THE END OF September didn’t seem like the ideal time for an outdoor concert, Parvez thought; it was bright, but it just wasn’t warm enough any more to hang around outside for hours. And Victoria Park in Hackney didn’t seem like the most prestigious location - miles from anywhere, and not even near a tube line. He didn’t think there’d be much of a turnout. So he was surprised, when he approached the park with Omar, at how busy it was. There were flyers promoting the concert all over the gates and trees and lamp posts, and there were fast food vans and drinks stalls - an almost carnival atmosphere. He heard the music thudding in the distance. They haven’t started already, have they?’ he asked, checking his watch. He’d treated himself to a satisfyingly chunky Rolex for his birthday. It was in steel and gold, and reminded him of the substantial gold money clip he’d had melted down all those years before. He’d wanted the watch for years, but he had never dared get one before as Shona had disapproved of extravagance.

’I’d keep that hidden if I were you, Abbu,’ Omar said.’No, Sharif’s set was due to start in twenty minutes, but he’s texted me: they’re already running a bit late. Balti Ballads is just one of the bands on the playlist; they’ve got an early shift.’

As they approached the enormous stage, Parvez looked at it in disbelief. The figure on the stage was a skinny, dark speck, but screens all around showed him to be a dissolute-looking youth droning into a mike. There were hundreds of people around, maybe even over a thousand. He hadn’t realized what a big thing this was; he had been persuaded by Omar to come along to see Sharif play in a show of support, but he had thought it wouldn’t be very different from when Sharif used to play in his school concerts, or down the local pub.

Omar saw his father’s surprise, and grinned. ‘They’ve done brilliantly to get this gig. They’re one of just two unsigned bands who were asked to play - everyone else has a deal already. There’ll be scouts here from the music labels, and most of the fan club too, hopefully.’

Parvez nodded authoritatively, as though he knew what this jargon of unsigned, deals and scouts meant. Had Omar really said that Sharif’s little school band had a fan club? ‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked his son. He could do with one himself.