The Wedding Countdown

by Ruth Saberton

  ‘Aisha, please don’t cry.’

  ‘Do you think I’m wrong? Do you think I should have forgotten about my A-levels, about going to medical school and about the man I love to marry some total stranger in Pakistan just because it’s what my parents want? I’m not from Pakistan! I’m from Southall!’

  Sheesh! I’m the last person who should offer advice.

  ‘Aisha, it’s not my job to pass judgment: I’m just here to help tell your story. I may not have been in love but I hope one day, insha’Allah, I’ll find a man who is as special as your Jake.’

  ‘He is special.’ She takes a shaky breath. ‘He really is.’

  ‘I can tell,’ I say. ‘And I totally understand the pain of trying to make your own decisions and please your parents. Off the record I can’t tell you not to follow your heart but please don’t forget the good things about your family too. You told me there’s one brother you are really close to?’

  She nods. ‘Zain. He’s not like the others.’

  ‘Could you maybe call him? Just to let him know you’re safe?’

  ‘Maybe, but I can never see them again, not if I want to keep safe. Girls like us don’t really have choices, do we? Everything we do involves sacrificing something else precious and making compromises and I’ve had enough.’

  For a second my thoughts had drifted from Aisha to the tangled web I’ve been busily weaving for myself. I’m uneasy about Nina’s dating features and even uneasier about my impending meeting with supermarket Dawud. I’m a dating novice and I’m starting to wonder if maybe it wouldn’t be wiser just to hand the whole marriage business back to my parents? If they ever discover that I’ve been involved in dating, even my own diluted version, they’d be devastated.

  ‘Is it really worth it?’ I think aloud.

  Aisha’s red-rimmed eyes are bright with emotion. ‘It’s worth it. When you find the one, Mills, you’ll understand that it’s worth everything.’

  I don’t really know how to follow this. As Wish takes some pictures I find myself thinking about my Aunt Seema, the aunt who is never mentioned, and how much she must have loved her Alan to have sacrificed her family to be with him. It makes me feel so sad but there’s also a tiny part of me that’s a little envious. What must it be like to find a love so powerful that you would give up everything you hold dear in order to be with the man you love? Would I have the courage to do the same?

  I hope I never have to find out.

  ‘Tired?’ asks Wish, much later, opening the car door and taking my bag from me while I try to clamber out elegantly.

  ‘Exhausted.’ I yawn. ‘How could you tell?’

  Wish grins. ‘The snoring on the way home was a bit of a giveaway.’

  ‘Snoring!’ I’m mortified. I only nodded off for five minutes tops and I was snoring? Oh Lord. I hope I didn’t dribble onto the seats because Nina will sack me on the spot.

  ‘Not snoring then.’ Wish bleeps the doors shut and sets the alarm. ‘Breathing heavily maybe? Anyway, can’t blame you. It’s been a busy day.’

  ‘It certainly has.’ I could fall asleep right here outside Eve’s flat. I’m tired in every way, emotionally, physically and mentally. It’s past nine o’clock now; shadows pool between the houses, and the trees in the square are tinted purple and lilac.

  Wish smiles down at me. ‘I should go.’

  ‘I guess you should. Thanks for driving and getting such amazing photos.’

  ‘It was a great interview; you should be proud. Aisha really opened up to you.’

  ‘I hope it makes a difference for Aisha and for other girls just like her.’

  ‘Do you know something?’ Wish steps closer and for a minute I think that he’s going to kiss me on the cheek, but that’s impossible. I’m a good Muslim girl and he knows the score.

  But what if he forgot?

  Would I stop him?

  ‘What?’ I whisper.

  He pauses then looks at his watch. ‘I’m two hours late. I’ll be seriously in Minty’s bad books if I don’t get going.’

  I’m glad it’s getting dark otherwise he might see me turn milkshake pink. ‘Yes! You’d better go!’

  I spin round on my spike-heeled boot so quickly that I feel dizzy.

  ‘Do you want me to walk you to the door?’

  ‘No! No!’ My head waggles like that dog in the insurance adverts. ‘I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow!’

  ‘OK,’ Wish says. ‘See you tomorrow, then.’

