‘I can’t believe we all went through so much shit and we didn’t even tell each other,’ I said. ‘If I’d told you, maybe I would’ve had the courage to tell Tom too, and things wouldn’t have got that bad.’
They nodded. We had all shared the things we’d been trying so hard to carry alone. Now, with my friends, as with Tom, and with everyone in my life, I just wanted to be myself.
I needed to stop hiding.
‘I wanted to tell you but I felt so ashamed,’ I said.
Naila passed me a tissue and Sam put her arm around me. They huddled together to hide me from the rest of the café.
‘Faiza, you nutcase, we love you. I’m so glad you told us,’ said Sam.
I smiled, looking into their eyes, which showed no disgust or reproach.
‘Spending all that money, lying to my parents, leaving my kids unprotected, and for what? My mum told me how she used to spend money to impress her parents and her sisters, who made her feel second best because we weren’t as rich as them, until one day she realised that she already had everything she wanted. I think the same thing happened to me. My life was great, it really was, now I think about it. I had Tom, the kids, my parents, you guys, but when I compared myself to the glam women around me and their glossy, perfect lives, I just forgot. I felt I had to be just like everyone else to fit in, but I didn’t.’
I realised now that being around that crowd had touched a nerve in me that I had no control over; the Achilles heel from my ‘scholarship girl’ days, the chip I had carried so well hidden on my shoulder.
‘Nothing good ever comes of comparing yourself to other people!’ said Sam. ‘There’s always going to be someone thinner, or prettier or richer, or more successful. That’s what James’s toxic parents have done to him all his life, comparing him to Rupert. That’s why he fell apart when things went wrong at work. We didn’t need the money and I loved him, promotion or not, but he felt he was a failure when he compared himself to his brother.’
Sam had just told Naila about James as well.
‘I’m so sorry. How is James now?’ said Naila.
‘Better, thanks. He’s left that job – and I told his parents to fuck off.’
Sam never swore.
‘Go Sam!’ I said.
‘I’ve never even had an argument with them before but I marched in, told them that we would not be seeing them at all for three months and that the anniversary party would be a family dinner at our place – take it or leave it. James was horrified when he heard, but I think he’s relieved too. I wished I’d told you both, but James was so embarrassed by it all…’
Naila told Sam about Adil starting at Clissington’s.
‘I’m sorry I kept it a secret, but I felt like such a fraud, after all my talk about private schools.’
‘Naila, we’re not friends with you because of where your son goes to school,’ said Sam.
‘Remind me again: why are we friends with her?’ I asked.
Sam and I started to laugh but Naila didn’t join in. She was staring at the fork in her hand as if she’d never seen a fork before, rubbing the handle.
‘There’s something else. I’m only telling you both, in the strictest confidence. Seema’s got a boyfriend. She’s been getting drunk, going to parties, smoking weed. I had no idea until she passed out at a friend’s house and they called us. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong,’ she said, and wiped her eyes with a tissue.
‘She’s just being a teenager,’ said Sam.
‘No, Sam, you don’t understand. We can’t do these things in our culture. If anyone finds out what happened – my parents, or Tariq’s parents or other people – her reputation will be ruined. So will ours.’
I passed Naila the plate with the brownies. She took a bite and I said, ‘Naila, listen, things are different for our children. Their experience is not going to be the same as ours. And, by the way, this is not just because I’m married to a white guy. Haven’t you heard me talk about all the desi dinners and weddings I’ve been to with full bars and everyone getting wasted? The same people pretend to be teetotal when they’re with a more traditional crowd. All I’m saying is, everyone is trying to find their own way. At least now things are in the open, you and Seema can talk. Explain to her why you don’t want her to do these things – and don’t say “because it’s our culture”. First, their culture is not the same as yours and mine, and second, because there are plenty of Pakistani families in London and in Pakistan, who do all the things you’re telling her not to. Find out what works for you and for her. You’re a great mother and Seema is a great kid, OK?’
