I didn’t know what to do.
My head was throbbing. If I told Tom the truth, I’d lose him and my family would break up. If I lied to my parents, I’d be betraying them. If I told them the truth, they would be heartbroken and might fall ill.
I was only lying to protect them, I reasoned. I’d pay them back from my bonus. Their savings were their emergency fund, though. It was all they had. They always took the bus rather than a taxi, even when it was raining; they shopped in budget supermarkets; they didn’t turn on the heating, or the lights, except in the one room they sat in all day and even then, only for a few hours.
I couldn’t do it.
I picked up my bag, desperate to leave. I had no idea what would happen next. I kept imagining Tom’s reaction when he realised the lies upon lies that I had heaped upon him. How would my children cope with the fallout? What about Ahmed?
I hugged my parents goodbye. If they knew they could have done something to save me, save my family, they’d have done so without hesitation.
I could see no other way out.
‘I almost forgot. I wanted to ask a favour please.’
I clutched the bunch of keys in my hand, pressing the serrated edges into my flesh. Once I spoke, there would be no going back.
Baba lowered the newspaper and peered at me over the top of the page. Ami took her headphones off. I smiled an easy smile.
‘The children’s schools have come up with a new scheme. If we pay the whole year’s fees in advance, we get a 30 per cent reduction. That’s a saving of around seven thousand pounds.’
My heart thudded with every word. I held onto the door frame.
Baba looked worried. I realised I was frowning.
‘Are you having problems because Tom’s not working? Do you want us to help you? Tell me, princess.’
His voice was gruff. He watched my face, as if holding his breath for my answer. My eyes darted instinctively to Ami’s medicine basket, where I could see Baba’s yellow angina spray peeking out.
‘Not at all. We have money put aside for the fees. You know how organised Tom is, but that’s the problem. Most of our money is tied up in investments, and he’s planned for them to mature through the year for the fees at different stages. We’re just a few thousand pounds short, to pay for this scheme upfront. He said to leave it but I think it’s such a good opportunity.’
‘I think it’s a very good idea,’ said Baba.
‘So, I thought maybe I could borrow some from you and Ami? Only if you can spare it, of course. There are some bonds that mature in five months and I could pay it all back to you then. If I save seven thousand, we can share the money. You can get your bathroom done, maybe, or go on a holiday?’
A part of me wanted them to say ‘No’, so that I wouldn’t have to embezzle two OAPs. Mostly, though, I wanted them to open up their cheque book.
‘How much do you need?’ said Ami.
‘Fifteen thousand… It’s just for five months though.’
Farrah had told me they had seventeen thousand left.
‘Please don’t mention it to Tom, though. He’d hate me asking you for help.’
The success of my plan depended on me getting my bonus, but I was well on track for that.
Baba smiled as he wrote me a cheque.
‘Princess, that’s what parents are for. We’re happy to help. Anything for our lovely grandchildren’s education!’
In my car, sobs shook my body. If my parents ever found out what I had just done, their hearts would break and nothing would ever be the same again.
Thirty-Eight
I was in the living room, reading an English essay that Sofia wanted me to check before she handed it in. It was past midnight but I knew I wouldn’t get a chance to read it at work. I was feeling too wired up to sleep anyway.
I’d made sure that, between football matches, party pick and drops, and sudden errands for my parents, we couldn’t make it to the supposed Post Office account to add Tom’s name. I deposited Baba’s cheque into the emergency account and then transferred the money to the current account, so Tom couldn’t trace it. I had almost been caught out. I couldn’t afford any loose ends.
Despite my guilt at lying to my parents, I felt relief. I had bought myself some time. I couldn’t let our marriage get destroyed by this one mistake. I picked our wedding photo out on the side table, with those early versions of us staring back at me. We had been happy together every day since, even on the days we weren’t happy. It hadn’t been easy to get to our wedding day, though. There had been a lot of opposition.
Tom’s parents’, Victoria and Jason, lived in Guildford, in the same house where Tom and his brother Peter had grown up. The first time I met them was at a barbeque in the proudly tended garden, behind their end of terrace, semi-detached house. They’d also invited their next-door neighbours, ‘as they’re like family’.
Victoria offered me a coke, whispering, ‘I know you don’t drink alcohol,’ as if commiserating about an affliction or mentioning an embarrassing fact that could not be discussed openly. She turned away when her neighbour, Dave, called out, ‘Where are the sausages, Vicky? You always have sausages.’
Tom’s voice rang out across the garden as he replied before his mother could.
‘Faiza doesn’t eat pork, so we decided to skip the sausages today. Let me get you a burger.’
He walked towards the grill where his father stood silently, his face redder than when I’d met him an hour earlier. No one said anything for a minute, but as Tom walked away, Dave’s wife muttered to no one in particular, and so to everyone, ‘Well, we still eat sausages. Why do we have to deprive ourselves?’
I’d whispered to Tom that of course I didn’t mind if his parents and their friends had their usual barbeque menu, but by then, everyone’s opinion of me, as someone who deprived people of their freedom to eat sausages, was sealed. It wasn’t Tom’s fault; I knew he’d only been trying to make me feel more comfortable.
