Shaheed!

Chapter 4: Lorelei's Bounty

Clusters of students made their way amongst the tower blocks towards Lyme Road School. Children of every colour, every denomination: with English the new lingua franca. Those who kept themselves apart either adhered to a militant religion or had a particular gang affiliation, or couldn't speak English. Everyone living in Farm Estate knew each other, at least by sight. Strangers stood out.

Lorelei scanned the street for any sign of her former father, Valon, but was no longer certain what he looked like.

A seagull flew against the distant skyline. She imagined a mathematical formula predicting where it would be in five seconds. For an absolute position, she factored the Earth's rotation of 0.465 kilometres per second into the equation. Plus, the earth's orbit around the sun at 29.7 kilometres per second, and the sun's own 250 million-year rotation around the Milky Way galaxy, moving at 220 kilometres per second. Then, the Milky Way itself was moving at 630 kilometres per second towards the Shapely Supercluster. And the universe itself was expanding at Hubble's Constant, at around 73 kilometres per second. Yet, from a relative position, the seagull had hardly moved at all. Lorelei found the emotionless structure of mathematics beautiful.

Ethnic food stores, takeaways and charity shops lined the main thoroughfare of Lyme Road. Adorning the windows of vacant premises were posters of bands and stand-up comedians due to appear in pubs. Graffiti tags left no wall blank, and cars of every hue zoomed by. Grime covered everything. Nothing had been built with aesthetic sensibility, except maybe the tiny protective housings of high-tech security cameras; the glossy black domes attached to lampposts and building corners. It was strange to think that people in some far-off building were watching her on a TV screen. One of her teachers had said that they were for her protection, but no-one ever came to help. Not here. So how could her mother think she would be safer on the street?

Lorelei's phone tinkled as another text came through.

"frank doesn't believe ur mr urqhart" It was Patasa.

"uv created a monster" Lorelei was tempted to confide in Patasa about Valon and what her mother had said, but she didn't think she could bring herself to speak about it. Not even at the Trauma Therapy group later, where everyone shared their personal horror stories. Her mother had told her not to tell anyone.

A buzzer sounded when she entered the newsagent, loud enough for someone to hear even from the outhouse behind the shop. The Sikh at the counter glanced up from under a neatly-wrapped turban, his thick beard and moustache disguising a half smile. He placed a Bounty chocolate bar on the counter. It was Lorelei's morning ritual.

She had had other rituals: never looking at her reflection, reciting prime numbers, counting red cars, making secret signs with her hands behind her back. She had hoped they would keep her safe; now she understood they merely stopped her from thinking. "When you're not thinking, you're not thinking bad things, right?" Mrs Brown suggested that she replace all her rituals with eating her favourite chocolate bar. "Then it's impossible to have bad thoughts, right?"

Lorelei passed the Sikh her coins. She wondered what the long, dark hair wrapped under his turban would look like when unravelled down to his waist. They rarely spoke, communicating instead with faint nods and smiles.

The door buzzer sounded and three youths sauntered in. Tall and dressed in black, they wore black beanies covered by hoods. Thick silver chains gleamed against dark skin and black cotton. Chests out and arms swaying, their voices were on high volume. They blocked the exit, trapping Lorelei.

They were in her class at school, and from the Estate. Without a figure of sufficient authority nearby, they pestered any girl relentlessly. If she was attractive the gang would demand sexual favours, and only half in jest; if not, they would taunt her about the different ways they would refuse sex. Part of a massive gang on Farm Estate, they spoke gang lingo with a London-Caribbean accent. Yet, of the three standing before her, only Jonathan was from Jamaica. Ologo was from Nigeria, and Mustafa from Pakistan. Except for teachers, few would use these names. Instead, they were known by their gang tags: Young Retz, Batter and Silva.