He hadn’t been at the school long, moving up north from London to come to live with his mother on the south side of Bradford. He was popular and handsome, his cockney twang adding to his appeal, though it wasn’t just the girls who flitted around him and swooned over his six foot frame. The boys wanted to be his friend too. They seemed to respect him, understood he could handle himself. That he wasn’t going to be messed with. Even Mrs Rigby, the sixth form maths teacher, blushed when he went to talk to her.
So she’d been surprised when Raymond had moved his desk next to hers, though quietly pleased. At first she’d ignored him, but slowly she’d started to smile when she’d heard his jokes. Then the smiles had turned into laughter and they’d become friends. Good friends.
Laila didn’t know why he’d chosen to be her friend but she’d cautiously welcomed it. She loved it when he teased her as his blue eyes twinkled back at her. A smile. A laugh. A tease. That’s all it
could
be. Even if she’d wanted to take it further, she couldn’t. She knew that more than anybody. But what they had was still special to them and no-one could take their special away.
There hadn’t really been any physical contact, apart from that one time. That once. The day she’d decided to forget she was Laila Khan; respectful and dutiful daughter of the late Zarin Kahn and niece of the ever-present Mahmood Khan. That day last summer she’d chosen to walk to the bus stop with him instead of with her friends and they’d held each other’s hands.
‘Laila, your uncle will kill you if he sees you.’
‘He won’t though will he?’
She could hear the conversation now between her and her best friend and she’d been right; her uncle
hadn’t
seen them. Nobody had. But she hadn’t needed to be seen had she? All it had taken were words and as Laila sat at the table, trying to ignore her uncle’s cutting stare, she knew her friend had talked. Not intentionally, but talked all the same. Probably to her sister who in turn had no doubt talked to her mother or an elder before the words had found their way back to her uncle. And it was this talk which had her uncle staring at her with so much contempt. ‘Uncle … it was nothing. Nothing happened … I was …’
The look on her uncle’s face made Laila stop talking. The rage which was already there in his eyes had turned into something else. Hatred. But worse still, when she glanced at her brother and saw what looked like disappointment on Tariq’s face, she couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t bear to have her brother, who she loved more than anyone in the world, look like she’d let him down.
She watched as her uncle nodded his head to her mother – who’d sat silently throughout – gesturing to her to leave the room. Laila could feel her legs trembling as Mahmood walked round the table towards her. He pulled her up as he grabbed her arm, painfully squeezing it as he did so. She saw Tariq step forward, then stop. Her uncle’s face pressed onto hers as he spoke in a hiss. ‘There is no place in this life for little whores. So understand this; if it wasn’t for your brother pleading your case Laila, you might not have had a tomorrow.’
Laila pulled back, terrified by what her uncle was insinuating. Though it wasn’t an insinuation was it? It was an outright threat. Clear for her to understand. She knew her family respected their cultural teachings, as she did. But this? She knew this wasn’t part of it. Couldn’t they see she hadn’t done anything wrong? She’d tried so hard to be obedient for her uncle but the harder she tried, the angrier he seemed to get. The more she asked questions about things, the more infuriated he got. She’d heard time and time again about what happened to girls in the community who brought shame and dishonour on their family. But
she
hadn’t brought shame. She’d walked less than the length of the high street with Raymond. Refusing his requests to go to McDonalds. Refusing his requests for him to walk her all the way home. It’d been innocent.
Mahmood dropped her arm and walked towards the door, deciding not to bother with a jacket. He turned to Laila as Tariq opened the dining room door.
‘
You
might have been lucky, but your boyfriend’s not going to have such an easy ride.’
Laila ran to her uncle, grabbing at his sleeve. ‘What are you going to do? … Uncle, please. He’s done nothing wrong.’
‘For someone who’s so innocent you seem to care an awful lot about what happens to him? You’re a disgrace.’
‘I don’t care … I mean I do care but not like that, I care because he’s done nothing … uncle, please, don’t touch him.’
Mahmood grabbed Laila’s hair, pulling her head back. ‘Try stopping me.’
