This chapter addresses cultural issues and cross-culture friendships. There is also a very interesting little twist. I hope you like it.

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Having described how Chrissie and Billy’s lives went forward, I am forced now to take a step back and describe events that occurred at Rosy Cottage during the summer before the girls Jennifer, Beatrice, Chenille and Martina commenced their attendance at St Angela’s school. That was the same summer that Sylvia conceived Michael by artificial insemination with Billy’s semen.
The news of Sylvia’s successful conception brought an immensely happy atmosphere to both Rosy Cottage and the Turpin Farmstead and that summer was a warm time of ease and contentment. The children were preparing to take scholarship exams in an attempt to reduce the costs of tuition for their attendance at St Angela’s.

However, that is another tale related in Martina’s story that I will one day find time to tell.

My story now touches upon some distressing events that followed on from the Honour killings that I for one, had thought resolved after the evil perpetrators had been finally sent down for many years.

Some months into Sylvia’s pregnancy, Dot came to me when she brought down another group of Birmingham children for a fortnight’s holiday. She had some shocking news and I felt the cold tentacles of dread sneaking up my spine as I noted her distressed expression.

“What is it, Dot,” I asked; expecting the worst.

“There was a shooting a few weeks ago in Warwick.”

“Oh no! Please don’t tell me! Not Yusaf?”

“Thankfully he’s not dead Bev, but he’s in hospital.”

“What’s the prognosis?”

“He’ll recover. Three bullets hit him but they were all flesh wounds in the upper legs and buttocks. The doctors say he’ll have some spectacular scarring but he won’t be able to show them because they are somewhat intimately placed.”
I grinned but Dot’s demeanour quickly wiped out any relief I felt.

“There’s more Bev. Little Maha was hit by a ricochet.”

“Oh God. How’s she.”

“It’s not good. A bullet fragment entered her spine and lodged against the spinal chord. She paralysed from the waist down.”

“Oh my God! Just how much more do those kids have to take? What of the boy, Emir?”

“He’s unharmed but he’s very disturbed. He’s having anger management problems.”

“Well so would I if my mother was brutally murdered in front of me by my own grandfather and great-grandfather and then my twin sister was shot!”

Dot hesitated as she reconsidered her own views on it. Then she spoke thoughtfully.

“Well; when you put it like that, Bev, I suppose you’ve got a point. Whatever the issues, Imam Yusaf reckons his work is cut out keeping the boy on the rails.”

“Oh, you’ve spoken to him then.”

“I’ve spoken to them both. The boy seems OK with me and more particularly, Andrew. That guy’s got a real way with kids. Just look at him there now with that group in the training ring.”

I turned to watch as the large man was showing one of the kids how to tighten the girth. They were laughing about something and both Dot and I smiled. ‘Dot was right, Andrew was a natural.’ So much so that Sian had considered offering him the part time job of extra stable hand. He would be able to legitimately supplement his wages with Birmingham Social services whilst improving his expertise with the horses. Now that Sylvia’s ‘bump’ was beginning to ‘show’ it was difficult for her to undertake much physical work. Andrew’s appointment, once approved by Birmingham Social services, would be serendipity. His additional strength would also be of enormous help when dealing with the disabled children and mounting the horses. A charity in London had teamed up with several of the London boroughs and we were slowly putting together a deal to help disabled kids enjoy riding.
As I was thinking about the disabled children deal I suddenly thought of Maha. I turned to Dot to discuss the Kurdish children’s case again.

“I get the feeling you want to bring Maha and Emir down here again.”

“Yes, Bev, Dot confessed. She loves riding and if she’s able to ride again I think it might help her recover from her depression. She’s wheel-chair bound now and she feels utterly useless.”

“Yeah, it seems like a good idea Dot, but the disable thing is not up and running yet.”

“She’s an experience rider though Bev, she might be able to give some input into the arrangements. Test them out and such like. My idea is to make her feel useful, help give her a purpose in life. At the moment she’s almost suicidal.”

“Well, I can only say yes, Dot. Bring them down by all means. The trouble is they’ll have to stay at my cottage. We’re fully booked with the Social services stuff. The next group are from London, they’ll be here a week Monday after you leave on the Saturday.”

“Busy, busy girl, Bev.” Dot smiled.

“Not me petal, Sian and Sylvia are the busy ones. I’m the retired one don’t forget.”

“Yeah, like you and a fleet of flipping ships,” Dot mocked gently.

I smiled and we went for coffee in the dormitory. The children had finished their first morning session and they were having a break. They were drinking an assortment of juices and fresh milk while we adults sipped our coffee. As I sat back at ease with my coffee amidst the bedlam of noisy kids, Dot studied me and grinned.

“Don’t try telling me you hate kids.”

“Well we’re all allowed to change our minds, but don’t forget Dot, it’s been a long road for some.”

She reached across the table and squeezed my free hand as she continued smiling.

“Yes, and all the better for your having walked it.”

I smiled softly; I could not deny that I was enjoying the rush and the clamour but it was rather like the grandparent’s love of their grand-children. Nice to be able to hand them back.

