Razia

by Abda Khan

  Farah now had her arms crossed, and she waited quietly for a response.

  ‘Well, it is urgent, sort of.’

  ‘Go on then,’ she said.

  ‘Look, maybe now isn’t a good time. You’re busy; we both are. Can we meet up for lunch instead? We could go to your favourite, that pretty little Italian place around the corner?’ Tahir asked hopefully.

  Farah almost sniggered at him, but she reminded herself to keep things professional and maintain a calm composure, and she reined herself back.

  ‘I don’t think so, do you?’ she replied simply.

  ‘You don’t? Why not?’

  She looked at him with incredulity. She felt annoyed: annoyed that he had demanded to see her, annoyed that she had come running the second he had clicked his fingers and annoyed that there was nothing urgent after all. But she told herself once again that she must keep her cool.

  ‘Well, for one, I’m not sure what time I’m going to be finished at court. I don’t think I will make it back here for lunch. But that’s beside the point; we don’t need to meet up for lunch to talk. Whatever it is, just spit it out.’ Her tone grew harsher with each word.

  He stood up, and walked around his desk. He came close to her and looked her in the face. He was wearing the familiar deep, musky scent that had been her favourite; she had always bought it for him.

  ‘I have been thinking about you a lot recently, ever since we broke up actually. But it was seeing you away from the office on Friday that really brought it home to me.’ Tahir spoke softly, saying each word carefully, with a gentle purpose.

  ‘Brought what home?’

  ‘What a fool I’ve been to let you go. I was an idiot, pure and simple. Please, can we try again? Can we make a fresh start?’

  Farah stared at him with complete bewilderment. She blinked hard, and looked away for a few seconds, then turned back to look at him with conviction.

  ‘Are you for real? After what you did, do you think I’m going to go back there, and waste another three precious years of my life?’

  Farah saw Tahir’s face begin to tense up; he looked as though he was scratching around in his head trying desperately to find the right thing to say. He clearly wanted her back, and was making no effort to hide this.

  ‘I was confused as to what I should do, that’s all. I wasn’t ready for it then, but I am now.’

  ‘Confused? Is that the new word for dishonesty these days?’

  ‘Oh, come on! You make it sound like I had an affair or something,’ he protested.

  ‘No, you didn’t cheat on me, but you lied to me all the same, or at the very least, you misled me. When we met, when we fell in love, you gave me hope; hope of a future together.’

  ‘I know I did; but you are well aware of the role that my family played in all of this. Consider how much of what happened was out of my hands,’ Tahir responded.

  ‘Yes, I know all that. But when we first got together, you said that all you needed was a bit more time to sort things out. And I gave you time; bucketloads of it. And then you pulled that stunt. How could you have hurt me in that way?’

  ‘I never intended to hurt you!’

  ‘Is that right? Well, that isn’t how I see it. You behaved despicably. If you don’t think that your actions were hurtful, then I dread to think what your definition of hurt is.’

  Farah tried to keep her voice down, but the rage was now simmering inside her, and she feared it was going to boil over spectacularly any second.

  Tahir rubbed the nape of his neck as he tried to assemble his thoughts.

  ‘I just don’t know what happened. I guess I caved in to all the pressure.’

  Farah had heard enough.

  ‘Then why the bloody hell weren’t you honest with me from the start? Why string me along for over three years, let me make plans, allow me to dream about our happy ending, and then let me down in that way? Why did you break me in that way? Why did you build me up and then trample all over me? I was prepared to take my parents on for you. They were never going to be one hundred per cent happy, but I was happy to do it.’

  The tears had now collected in Farah’s eyes, despite her efforts to keep them at bay. Tahir slowly put his hands on her shoulders.

  ‘We can still marry. I can still sort it all out, if that’s what you want.’

  Tahir gently rubbed his hands on her shoulders. He smiled, but Farah simply shook her head in amazement.