He let go of her hair and started for the front door, but Laila refused to let him walk away. She grasped hold of him, trying to pull him back. She was beside herself with anguish and the tears rolled down her face as she cried. Her uncle sneered. She was out of control and he was going to enjoy seeing Raymond Thompson squeal. ‘
Izzat
, Laila. Honour. Doesn’t it mean anything?’
‘It means everything to me uncle, you know it does. But not like this. It isn’t about this.’
She let go of her uncle and ran to Tariq, pulling on him and hearing his shirt tearing as he tugged it away from her grip. ‘Tariq … no, stop. You can’t do this, leave him alone.’
The fear in Laila’s heart was mirrored in the look on Tariq’s face. He spoke in an urgent hush to his sister. ‘What do you
want
me to do Laila? I’ve got no choice.’
‘For me, please Tariq. Do what you want with me but leave him alone.’
Tariq couldn’t listen any more. He didn’t
want
to hear his sister like this. Couldn’t she see what harm she was doing by acting like this? It was just making their uncle more determined. More angry. And it made Tariq afraid his uncle would go back on his word and instead of just marrying Laila off, something worse, something more permanent would happen to her. Pushing Laila to one side, Tariq walked out of the dining room.
‘Tariq, no!’ Laila shouted after her brother. She needed to stop them but she didn’t know how. No one would help her. No one would get involved. This was family business; family
honour
and most people she knew would either think her uncle was doing the right thing or be too afraid to say anything.
She didn’t even have Raymond’s telephone number to warn him but she couldn’t let them hurt him. Not because of her. Without thinking, she picked up the phone.
‘Police, please.’
The phone went dead. Laila turned round. The first thing she saw was Mahmood come back into the hallway with the telephone wire he’d pulled out of the socket in his hand. The second thing she saw was his fist coming towards her. A moment later, Laila Khan blacked out.
Raymond Thompson or ‘Ray-Ray’ as his friends and family called him, looked in the mirror and smiled. He’d been blessed with good genes. His natural sun-kissed blonde hair tumbled onto his forehead, falling short of his dazzling blue eyes. And his big white smile gleamed out cheekily, charming both old and young.
He didn’t have to search far to see where his looks came from. His parents were a handsome couple. In his youth, his father, Freddie, had made Robert Redford look plain. His mother, Tasha, had been a hostess in one of the Soho clubs, persuading the punters to part with their cash for expensive glasses of champagne, whilst keeping their straying hands away. But she’d turned her back on it when she’d fallen in love with his father. And even years later, he knew his parents still turned heads.
Thinking of them made Ray feel sad; taking the edge off his good mood. He sighed heavily. His missed his father. He missed his old life. He wasn’t used to being up north. He was born and bred a Londoner, and had spent his whole life growing up in Soho. And then ten months ago, everything had changed. His father had been given a stretch and everyone, including the police, had been surprised when he’d
actually
been sent down.
His father was Freddie Thompson. The biggest face in London. One of the untouchables, or so he was supposed to have been, until the coppers had come knocking.
Almost three million in stolen jewellery had been found in one of the hundreds of lock-ups his father owned. Of course, everyone knew it was a set-up. A sting.
It hadn’t mattered that the coppers on the case had been bent, or that the evidence had been tampered with and the jury members squeezed. The powers that be had just wanted to get him off the streets, and the end result was the same. They had Freddie Thompson. The most dangerous man in London. The biggest villain in the south. But to Ray-Ray Thompson, they had his dad.
The eight year sentence had been bad enough, though the barrister and his father’s highly paid legal team had put in an appeal based on a technicality, getting his sentence reduced. So at worst they’d said his father would be walking free by Christmas.
That had been the plan and everyone had been happy. A couple more months inside had been doable. What wasn’t good was what happened after his father’s successful appeal. That was where the real problem lay. And that problem had added a life sentence to his prison term.
Ray-Ray shrugged his shoulders, trying to get rid of the sadness he felt. He didn’t want to think any more. It was summertime, and he refused to let another month go by when all he did was mope around.
Only this morning his mother had told him the best news he’d heard in a long time. They were moving back to Soho. By the end of the summer they’d be back in London amongst their friends and family. They could finally try to start to get some of their life back.
