Dishonour (14 page)

‘I’m impressed,’ said Lilly.

Taslima shrugged. ‘I like to know what’s happening to my sisters around the world.’

‘So this PTF,’ Lilly looked from Kash to Taslima, ‘what’s their deal?’

‘They patrol the streets, making sure women are properly dressed, not out unaccompanied,’ said Taslima. ‘If they hear about any behaviour they disapprove of, the PTF punish the woman involved.’

‘I’m assuming you don’t mean a good telling-off,’ said Lilly. ‘They sound dangerous.’

‘And brought by popular demand to a street in Luton near you,’ said Kash.

‘You’re kidding me,’ said Lilly.

Kash stared hard at Lilly. ‘Do I sound like I’m joking?’

‘Do you think the PTF were involved in Yasmeen’s death?’ asked Taslima.

‘Ask her brother.’

Back in the car, Lilly pulled out her laptop and went straight to her search engine.

‘Purity—what-was-it?’

‘Purity Task Force,’ said Taslima.

At least twenty entries appeared.

‘Popular little buggers,’ said Lilly, and clicked on Wikipedia.

‘“The Purity Task Force are the religious police based in Afghanistan,”’ she read aloud, ‘“similar in function to the Mutaween in Saudi Arabia.”’

Taslima nodded. ‘They wander about in groups making sure the women are covered properly and chaperoned by male relatives.’

Lilly continued to read. ‘“The name Purity Task Force or PTF has been adopted by many groups enforcing Sharia law.”’

There were links to articles from all over the world—Iran, Jordan, Malaysia…Lilly clicked onto Oman.

The lead photograph showed a group of frightened young women being bundled into a minibus by bearded men wielding sticks.

‘“On 15 April scores of teenagers and girls were rounded up at a city shopping centre and arrested by the PTF,’ Lilly read.

Taslima nodded. ‘There are crackdowns from time to time.’

‘“Horrified onlookers could do nothing as the girls were beaten and taken away for daring to walk the streets unaccompanied.”’

Lilly had to look away. The treatment of children in the UK was often unpalatable but this was barbaric.

She went back to the screen and clicked the link to an article in the
Birmingham Observer
.

Honour Attack linked to the PTF

A Muslim woman was blinded yesterday when acid was thrown in her face.

Relatives, who did not wish to be named, confirmed that the assault coincided with her decision not to marry her elderly fiancé from Bangladesh.

The woman’s father has been arrested along with her uncle, both of whom are members of a local vigilante group calling itself the Purity Task Force.

‘Bloody Hell,’ said Lilly.

As they sped towards Arlington, Lilly stole a glance at Taslima. She hadn’t spoken since they had left Luton and was looking straight ahead.

‘Do you think Raffy could be involved with this gang?’ Lilly asked.

Taslima kept her eyes dead ahead. ‘The PTF’s not a gang, it’s much more dangerous than that.’

Lilly tried to ease the tension. ‘At least you’ll be OK.’

‘What?’

Lilly gestured to Taslima’s headscarf. ‘No one can accuse you of bending the rules.’

‘The hijab gives me the freedom to make my own decisions.’ Taslima’s eyes sparkled. ‘I wear it out of respect for myself, not because a man tells me I should.’

Lilly was sceptical. Surely Taslima dressed as she was expected?

‘Is it really your choice?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t it just part of how you were brought up?’

‘Of course not.’ Taslima straightened her back. ‘My mother and sister don’t cover their heads except in the mosque.’

‘So why do you want to wear it all the time?’

‘I don’t wish to be seen as trivial or vain.’ Taslima seemed to grow two inches. ‘I wish to be taken seriously.’

Lilly glanced down at her maternity trousers with their sweaty elastic waistband. ‘No one ever takes me seriously.’

A smile spread across Taslima’s face. ‘You are so funny.’

‘It wasn’t a joke.’

‘You’re a lawyer, Lilly, you make decisions that affect children’s lives every day of the week,’ said Taslima. ‘Of course people take you seriously.’

Lilly checked her reflection in the mirror. She was developing a double chin.

‘Maybe it’s just me, then.’

Lilly pulled into the car park of Arlington YOI.

‘This is a prison!’ Taslima exclaimed.

Lilly looked up at the twenty-foot fence topped with razor wire that stood between them and the monolithic concrete block casting huge shadows into the distance.