After the break finished, I returned to my cottage and left Dot to address the admin. It was not until the evening that she spoke again about the Kurdish children and Yusaf.
The following morning I spoke to Yusaf and we organised their visit.

Four weeks later after Yusafs' wounds had become less painful and Maha was familiarised with her wheel-chair the Islamic trio arrived in tow with the next Birmingham Social Services visit. Yusafs’ car followed the two minibuses up the lane and whilst Dot, Andrew, Sian and Sylvia settled the other Children, Chrissie and I Invited Yusaf and the two children into our cottage.
Our disable facilities were not yet ready in the main dormitory block so we had to invite Maha as a private guest of our family to avoid the rigorous health and safety laws. Yusaf and Emir were invited to share one of the bedrooms upstairs whilst the only room we could make suitable for Maha was my study. The cottage had no facilities for getting a wheel-bound person upstairs.
Maha grinned as we dragged my desk against the wall and stacked my revolving ‘captains’ chair’ on top of it. Then we moved Chrissies favourite ‘saggy-baggy, thinking chair’ out of the little bay window in the study and relocated it in the drawing room for the duration of Maha’s stay. As we Pulled and tugged the scruffy old armchair across the hall Chrissie joked.

“You realise the sacrifices I’m making for you don’t you. This is the famous ‘saggy-bag- chair’ it’s my holy of holies. Only mummy Bev can kick me out of this chair. You’re hugely privileged to have this chair moved just for your bed.”

Maha fell silent then mumbled.

“I’d far prefer it if I could sleep upstairs.”

Chrissie’s smile died in its infancy.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry! I jus’ didn’t think. Oh I’m so sorry! Tell her mummy, I didn’t mean it like that!”
I tried putting my arm around Maha’s shoulder to garnish some reconciliation but Maha had obviously not yet come to terms with her awful paraplegia. She let out a tearful wail and Yusaf came limping down the stairs. Chrissie just stood mortified as Yusaf addressed Maha’s tearful sobs and I tried explaining the misunderstanding. Yusaf looked up and nodded his understanding but it was another ten minutes before calm was restored and Maha’s tears dried up. Chrissie was absolutely distraught and retreated to the kitchen to hide her own tears of remorse.

Eventually things calmed down and Andrew made himself available to assemble the special bed for Maha. There was room for it and the wheel chair to park alongside it now that my desk had been ‘side-lined’. Lavatory facilities proved equally make-shift but Mr Price had been kind enough to fix a pair of lifting rails and a bar around the pan to facilitate Maha’s disability. The downstairs lavatory was just across the hall from the study and if she backed her wheelchair in Maha was just able to slide alongside the lavatory pan. The arrangement would never have passed as an official ‘facility’ but it worked and Maha was grateful.

For a shower, we had to delegate the big wet-room by the back door where the kids usually cleaned up after attending the horses. This was not always the cleanest of places and I made the girls give it a thorough scrub before Maha’s arrival. They were then demoted to using the same dormitory showers as the Birmingham children but that was no great privation. The dormitory showers had cubicles and the older girls made sure that Martina was not ‘outed’.

In the cottage, Maha now had her own little domain of the study, the loo and the wet-room. She squealed with amusement when she found the plastic garden chair lashed to some ‘duck-boards’ laid on the floor and with an arm removed to provide seating in the shower. However, the system worked and it gave her the necessary sense of independence. She could attend to herself in nearly all things. She had not been able to do that even in Yusafs’ modest house next door to his mosque. Yusafs’ sister had come around each day to assist the girl.

In our cottage, Chrissie unconsciously filled that roll after they were quickly reconciled over the saggy-bag-chair incident.
After the first week of trials Maha seemed to be improving in her mental state. As Dot had predicted, she relished the attention of the specialist saddler who had been despatched by the disabled riding charity to set up different profiles for different disablements. Sometimes even the able children would watch enviously as Maha had free reign in the open fields to test some piece of equipment to the max as she hurtled around the field on Sian’s full sized medium hunter. The saddler was well impressed by Maha’s performance and he praised her to the high heavens. By the Friday, Maha’s mood and nature had swun3g around from bitter resentment to enthusiastic contribution. On the Saturday we decided to give her a special present and go shopping. Emir wasn’t much enamoured of this idea so Yusaf and he agreed to go and visit the HMS Victory in Portsmouth. Logistics determined that we would have to share the transport because Sian was using one of the Landrovers and the horse trailer to sort out some new horses and my car was in the garage for its annual service. Yusafs modest car was far too small for two adults, six children, a teenaged girl and a wheel-chair so we would have to use the long-wheel-base Landrover County. By eight o’clock that Saturday, an excited gang of kids were anticipating an enjoyable trip to Portsmouth.

Because Emir was becoming angry and disturbed by the awful losses he had endured, Yusaf had decided that there was a risk of him becoming disconnected from British social values. A better understanding of British history might be a way for Emir to assimilate greater tolerance and compassion. A visit to the HMS Victory for better or for worse, would at least give the boy an inkling into what had helped to make Britain what it was. (Whatever that was?)