  ‘You still don’t get it, do you?’ she said. ‘It can’t just be what I want, it’s also got to be what you want! Anyway, it’s too late. I’m done with it all. I’m done with you. I don’t want to marry a man who is so cowardly he can’t make such an important decision for himself. I don’t want to be part of your life; not now, not ever.’

  Farah took a deep breath.

  ‘I think we’re done here. It’s over, Tahir. Move on. I intend to. Now, take your hands off me.’

  Tahir was taken aback by this demand, but he kept his hands exactly where they were.

  ‘What? Come on, please—’

  ‘I said take your hands off me!’ Farah spoke fiercely and left no room for doubt.

  Tahir pulled his arms away, and she could sense that his pride had been hurt. Farah knew him well enough to understand what he had probably expected – most likely that she would at least give his proposal to start over some thought.

  ‘I wouldn’t be so hasty, Farah,’ he said. ‘For one thing, your possible upcoming promotion to partner of the firm will require my approval.’

  Farah’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘So, now you’re trying to blackmail me into getting back with you?’

  Farah could see that he instantly regretted what he had just blurted out in anger; he looked ashamed of himself. But Farah’s sense of shock was worse than his. The fact that he could use his position in this way to try and beat her down was the final straw.

  ‘If I had any doubts before about my decision to dump you,’ Farah declared, ‘then I certainly don’t have them any more. Have a good day.’

  She left the room and slammed the door behind her.

  8

  It had been a long tiring Monday. Her exchange with Tahir first thing in the morning hadn’t been the best way to start the week, but it went from bad to worse when her barrister at the appeal hearing spent more time trying to come on to Farah than focusing on the case; because of his general laissez-faire attitude and a lapse of concentration at a critical point in the hearing, the opposition barrister had walked all over him.

  ‘Bad luck, eh,’ said her barrister to Farah as they started to pack up.

  ‘Luck doesn’t come into it; I beat you fair and square. You were doomed from the start. You’re losing your touch, mate,’ joked the opposition barrister as he swung past them.

  She turned to look at her own barrister. He studied her for a few seconds before he spoke again.

  ‘You know the day doesn’t have to be a total washout. We could go out for a nice meal. Just the two of us; what do you say?’

  ‘I say, I don’t do dinner with married men.’

  Farah’s icy cold response sent him packing, and she was left to pick up the scattered pieces. She tried her best to console a tearful client, who after having lost the appeal now had the prospect of giving birth to her first child alone in a month’s time. Farah often had to witness the human cost of the stringent immigration laws which tore families apart; the ramifications that the lawmakers who sat comfortably in their ivory towers never had to see. She always made sure she carried plenty of tissues in her handbag, and tried her best to utter some reassuring words. Farah told her client not to worry, as the stress was not good for her or the baby, and that she could always try again, and perhaps she would be successful next time, and that she would support her in any way she could. But really, no measly offerings of sympathy, however genuinely meant, were going to cheer up a heavily pregnant woman who now had to face one of the most difficult times in her life without her spo
use by her side.

  After all that drama, Farah simply just wanted to go home and have a good long hot soak, with her new Dead Sea mineral and wild orchid bath foam; to close her eyes and sink in, and forget that this day had ever happened. However, this was not a possibility just yet. Despite all her efforts, she hadn’t found her precious earring. She was now certain that she must have dropped it either at the Mansur residence at Hans Place, or when travelling to or from there. If she had dropped it in the cab or on the pavement, she could definitely kiss goodbye to it. But if it was lying in some pristine corner of Zaheer and Aneela’s flat, then there was a good chance she would be able to recover it. The earring was expensive, but its sentimental value, as a gift from her parents, was far more important, for it had been the present they had bought her when she had qualified as a solicitor. Straight after work, she headed over to Hans Place.

  It was a clear evening, and it was a touch warmer than the last time she had come this way, so the walk from the tube station was a pleasant one. She headed into the square, past the wooded garden and towards the apartment. As she was thinking about the stray earring, her mind drifted to the girl she had seen at the dinner party, and she wondered if she would see her again today.

