of them – who’d notice the difference, for one? However, there was SOMETHING I could do with scissors and superglue that would make a LOT of difference to their lovely jubbly quality of life, the twisted trollops . . .
I grabbed Duane and shoved him against the glass front of the amusement arcade at the bottom of West Street. ‘You got a key to their place?’
‘I can nick one—’
‘You know what date they’re showing their crap collection?’
‘I can find out—’
‘Come on then!’ I grabbed his hand and pulled him across the road towards the sea. Car horns shrieked in protest, but I was used to that; I didn’t give a damn about the clamour or the anger that followed in my wake – bring it on! The thing was that I had a plan, and I was back on my feet, teetering down the shingle in high heels, dragging a laughing Duane after me. MY LIFE!
9
Well, it was a somewhat different Sugar who clocked in at Stanwick next day, Saturday, and while I can’t exactly claim that I embraced my mop and bucket as though they were him off of T4, or even my passport to a better life, I did look at them like there were a pair of old – what’s the word – adversaries , that’s right, who had to be faced before I could move on to anything else.
Another difference was that I was no longer looking down my nose at young Asif. Instead I was looking down my cleavage at him, grinning like a loon, while he failed to notice me and instead nodded seriously at what Navdeep was saying.
‘See, kid, what the English are only just starting to understand is that your extreme Muslim didn’t come here to get freedom from persecution – he came here to get the freedom to persecute everybody else! Now what were you telling me about your church in Pakistan—’
‘Ooh, are you religious?’ I asked brightly. ‘My –’ I was about to say, ‘My husband’s a Lutheran,’ but then I reckoned it probably wasn’t the greatest chat-up line in the world. ‘My, that’s good!’ I swerved.
‘My parents – we’re Christians,’ said Asif proudly.
‘Onward Christian soldiers!’ I said fiercely, giving a clenched fist salute.
Asif looked appalled.
‘I’ll leave you kids to your theological discussion,’ laughed Nav, getting up. ‘I dunno, Maria, though – you Brits and your precious multiculturalism. It’s all sweetness and light when it’s curry houses and late opening corner shops, but it’s not so much fun when it’s honour-killings and book-burning, is it! Or murdering the rest of us. Ask him!’ He inclined his head towards Asif. ‘I can’t help thinking about what my mum says when she sees ’em marching about, having the screaming abdabs – “I came here from the Punjab because I wanted to live in England – not because I want to live in a multicultural country. If I’d wanted to live in one of them, I’d have stayed in India!”.’ And with that he went to whup Nev’s aye-ss over a new Sudoku.
I looked at Asif. He was staring at me with shining eyes, both eager and wary. I held his look, rolled it around a bit, and bounced it right back at him with bells on. ‘So, we on for this thea – thea – this logical discussion, then?’ I twinkled.
He nodded. ‘I am always free when not at work – apart from church, of course.’
‘Of course,’ I agreed angelically. ‘Me too.’ I paused then, got right to the point. ‘So, like, you want to get some, ASAP?’
‘Absolutely.’ He took my hand in his, and as I looked down at it, I got this warm glow right in the core of my stomach. At first I thought it was because of the colour thing, the racial harmony thing, and I felt well proud of myself.
But then a split second later I realized it was because our hands, joined like that, looked like a Benetton ad. And that made me feel like a model – as near as I was ever gonna get to being one now. Which reminded me . . .
But pleasure before business! ‘So when you want to do it?’
‘Tomorrow
I grabbed Duane and shoved him against the glass front of the amusement arcade at the bottom of West Street. ‘You got a key to their place?’
‘I can nick one—’
‘You know what date they’re showing their crap collection?’
‘I can find out—’
‘Come on then!’ I grabbed his hand and pulled him across the road towards the sea. Car horns shrieked in protest, but I was used to that; I didn’t give a damn about the clamour or the anger that followed in my wake – bring it on! The thing was that I had a plan, and I was back on my feet, teetering down the shingle in high heels, dragging a laughing Duane after me. MY LIFE!
9
Well, it was a somewhat different Sugar who clocked in at Stanwick next day, Saturday, and while I can’t exactly claim that I embraced my mop and bucket as though they were him off of T4, or even my passport to a better life, I did look at them like there were a pair of old – what’s the word – adversaries , that’s right, who had to be faced before I could move on to anything else.
Another difference was that I was no longer looking down my nose at young Asif. Instead I was looking down my cleavage at him, grinning like a loon, while he failed to notice me and instead nodded seriously at what Navdeep was saying.
‘See, kid, what the English are only just starting to understand is that your extreme Muslim didn’t come here to get freedom from persecution – he came here to get the freedom to persecute everybody else! Now what were you telling me about your church in Pakistan—’
‘Ooh, are you religious?’ I asked brightly. ‘My –’ I was about to say, ‘My husband’s a Lutheran,’ but then I reckoned it probably wasn’t the greatest chat-up line in the world. ‘My, that’s good!’ I swerved.
‘My parents – we’re Christians,’ said Asif proudly.
‘Onward Christian soldiers!’ I said fiercely, giving a clenched fist salute.
Asif looked appalled.
‘I’ll leave you kids to your theological discussion,’ laughed Nav, getting up. ‘I dunno, Maria, though – you Brits and your precious multiculturalism. It’s all sweetness and light when it’s curry houses and late opening corner shops, but it’s not so much fun when it’s honour-killings and book-burning, is it! Or murdering the rest of us. Ask him!’ He inclined his head towards Asif. ‘I can’t help thinking about what my mum says when she sees ’em marching about, having the screaming abdabs – “I came here from the Punjab because I wanted to live in England – not because I want to live in a multicultural country. If I’d wanted to live in one of them, I’d have stayed in India!”.’ And with that he went to whup Nev’s aye-ss over a new Sudoku.
I looked at Asif. He was staring at me with shining eyes, both eager and wary. I held his look, rolled it around a bit, and bounced it right back at him with bells on. ‘So, we on for this thea – thea – this logical discussion, then?’ I twinkled.
He nodded. ‘I am always free when not at work – apart from church, of course.’
‘Of course,’ I agreed angelically. ‘Me too.’ I paused then, got right to the point. ‘So, like, you want to get some, ASAP?’
‘Absolutely.’ He took my hand in his, and as I looked down at it, I got this warm glow right in the core of my stomach. At first I thought it was because of the colour thing, the racial harmony thing, and I felt well proud of myself.
But then a split second later I realized it was because our hands, joined like that, looked like a Benetton ad. And that made me feel like a model – as near as I was ever gonna get to being one now. Which reminded me . . .
But pleasure before business! ‘So when you want to do it?’
‘Tomorrow
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