want to ask us a lot of questions in the morning. Jed and I hardly say a word as we get ready for bed.

When Granny's gone downstairs, Jed reaches under his mattress and pulls out the note his mum left for him.

‘You want to read it?' he says, passing it to me, but not looking me in the eye.

‘Do you want me to?' I ask.

‘Don't mind,' he says.

So I open it up, read what's inside, and when I get to the end, I say, ‘It's nice.'

And Jed says, ‘It is, isn't it?'

Then we both just sit there for a bit and eventually, Jed says, ‘I've got to go and talk to Grandad.'

‘Why?' I ask.

‘He'll know what to do,' he says.

‘Jed,' I say. ‘How did the bikers get Mik to drop his gun?'

‘They didn't,' says Jed quietly. (He so rarely talks at anything less than a shout that I find myself leaning forward to listen.) ‘Dad did.'

I don't say anything. Just wait for him to go on.

‘He told Mik not to be stupid. To hand over the gun before anyone got hurt. And Mik did.' He pauses. ‘And then the bikers beat him up. And Dad just watched.'

I don't look at him as he says this and he doesn't look at me.

‘Were you there?'

He nods.

‘What happened then?' I ask.

‘The bikers kicked Mik up real bad, then they dumped him over the fence into Priti's garden and then they all legged it.'

‘What did you do?'

‘I threw up. My dad didn't notice. He was just standing there. Then I legged it too.'

I pause for a moment, taking in what he's saying. ‘So your dad was the last one left in the park,' I say.

Jed nods.

‘With Stevie?'

Jed nods again. ‘But I didn't think . . . I mean . . . he wouldn't really do . . . what Priti said he did – would he?'

I don't know how to answer this, so I say, ‘What did he say when he took you out for breakfast?'

‘He told me to keep quiet.' He stops for a second. ‘I suppose I knew he wasn't really bomb squad.'

There's a long silence before I say, ‘Are you going to tell Grandad?'

He nods again.

You'd think we'd both have had enough of telling tales for one night, but this time it's different. So we stay where we are and neither of us says anything for a long time. Jed sits there with the note in his hand and, after a bit, I sit down next to him and put my arm round him and he puts his arm round me and we sit like that for ages.

Then he gets up and goes downstairs.

For a while, I sit on Jed's bed, staring at the note his mum wrote for him. And then I take out my notebook and start to draw.

Grandad didn't go to bed at all last night. I know because I'm the first to wake up and when I go down, I find him still sitting in his favourite chair, still dressed in yesterday's clothes, still staring at the soundless TV screen.

No one else is up yet. Granny and Jed are both late sleepers and the policeman appears to have been released from duty.

‘Do you want a cup of tea, Grandad?' I ask.

‘Thank you, Ben, that would be nice.'

So I go and make him one and take it to him with a slice of toast. I want to take a blanket to put over his legs because, this morning, he looks like a really old man. Maybe that's what staying up all night does to you.

When I come back, he's taken his wallet out of his pocket and is pulling something out. He hands it to me: a small picture of two boys, one of those school photos when you have to sit side by side.

‘Dad and Uncle Ian,' I say.

Grandad nods. ‘Could be you and Jed to look at them though, couldn't it?' he says.

And he's right. Ian and Dad look a lot like Jed and me, although the haircuts are shorter and the shirt collars longer.

‘My two boys,' Grandad says. ‘They fought all the time when they were kids, but when your dad died, Ian cried like a baby and Granny had to comfort him.' Grandad looks at the picture again. ‘I think it changed him, losing his brother like that.'

He pauses, staring at the picture, then he hands it to me. ‘Here, put it in that memory box of yours.'

‘No, you keep it, Grandad,' I say.

‘I can't. Not now. Not with what I'm about to do,' he says, starting to rise stiffly out of his chair. ‘I just hope your Granny will forgive me, because Ian never will.'

So I take the picture from him and then I help him to get his coat and shoes on because he is feeling stiff. He doesn't say where he's going, but I know and I also know he wants to go before Granny and Jed get
up. ‘Do you want me to go with you, Grandad?' I ask.

‘Thank you, Ben, but no. This is something I need to do on my own.'

Then he shakes my hand – all formal, standing in the porch – and then he is gone.

The postman comes a few minutes later. Granny and Jed are still asleep. There's another card for me. This one has a picture of a pop band called the Boo Radleys on the front. I've never heard of them although I recognise the name as a character from an old black-and-white film my mum and I love to watch. On the back it says,
Remember Boo? Looking forward to you coming home so we can curl up with him again soon
. Just like the other cards, it isn't signed. But it doesn't need to be because the handwriting on this one is wobbly and uncertain – but definitely my mum's.

Stevie's mum gave birth to her baby during the night. They show her on the TV, climbing out of the ambulance at the hospital after all the stuff at the cathedral, puffing and panting like the baby is going
to pop out any minute. The photographers all took pictures of her like that, panting like a whale with her hair plastered to her face, which Granny thinks is inhumane. Granny also reckons it's probably the shock that brought on labour.

And Grandad is right about the bomb scare causing a riot. On the news it says that gangs of skinheads marched into a part of the city where most of the Asian families live and started setting fire to cars and throwing bricks through windows chanting, ‘Terrorists, give her back!' Some Asian youths tried to retaliate and the fighting didn't stop even when the police turned up. A fire bomb was thrown through a broken window and fire crews had to come and rescue three small children and an elderly lady from the upstairs of a burning building. Shops were looted, several arrests were made and a dozen people were taken to hospital, three with serious injuries.