  I walk to the house, taking care not to trip up the eight steps because that wouldn’t look cool, unlock the door, give a little wave and then shut it firmly. Only when I hear the Mercedes roar into life do I exhale and rest my hot face against the windowpanes.

  My first proper interview has been a success.

  I’ve ridden in my fantasy car.

  But as I climb the stairs with legs heavier than concrete, I feel oddly deflated.

  And I can’t for the life of me work out why.

  Chapter 14

  ‘Who was that?’ demands Eve.

  Ignoring her I lob my keys onto the table.

  ‘Come on!’ She follows me into the kitchen. ‘Lush guy? Sports car? Nice bum?’

  ‘No one.’ I flick the kettle on. ‘Just a colleague from work, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s all!’ screeches Eve. ‘He’s totally fit! Wish I worked at GupShup! Your scenery’s a million miles better than mine.’

  ‘And how was Damien today?’

  ‘Grim, but don’t change the subject. Tell me more about Mr Gorgeous.’

  Don’t you just hate it when your friends know exactly what you’re up to?

  I give up. ‘That was Wish, the photographer.’

  ‘The one who’s with Minty Vane?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ says Eve. ‘Still, he was never an option was he?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  I’m glad I have my back to her while I spoon coffee into mugs because I can never mask my feelings and Eve knows me well enough to tell when I’m hiding something. Not that I’m sure what I am hiding. I like Wish. Along with Raj he’s proving to be a great ally at work. Since Nish and I’ve been at GupShup Wish has gone out of his way to make us feel welcome, inviting us out with the rest of the gang after work or popping by my desk with a much welcome coffee. Sometimes Nina pairs us for assignments and while we take the tube we chat about everything, from books we both adore to how we feel about generally spreading peace and harmony across this planet.

  ‘Mills,’ says Eve slowly, ‘you can tell me to get lost if you like but you like Wish, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do.’ I brush past her to get some milk out of the fridge. ‘Everyone likes him.’

  ‘Not like,’ says Eve slowly, as though talking to an idiot. ‘Like. You like him.’

  I’m trying to pour the milk at this point but somehow miss the mug and cold white liquid drips off the counter and pools onto the floor. I bite my lip hard because suddenly I feel like howling. Come on saheli, no point crying over it.

  ‘I knew it!’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ I say. ‘He’s not what I’m looking for.’ I trace patterns in the milk. ‘Anyway, he’s with Minty.’

  ‘Minty schinty,’ scoffs Eve. ‘She visited B-D for representation after Celebrities in the Desert and believe me there’s nothing going on in that head of hers. Wish will die of boredom once the sex wears off.’

  ‘Who needs brains when you look like that?’

  ‘Wish, if he’s half as intelligent and interesting as you and Nish keep telling me he is. So stop making excuses that he isn’t Pakistani Royalty and go show that bitch who the competition is! If he’s hot, go for it!’

  ‘I thought you understood? This isn’t about me. It’s about what my family needs, especially now Qas has upset things big time.’

  ‘Bloody Qas,’ Eve says mildly. This seems to be my errant brother’s new name amongst my girl friends.

  ‘Even if
I did like Wish, which I’m not saying I do, being with him isn’t a possibility. Ever. So can we just leave it?’

  Eve holds up her hands. ‘No problem, Mills. You’re not interested in Wish. I get it. You. Are. Not. Interested. And changing the subject, your mum phoned.’

  I groan. ‘That’ll teach me to have my phone switched off all day. She probably thinks I’ve been eaten by vampires or something.’

  ‘She was wondering when you’re coming home,’ says Eve. ‘She’s missing you.’

  I feel a twinge of guilt. ‘I’ll call her now.’

  I’ve been home for one weekend since I moved to London and I keep meaning to go back. I just can’t face a four-hour train journey or a repeat of Auntie Bee sniping about how I’ve become a city slicker who uses too much gora slang. She should try having to think and speak in several languages. Eve and Nish don’t speak Urdu so of course I’m using English more readily.

  Just as long as I don’t start speaking like Kareena though…

  ‘Beti!’ cries Mummy-ji in delight when she accepts my call. ‘Why don’t you ever answer your phone, hmm?’