  The door was indeed opened by the girl, almost as if Farah had willed it.

  The young woman stood silently, in the same grubby clothes and shabby sandals that she had been wearing last Friday. Her chaddar was draped loosely around her head and shoulders. Her large, warm brown eyes looked at Farah, but she didn’t utter a word. Was she scared? Farah wondered.

  ‘Is it the grocery delivery, Razia?’ shouted Aneela from somewhere in the apartment.

  Farah looked past the girl’s shoulder for any sign of Aneela, but there was none at present. She waited for the girl to say something … anything.

  ‘No, Malikin,’ was the girl’s response, as she turned around to answer.

  Upon hearing her reply, Aneela quickly appeared at the door. Farah registered the look of surprise on Aneela’s face on seeing her there. Aneela quickly turned this into a smile.

  Aneela was dressed in a long, flowing floor-length kaftan-style dress. It was a vivid pink silk, floral piece. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and her nails were perfectly French manicured; everything about her oozed luxury and style, in contrast to Farah, who was in a basic two-piece black trouser suit with her hair up in a ponytail. Farah thought she must surely look as tired and fed up as she felt.

  ‘Oh, hello, Farah, this is an unexpected pleasure. Is everything all right?’ asked Aneela.

  Farah felt the unexpected part was spot on, but the pleasure part was a blatant lie. Aneela wasn’t in the least bit happy that Farah had turned up unannounced, even though she tried her best to hide it.

  ‘Oh, yes, everything is fine. I just needed a quick word with you. May I come in?’

  ‘Yes, of course, how rude of me,’ Aneela replied. The words were accompanied by a phoney smile. She told the girl to go to the kitchen and continue with her chores, and showed Farah into the hallway. ‘What can I do for you?’ she asked.

  ‘I think I may have dropped an earring here on Friday.’ Farah opened her handbag and took the other earring out of the zipped inside pocket to show it to Aneela.

  ‘It’s very pretty,’ remarked Aneela, as she took it into her hands and looked over it carefully. She handed it back to Farah. ‘I can’t say I’ve seen it around, for I surely would have noticed it. I have an eye for things like that, you know. But give me a couple of minutes and I will check the lounge and dining room, just in case. If you just wait here, I won’t be very long.’

  Farah couldn’t help herself. As soon as Aneela disappeared out of sight to embark upon her mission to hunt down the missing earring, she quietly wandered off and found her way to the kitchen. Farah only knew that she had to talk to this girl, even if she didn’t know what she was going to say or how the girl would react.

  When she walked in, she found Razia on the floor on bent knees, crouching with her head in the oven, scrubbing hard.

  She took her head out, and seemed startled at seeing Farah. With the cleaning rag still in her bare hands, she slowly stood up, but didn’t say anything. She looked more than startled; she seemed frightened. Her face tensed up, and she hunched her shoulders.

  ‘It’s OK. Don’t worry,’ Farah said to her, and took a couple of small, gentle steps towards her. ‘My name is Farah. You must be Razia?’

  The girl continued to stare at Farah. She stood completely still, and remained silent. She made no attempt to speak. Her fear seemed to increase with each moment that passed.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Farah asked.

  The girl was beginning to shake. Farah herself now felt a sense of unease, as she wondered what on earth she should say, or do next. Should she stay? Or perhaps she should leave?

  Aneela strolled into the kitchen and looked aghast to see Farah stood by the girl. Her face turned a strange shade of pink.

  ‘May I ask what you are doing in here?’

  ‘Oh, sure, yes, erm, I thought I heard something fall, but I think it must have been the noise of this young lady cleaning the oven. Anyway, I thought I should come and see if everything was OK, in case there had been any kind of an accident. So, here I am!’ said Farah, using all of her lawyer’s bluffing skills.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Aneela replied sternly.

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to introduce me to your housekeeper?’ Farah asked.

  Aneela let out a short, sharp cough.