To our surprise while we were driving there, the girls declared that they would like to visit the Victory as well. Chrissie was
not too enamoured of this arrangement so we agreed to let Chrissie go off on her own after we had got the main party to the Victory, she was after all, nearly sixteen and like any sixteen-year-old girl, shopping was where it was at. In a couple of months the lucky kid was due for her re-assignment surgery. The more girly assignments she could complete the better would be her education.

We arrived in Portsmouth in fine mood. Yusaf, Chrissie and Maha were laughing about something as they re-assembled the wheelchair while the other children chatted and giggled and I fussed about tickets and money. Soon we were processing in a gang along the pavement while Emir sped on ahead as he spied the tall masts of both the HMS Victory and a new addition to the museum, namely the HMS Warrior a nineteenth century ironclad. Several times Yusaf had to try and call the boy back but he was reluctant to linger with the girls. We only caught up with him when he was forced to wait at the ticket office because I had the on-line collective ticket.

The visit proved to be a huge success and Emir even declared an interest in joining the navy. Yusaf and I exchanged indulgent smiles, ‘the boy was only just turned twelve.’
Eventually I phoned Chrissie to let her know we had finished the visit and we were looking for something to eat. Chrissie’s fifteen-year-old independence didn’t run to wasting her own money on food when there was the chance of a freebie and we quickly arranged a rendezvous. We set off to meet her and as usual the girls competed for the honour of pushing Maha who’s face by this time was a picture of smiles and pleasure as the girls alternately whirled her around and speeded up and down the pavement as Yusaf and I maintained our sedate pace because of Yusafs’ bullet injuries. We smiled as the kids spent their boundless energies speeding Maha up and back along the pavement, with the girl shrieking in delight. Then I spotted a lovely jewellery shop and I paused to admire the window display whilst waiting for poor Yusaf to catch up. His upper leg wounds were beginning to hurt and I debated getting a taxi for the rest of the walk. The girls eventually realised that I had stopped in a jewellery shop window and they returned to gather around as I was getting my mobile phone to organise a taxi for Yusaf. On the opposite side of the street there was a taxi company and there phone number was emblazoned all over it. Sailors obviously used the firm because it was near to the dock gates. In the Taxi, Yusaf and Maha could meet Chrissie at the cafe we had arranged and then I would play catch up with the children.

As we waited for the cab, the kids milled around fooling about with Maha and her wheel chair while Yusaf leaned against a pillar box to rest his aching bullet wounds and I gazed into the jewellery window. Emir was savouring the aromas emanating from the Pakistani take-away next door.

“We’ll be eating in a minute so you can wait,” I told him.

‘Boys!’ I thought, ‘they never stop eating.’

As this thought left my head and I returned to window shopping, a car pulled up and two young men got out to buy a take-away. They bustled across the pavement and glared at the girls as they fooled about so I told the girls to play on my side of the shop window. The girls obeyed and Martina, who now had control of the wheel chair wheeled Maha further down the pavement to find more space to share ‘wheelies’ with Maha.

“You be careful!” I shouted as Yusaf wagged his head indulgently. Fortunately there were no other pedestrians about to suffer any injury.

As I turned again to study the jewellery there was a couple of gun shots inside the take-away. Yusaf recognised them immediately and for a moment he thought it was another attack against himself. I thought it was a car backfiring until I realised there were no cars moving on the street. For long seconds there was nothing but angry shouts as Yusaf yelled to the children and me to get down. For those moments I was confused then I realised the shouts were coming from the take-away. The shouts changed to a scream as a woman’s voice joined the cacophony and it was only then that I realised there was something wrong in the take-away. The children also realised it and started getting up to run away. Before they could get to their feet, the two men charged out of the take-away screaming at the girls to get out of the ‘f-----g’ way. One of the robbers fell over the girls whilst his crony battered his way to the get-a-way car and held the door open for his mate.

By now the Pakistani proprietor had emerged from his shop with blood pouring down his left arm whilst brandishing a huge kitchen knife in his right. With much swearing and shouting he managed to land on the fallen robber and recognising a fellow Muslim, he screamed at Yusaf for help.

Honour bound by their mutual faith, Yusaf limped forward and seized the robber as best he could while even little Emir jumped in to help. I was impressed by their courage as I screamed at the girls to get behind me.
The other robber in the car started screaming and cursing and as he dug into his jacket pocket I saw him start to drag out his gun again.

“Let him fucking go! Or I’ll blow you away!”

I turned to make sure all the girls were lying flat behind me and realised that Martina and Maha were ten feet away where poor Maha couldn’t get down because she was stuck in her wheel chair and Martina was undecided whether to get down or shield Maha.
I was about to shout at them to run when suddenly the Jewellery shop door flung open and this young woman emerged at full tilt. I one leap she was across the pavement and she kicked the gun out of the thug’s hand even as the gun went off. I felt the bullet graze my cheek and shatter the jewellery shop window before I had time to scream.