‘Thanks. Maybe you’re right,’ said Naila.
‘That’s what I’m trying to do with my kids. Tom and I can’t really understand their experience, because they have this lovely cultural mix, so we need to find a way that works for us, for them, and for what we believe. Why is life so hard? Give me a brownie!’
We all smiled. My friends were looking the way I felt: lighter, relieved, happier.
Later, they asked about Harry.
‘He has a court date coming up. For the fraud but also for the assault. I found out that Annie, the woman whose job I took over, had made a sexual harassment complaint about him too but they paid her off and she left.’
‘No!’ said Naila.
‘It gets worse. Apparently, she was Indian and Harry was known in the office to have a thing about Asian women. Annie’s real name was Anoushka. Ivan tried to warn me but I wouldn’t listen. I never got that vibe from Harry, though, not until the night of Lizzie’s party. That’s when he showed his true colours. He kept saying how exotic I was.’ I shuddered. ‘It also explains why Julia has always hated me. Maybe she knew about his desi fetish?’
‘It’s still no excuse for the things she said to you,’ said Sam. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t even realise.’
I had explained to Sam why Julia’s comments about Ami not speaking English, or constantly talking about ‘my culture’ and trying to ‘other’ me, had upset me so much. Sam had understood straight away. She said she’d never realised those comments had caused such distress and asked me to tell her if she herself or someone around us said something like that without realising the connotations, or if they did it deliberately.
Julia had texted Sam.
‘She’s moving back to Notting Hill and the girls are going back to their old school. She’s not divorcing Harry. She says everyone in the City does what Harry did in those deals and HH are just making him a scapegoat. She also thinks you overreacted, Faiza. I can’t believe she had the nerve to say that after what he did, and to say it to me, knowing you’re my friend!’
‘Julia and Harry deserve each other. I’m just glad they won’t be here anymore,’ I said.
By the time we left the café, each of us had cried, all of us had hugged, and we had promised to not keep secrets from each other, just for the sake of keeping up the image we thought people, even our closest friends, had of us.
Tom was waiting for me at home and I snuggled up on the sofa, feeling a sense of peace that I never had before. I didn’t need to pretend to be perfect. Tom and my friends knew the worst about me – and they hadn’t left me. They still loved me.
Ninety-One
Three months later
‘Where’s my reading book?’
Alex demanded that we all stop what we were doing and attend to his needs. Tom and I looked at each other and shrugged.
Sofia found the book, which was propped next to the toaster and put it inside Alex’s bag.
I mouthed a ‘Thanks’ to her.
‘Mum, can I borrow your blue cashmere jumper? I’ll be careful, I promise,’ she said, timing her request perfectly to coincide with her good deed for Alex.
‘It’s very expensive, Sofia.’
‘But you never wear it anymore,’ she said. ‘I haven’t bought any clothes for ages and this way I can just use yours.’
That was true. My Butterfly clothes did not really have space
in my new life.
‘OK, but please be careful!’
She gave me a hug.
‘So, Aunty Naila’s taking you home after school, Ahmed,’ I said.
‘Cool,’ he said.
I put my jacket on and checked when the next bus was coming.
‘Five minutes, darling,’ I said to Tom.
‘And Alex, you’re staying on for football club and I’ll pick you up today,’ said Tom, handing Alex his after-school snacks in his new Chelsea lunch box.
‘Where’s the form for my football kit?’ asked Ahmed.
‘Shit! Shit! Sorry,’ I said, ‘I forgot. Wait a sec.’
I ran up to my bedroom and found the form where I’d left it two days ago, next to my make-up. I ran down to the kitchen shouting, ‘Pen, pen! Quick!’
Tom handed me a pen and I filled the form in, leaning on the console table while everyone stood in a line, ready to leave the house.
