She Wore Red Trainers by Na'ima B. Robert Page A

always known that Umar nursed this resentment, this feeling that he got the short end of the stick. ‘It’s different, bro,’ I said, my voice soft. ‘We know better now. I was wrong, Umar. Don’t envy me…’
    â€˜But I do, Ali, that’s what you don’t understand. It’s like you got everything: the great school, the girls, the fun times… And Mum. You got Mum, too.’
    My breath caught in my throat and I felt tears well up in my eyes instantly. Umar had hardly mentioned Mum since shedied. At times, I wondered whether he would ever mention her again. ‘No, Umar,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. You were the apple of her eye. You were the one…’
    But Umar’s eyes were red now and he clenched his fists. ‘Then why’d she have to go and get sick, huh? Why’d she have to leave me?’ Next thing I knew, he was crying like a baby, rubbing at his eyes with balled fists, just like he used to when he was little.
    â€˜Hey, Umar,’ I said softly, ‘it was Allah’s will that Mum got sick. Inna lillahi , remember? We belong to Allah and we will all return to Him. We can’t be angry with Mum about that… and we can’t be angry with Allah, either.’
    â€˜Well, I am ,’ he said firmly, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. ‘And nothing you can say is going to change that.’ He shrugged my hand off and pushed me away from him.
    My heart was heavy as I left the room. Why couldn’t I get through to Umar?
    I didn’t know how to help him heal, not without Islam. Because, without my faith in Allah, none of it made any sense to me.
    ***
    My gran, Nana Jordan, rang to speak to us later that night.
    â€˜I miss you, Nana,’ I said, suddenly wishing I was a little boy again, sitting at her kitchen table, stuffing myself with her delicious beef stew with fried dumplings. Then there would be apple crumble for afters, with ice cream, cream – or both. Tears stung my eyes at the memory; apple crumble had been Mum’sfavourite dessert. She’d promised to teach me her secret recipe but, when she was well, I had always had something else on and, when she became sick, there simply was no time. There were so many other things that needed to be done…
    â€˜I miss you, too, darling,’ Nana was saying. ‘Just how long am I going to have to wait before I am blessed with a visit from my grandsons, eh? Doesn’t that religion of yours say anything about the rights of grandparents?’
    I chuckled. Nana was always trying to shame us into things by quoting Islam – even though she was a staunch Christian. ‘Yes, it does, Nan. It’s called “upholding the ties of kinship”.’
    â€˜Yes, that sounds right,’ she clucked. ‘So let’s see some upholding around here, shall we? How about I meet you boys in London next weekend? We can go out, see the sights, have lunch… sound good?’
    â€˜That sounds great, Nana. Just great.’
    â€˜And so where is my baby, Umar. Can I speak to him?’
    I took a deep breath. ‘To tell you the truth, Nan, he’s not doing so well. This area is quite rough and… he’s been getting into a bit of trouble.’
    â€˜What kind of trouble, Ali?’ Nana asked, her voice rising, tense.
    â€˜Some of the kids around here… nothing major… but worrying.’ Then I checked over my shoulder to make sure no one was in earshot. ‘To be honest, Nan, I wish we could get him out of here. Out of all of us, he is the one I’m most worried about. Do you think you could…?’
    â€˜Ali, look. There is nothing I would like more than to have Umar up here with me, to get him ready for the new school year. I’ve tried, you know that. I even suggested to yourfather that he send him to stay with me for a few weeks but he wouldn’t have it. Said he didn’t