By now mayhem ensued. The thug in the car now had no gun and his wrist was obviously in pain. He snarled at the woman and floored the accelerator as his car lurched up onto the pavement roared forward and slammed Maha’s wheelchair against the wall before screaming off down the road.

For a moment I was shocked and stunned by the bullet whipping past my head and it was a second or so before I realised Maha was screaming in agony in her upturned broken wheelchair. I lurched forward as Martina was getting up and we both tried to extricate Maha from the crumpled remains. She was still screaming like something demented which only added to the chaos and confusion all around. Then I sensed somebody else beside me and realised it was the woman from the jewellery shop. She joined me in my desperate efforts to straighten the crumpled arms of the wheelchair and eventually Maha was free of the ghastly prison. She was still screaming in agony and I was now becoming worried. Then the kick-boxing woman knelt beside me and pressed her fingers into the small of Maha’s back.

“Where is it hurting darling?”

Maha just continued screaming so the woman moved her fingers up and down Maha’s narrow back until the girl suddenly stopped. She gave a whimper and turned frightened eyes up to me as Martina gave a nervous squeak. As we leant over Maha nobody else saw what Martina and I saw. Everybody else was too engrossed in the struggle that Yusaf, Emir, the take-away owner and now his angry wife were having with the captured robber. The wife was banging the thug over the head with a heavy saucepan for all she was worth.
I was far too shocked and stunned to pay attention to the fight for I’m convinced to this day that I saw some sort of feint light curling around the kick-boxer’s fingers. Even as the light seemed to fade I saw Martina grip the woman’s fingers and study them. Both Martina and I were too shocked to ask as the woman stood up and smiled.

“Try your legs Maha.”
Maha turned tearstained eyes up to the strange woman then gasped as she was able to bend her knees.

“My legs! They move! In the name of Allah what are you? Who are you? What did you do?”

“Never mind me darling. Just be thankful. The blow from the car must have dislodged the bullet fragment in your spine. You should be okay now.”

I slowly withdrew my hands from Maha and Martina did likewise as the woman turned to me.

“You were looking in the shop window. Might I suggest you buy the little Kurdish girl some jewellery to remember this lucky day.”

I was just too shocked and taken aback to respond and before I knew it the woman stood up and offered her hand to Maha.
To my shock and awe, Maha stood unsteadily then slumped gratefully into the woman’s arms. She kissed Maha once on the forehead before she handed Maha to me and left my literally ‘holding the baby’.
She leant forward and stared with a piercing gaze into my eyes before she whispered hoarsely over Maha’s shuddering sobs of joy.

“Say nothing; tell no-one!”

Then she strode away at some speed as though she didn’t want anything more to do with the event. Martina made to follow her but I realised that the woman did not want a fuss made. Whatever gifts she might have had, were obviously things she did not want put abroad. I whispered to Martina as the fracas on the pavement grew more violent.

“Look after Maha, Yusaf needs help.”

The robber was a powerful young man and he was slowly gaining the upper hand even with four people trying to hold him.
The take-away owner was getting weaker from loss of blood, Yusaf was only a small man with painful bullet wounds still in his thigh and buttocks, Emir was but a boy, albeit a very brave boy, the proprietors wife was giving her best with the ‘saucepan to robbers’ head’ routine so it behoved me to pitch in with what little strength a sixty-four-year-old woman could muster.

Eventually my added weight sitting on the robbers’ feet subdued him and we all gasped with exhaustion as the police car finally made moan.

As they subdued the man and cuffed him, we all sat exhausted on the pavement as our nerves began to take over. It was not until Emir saw his sister leaning on Martina’s arm that he let out a shriek of incomprehension.

“Maha! Maha! You stand!”

“Brother!” She cried tearfully. “I walk; look!”

Emir turned to Yusaf whose own jaw now sagged in awe as Maha took a tentative step towards him while Martina supported her.

“My God, Allah! How so?” Yusaf pleaded beseechingly to the sky.

Emir stared at Yusaf and croaked nervously.

“Is this one of God’s miracles Imam?”

“It was the lady with the light.” Martina declared bluntly.

I glared at Martina but realised in the desperate situation, Martina had not heard the kick-boxers’ beseechments properly. I cursed silently as Yusaf stared at Martina.

“What lady?” Asked Yusaf who had been so preoccupied with helping the takeaway owner that he had not even noticed a lady emerge leaping from the jewellery shop, kick the other robber’s gun out of his hand and then attend to Maha after the car had smashed her wheelchair. The lady had completely disappeared by the time the robber was subdued and I could respond properly to her speedy intervention. Martina repeated her perfectly correct claim.

“The woman! The woman in the blue dress.”

“What woman? Are you sure?” Pressed Yusaf. “Did anybody else see her?”

Maha replied to the Imam’s question.

“Yes Imam, I saw her, she healed my back. Look! I walk!”

The Imam’s eyes widened uncomprehendingly as he searched the children’s faces.

“Are you absolutely sure children?”

Martina became upset and turned pleadingly to me.