Outside, Naila was waiting for Ahmed in her car with Adil, and Sofia set off with Alex to drop him off at school. She held his hand, while speed-texting on her phone at the same time with her other hand. I frowned. Alex loved talking on his way to school. Then I saw Sofia pause and bend down to her little brother as he pointed to something on the ground. My body relaxed. Tom saw it too and smiled.
‘She’s a good kid. They all are – Mashallah!’
‘Well, well, who knew you could integrate so well!’ I laughed.
We missed the bus and decided to walk down the hill to the station. I made my morning call to Ami.
‘Wa-Alaikum salaam, Beti. I’m just getting ready because the bus is coming to pick us up.’
She sounded excited. They were off on a day trip to Eastbourne arranged through an elderly outings scheme run by the council. They loved taking the trips.
‘Oh yes, I forgot. Have a great time! Give my love to Baba. Khuda Hafiz!’
Farrah had found out about this service, and about a hospital transport scheme to take them to their appointments when she and I were both at work. I still worried about not being around for them as much, but so far, they were happy and Farrah was also helping me look after them.
When I hung up, Tom said, ‘Can you listen to the pitch I’m doing this morning? Tell me if it comes across well?’
He ran through his ideas and I told him a couple of changes that might make his points clearer.
On the Waterloo and City Line, we managed to get seats next to each other and held hands until we got to Bank, then walked off separately towards our offices.
Tom called on my mobile a few hours later.
‘Shall we meet outside the Royal Exchange?’ he said.
‘Yes, I’m just leaving.’
I picked up my bag and went around the team desk to kiss my friends goodbye. Two cheek kisses for Teresa and Sabine, and three for Ivan. I waved when I got to David.
‘Bye, children! Be good!’
I’d realised that Teresa and Ivan had both tried to warn me about Harry but I hadn’t listened.
‘Are you moving this weekend, Faiza?’ said Sabine.
They all called me by my real name now – Fi was in my past, thank goodness.
‘Yep. First move in fifteen years! I’m a bit nervous. But excited too. The kids are moaning, of course!’
‘You have very big balls, Faiza!’ said Ivan.
‘Why, thank you, Ivan! That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!’
Teresa and Sabine joined in with our laughter.
‘See you all in a week!’
Tom had started his new job, but I didn’t want to stop working. We still had to repay the loans and, despite selling the house to free up some money, we had to be careful. Tom’s job was initially a two-year contract and my bonus hadn’t been as high as expected, although I’d managed to put back some of the emergency fund.
Besides the money, though, I loved my job, and I was good at it. I had become the go-to consultant for trust funds that our clients wanted to set up for their children. They liked the fact that I was a mother and understood why these were the most important funds of all, for them.
I’d discovered a budgeting app and used it to keep track of my spending for myself, whipping it out every time I went into a shop, and explaining to the bemused Wimbledon Village sales assistants why I could only spend what my app allowed. I had even used it in Butterfly. Tom had stopped going through the items on the credit card bill, or compiling spreadsheets with budgets.
We’d made a pact to talk to each other about money: how much we had, how much we were spending. It had felt strange, at first, and made me nervous, but the more we did it, the less of an issue it became. We were a work in progress, but now it felt like we were living a partnership, rather than parallel lives.
I left the office and walked towards Bank. I looked up as I passed The Cinq. Tom and I had laid a bouquet there, for the poor man who had jumped. I felt a stab of sadness for him and his family and realised yet again how lucky we had been.
Christmas lights were already up on almost every building, and the City sparkled in the pale winter sun. Tom was waiting for me.
‘What do you fancy for lunch?’ he asked, putting his arms around me, warming me up as I shivered in the cold December air.
I went through a mental list of our usual City haunts, all of them either in skyscrapers with dazzling views, or with delicious food, but hefty bills that always made Tom’s eyebrows jump up in fright. Nor would they comply with my budgeting app. Then I had an idea.
‘Happy Days?’
‘Sounds good,’ he said.
He took my hand and slipped it into his coat pocket, holding it tightly as we walked away, talking about our work and the new house. I was surprised at how excited I felt. It was a fresh start.
