First Response

MARYLEBONE (5.32 p.m.)

The Sky News presenter with too much make-up was talking to a grey-haired man in a suit who was some sort of terrorism expert. He was trying to explain what ISIS was and what they wanted, but the woman kept interrupting him. ‘Let him talk, woman,’ muttered Chaudhry, under his breath.

‘She likes the sound of her own voice, doesn’t she?’ said Kenny.

‘She probably only got the job because she’s Asian,’ said Chaudhry, contemptuously.

Kenny laughed. ‘Funny thing to say, you being Asian and all.’

‘Hey, mate, I’ve had to fight for everything I’ve done. No one ever gave me a break because I’m a Pak.’

‘Is it okay to say that?’ asked Kenny.

‘Pak? Hell, yeah. Paki’s an insult, but I’m a Pak and proud of it.’

‘But you were born here, right?’

‘Sure. So was my mum. My dad is the only one who lived in Pakistan.’

‘So you’re British, right?’

‘Same as you.’

‘So why do this?’ He nodded at the suicide vest. ‘I mean, that’s a bit fucking extreme, isn’t it?’

‘It wasn’t my idea, believe me,’ said Chaudhry.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing. Forget it.’

‘But you’re ISIS, right?’

‘ISIS? Fuck, no. They’re nutters, ISIS. Have you seen those videos? They’re fucking animals.’

‘Now I’m confused.’

‘Yeah, tell me about it,’ said Chaudhry. ‘I’m a supporter of Al-Qaeda. Have been since the invasion of Iraq and all the shit that went on there. You can’t be a Muslim in the world today and not feel threatened.’

‘That’s how you feel?’

‘Fuck me, yeah. You can see what the Americans want, right? They want every Muslim dead. We have to stand and fight.’

‘But what you’re doing is about ISIS, right? And you’ve won.’ He gestured at the TV. ‘You got them released and now they’re picking up you guys to take you to the airport.’

‘That’s the plan, yes.’ He took a sip from his bottle of water. ‘You seem very calm, Kenny.’

‘I smoked some dope before I started my shift. That’s probably helped. But generally, you know, if it happens, it happens. I’m not a worrier.’

‘Easy not to worry when you’re white,’ said Chaudhry.

‘Mate, I’ve not had it easy either. Don’t go thinking that. My mum ran off with my uncle when I was still in nappies and my dad brought up three boys on his own. I went to a shit school and managed one year at uni before I bailed, and now I’m working in a pub for minimum wage. I’m not exactly living the life, you know.’ He raised his almost-empty glass. ‘But, assuming I get through this in one piece, I should be able to sell my story to the papers, right?’

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Chaudhry.

‘Aye, it’s an ill wind,’ said Kenny.

‘What the fuck does that mean?’

‘It’s an expression. It’s an ill wind that blows no good. It means most things work out well for somebody.’

‘Yeah, well, I don’t see that anything that’s happened today helps me at all. It fucks me up, big-time.’

‘What happens to you?’ asked Kenny. ‘You’ll be on the plane with the ISIS lads, right?’

‘Fuck that,’ said Chaudhry. ‘I live here. I’m not fucking off to Syria for nobody. Have you been there? It’s a shit-hole.’

‘Have you? Been there?’

Chaudhry shook his head. ‘I’ve been to Pakistan, and I was over the border in Afghanistan, but trust me, mate, they’re shit-holes too. You want to stay well clear.’

‘But you’ll have to leave the UK after this, right? I mean, you’ve won, but they’re never going to forgive you.’

The TV was showing a shot of a coach with blackened windows driving through Kensington. ‘Kenny, mate, will you shut the fuck up? You’re really starting to depress me.’