“Yes. She was here. Mummy Bev saw her, she knelt beside her! Tell him mummy. I saw her speak to you! I’m not lying! Tell him Mummy! Tell him about the light.”

Imam Yusaf turned to me and I nodded reluctantly as he pressed me.

“Is it true?”

“Yes. The girl’s telling you what she saw. We can speak about it later. I think the police want to talk to us.” I replied desperately wanting to change the subject.

By now the Ambulance had arrived to take the injured cafe owner away. We were assured that his wounds were dramatic and spectacular but fortunately not life threatening. After we had all given our statements the proprietor’s wife tearfully invited us into her takeaway. When she realised Yusaf was an Imam her delight was doubled as she threw herself to the floor and demanded he lead her in thanks to God.

Yusaf turned to me and smiled.

“D’you want to join us, what’s that mark on your face?”

Suddenly I paled as I remembered the bullet. I fingered the scorched graze and gasped.

“Oh my God, it’s the loose bullet that was discharged when that kick-boxer woman kicked the gun out of his hand. The bullet just missed my cheek and broke the window next door.”

“What! A bullet just missed you?”

“Yes. I was covering the girls when that woman kicked the gun out of his hand. Hell she was fast!”

“Then you deserve to be spared. Come on, join us in thanks, this is to God now, it’s nothing to do with faith. I’ll keep it godly if you wish.”

I smiled at him. The man was truly a tactful and caring individual. If ever a man could have brought me to one of the faiths this was the man. I agreed to join him in thanks and let him lead the way. For Imam Yusaf, the most rewarding part was giving thanks for Maha’s miracle recovery, for me it was seeing the tears of joy pouring down not only Maha’s cheeks but also her twin brother Emir’s. He had his sister back and that had restored to him everything that Imam Yusaf had been trying to instil in him. As we prayed each in our own way Emir sneaked silently over to me and pulled my arm around him as he whispered.

“Thanks Aunty Bev, This has been the bestest present ever.”

“It’s not a present Emir,” I hugged him, “it’s a gift and that lady that you didn’t see had something to do with it.”

“I’m so sad I missed her, is she a saint or something?”

“I don’t know Emir. Whatever she is, she obviously doesn’t want people to know about it and that says a lot.”

Maha caught us whispering and sidled across on her knees to censure us.

“You’re supposed to be saying your prayers.”

I reached out and hugged her tight.

“Your brother is doing no wrong. It’s not where or how you give thanks but it’s what’s in your heart and head. One doesn’t have to be on bended knee, or shouting to the heavens, or chanting along with a thousand others in some great church or mosque.

If you believe in God then God will hear you.”

“Do you believe in God?” Maha demanded.

“I’m here aren’t I?”

“But you’re not a Muslim, you’re not of the faith.”

“Neither, I think, was the woman who healed your back Maha. That frock was rather too short for an Islamic lady and it revealed an awful lot. When she leapt across the pavement I saw everything she had underneath. And yet you felt her fingers healing you, didn’t you? Do you think it was God who gave her whatever power that was? So does God condemn her for being immodest when she leapt up and flashed her knickers?”

Maha nodded guiltily as she slowly realised the complexity of faiths and enormity of all things spiritual. To reassure herself she repeated her question.

“But you believe in God though, don’t you?”

“Maha, first define God.”

“Oh you’re like Imam Yusaf, you make more questions than answers.”

“It’s called growing up Maha. I can’t answer your questions, even Yusaf can’t. I think the lady with the blue light might have answered one for you though.”

“What’s that.”

“There’s something out there beyond what we think of as the supernatural. I don’t know what you’re going to call it but I like to think it’s got something to do with Godliness, something to do with love and caring.”

“Are you a sceptic then?”

“Gosh that’s an important word for such a young girl. Am I a sceptic. I’m not really sure darling that I can even answer that simple question Maha. I don’t understand you see; I won’t accept what others tell me because that way led to all the hurt in my life. There’s no God for me down that road. So I seek God where I can. That lady’s blue light was something new to me, something totally inexplicable but I’d like to believe it’s something good and if it’s good then it approaches something like God to me. It’s reinforced in me that there’s something spiritual to life and that enables me to better grasp the concept of a God.”

“Is that the one God, -the true God?”

“I could only ever handle one God Maha. Any more would lose me. I’m sticking with one and that’s the spirit of love, the spirit that I think cured you.”

“I want to meet that lady again.”

“But does she want to meet you? Consider it ‘job done’ darling and just give thanks to God.”

Maha was about to ask another question but Yusaf turned, smiled and put his fingers to his lips.

“Take Beverly’s advice Maha. Just be thankful.”

The imam’s words carried much more weight than mine and Maha fell silent as Yusaf finally offered up a last word of thanks in Arabic. I recognised the word ‘shukran’ repeated three times but for my ears he then repeated ‘thank-you’ three times in English. I could not have offered up a more heartfelt thank-you than that.

With that Yusaf stood and gave the proprietor’s wife a hug and turned to me just as my phone rang. It was Chrissie.

“Where are you? You said four o’clock!”

