After a brief, horror-struck pause, his father said, ‘That’s terrific!’ ‘Yes,’ said his mother with alarming speed, ‘it is terrific! It’s great! It’s wonderful!’ ‘Yes,’ said Maisie, ‘isn’t it?’ Robert’s mother helped herself to cassoulet. ‘What are you going to call yourself?’ ‘Ahmed,’ said Robert. ‘Are you allowed cassoulet?’ ‘I’m not sure,’ said Robert – ‘I’ll have to check.’ He heaped two pork sausages on to his plate and added some beans, a hunk of bacon and three or four stewed tomatoes. His father was splashing wine into Maisie’s glass. ‘If I ever had a daughter,’ Mr Wilson used to say, ‘I’d like her to be like Maisie!’ Badger approached the head of the Wilson family and gave him a deep and soulful look. Mr Wilson gave him a carrot. Next to Robert on the table was a package. On the outside he read, in clear, firm capitals: FROM THE ISLAMIC BOYS’ DAY INDEPENDENT WIMBLEDON SCHOOL. Underneath this were a few Arabic letters and under them, in quotation marks, the words, LET US WORK TOGETHER.
