The worst is happening. I\u2019m moving against the crowd, sidestepping and brushing elbows and shoulders with home fans as they march towards the stadium turnstiles. I catch a couple of dirty looks and hear a mutter of \u201cPillock!\u201d as I force others into halts and swerves; then I see through a gap that Mousa his still, both hands raised with palms upwards and his head tilted to look to the sky. Aware of the bulge under his hoodie I think \u201cOh fuck! He\u2019s doing it!\u201d, feel an impending obliteration and charge through the gap. I throw myself forwards thinking if he\u2019s on the floor, with me on top, it would smother some of the blast and fewer people would die. I dive at him, spreading my arms, my face into his, knocking him backwards and knowing this is where I die.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
————————————-<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He had never been like that. I remember asking him when we were kids what the name Mousa meant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s the prophet Moses.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWasn\u2019t he Jewish?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOnly \u2018cos they didn\u2019t have Islam when he was alive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDoes that make you a Jewish Muslim?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He laughed and told me to fuck off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If he was ever into that fundamentalist stuff it never showed. At school he hung out with our gang rather than any of the other Muslim kids, and was more interested in football, Marvel movies and hip-hop than anything to do with religion. As we grew older he didn\u2019t touch alcohol but he did join us in puffing some weed on the edges of the park; and he got into the talk about girls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAren\u2019t you having one of them arranged marriages?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYeah, me mum and dad are setting me up with that Taylor Swift?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI thought she only went for blokes in cowboy hats?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI got meself one of them.\u201d He pointed at his crotch. \u201cBut she\u2019ll be more interested in what I got down \u2018ere bruv.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Yes, he was well integrated into a group of teenage dickheads.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He grew up going into his twenties, like the rest of us, got a decent job, stayed with his parents, and for a while was seeing a girl from another Muslim family. When it ended he told us they had got bored with each other and neither of their families had been pushing them, and we believed him. When we were out as a group he joined in the chat with girls, but we didn\u2019t know of him dating anyone and reckoned he was biding his time, waiting for one who was about the same blend of Muslim and north London as himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then he started to make a few unexpected remarks. First he referred to a right wing politician, one who was known for baiting Muslims, as a racist fuckwit. Fair enough, but it was unlike Mousa to say anything about politics. Then there was stuff about the latest round of madness in the Middle East. \u201cI don\u2019t believe their God\u2019s ever told them to do that.\u201d \u201cWho\u2019s looking for a holy war now?\u201d <\/em>A couple of weeks later he used the word \u2018genocide\u2019. I understood why he was wound up, thought the language was dodgy, and found it easier not to get into a conversation. Then one day we met up for a pizza, he dug into a coat pocket for his phone and pulled out an embroidered pouch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cA travelling prayer mat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow long have you been into that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cA while. Been going to mosque more regular as well.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat brought that on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m Muslim.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He was prickly, so I let it drop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The next time we met he was angry. When I arrived he was looking at his phone and cursing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat\u2019s pissed you off?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe prime minister. The leader of the other lot. Almost every politician in the country.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I realised what that was about \u2013 another blood letting in the Middle East and another round of complaints that in some way our government was supporting it. I didn\u2019t go along with the view but I wasn\u2019t going to argue with him, so I sat through an awkward spell of trying to talk about work and one of our mates who had broken up with his girlfriend. We were waiting for the bill when he looked at his phone again and muttered at the screen: \u201cYeah, a bomb under your arse.\u201d I felt glad to get away from him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Over the next few days I kept thinking about all those news reports of young Muslim men being radicalised into doing all kinds of mad shit, telling myself that Mousa would never get into that, then remembering those words: \u201cA bomb under your arse.\u201d <\/em>No. No. I told myself that I had allowed a bund of negative clich\u00e9s and stereotypes to creep into my head, that I was being unfair, even prejudiced, towards a mate. We were due to go to the football but I felt hesitant about calling him to make the meet. Then he called me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAll good for Saturday?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He sounded normal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah, all good.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve got to do something in the morning. I\u2019ll meet you outside the ground, near the first lot of turnstiles. I reckon twenty minutes before kick-off.