Many of the parents were there. Mothers, fathers, carers. Mosi even saw Patrick’s granny, a big broad woman with her blonde tipped hair cut in a fashionable bob. ‘Why did you come?’ Mosi asked his father. His father put his hand on his shoulder. ‘Have you heard about the body?’ Mosi nodded. ‘We all did. I hoped it was only a rumour.’ ‘No rumour. Someone has been murdered.’ ‘Who . . . who was it?’ Mosi was afraid to ask, afraid of the answer. ‘No one knows yet. It doesn’t matter. If it is one of the locals, we will all get the blame for it. If it is one of the asylum seekers, we will still have trouble.’ His father looked worried. As they walked home together Mosi could feel the tension on the estate. The police cars were there, cruising the area, watching for any unrest. There were groups of men standing talking; they ignored Mosi and his father, but their suspicious eyes followed them as they passed. Patrick couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw his granny at the school gates.
