‘I didn’t copy it down, Micky, I wrote it,’ Sharif said haughtily, secretly thrilled at the company in which Micky had unconsciously placed him - Oasis, The Smiths and Sharif Khan. ‘We’re not going to be some shite tribute band, we have to write our own stuff. It’s about credibility.’ He got up to take back his sheet, when his own credibility was marred unavoidably by his geeky little brother bursting into the flat.

‘Sharif, what are you doing here? Abbu’s going to kill you!5 said Omar, breathless from racing up the stairs, blood dripping from his nose. He paused, seeing Micky, and although surprised, nodded politely towards him. ‘All right, Micky,5 he said, looking questioningly towards Sharif.

‘All right, Omar. What the fock’s happened to y’face, man? Were you in a fight?5 Micky asked with interest. Sharif held his breath - please, he pleaded wordlessly towards Omar, please say you were in a fight, please say someone hit you. Say anything that might preserve an iota of our dignity, just please don’t embarrass me in front of a carrot-topped third year, by saying …

‘No, I just get nosebleeds sometimes. The doctor thinks they’re stress-induced, although sometimes I get them when I run too fast or something,5 said Omar apologetically, taking a seat next to Sharif on the couch and wiping his nose. Sharif exhaled heavily and shifted himself imperceptibly away from Omar, disassociating himself without even realizing what he was doing.

‘Oh,5 said Micky with disappointment, while everything else in his demeanour said, ‘Wimp.5

‘I’ll speak to you later, Micky,5 said Sharif, masterfully taking control of the situation. ‘I’ll let you know. I’ve got lots of other people to see. Fourth years, you know. It’s meant to be a fourth-year band. But I’ll keep an open mind about you.’

’Thanks a million, Sharif,’ Micky grinned, revealing his train-track brace and crooked incisors. ‘I’ll see youse both later.’

Sharif looked at Omar, still pitifully sniffing and dripping blood, and, sighing with resignation, went to get some Kleenex and held them to his brother’s nose, applying the pressure with a practised hand. ‘Hold your head back a bit,’ he commanded. Omar obeyed, and the bleeding began to abate almost immediately. ‘So why is Dad going to kill me?’

‘It’s Monday, remember? Nana’s come over for dinner, and you’re half an hour late. Amma’s fretting because she’s made some massive effort to cook an English meal for him, but now the roast is drying out, the veg are getting soggy and the crisps and nuts she bought for pre-dinner nibbles have mysteriously disappeared. Abbu’s furious with you. I said I’d come and get you.’

‘Shit,’ said Sharif. ‘Of course, Grandad! I completely forgot that the old man was coming round. Where did you say I was?’