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat have you got to do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cA bit of private stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wondered if I should have asked what it was, but given his recent moods that might have upset him, and he had sounded OK. So I made my way to the ground, thinking mainly about football but not quite putting those worries out of my mind. As I moved closer the crowd grew more dense, moved more slowly, and at first I couldn\u2019t see him where we had agreed to meet. Then I caught a glimpse of his face, about thirty yards, a moment where I thought there was eye contact but he quickly looked away. I took a step to the side and almost walked into a man moving against the crowd, an old Asian guy with a long beard and a prayer cap who said sorry and slid past me. It triggered a thought about the bad stuff, some of the things Mousa had said, and I had to push back against it once more, annoying the people around me. Then the crowd parted a little and I saw him, palms raised, looking up at the sky, with a bulge under his hoodie. I charged towards him knowing this is where I would die.<\/p>\n\n\n\n ————————————-<\/p>\n\n\n\n Now he\u2019s on the floor, his face beside mine as he bellows and turns to throw me off. My weight goes down on his stomach and I feel the bulge, and realise it\u2019s all soft. I hit the ground on my right side and feel his hand slap down on my left arm. Our eyes meet and he yells:<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat the fuck!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Feet shuffle around us, and I realise that the crowd has parted and faces are staring at the two maniacs on the ground. I manage to free my arm and claw at the bulge in his stomach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cUnder your hoodie. It\u2019s under your hoodie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He grabs the zip, pulls it down and two packages fall out. One is the prayer mat pouch; the other a larger canvass bag with an M&S logo. He holds up the first. \u201cYou know what that is!\u201d Then he takes the second, loosens the cord and pulls out a folded thin polyester jacket.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s my waterproof you fuckwit!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Now we both sit up, pushing ourselves a couple of feet apart. I\u2019m aware of a lot of people staring. I stuttered an explanation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt was your \u2026. hands, up in the air \u2026 and you were staring up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI was feeling the rain, beginning to think I should put this on!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He waved the jacket in my face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSorry, I thought it was \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t want to say it out loud. His stare hardened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cA bomb?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I nodded. He was silent for a few seconds. I pushed myself back a little further and bumped into a leg. A lot of people were watching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201c\u2019Coz I\u2019m Muslim.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t say anything. I heard some laughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYOU FUCKING FUCKWITTED FUCK!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n More people laughed. Mousa got to his feet and stormed off into the crowd. I didn\u2019t try to follow. I just went home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n ————————————-<\/p>\n\n\n\n Six weeks later I\u2019m at Tesco. I\u2019ve tried to call him but he hasn\u2019t taken my calls, and I\u2019m guessing that it would be a bad more to turn up on his doorstep. I haven\u2019t told anyone what happened, none of our mates, or my family, and I haven\u2019t been out apart from work and the routine shopping. I\u2019m still flattened by the embarrassment. Then there he is, in the fruit and veg section inspecting the aubergines. He turns and sees me. I want to run away but force myself to stand still. He approaches me, a stern but not quite angry look on his face. I say what has to be said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI owe you an apology.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah, alright.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI think what I did was caused by \u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t worry what it was caused by; I don\u2019t want to listen to a lot of detail about religious stereotypes and extreme fundamentalism.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah, OK.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd I\u2019ll tell you I\u2019ve been thinking about what you did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat have you been thinking?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhen you threw yourself at me you thought I was going to detonate a bomb, blow up a lot of people in the crowd. That right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s right. It was in my mind for a few seconds, but it got out of control.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNever mind, \u2018coz when you did it you knew you would get killed. You were ready to sacrifice yourself to save other people.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI suppose so. I didn\u2019t give it much thought.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut you were going to do it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I nod.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAlright, that was noble. Respect bruv.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He holds out a hand. Mne\u2019s trembling as I respond with a touch. He squeezes. I feel a moment of relief, faintly expecting that he\u2019s going to smile. Instead, his face hardens Then he speaks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNow fuck off!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"