  ‘Mummy-ji I’ve been so busy with work and–’

  ‘Work schurk! Does that come before your blood? Honestly, Mills, we allowed you this chance to use your education but I never thought you would put your career before your own parents. And after the Hell and shame your brother is putting us through!’

  Here we go. I’m taking so many guilt trips these days that I ought to get a season ticket.

  ‘Mum! Don’t be daft! You guys will always come first. I know Qas has been a bit thoughtless–’

  ‘Thoughtless? Your bechara Daddy-ji can hardly sleep he’s so upset. Thoughtless you say? Chi chi!’

  Rewind!

  ‘Sorry, I meant selfish. But I’m not Qas! I love you all but right now I’m really busy at work and I’ve got so much to do. Please don’t think I’m ignoring you or snubbing you or that I don’t care!’

  ‘Mills, beti, calm down! I know as our first born you will never let us down.’

  ‘No pressure then.’

  ‘Kya? I’m not putting any pressure on you, you silly girl. All I’m asking is that you call us, don’t switch off that mobile, Mills, it worries me, and that you come back to Bradford this weekend. Bilqees was only saying yesterday that it’s as though you’ve deserted us, just like Mariya.’

  It takes a huge amount of effort not to sigh. ‘I’ll come home on Friday.’

  ‘Good.’ This sorted, my mother turns to less important matters, namely my immortal soul. ‘Beti, you are reading your namazes, aren’t you?’

  I cross my fingers. ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘And your Friday Jummah namaz?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ I say.

  ‘Try harder, Amelia! Remember the five pillars.’

  ‘I will,’ I promise. Along with finding a husband and having a full-time job this should leave me with all of about two minutes to myself. Why is it so hard to be a good daughter?

  ‘Good,’ says Mummy-ji before rambling on about the latest feud between Auntie Bee and some poor unfortunate soul. I tune out and boot up my Mac, my fingers itching to fly across the keyboard and turn Aisha’s story into something tangible. As my mother chats away I toy with the idea of asking her about Aunt Seema. It could put a whole new complexion on the story, but I chicken out when she returns to bemoaning the Qas/Lizzie situation.

  Once Mummy-ji rings off, having made me swear to Allah-ji that I’ll be home on Friday, I sit my iPod in its speakers and turn the volume up. I don’t feel tired anymore. In fact I feel wide awake, my thoughts whizzing round like hamsters on wheels. Mills saheli, I chide myself, you need to be a better daughter. You need to do something soon to make your parents really proud and take their minds off (bloody) Qas. And somehow I don’t think another article on Asian dating is the way to do it.

  What I need to do is to crack on with my search for Mr Perfect Pakistani.

  I need some real-life loving to take Eve’s mind off Wish. I really need to get stuck into my hubbie-ji search or I’ll be saying ‘I do’ to Subhi before I know it.

  Inspired, I Google ‘Muslim Matrimonials’ with a lot more confidence than I actually feel. Nish and I have been researching speed dating halal style and this particular site seemed to be the most useful, and indeed productive if the glowing testimonials are to be believed. Clicking the mouse I scroll through and read the details.

  It all sounds very respectable and above board. It’s not exactly romantic though, but I guess that isn’t the point. Intrigued, I read on.

  All participants are vetted rigorously to ensure that only like-minded, responsible, dignified and upstanding Muslim professionals are to become a part of the event. No time-wasters please!

  I feel a spark of excitement. This sounds spot on. Mr Perfect is bound to be there! I could meet him, very, very soon!

  All participants have undergone a rigorous vetting prior to being invited to the event, and it provides a more relaxed setting to the halal ethos driving the event.

  Muslims have their very own version of speed dating! How cool is that?

  Surely it wouldn’t hurt to join up and give it a try? I could even use my experiences as part of another article about Asian dating. I click on the Join Now! link and fill in my details as swiftly as I can before I get cold feet and realise that this is probably the stupidest idea since the Captain of the Titanic decided to put his foot down.

  The price is horrific and as I punch in the numbers of my credit card I feel very sad thinking about the Chloé handbag I spotted on eBay. But what price is love? This is my future here. Should I let a few measly hundred quid get in the way?

