Free Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies by Stephen Leather

to heat a kettle for the tea they were drinking. The fire had been quickly extinguished once the meal had been prepared. There was a very low risk of the smoke being spotted but even so the fire was used only for cooking. To keep themselves warm during the cold desert night the men either snuggled into sleeping bags they had brought with them from the UK or wrapped themselves in rough blankets.
    ‘We’re not here for the food, brother,’ said Rafiq, brushing crumbs from his beard.
    ‘No, but would it hurt them to give us a decent curry?’ asked Sami, gesturing with contempt at the bowl of korma.
    ‘And that lamb tastes more like dog to me,’ said Labib.
    Labib and Sami spent most of their time outside training with Rafiq and KC because everyone else had problems understanding their near-impenetrable Glaswegian accents.
    ‘You’ve eaten dog, have you?’ asked KC.
    ‘You know what I mean,’ said Labib. ‘My dad owns a curry house in Maryhill and he’d be disgusted with this.’
    ‘Well, Sami seems to be doing all right on it,’ said KC, gesturing at his colleague’s tight-fitting shirt and the buttons that seemed in danger of popping off.
    ‘I’ve dropped five kilos since I came here,’ said Sami, patting his stomach.
    ‘How would you know that, brother?’ asked KC. ‘There are no scales here.’
    ‘I can feel the weight falling off me,’ said Labib.
    ‘You’re Bangladeshi, right?’ asked Rafiq. ‘They make the best cooks. That’s what my dad always says. Go into any Indian restaurant and you’ll find a Bangladeshi chef in the kitchen.’
    Labib laughed. ‘That’s no lie, laddie,’ he said.
    ‘You’re not a chef, though?’
    ‘Me, nah, computers. I’ve got two brothers working with my dad, though. It’s good money, a curry house. Pretty much a cash business, too.’ He dabbed a chunk of naan in the lentils, but scowled at it instead of eating it. ‘My dad always says that his father invented chicken tikka masala.’
    ‘Get away with you,’ said Rafiq.
    ‘Nah, true. Back in the fifties.’
    ‘So you’re third-generation?’ asked Rafiq.
    ‘Yeah, my grandad came over in the early fifties, back when anyone from the Commonwealth could come. He came on his own and started cooking in one of the first curry houses in Glasgow. Earned enough to get his wife over and then brought her whole family.’
    ‘And he invented chicken tikka masala?’ said Rafiq. ‘Seriously?’
    ‘That’s what my dad says. Grandad died not long after I was born so I never got the chance to ask him. But the family swear it’s true. He was in the kitchen and a punter sent back his chicken tikka saying that it was too dry.’
    ‘Chicken tikka is supposed to be dry,’ said Rafiq.
    ‘Yeah, you know that and I know that but back then punters knew nothing about Indian food. He thought that all dishes were wet curries so assumed that the cook – my grandad – had screwed up. Anyway, Grandad was a nice guy so instead of going and giving the punter what for, he decides to give him what he wanted. He chucked in some tomato soup, yogurt and spices and the rest is history.’
    ‘That’s awesome,’ said Rafiq. ‘You know it’s the most popular dish in the UK, right? Outsells meat pies, fish and chips, outsells everything.’
    Sami nodded. ‘And yet no one out here has ever heard of it.’
    ‘By here you mean the middle of nowhere?’ said KC.
    ‘Asia, I mean. No one in India or Bangladesh or Pakistan would know what the hell it was. It’s a completely British dish. And my grandad invented it.’
    Rafiq raised his glass of tea. ‘Kudos,’ he said. ‘And God bless your grandad.’
    Sami groaned and stretched out his legs. ‘I hate this sitting on the floor business,’ he said. ‘Would it be too much to ask for a table and chairs?’ He stood up and stretched.
    ‘It’s character-building,’ said KC. ‘Makes us hard.’
    ‘I’m from Glasgow, don’t forget,’ said Sami. ‘I was born hard.’ His