‘What were you expecting?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure.’ Taslima shook her head. ‘But not this.’

Institutions for young offenders were supposed to be different from adult prisons. The website for Arlington promised education and programmes devised to produce law-abiding citizens. Activities ranged from catering to ceramic design. Buzz words littered the home page: ‘rehabilitation’, ‘specialist support’. In reality it was a prison.

They locked the Mini Cooper and headed to reception where a guard checked their identification. His pot belly was squeezed into a navy sweatshirt emblazoned with the word ‘Securitas’.

‘Don’t they wear proper uniforms?’ Taslima whispered.

Lilly placed her hand in the print scanner. ‘The place is run by a private security company.’

‘To make it less austere?’ Taslima asked.

‘To make it cheaper,’ Lilly replied.

They passed along a grey corridor lit entirely by fluorescent strips that winked ominously. There were no windows and a strong smell of disinfectant.

‘How many boys are here?’ asked Taslima.

‘About four hundred.’

Taslima stopped in her tracks and cocked her head. ‘Where are they all?’

‘In their cells.’

‘But it’s the middle of the day.’

‘Twenty-three hours’ bang-up,’ said Lilly. ‘Welcome to the Tenth Circle of Hell.’

Jack rubbed his forehead. He could feel the furrows beneath his fingers. When had he got so old? This morning
he’d noticed a couple of renegade whiskers sprouting from his ears. And grey ones at that.

He looked at his desk, covered in paperwork and empty paper cups, like every other desk in the room.

Nothing ever changed, from the ugly décor to the piss-taking banter. His life seemed to be stuck on pause.

Even he and Lilly were stuck in a rigid knitting pattern of fight, fight, kiss, fight, fight, kiss. They were stale, like week-old bread, not even fit for toast.

His mobile bleeped with an incoming text. Expecting to hear from Lilly, Jack felt a jolt of surprise at the sight of Mara’s number.

Thank you very much for last night.

They’d met up in a cosy Thai place where the doll-like waitresses wore full-length sarongs and remembered their order without writing anything down.

‘I love it here,’ Mara said, dipping a cracker into a sticky red sauce and nibbling gracefully.

She told him how she’d spent a year teaching English in Bangkok before travelling on to Vietnam and India. How the journey from Jaipur to Delhi had taken days, and each night she’d slept on the bus, not because she had no money for a hotel but because she wanted to.

She showed him a beautiful ring with a square green stone that she’d bought in Chiang Mai for thirty pounds.

‘They said it was jade,’ she laughed, ‘but I’d bet my arse it’s not.’

As Jack slurped his Tom Kah Kai he was ashamed to admit he’d never been further than the Costa del Sol,
when he and a mate had spent the week fighting hangovers and sunstroke.

When he told Mara his theory about Ryan and his mother she put her hand to her mouth.

‘That’s awful.’

‘I could be wrong, of course,’ he said. ‘She didn’t actually tell me he was abusing her.’

Mara shook her head. ‘I guessed there was something wrong there, but not this.’

‘Like I say, I could be wrong.’

‘I’m sure you’re spot on, Jack,’ Mara said. ‘I saw what I wanted to see, I’m afraid, whereas you’re used to seeing things from every angle.’

He took another mouthful of soup, secretly pleased that she had such faith in his abilities.

‘Is there anything that I can do?’ she asked.

‘Difficult, unless she makes a complaint.’

Mara dabbed her mouth, her scarlet nails perfect against the white of the napkin. ‘Maybe I should speak to him,’ she said; ‘try to get through to him.’

The image of Ryan’s contorted face flashed through Jack’s mind, how he’d growled at his mother, the menace in his voice.

‘Absolutely not,’ he said. ‘I’ll tackle the lad.’

Then she smiled at him and put her hand on his knee. ‘I am so very grateful.’

Once again he rubbed his face. He had to admit to being very flattered at how appreciative Mara was. It made him feel useful and he hadn’t felt that way in a long time. If there was even the tiniest bubble of guilt rising to the surface, Jack pressed it firmly down.

He tapped the keys on his phone and pressed Send.

It was a pleasure.

‘Tell me about the PTF.’

Lilly slapped her papers on the table between herself and Raffy. The legal visits room was full and hot. More than twenty inmates bent over documents with their lawyers.

Raffy glared at her. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘An organisation that attacks Muslim girls for stepping out of line.’ Lilly held his stare. ‘Are you a member?’