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry love. I’ll come and fetch you right away.”

Imam Yusaf wagged his head as he realised we had left poor Chrissie for nearly two hours.

The police officer told us to leave via the back door because they had taped off the immediate scene. The proprietor’s wife led us out through her living room just as her relieved daughter arrived home from her job as a lawyer. She had come to pick up her mother who did not drive. Yusaf explained the situation to the mother and both the distraught women accepted our offer of a lift to the hospital to visit their injured husband and father. The daughter locked up the shop then we picked up a very grumpy Chrissie on the way. I looked at her shopping bags and grinned.

“You’re only miffed because you ran out of credit on the card!”

Chrissie sniffed guiltily then smiled. I had hit home with perfect accuracy.
Yusaf grinned as Chrissie looked uncertainly at the two Asian women sitting in the second row.

“D’you know why we’re late Chrissie?” Yusaf asked.

“Yeah. Mum probably got gassing to someone.”

“Uuhhm no darling.” Yusaf smiled. “It was a bit more serious than that.”

“What?” Chrissie frowned as she stared at me for an explanation.”

“You’d better tell her Yusaf.” I smiled wryly. “This traffic’s getting busier.”

Yusaf started explaining and periodically referred to one of the girls to confirm parts of the saga while Chrissie’s jaw sagged lower and lower.

“You should have told me!” She finally charged, “You could all have been shot!”

“Your mum nearly was,” added Fatima, the take-away proprietor’s wife.

“Whaa-aat!!” Shrieked Chrissie. “What happened!!!?”

It was Jennifer’s turn to shine for she had been nearest me and the shattered window had covered her with millions of tiny fragments. Fortunately she had not been cut.”

“She was Chrissie; look at that scrape on Mum’s cheek! That was the bullet whizzing by.”

“Muu-um! What the hell happened?” Demanded Chrissie.

“It was when the lady kicked the other robber in the wrist; the gun went off as it flew out of his hand. The bullet just missed me as it grazed me cheek. Hey! That’s a thought. Where did the gun get to? I never saw it after that.”

Everybody fell silent for nobody could remember where the gun had got to. Suddenly a very subdued and nervous Maha reached under her long skirt and nervously produced the weapon. Fatima’s lawyer daughter let out a screech of despair.

“Oh my God, Allah save us, somebody get it off her before she shoots one of us!”

“No!” Yusaf commanded. “Hold it just like that Maha, while I get a handkerchief or plastic bag.”

Maha had the wit to do as she was told as I motioned with my hand to Chrissie to get a plastic bag from the side pocket in the door. Chrissie knew were they were kept and quickly produces an unused pristine bag from the roll. Ahmed nodded and carefully took the gun off Maha by enveloping it with the bag.

“Less fingerprints the better,” he remarked as he carefully handed the gun to Chrissie who immediately gave it to me.

“I don’t want it. Put it in the glove compartment and phone the police. They’ll bloody well want that!”

Yusaf was already on his mobile explaining to the police as I pulled into the hospital gates.

Fatima and her daughter immediately made their way to the casualty while we sat and waited in the car-park until the police-car arrived. I noticed Yusafs’ eyes drinking in the young lawyers’ shapely legs as she accompanied her mother across the car park and I smacked his wrists. The girl was dressed totally in Western style except that everything was in a severe black. This was because she was a barrister though, not because of any Islamic strictures. She was extremely attractive. Yusaf glanced at me and smiled guiltily.

“A thoroughly modern Miss that one.”

“And she must be brave to confront the censure that some of your more bigoted brethren can espouse.” I added.

“Very true,” Yusaf agreed, “She’d make somebody an excellent wife.”

“She looks like a career girl to me and a pretty determined one at that.”

“I wonder what her father thinks. He must be pretty liberal to allow her to go abroad like that.”

“Oh, - oh. Fancying her are you Yusaf?”

He smiled dispiritedly as he turned to me.

“A man could do a lot worse, I suppose every rich Muslim in England is trying for her hand. She’s too expensive for my purse. She won’t even need a dowry she already has an education and a fine job. Any man with any sense would snap her up. A beautiful, brilliant and attractive woman, she’d make a fine mother.”

“Your slip is showing Yusaf. She may not wish to marry. The way she dresses tells that she has no regard for any cultural strictures of dress. Perhaps she has the same distaste for a traditional marriage.”

“Maybe, but it would be an awful waste. Anyway, I don’t believe she has broken any Koranic laws. She’s modest by the standards around her and those are the standards that matter.”

“Well Amen to that Yusaf, Amen to that.”

With that a police car arrived and recognised our land rover by the description Yusaf had given. He recovered the gun from the glove compartment and lifted a questioning eyebrow.

“Anybody care for any explanations.”

Maha crimsoned and explained that when the flying woman had kicked away the gun it had sailed over everybody’s head and landed in her lap. She didn’t know what to do and then the robbers’ car had struck her wheel chair. When she was finally free and able to stand unaided, none of the adults were around. I was busy restraining the robber and the miracle woman in the blue frock had disappeared. She saw the gun down the inside of the crumpled wheel chair arm so she hid it up her skirt until she could decide who to give it to. Then in all the excitement, she forgot about it.