I’d done the same when he came to our house for the first time for dinner. I asked Ami to make food that was easy to eat and not too spicy. I warned Farrah not to laugh if Tom used a knife and fork to eat the seekh kebab. My family were also strictly instructed not to slip into Urdu at any point during the evening, although I got told off by Baba for saying that.
‘We would never be that rude!’ he said, bemused at my request.
The two sets of parents met just once before the wedding. We decided on afternoon tea at a café in Esher, a symbolic midpoint, both geographically and gastronomically. Everyone loved a cup of tea.
Neither side had expressed a desire to meet earlier and I was relieved. I couldn’t have handled a double dose of the warnings each of our parents had been doling out to Tom and me, like daily proclamations of doom, as emphatic as those from a psychic. Considering that all the tragedies our parents feared would befall us if we got married were based on the huge differences between our cultures and upbringing, it was ironic that the warnings from Victoria and Jason were almost exactly the same as the ones from Ami and Baba.
‘These people are not like us.’
‘These kinds of marriages never work.’
‘What will people say?’
The meeting was short and sweet. All four parents were on their best behaviour, as if they were our children, eager to make sure they didn’t disappoint us.
As well as trying to reassure our own parents, Tom and I also spent more time with our in-laws to be. I tried to think about it like phobia therapy. Like when you’re afraid of spiders and you’re exposed to them in tiny increments, at some point you stop freaking out at the sight of a spider. I always thought that Tom and I were the spiders in this scenario, but sometimes I wondered if my in-laws scared me as much as I clearly unsettled them.
Ami and Baba came around more quickly than I’d expected. Maybe it was because they themselves had married against Ami’s parents’ wishes, or that they’d already made so many adjustments in their lives: ada
pting to a new country, new food, a new language, a whole new world. Besides, they couldn’t resist Tom, once they got to know him.
He took them to see his flat in Fulham to show them how he was getting the place ready for me: the new wardrobe, the bookshelves, the walls he’d painted cream because he knew I’d like that, and the pot plants dotted about, just as they were in my bedroom at home. Baba was delighted that, in the kitchen, there was a long shelf, with a neat line of lever arch folders where Tom filed all his utility bills, insurance papers and bank statements in a frighteningly similar system to my father’s, which I had teased Tom about, but which won Baba over.
Slowly, we convinced them that despite his brown hair and blue eyes, Tom ticked every single item on their wish list for a husband for me.
‘He is a good boy,’ said Baba.
And it was settled.
My parents’ seal of approval meant that the objections of the extended family also evaporated, at least to our faces. The aunties talked instead, about Tom’s job and salary, which must both be very good as he had bought his flat. They approved that he had studied at LSE, said he was very handsome, and were excited at the prospect of us having good-looking children.
It had been Tom’s parents who had struggled more with the situation, though they tried not to show it.
Just before the wedding, Tom’s parents had a lunch for some of their extended family. It was July and I wore a floral sundress, which I thought was as English as I could get, with some pastel kitten heels. Everyone was excited about the wedding and I felt the months of tension finally easing. His mother complimented me and said that I looked lovely.
‘I can see why Tom fell for you,’ she smiled.
I smiled back, glad that she had finally come around.
‘I’m sorry I was a little hesitant at first, but you see, he’s never dated anyone like you before. He’s always gone for blondes, never a “brunette”, not a single one. Not until you. So, I was just very surprised. I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure if it was anything serious, but I can see how much he loves you. Welcome to the family.’
She put her arm around me and squeezed quickly, before walking away.
The thing I’d been waiting for all those months, for her to accept me and acknowledge that Tom loved me, was swept away under a wave of unease. Tom, it seemed, like the title of the movie, preferred blondes.
Despite that nugget, at least his parents had given their blessing.
I went back to reading Sofia’s essay. I had to make things work. We had overcome so much to be together – and I wouldn’t let my family be destroyed now.
Thirty-Nine
I got to the office at seven every day, before any of the others. I was still playing catch-up, learning about the products and getting to know Annie’s existing clients, as well as building my own portfolio. Now I thought about my parents every time I made a call and every time I prepared a document. I had to return my parents’ money quickly and safely.
My new sales targets were terrifying, although Sergio called them ‘ambitious’. I was also preparing for a major pitch in Amsterdam that the whole team was competing for. If I won that account, I’d be well on my way to getting the bonus.
I started leaving the house before the children were awake, sometimes even before Tom woke up. I used the extra time to push harder than anyone else on my team.
One morning, when I thought I was alone in the office, I swore at the computer screen in frustration, unable to understand an investment model despite staring at it for ages.
‘Fuck you, you fucking, stupid, crazy, fucking, useless bond!’
I heard laughter behind me. I spun around, my face burning. Harry.
‘Oh shit, fuck!’ I said, before putting my hand up to my mouth. Then I started to laugh.
‘And good morning to you too! Don’t worry, Fi, this business will drive anyone to profanity. Now, let me go through this with you. Someone helped me the first time I did this one too,’ said Harry.