Raffy laughed. ‘You are totally crazy.’

Another Asian boy swaggered past the table. Raffy held out his fist. ‘All right, brother.’

The boy touched the fist with his own and slouched towards a middle-aged man in slip-on shoes and a comb-over.

A white boy in the far corner got to his feet and began to grunt. He had a skin head and swastika tattoos fought for space amid the acne on his neck. He brought his hands to his armpits and imitated a monkey.

Raffy jumped to his feet. ‘You want to start something?’

The skinhead just laughed and threw a pen at the other Asian boy.

‘You are going to get your head mashed,’ Raffy shouted.

The guard dragged the skinhead out of the room and Raffy slumped back into his chair.

‘Fucking pussy.’

Lilly sighed. ‘My advice is to keep well out of any racial stuff.’

‘Did I ask for your advice?’

‘Nope, but I’m paid to give it,’ she said. ‘When it kicks off in here it’s not safe.’

Raffy shrugged. ‘Me and my brothers are perfectly safe.’

‘When are you going to get it into your head that Lilly is trying to help you?’ Taslima’s words were quiet but clear.

‘I don’t need no help from a
kafir
,’ he said.

‘Do you put your trust in Allah?’ she asked.

‘Of course.’

‘Well, how do you know he hasn’t sent Lilly to help?’

Raffy sneered at his lawyer. ‘Allah has sent me a white woman?’

‘Allah intended that women are equal to men,’ said Taslima.

‘I don’t have a problem with women,’ said Raffy. ‘My sisters are the sword of the Prophet.’

Taslima cocked her thumb at Lilly. ‘Then show this sister some respect. Unless you and your brethren are enjoying yourselves so much you don’t want to get out.’

Raffy’s shoulders slumped. ‘Fine.’

‘Fine,’ said Taslima.

Lilly nodded. ‘Fine.’

‘Let’s start again,’ said Lilly. ‘Are you a member of the Purity Task Force?’

‘I’ve never even heard of them,’ said Raffy.

Aasha feels sick. She’s slept on and off throughout the day but now she feels as though her stomach is pushing up into her mouth. She needs something to eat and drags herself to the kitchen.

Imran looks up from his iphone. ‘You look like shit.’

She ignores him and opens the fridge, searching for something bland and starchy. She pulls out a bowl of cold rice from the bottom shelf, punctures the cling film with a spoon and shovels it into her mouth.

Imran scowls. ‘Gross.’

She doesn’t even look up at him but takes both the bowl and the spoon and heads back to her bedroom.

‘I need to use your laptop,’ he calls after her.

‘No,’ she says over her shoulder.

‘What did you say to me?’

Aasha walks away.

Back in her own space, she takes a gulp from the mug of tea that has sat by her bedside all day, then propels another mouthful of rice down her throat. She gags a little but manages to keep it down. She takes another swig of cold tea and makes a decision: she won’t sit around any longer feeling sorry for herself. She’ll go over to see him and ask him outright what it is exactly that she has done wrong.

She’s in the middle of pulling on her trainers when there’s a knock at her door. Imran opens it before Aasha can answer.

She carries on tying her laces. ‘What do you want?’

‘You are acting very weird.’

He’s right, she is acting weird. Well, not weird exactly, but definitely out of character. He’s used to her bowing and scraping to him, just like Mum, but not any more.

She stands up and smooths her shirt down over her hips. It could do with an iron but she doesn’t much care how she looks.

‘I thought you were ill,’ says Imran.

‘I am,’ she replies, and grabs her jacket.

‘Mum’s not going to like your attitude,’ he says.

‘Mum’s not here.’

He blocks the doorway. ‘I don’t like it either.’

She doesn’t answer, but pushes past him. At first he resists and for a moment she wonders if he will physically stop her from leaving. They tussle for a few seconds but he soon relaxes and lets her past.

‘I don’t know what you think you’re up to,’ he says, ‘but you’re bringing a whole heap of shit down on your head.’

She does up the buttons on her jacket and slams the door behind her.

Aasha knows from Lailla that Ryan lives in a bad part of town but she’s still shocked. Bury Park isn’t exactly Hollywood but the Clayhill Estate is horrible. There are smashed bottles and dog turds everywhere. The Spar is already closed even though it’s only seven. Its iron grille has been pulled down and locked.