MONDAY 6AM – JAMEEL RAFIQJust as I'm about to put on my overcoat, Ali comes dashing downstairs waving his mobile phone at me.
“I've just had a text message,” he hisses, his face a strange combination of alarm and excitement.
For a moment, I don't comprehend what my brother is telling me, and I just stand, gaping at him.
“The thing, you know, the hit-man,” he whispers, looking quickly behind him to ensure that neither of the boys are listening. “It's really happening. Four o'clock this afternoon.”
I rub a hand over my brow, wondering if, after everything that's happened now, we should call it off.
“Cancel it,” I say, the icy words sounding as though they belong to someone else. “Call it off.”
“What?” My brother laughs incredulously at my comment. “It's too late to go back now, Jameel.