Neither his mother or him had wanted to come up to Bradford, but his father had insisted, and no one argued with Freddie Thompson. Not even when he was sat behind a bulletproof screen in Belmarsh prison. They’d moved to the north for two reasons.
Firstly, his Dad hadn’t known exactly who else besides the coppers were behind the set-up, so he’d wanted to get them out of London whilst his men sounded out the danger; if of course there was any. The second, and the reason they’d ended up specifically in Bradford, was that one of his father’s friends had moved to the north a few years ago to get his daughter away from the drugs scene, and his Dad had asked his friend to keep an eye out for them.
Putting on his black Alexander McQueen shirt, Ray-Ray knew he should’ve been more excited about the move back down South than he was. Yes, it was good news, but each time he thought about it, within a few moments the shine had been taken off his excitement. And two small words told him why. Laila Khan.
It was stupid. She hardly even talked to him. It was him who did all the talking. Bunnying away ten to the dozen whilst she just sat and listened. Staring up at him with her beautiful eyes. Ray-Ray felt soft admitting it, but she was special. What they had was special even though he didn’t quite know what they really had. Even when he’d walked with her to the bus stop together, all she’d really done was occasionally glance at him with her huge brown eyes and smile, holding his hand gently but fearfully. But that had been enough for him. Just being in her presence was enough.
She was shy. He liked that. But more than that, she was different from any of the girls he hung around with in Soho. Instead of legs and tits, blow jobs free and paid for, Laila covered up wearing long skirts and loose tops. She fascinated him. And as his father always said, he knew how to appreciate real beauty. She was stunning and the more she covered up, the more alluring to him she was.
She had long jet-black hair which touched the base of her spine. Big almond eyes pooled with warmth and kindness. To Raymond, Laila was perfect. And as his father used to say about his mother, ‘
she was a diamond ring in a muddy football pitch
.’
The sound of a car alarm made Ray-Ray look at his platinum Rolex watch; a seventeenth birthday present from his father. He needed to stop thinking about Laila and get a move on. He was supposed to be at the cinema on the other side of town by eight with some of his mates.
He turned to see his mother, Tasha, watching him. She gave him a big smile before gently rearranging his shirt collar.
‘You look a sort, babe. Going anywhere nice?’
His mother’s voice was soft and lulling but her cockney accent was clear to hear.
‘No, just going to the cinema. You don’t look too bad yourself.’
‘I’m going to meet your Auntie Linda; she came up for the day.’ Tasha smiled at her son, holding him a little tighter and a little longer than normal. Both of them knew what she’d just said wasn’t true. Her stepsister Linda was no more likely to leave Soho than the Queen would leave the royal family, and Tasha was grateful to her son for playing along with her untruth. She knew he didn’t feel comfortable with what she was doing; of course she hadn’t said anything to him, but he wasn’t stupid. She knew Ray-Ray would feel like he was betraying his father by not saying anything and therefore feel like he was somehow complicit in the whole situation.
But Tasha also knew Ray-Ray would be in no doubt what would happen to her if Freddie ever got even the slightest hint she was seeing someone else. And no one wanted that. Not her, not Ray-Ray and in a way, not even Freddie. So Ray-Ray played along, not wanting to know any more than he’d already guessed and not asking any questions. And as she said to herself in an attempt to make herself feel better;
what he didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him
. The last thing Tasha Thompson wanted to do was hurt her precious son.
He was so like his father in many ways, but in the one way that mattered he wasn’t. Ray-Ray was kind. He had a heart. Her husband was the opposite. It always amazed her how, despite this, Ray-Ray doted on his father, and his father on him. They idolised each other and turned a blind eye to the parts they didn’t want to see.
Ray-Ray chose to ignore what his father did, much in the way he chose to ignore what Tasha was doing now. Freddie was notorious; putting the fear into the hardest face. That’s what had attracted her to him all those years ago.
Tasha’s father had been a bully and handy with his fists, and her mother had been nowhere to be seen for most of her childhood. The combination of an absent mother and a bully of a father had driven Tasha into Freddie’s arms, seeing him as someone who could protect her from her father. And he had.