An Act of Kindness: A Hakim and Arnold Mystery (Hakim & Arnold Mystery 2) Read Free Page A

one of those ex-soldiers that were sometimes spoken about on the TV. Unable to adjust to civilian life after the rigours of Afghanistan, they drifted, homeless and often ill, on the outside of society. Her cousin Abbas had fought in Helmand. He’d lost an eye and his faith and was hiding from his nightmares in drug abuse. Before she’d married Abdullah, she had done some temporary office work for a mental health charity which had tried to help sick soldiers. She’d been touched by some of their stories, which had chimed with what Abbas had experienced. She knew that most people, for all the talk of the soldiers as ‘heroes’, didn’t give a damn.
    ‘The thing you call the shack …’ she began.
    ‘At the bottom of your garden,’ he said.
    ‘It’s just a woodpile.’ She paused. She still wasn’t entirely easy being on her own with him in her ruined garden, with evening coming on. If Abdullah ever found out he’d lose his mind. ‘My husband and I bought this house in an auction six weeks ago,’ she said. ‘How long have you been coming here?’
    He didn’t know. Nasreen looked down the tight, rough tunnel John had forged to get from his ‘shack’ and into the part of the garden nearest the house and she said, ‘Did you rearrange the woodpile to make a shack out of it?’
    ‘A bit,’ he said. ‘It was something, a structure, once. But it collapsed, I reckon. It’s old.’
    Although she knew what he was talking about, Nasreen couldn’t see much apart from branches and leaves. Again John asked her if she’d like to see his shack, and again she declined. At the end of the garden there was nothing of interest except the high wall that enclosed the old Plashet Jewish Cemetery. And if John suddenly ‘lost it’ or went for her, down there, no-one would know. As if reading her thoughts, he said, ‘Why are you here? On your own?’
    ‘Why do you ask? Why shouldn’t I be?’
    ‘You’ve always been with your husband when I’ve seen you before.’
    ‘He’s gone to work,’ she said, then thought that maybe that was a stupid thing to say when she was alone with an unknown man. ‘He’s a lawyer,’ she added. ‘He works strange hours. He could be back any minute.’
    But John had drifted off. ‘Why are you here?’ he repeated.
    Nasreen changed tack. She pointed at the old sink by the back door. ‘I wanted to see if I could move that,’ she said.
    John looked at the large, heavily stained Butler sink. There was even what looked like the remains of a tap on the side of it. ‘On your own?’
    It did look heavy and she wasn’t sure how she was going to move it, or even why she wanted to move it. It was probably just a case of striking one more thing off the long list of tasks that needed to be done in the house and garden. It wasn’t easy for heror Abdullah, living with her parents. Everyone was perfectly civilised and polite but she knew it was a strain – especially for her husband.
    ‘I’ll move it for you, if you like,’ John said.
    ‘Oh, no it’s not your—’
    ‘It’s no problem.’ He walked past her, his eyes fixed on the knackered old sink.
    He took hold of it, a hand on either side. His fingernails were black, she noticed. He tugged and pulled and Nasreen began to feel guilty that he would strain himself. Suddenly he stopped and turned a red face towards her. ‘It’s plumbed in,’ he said.
    Nasreen went over to see for herself and, yes, the old sink was attached to a pipe. ‘That’s odd isn’t it? To have a sink outside?’
    John looked vague again. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Maybe. You’ll have to get a plumber, I think.’
    ‘Yes.’ She looked up at him. He was well over six feet tall and behind all the hair and the unkempt beard, he had the look of someone kind.
    ‘What do you do for food, John?’ she asked.
    *
    Dinner was a basic dhal with rice. Luckily Shazia had been anxious to finish her homework so that she could watch TV later and so the food, or lack of