  ‘This is Razia,’ Aneela said begrudgingly.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Razia,’ said Farah, and then held out her hand towards Razia.

  Razia looked at Aneela, who gave a slightly indignant nod of the head, and upon receiving the signal, Razia held out her hand to meet Farah’s, and when their hands touched, Farah discreetly passed one of her business cards to her; it was folded up, so as to fit neatly into Razia’s palm.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t find your earring anywhere,’ said Aneela, walking towards the kitchen door. She didn’t even offer Farah any tea or coffee; she clearly just wanted rid of her.

  ‘That’s fine. Thanks for looking,’ said Farah, and then she handed Aneela one of her business cards, an unfolded one this time. ‘But if it does turn up, please do telephone me as soon as possible,’ she added, looking towards Razia for a second.

  Aneela quickly showed Farah to the door.

  Farah stood on the doorstep outside for a few seconds, trying to make sense of this bizarre exchange. It was unheard of to visit any Pakistani family or household and not be offered at least a cup of tea. And you weren’t asked if you wanted tea; it was seen as offensive to ask. The tea was usually made without any discussion about it, and you were just given it, along with badam biscuits, cake rusks, Bombay mix, boondi, nuts, pakoras, samosas and a selection of soft drinks, in addition to the tea. In fact, whatever you had in the house, or whatever you could prepare quickly, was dished up for visitors. Even unexpected guests were fed most of the kitchen-cupboard contents. The very fact that Aneela did not even offer a cup of tea went against every Pakistani hospitality tradition there was.

  Aneela had just wanted her out of the house, and the reason for this must be Razia.

  9

  Three long days had passed, and Farah had heard nothing from Razia. She had been careful to check her phone as often as it was possible – after her meetings, after her court appearances, at random points throughout the day – but there was nothing. That was until she was just about to leave her flat on the fourth day, when she heard her phone buzz in her handbag. She frantically searched around in the red leather slouch bag. When she whipped out her phone, she saw that it was a London landline number.

  ‘Hello,’ Farah answered quickly.

  There was no response, only silence.

  ‘Is that Razia?’

  Still nothing.

  ‘Do you want to speak in Urdu, or Punjabi instead?’ Farah asked in
Urdu.

  ‘Punjabi, Bibi Ji, or Urdu; only little English,’ was the reply.

  ‘Baat karo,’ Farah invited her to speak, but she was met only by silence once again.

  ‘Tell me about yourself. I know you are called Razia, but where are you from? How have you ended up where you are now, staying with Zaheer and Aneela?’

  ‘I am from Pakistan, from just outside Lahore. They brought me here. To work for them.’

  Farah had never visited Pakistan but had heard much about Lahore, known for its history and its food.

  ‘I overheard Mr and Mrs Mansur shouting and swearing at you on Friday evening, in the kitchen, because of some food that hadn’t been cooked properly. What happened? Are you OK?’

  ‘Oh, that. I’m fine. They are always like that. I am used to it.’

  Farah could barely believe her ears. This girl was used to being abused and actually thought it was OK.

  ‘They have no right to do that to you. We have laws in this country about this sort of thing. If this happens to you, then that is completely wrong.’

  ‘I am their servant after all. They can speak to me as they want. But one thing I do know is that if they find out I am speaking to you, I will be in a lot of trouble. I can’t speak long, Malikin will be out of the shower soon.’

  ‘Aren’t you allowed to use the phone when they are there?’

  ‘No, Bibi Ji.’

  ‘Please, call me Farah.’

  ‘I’m not supposed to use the telephone at all. Now, I really must go,’ continued Razia.

  ‘Please, don’t go yet. Tell me, is Aneela going to go out at all today?’ asked Farah.

  ‘I think so. She said that she needed to go to a big store to buy some new shoes. She says she needs new red ones, for an event she is attending soon, to match her new red clothes.’

  ‘Well, in that case, if you’re worried about speaking to me now, when she is in the house, then why don’t you phone me back when she has gone out. Then we can talk properly.’