Child of Mayhem (sneak peek!)

6

The light on the first floor was on when Ilham got home. He remembered his mother saying she had plans and wouldn't be back until ten. It could have been Ayu, but it was the weekend and his sister would have taken Fatin and Nia to visit their father.

The front door was unlocked.

Inside, the living room was a mess. Drawers had been opened, items spilled everywhere. Upstairs, his belongings were scattered on his bedroom floor, his books, cassette tape collection, even pillows and blankets.

As he picked up his old boxing gloves something moved at the corner of his eye. A shadow lurked outside his door.

Ilham sprinted and tackled the figure in the corridor, plunging them both down the stairs. Pain struck his side. Opposite him, scrambling to get up, was a man clutching his wounded arm. The stranger escaped through the front door. Ilham ran to catch him, but whoever had gotten into his house was gone, blending into the night.

When he told Zarif and Adi the next day they assumed it was either Kavish or a common burglar.

"I'm betting on Kavish." Adi helped himself to a glass of orange juice from the pantry. There were smudges on his shirt after coming straight from the workshop. "You said nothing was stolen. What thief doesn't steal anything?"

They were in The Lounge at Zarif's house. It had a sliding door leading to the pool. A piano was placed by the window for decorative purposes and a chandelier made out of branches hung from the ceiling. An endless supply of food filled the cabinets and refrigerator, ranging from sour candies, potato chips, tubs of ice cream and boxes of soda cans. Posters lined the wall above the flat-screen television, most of them being black and white movies from the fifties. Among other things Zarif collected were his prized teddy bears locked behind a glass case. When asked about them he'd swear they would be worth millions in the next ten years.

"He's probably getting back for what happened at the country club," Ilham said.

Zarif sat in the leather armchair, his face twisted into a scowl. "I'm still not over what he did to my car. Did you know that girl Batrisya is going out with him now?"

Adi scoffed into his drink. "I'm not surprised. Ilham?"

Ilham slouched on the matching leather sofa. "Forget about her. What do we do about Kavish?"

Zarif picked up a cushion and squeezed it. "Throw mud at his car."

"Let's trash his house instead. Like what he did to mine."

"Nah, security's too tight. His dad's got, like, three different kinds."

"Call up Teoh. He always got brilliant ideas. Or maybe Akim. His are less likely to get us in trouble."

Adi said, "I have an idea."

"No," said Ilham and Zarif at once.

***

The minute Ilham came through the door he was attacked by his nieces. Nia grabbed his leg while Fatin pulled at his shirt.

Ilham wobbled into the living room with the two attached to him. "Um, Kak? A little help?"

His sister hardly looked away from the television screen. "Kids, your uncle is back from a long day and he's probably stinky and sweaty," Ayu said lazily. As always, she looked like she'd been fighting battles. Her headscarf sagged over her shoulders. Her eyebags were about to drop at her feet.

The girls screamed and ran off, laughing.

Faridah came out from the kitchen, holding a cup of tea. "You're back," she said. "Where were you?"

"At Zarif's." Ilham tugged at his gloves and threw them towards the sofa. They landed right on Ayu's head.

"Why don't you go wash up. I made gulai ayam."

"Do I have to? Can't I eat now?"

She waved for him to move along.

Pouting, he went upstairs. He paused at the top, bending over the handrail. Long scratch marks grazed the paint where the intruder had gripped when they fell.

Noises came from his room as he inspected the marks. He listened to the sound of movements and carefully advanced towards the door. When he entered, he nearly tripped as a shape popped out from behind the door. It had a wide smile and a hearty laugh.

Ilham calmed himself after the near heart attack. "Uncle Abdul?"

"I got you there, didn't I?"

The shock on his face melted into a grin. "What are you doing here?" He stooped to engulf his uncle in a large embrace.

"Am I not allowed to visit?" Abdul squeezed Ilham's shoulders, stepping back to take a look at him. "I feel like you keep growing every time I see you. If that's even possible."

"How long have you been hiding in here?"

"Not long."

Abdul was of average height but stood short next to his favourite nephew. Well, his only nephew. He looked young for his age, not a single strand of grey hair for someone in his early forties.

"I thought you were in South Korea," Ilham said.

"Well, I'm back, so hurry and wash up because I'm starving."

A moment later they were gathered at the dining table, eating Faridah's homemade gulai ayam. It was noisier with Abdul's stories from his trip, plus Fatin and Nia's fight over the cheesecake he'd brought. Faridah had to keep it back in the refrigerator.

"How is it?" Faridah asked.

"It's perfect," Ayu said. She put a spoonful of rice in her mouth and continued with her struggle to get Nia to eat.

Fatin hadn't touched her food after one taste. She peered at Ilham beside her, who raised his brows at her plate.

"Fatin, aren't you going to eat?" Faridah said. Fatin widened her eyes at her uncle as a sign for help. Faridah observed Ilham next, noticing him being a little too quiet. "What is it?" She prepared herself for whatever comment he had.

"It may need a bit of salt," he said sheepishly. He should have mentioned a few other ingredients his mother had forgotten, over-sprinkled and didn't sprinkle enough.

"Oh dear, you're right." She dashed into the kitchen. "I forgot to put salt!"

After dinner, Abdul handed a bag of gifts to each. There was a music box for Fatin, a snow globe for Nia and T-shirts for the respective adults.

"Did you get all these on your business trip?" Ilham asked.

"That and more." Abdul brought out a ton of fridge magnets and laid them out.

Ilham got up from the floor. "That reminds me." He left for his room and came back with a large bag and offered it to Abdul. "A belated Father's Day gift."

He sat back down and watched Abdul pull out a record.

"No way." Abdul's smile broadened as he flipped the record of The Beatles around. He touched the cover to make sure it was real. "Where did you get this?"

"Online."

"And where, may I ask, did you get the money for it?"

"I saved up from my part-time job at the bakery."

He took out the record, checking its design. "Even my own daughter couldn't think of getting me this."

"Zaria forgot about Father's Day?"

"Oh, no, she remembered," he said as he kept the record back inside its sleeve.

"What did she get you?"

"She got me a pen."