We left behind the skyscrapers and glossy global brands and walked towards narrower streets and dirtier pavements, passing high street coffee shops and sandwich kiosks, interspersed by key cutting services and walk-in barbers. We turned into Petticoat Lane market and passed stalls selling rows of leggings, T-shirts and leather jackets, suspended high above us.
We found a small table in the corner, in the middle of the Friday lunchtime rush at Happy Days, a local fish and chip shop where we used to go when we first started dating.
After we’d eaten, Tom moved aside the salt and pepper shakers and the bottle of vinegar, one by one, and took one of my hands in his, on the plastic, red-and-white checked table cloth.
‘That was delicious,’ he said.
‘It really was. It was perfect.’
I reached out for his other hand and looked around at the bustling restaurant, with its bright red tinsel and laminated menus. I smiled at Tom, looking into his eyes. He was right. We would mess up, we would fight, we would change, but we would always love each other. I squeezed his hands as my eyes filled with tears. It didn’t matter where we were, or what we had been through. This was all that I needed.
He started to rub circles, soft as a feather, in the palms of my hands. I felt myself shiver. He was watching my face and I swallowed, trying to slow my breathing, aware of my chest rising and falling. He smiled.
‘I know that look,’ he said. ‘I know what’s going to happen next.’
‘Do you now? Let’s see if you’re right.’
We both stood up and leaned towards each other across the small, rickety table.
Then we kissed.
Acknowledgements
Thank you so much for reading Would I Lie to You? A reader is the ultimate prize for a writer and I’m thrilled to share this story with you.
When I started writing my debut, I had no idea about how many people would play a role getting me to this magical moment. I’m so grateful to them all.
Thanks to my wise and kind MA classmates at Royal Holloway, Allison, Catherine, Megan, Prescilla, Ross, Sam, Zoe, and Julia. Thank you to everyone in my Curtis Brown Creative writing group, especially Geoff, Louise, Swithun, Wendy, Ziella and to Ian, for s
pending Boxing day reading my manuscript! Writing this novel would have been harder, lonelier and much less enjoyable without all of you. Andrea Mason, thank you for being such an inspirational role model for my writing and for life!
I am very grateful to my lovely sister-in-law Fawzia, for your encouragement, and for being a careful, gentle and insightful early reader. Thank you to my dear, late in-laws for our long discussions about books.
A special thanks to my nephews and nieces for cheering me on, and to Seyhr for that long conversation about my writing. Thank you to my dearest siblings for their huge love and support, for celebrating every step with me, and for being so understanding about my disappearing acts. Thanks to my brother for always telling me to hurry up and finish writing my book!
Shelley Weiner, Anna Davis and Nikita Lalwani, thank you for believing I could do it, even when I wasn’t sure. Thank you to Dr John Moran. Without your help, I may still be writing this book!
Working with my brilliant UK editor Laura Palmer has been an amazing experience. Thank you for loving the book right from the start and for understanding it so well that it spooked me out! You are a genius and your insights have made the book stronger and shinier in ways I could not have imagined. Thank you for your constant encouragement, calm approach and collaborative style, which made everything seem easier and made my confidence soar. I would also like to thank the lovely Anna Nightingale for your support, and every single person at my incredible UK publishers, Head of Zeus, for all your hard work and for championing my book with such energy, expertise and enthusiasm. I am lucky to have you all on my team.
Thank you very much to my US editor, the fantastic Beth deGuzman. I am fortunate to benefit from your expertise, your passion for my book and your impeccable, invaluable guidance. Thank you for being so collaborative and supportive and for sharing my excitement. I am very grateful to the whole team at my wonderful US Publishers, Grand Central Publishing for taking such great care of my book, so I always felt it was in safe and expert hands. My thanks also to Kirsiah McNamara, for all your excellent help and support.
I would also like to say a big thank you to Jenny Bent, for championing my book so brilliantly in the US.
Would I Lie to You? Page 31