‘I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,’ Sharif shrugged. ‘Sorry, I should have told you.’ Seeing how bereft Omar looked, Sharif got up and pulled him to his feet, and said jokily, ‘Well, kid. At least you got the brains in the family. All I got was the looks.’ Omar shrugged. Too upset to play along or attempt a smile, he hung his head, looking down at his stupid weak hands. Sharif softened, and found himself saying something that he was sure he’d regret. ‘Well, I said I owe you something for covering for me tonight. Why don’t you come to our first practice session and see how it goes?’

Omar looked up, and when he finally smiled, it was like a soft white cloud drifting across a pale sky. ‘You mean that, man? That would be so cool.’

‘ ‘Course I do,’ said Sharif insincerely, already cursing himself. He had wanted an über-cool Indie band, and now he was stuck with his geeky brother, a ginger third year, and he had already agreed that spotty Stevo Morgan would be on drums, as he was the only boy in his class who had access to a full drum kit.

While they walked down the narrow stairs past the takeaway, Sharif flicked some gum out of his pocket to cover up the beer smell and companionably passed one to Omar. As Omar took it, he asked Sharif, a touch nervously, ‘Sharif, when we start rehearsing and that, could you please not call me “kid”, not in front of the others. You’re only fifteen minutes older than me.’

‘Even if it was the other way round, I still think I’d call you “kid#8221;. But don’t worry, man, I won’t embarrass you,’ Sharif said reassuringly. You do that to yourself, he sighed silently to himself. And such was the inauspicious birth of the Balti Ballads of Tooting Broadway, in the flat above the restaurant-takeaway.

Deciding the band’s name was no easy process. Sharif, as founder member (after all, he had held the auditions, he had the flyer to prove it), thought that he had the right to name the band, and had already decided upon Balti Boys. He made the announcement at the inaugural meeting of the fledgling band, which found them once again in the flat above the restaurant. Sharif was confident of Omar’s support, and was surprised when, on this occasion, Omar chose to differ. Nibbling on the peanuts that they had once again filched from Shona’s larder, Omar asked, ‘I get the Boys bit, but why Balti? We’ve got nothing to do with Balti. Abbu doesn’t even have Balti dishes on the menu. Where’s the logic in that?’

‘What, so you think we should have a name that matches something on Dad’s menu?’ said Sharif scornfully, annoyed that Omar was questioning his authority in front of Micky and Stevo. ‘The Prawn Dhansak Boys of Tooting Bloody Broadway?’