Ordinarily, tardiness wouldn’t have bothered him, but today was different. Maria would not forgive him if anything went wrong tomorrow and he knew he’d never hear the end of it. He still couldn’t believe his young sister was about to become someone’s wife. She was so disorganised and frazzled in her thoughts, it astounded him that she was about to build a life apart from her family. He would miss her more than he could say. The accident had brought them closer, as had Jia’s departure. It had been so sudden that Benyamin had been lost in the haze of it.

She was coming back, Jia, his older sister, his protector, his adviser, the one who had abandoned him. Her presence in the Khan household had made it a warm place, whether it was by her singing of Hindi songs into an old brush, smuggling pizzas into his room at midnight, telling him ghost stories on the steps or doing hilarious impressions of their father’s friends. She had been his partner in crime, his cool big sister and his best friend. Losing her had been a lot for a ten-year-old to bear, and he had never forgiven her.

Not a day went by when he didn’t wish things were different, that the accident hadn’t happened, that his brother Zan was still alive and that Jia understood their father. But wishing didn’t bring change and it never would. Life was about doing not dreaming.

The untested bravado of a twenty-five-year-old meant it was rare for Benyamin to be afraid, but there was something about this weekend that made him nervous. He was the son of Akbar Khan, and as such he believed that fear should fear him, not the other way around. But this would be the first time the Khan family were together in over a decade. He hoped that the past would stay buried and not raise its bloody head.

He turned his mind back to the job at hand and to the pimp renting this ‘bitch pitch’, who was leaning against a wall and carefully counting out a wad of cash. It was unusual for the son of Akbar Khan to do the ‘milk run’, but he wanted to make sure that everything was ticking over smoothly. His father would have enough to deal with over the next few days.

‘Business is good, bro,’ said Khalid, when Benyamin asked him. ‘Since your dad’s been running things all our girls are clean. Tested an’ that. We keep a close eye on ’em, y’know. And kasmai these gorai, bro, they do like a bit of exotica.’ The pimp was in good spirits as he flicked away his cigarette butt and passed the money to Benyamin through the car window. ‘Going for a shisha after work and then watching the big fight. Our boy Amir Khan is up. You wanna join us an’ that?’