  Probably.

  My finger hovers over the mouse and then, I’ve pressed it and whoosh! Off into cyberspace go my fears and dreams and two hundred pounds of Barclaycard’s money. I feel a bit faint. How many hours of slaving for Nina does this represent?

  I guess it’s too late to worry about that now.

  Chapter 15

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I say to Eve, when three days later we pull up outside Camden Lock’s Holiday Inn. It’s not quite the swish venue I had in mind for an event I’ve paid two hundred pounds for. The drizzle is that gritty city kind and everything looks grey. Even the pigeons pecking about near the kerb look depressed.

  ‘Don’t be a cowardy custard,’ says Eve.

  ‘I am a cowardy custard!’ I squeak. ‘Take me home now.’

  But Eve just laughs, reaches across me and opens the door.

  ‘Go on, you know you want to!’

  No. I don’t actually, but it’s starting to look like I don’t have much choice.

  I’d insisted I’d be fine catching the train or a taxi but Eve was adamant about driving me to Camden.

  ‘No way!’ she’d said. ‘I’m going to personally chauffeur you over.

  I’d pulled a hurt expression. ‘Don’t you trust me to go?

  ‘Duh!’ laughed Eve, fishing her keys out of the fruit bowl. ‘What do you think? Of course I don’t trust you! I’m not giving you the chance of drifting off to go shopping!’

  So now Eve, my true if non-trusting friend, is trying to calm my nerves. She even offers me a drag on her cigarette. Declining, I pluck a furry Murray Mint out of my bag and chomp on that instead. Murray Mints take ages to eat; surely Eve will get bored waiting and abandon me, and off round the covered market I can zoom. I’ve already seen the cutest pair of purple boots…

  ‘Forget it.’ Eve blows a smoke ring.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Thinking you can wander off into the covered market and no one will ever be any the wiser. Get out of this car and get speed dating!’

  It’s scary how well my friends know me.

  ‘Come on,’ I plead. ‘Take me home! I’ll do anything!’ I wrack my brains. ‘How about your ironing? I’ll do all of it if you turn round now.’

  If you’d ever seen Eve’s ironing pile you’d have a measu
re of how desperate I am here. NASA could use it to reach the moon.

  ‘Tempting,’ says Eve. ‘But no deal. Hon, if you don’t get your butt in gear soon you may as well tell your parents to book the flight tickets and prepare yourself for a lifetime with Subhi.’

  She’s right. At the mention of Subhi I reapply my lip gloss for the umpteenth time and focus on doing some relaxation breathing exercises. Bored after about four minutes of deep breathing, Eve pushes me out of her car and zooms away with a screech of tyres, waving one crimson-tipped hand out of the car window.

  It’ll be fine. I’m just going to have a nice sociable time with some like-minded individuals and, insha’Allah, my soul mate’s already inside. My stomach fizzes with excitement at this thought. I can hardly wait to get started.

  I enter the Camden Lock Suite, noticing a fair few lush guys on my way in. But every inch the modest Muslim girl, I refrain from catching their eye and, head lowered, stiletto my way to the desk, where the organisers are welcoming all the singles.

  I sign my name on the guest register and pin my nametag to my kameez. I’m glad I chose to wear traditional garments because the other singles must have come straight from work, looking scarily successful in assorted designer pinstripes and Armani, and I stand out in my gold and flame shalwars.

  In a good way, I hope.

  ‘Please, take this.’ One of the event organisers hands me an empty form. ‘It’s for recording the name of male attendees you may wish to contact after the event. When you’re ready, go through to the conference room.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I take the form. Sheesh! It’s big. I can’t imagine I’ll find that many men but maybe this could be my lucky day? I really, really hope so!

  I walk into the room and grab the closest unoccupied chair. There are rows of tables with eight chairs arranged around.

  ‘Ladies, please sit here,’ beams an organiser, politely but firmly moving me on. ‘Four young ladies will sit opposite four young men.’

  Who am I to argue? I do as I’m told, relieved that there are already three other girls chatting.

  ‘Hi,’ smiles a stunning girl on my left. ‘I’m Sajida. Would you like some orange juice?’