Page 19 - James Caan - The Real Deal
P. 19

1 · Brick Lane



            As we got a bit older, the idea of going back became more
            unappealing, and then it simply became illogical: why would we
            want to go to a country where we didn’t know anyone and where
            we barely spoke the language? Nevertheless, this was my dad’s
            dream, and so he kept saving his money. Looking back, I can see
            this has influenced me, too, because I’ve never been much of a
            saver: he worked so hard and never really saw the benefit. I knew
            that if I ever had money I would have no problem spending it.
               The smell of leather went right through the house in Brick Lane.
            The walls of my father’s workshop had hundreds of paper patterns
            hanging up, and there were rolls and rolls of skins, fabric, lining
            materials and all sorts of machinery. Hindsight makes this easy to
            realise, but it was clearly always a fire risk.
               The inevitable happened one night in 1971. My father was
            woken by one of the heavy irons falling over in his workshop, and
            at first he thought we were being burgled. He went upstairs to see
            who was there, and as he went to open the door, the handle was
            red-hot and the paint was peeling with the heat. He burned his
            hand quite badly before he saw the smoke coming out under the
            door.
               The first I knew about it was when he came into the room I
            shared with Azam. He was screaming at us to get up and got us
            out of bed. My mum fetched my sister and Ayub, and as my dad
            carried us out of the room – just as we were getting to the door –
            the ceiling caved in. A few more seconds and there is no doubt we
            would have died. I remember being absolutely terrified, trembling
            and shaking, in part because I had never seen my father so
            panic-stricken. I still wasn’t quite sure what was going on because
            I was half asleep, but when that ceiling fell in the noise was
            incredible. There was no way we would have survived.
               We ran down the stairs and stood in the street in our pyjamas
            just looking at the flames leaping out of the top-floor windows. I
            don’t remember who called the Fire Brigade, but a fire engine




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