He led me to his office and insisted that, before anything else, we needed a proper cup of coffee, which he made for me using a complicated black machine with lots of little buttons.
Since he’d found out we’d been at the same college, he’d taken me under his wing somewhat.
‘It’s my duty as a fellow alum,’ he said.
To my surprise, we got on very well. There was none of the awkwardness that I had felt in the lift. I realised he’d only been flirting with me that day as men sometimes do, a reflex as inbuilt as smiling or shaking hands. Once he knew I was married and his colleague, there had never been the slightest hint of that again.
I was grateful for his help. Besides Ivan, no one had spent any time teaching me the ropes, and at the end of the day, Ivan and I were still competing with each other for our sales figures.
It turned out that Harry was also in the habit of coming in very early. The morning coffee became a sort of ritual for us and I was grateful for this daily tutorial. He’d make us coffee and I’d bring in apples, peaches or a fresh croissant from the café downstairs on my way in. Then he guided me on the pitches that I was preparing, sometimes challenging my ideas, and at other times, sharing his with me.
Often, I would catch myself wondering how he could be married to someone like Julia. I got a kick out of imagining her outrage if she knew that I was having coffee with her husband every morning. I allowed myself this petty indulgence of having ‘one up’ on her. I felt I deserved it after all her nasty comments to me.
The others in my team all stayed at the office until nine or ten o’clock, eating dinner at their desks, and I didn’t want to be the one who stood out by leaving. Besides, I needed to stay visible and involved, so when it came to bonus time, I was seen as a ‘closer’ and ‘contributor’.
I barely saw the children but stayed in touch through calls at bedtime and so many texts that they told me to stop.
Tom was great. He sent me photos of them all having dinner, or homework sheets with good marks, and reassuring texts, telling me their news from the day: how Alex had asked him about global ‘worming’, and that Ahmed had played PlayStation online with his friends and Tom had heard him laughing in his room, which reassured us that his recovery was continuing. He told me how he and Sofia had watched Pointless together, and that she’d let him look at her ‘private’ Instagram.
‘Everything’s OK. Don’t worry.’
It was exactly what I used to do for Tom when he was working late.
When I got home, he’d lock up downstairs as I fell into bed and then tuck the duvet around me.
‘Another day, another dollar,’ he’d say, smiling.
It was what he used to say to me when he was away on a business trip and I asked him how his day had been.
Our lives had flipped.
Tom asked me a couple of times when we could go to the Post Office to add his name but I managed to dodge it.
‘Yes, sure, darling. Just let me get through this pitch.’
I couldn’t stall him forever, though.
Forty
I was becoming obsessed with my job and my work spilled into my evenings and weekends too. Everything depended on my getting the bonus.
One morning I noticed that Sofia was very quiet. I only saw her briefly and she had her ear pods in, clearly indicating her desire to not engage in conversation. I was uneasy all day, although Tom said that she seemed fine. Perhaps it was my guilt at being away from home that was the issue, not Sofia, but I decided to leave work early. I hoped that my absence at the daily Deliveroo desk dinner in the office would not count as a black mark.
I’d been trying to find time to look through her university choices and used this as an excuse to go into her room. She shifted to make room for me on her bed and I lay down next to her as we looked at university courses on her laptop.
‘Besides Oxford, I want to choose universities where there’s a good international mix. I mean places that aren’t too “white”.’
&nbs
p; I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We had a talk by some alumni and there was a girl whose parents were from Pakistan. She went to a university where almost everyone was white. She said I should go somewhere more diverse and I think she’s right.’
‘OK, but why should that matter? Most of your school friends are white, and you’re half white. I mean, I can understand that if her parents are from Pakistan, she may have experienced some racism; sadly, that’s far too common. But I’m sure it won’t be an issue for you.’
Sofia looked at me then looked away, as if she wanted to say something, but was hesitating.
‘What?’ I said.
She shrugged.
‘It is an issue, Mum. I’m English, but then I have the Pakistani half of me. All my genes are mixed up and no one understands what it’s like. People can be mean.’
I put my hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. Sofia had never mentioned anything like this before. I knew it wasn’t always easy, but things were different now to when I was growing up. Besides, if our children were Pakistani and English, I thought their mixed heritage meant that they might get a little more acceptance than I had. There had been the incident at Ahmed’s old school. But I thought the bullies would have picked on him about anything because he was shy. Now I wondered if I had been wrong.
‘Has someone said anything to you about being mixed race?’
She shook her head. ‘No, it was worse than that.’
I couldn’t bear the thought of my children being attacked just for being who they were. I put my arm around her.
‘Tell me what happened,’ I said, already furious that someone had made my daughter look this sad.
She stared at her laptop as she spoke.
‘I was at a party on Saturday, someone Meg knows from another school. There was a boy, Ben, who seemed really nice and I think he liked me too. I was talking to him and his friends about a summer job at this coffee shop in Balham, and he said, “It’s full of Pakis there.”’
Would I Lie to You? Page 16