I looked fatuously at Maha but the police woman accepted her story. I ask you; how could anybody forget they’d got a flipping gun up their knickers? Well the police took it away and that was the end of that. We settled down to wait until Fatima returned from casualty.

I was playing cards with the girls in the back seat when I noticed Yusafs’ eyes widen with pleasure. Without even turning my head I knew who was approaching.
She knocked on the land rover door and Yusaf eagerly welcomed her in. She recognised his smile and flashed a brief glance at him before turning to me.

“You are Miss Beverly?”

“Yes.”

“I am Akilah, the daughter of Assim. My father is going to be alright and my mother Fatima is staying with him for a couple of hours. He has lost blood but that is not too serious now. Fortunately the wounds were to the flesh of his shoulder and upper arm.”

“Oh I’m so pleased, - that he is going to be alright, I mean.”

Akilah smiled then asked to be introduced the Yusaf. She had not exchanged a single word with him all the way to the hospital.
I suppose her mother had told her that the man was an Imam and Akilah had decided to avoid any issues of her behaviour and dress. I smiled at her apparent modesty and grinned at Yusaf.

“Am I entitled to introduce a strange lady to you Yusaf?”

“Of course Bev, there are few strictures about introductions in the word except that we be friendly and courteous.” He then turned and smiled at Akilah.

“Hello young lady, Salam Ali cum to our humble land rover. My name’s Yusaf.”

“Hello Imam, peace be upon you.”

“Oh really Akilah, call me Yusaf, Beverly does. Shall we go for a cup of coffee? Or tea if you prefer.”

Akilahs' eyes widened at Yusafs’ easy familiarity. Here was a man who obviously had little time for all the rigid formalities of some traditional interpretations of Islam. She flashed him a stunning smile then turned to me in mild jest.

“Is he really an Imam? He’s awfully casual and easy going.”

I turned around and grinned back at Akilah then smiled across the front seat to Yusaf.

“I think you’d better come clean Yusaf, the lady’s confused.”

“Oh dear,” chuckled Yusaf, “I didn’t want it to come to this. I was hoping for a couple of week’s anonymity to get over my bullet wounds.”

At these words, Akilah let out a gasp. Almost every Muslim in Britain had heard of the attempted assassination of the progressive cleric and certainly every young Muslim woman who was trying to squeeze out from under the oppressive cultural restrictions of Wahabism was relieved that one of their greatest champions had survived the atrocity. As she recovered her wits Akilah let out a squeal of delight.

“Allah be praised! You are that Yusaf! The Imam of the Warwick Mosque!”

Yusaf had the grace to blush as he half turned and smiled apologetically.

“The same, I’m afraid.”

“Then we are definitely going for coffee and I will not be refused.”

Yusaf turned to me, smiled his apologies and motioned with his hand to go forward.

“Then take us Beverly, let Akilah be our guide.”

Between directions, Akilah kept ringing her friends and gabbling excitedly in Urdu as she kept repeating the same cafe name. I looked nervously at Yusaf but he grinned and tapped my sleeve to reassure me.

“It’s alright Beverly; I speak Urdu as well as Arabic. She’s not laying an ambush.”

At these words, Akilah let out a gasp and apologised to Yusaf.

“Oh gosh! I’m so sorry Imam. I should speak English; your friend does not speak Urdu.”

“No harm done Akilah, I understand your excitement, and please; it’s Yusaf and Beverly, not Imam and ‘your friend’.”

“Yes, but you are one of our leading lights. You deserve our respect.”

“I’d prefer your love and affection, ah! spiritual love I hasten to add.”

Yusaf and I fell about laughing easily as Akilah blushed. However, in the driving mirror my feminine sensitivities detected Akilahs’ feminine interest. I also heard Maha’s girlish giggle from the back as Akilah flashed her an embarrassed smile.

‘Muslim girls,’ I grinned to myself, ‘they were every bit as flirtatious as western girls, just that much more skilled at doing it.’

Then the ‘mood’ was picked up by my girls as they sensed that Akilah was ‘interested’ in the slender, gentle Imam. A pregnant silence settled on the Landrover as the girls all exchanged knowing smiles and Chrissie gently prodded me in the back from her middle seat beside Akilah. Fortunately we arrived at the cafe before Yusaf or Emir even remotely sensed the mood.
Even before we emerged, several Muslim girls, all in fairly westernised styles of dress emerged from the cafe to meet us. It was obvious that Yusafs’ reputation amongst progressive Muslim women was nationwide. The poor man as virtually dragged into the cafe and made to sit before the rest of us were even introduced. Chrissie offered to take the kids into the children’s play area but her offer was angrily refused by Jenny, Beatrice, Chenille and Martina.

“We’re old enough to sit with adults now!” Chenille declared as she boldly plonked herself next to Yusaf.

He reached out and hugged Chenille around the shoulder and there was no better signal to emphasise the informality he was determined to bring to the unexpected meeting. The Muslim women turned as one to Akilah wondering that such a famous Imam should be so easy and understanding of a precocious child and a Christian child at that. Yusaf sensed the mood of censure and he smiled at the women.

“She’s a child; would you have me punish her or something just for sitting next to me?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I interjected. "She's one of mine!"

A collective gasp erupted from the women as my apparent irreverence punctured the last vestiges of formality. Yusaf smiled at me as he recognised my subtle tactic then he took the coffee pot and started pouring coffee for everybody as the women finally realised that the numerous stories of Yusafs’ equalising philosophies were true! The man was truly one who took the word and debated the oppressive, traditional, Wahabist interpretations. After the first cup of coffee, Yusaf stood up and started circulating amongst the other women. Akilah came and sat by me.

“He’s a wonderful man.” She sighed.

“Amen to that.” I agreed.

“How did you come to meet him, I mean you're a christian woman, how did you come to be his friend?”

I explained about the honour killings and my small part in helping the children Maha and Emir to recover from the trauma. Akilah gasped.

“Oh. I thought they were his children!”

“No. Yusaf’s not married, at least, not as far as I know. He’s fostered the children though, or at least he’s followed some Islamic rule and taken them under his wing. Everybody I’ve met says he’s done the right thing. He always seems to do the right thing.”

“Well that’s a fact. And he’s not married you say.”

“I would have thought you’d have known that. I mean every one of you girls seems to know all about him.”

“Well yes, but many Muslim men have very public lives whilst their domestic arrangements are kept very private. There’s quite a strong tradition.”

I stared fatuously at Akilah and repeated one word; ... ‘Tradition!!?’

She grasped my meaning and blushed, (she was good at blushing,).

“Yes. Silly of me wasn’t it. It’s just that I’m so tired of the Imams around here. He’s a breath of fresh air.”

“More like a hurricane I’d say.”

She laughed at my remark and we chatted at some length about much of Islamic interests and how her women’s group addressed the issues. It turned out that Akilah was very highly respected amongst her Islamic peers and many professional men. I was enchanted with her conversation and she was stunned to learn of my life-style.

“You! You’re a transsexual!”

“No, not quite, I’m a transvestite with strong transsexual leanings.”

“But, - but doesn’t he object? I mean that’s against all the rules of Islam, well the transvestism anyway. We see transsexualism just as you do, it’s an illness and the cure is usually SRS.”

“I know, even the Iranian courts accept that perspective.”

“How do you know about the Iranian courts?”

I talked briefly about my previous life as a mariner and how I came to be parenting the girls. Akilahs’ jaw sagged again.

“You never cease to amaze me Beverly. I see now why the Imam accepts you. He can see the diamond through all the mud. Two of the girls here today are gay. Do you think I should tell the Imam?”

“No. It's no concern of mine, or yours or even Yusafs'. I think only they shouldmention it, but only if it comes up as a legitimate issue. Yusaf doesn’t usually judge. He says he leaves that to God.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about his ideas.”

“He’s living at my cottage for several weeks while his wounds clear up. As are Maha and Emir. We chat every night around the meal."

“Yes. I heard the children talking about that. What happened with Maha?”

I decided to play down the story for it was obvious that the kick-boxing woman did not want any publicity.

“Well apparently, the car hit Maha’s wheelchair into the wall while your dad and Yusaf were struggling with the other robber.
She was knocked sideways and the chair imprisoned her. I think that the blow and the twisting motion simultaneously released the bullet fragment from Maha’s spine and the pressure was removed thus enabling her spine to work again. That’s the best explanation I can come up with.”

“Have the police found that woman? She’s vital witness.”

“No. She just disappeared.”

“Has Maha been seen by the doctors”

We both turned to see Maha running between the empty pavement tables after Martina as they squealed with joy.

“D’you think she needs to? I mean look at her.”

“She should be checked out. What if the fragment moves again?”

“Yes. Maybe your right,” I agreed, although I was pretty sure that secretly, the kick-boxer had probably worked whatever magic it was pretty much completely. I did not expect the fragment to move back if that blue light thing had been anything to go by. However, I kept my counsel. If the kick-boxer didn’t want it made public then neither did I. I let the ‘twisted spine’ story gather credence.

Akilah turned to study Yusaf then she chuckled and suddenly tensed.

“Hush! He’s coming over!”

It was incredible to see Akilah suddenly change from the confident, intelligent, professional lawyer to the coquettish ‘interested’ girl and I wondered if Yusaf had noticed. Probably not. Men were rarely alert to womanly wiles.
Reluctantly, Yusaf concluded it was time for us to leave. We had a fair drive back to Dorset from Portsmouth. When we returned Akilah back to her father’s take-away shop I was surprised and pleased to see her give Yusaf an affectionate peck on the
cheek and then I was more amused to see Yusaf go crimson with emotion. Even the Policewoman standing guard outside the shop smiled.

‘Yes I thought, there’s a match made in Heaven or should that read Paradise.’