I’m starting to panic. What the Hell is he playing at? Surely he’ll see sense in a minute?
But instead of letting me go, Raza manages to flip me around and I find myself crushed beneath his weight with my arms pinned against my sides.
‘Oh Mills,’ he groans, grinding his pelvis against mine and prising my legs apart with his knee. ‘Have you any idea what you’ve been doing to me all these weeks?’
I’m frightened beyond belief because I can feel something hard and insistent nudging against me and, unless Raza has a third leg I’m unaware of, I’m in big trouble.
Wiggling and squirming in desperation I try to push him off but it’s hopeless. His black dilated pupils give him a crazed look; his breathing is ragged and his body determined.
He’s gone pagal!
‘You turn me on so much.’
I don’t want to!
‘Raza! Get off me this second!’
His lips graze my temple. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t want to.’
‘I don’t want to! I’m not pretending!’ I writhe desperately but I can’t move. ‘Raza, stop messing around!’
Raza’s lips nibble my neck. ‘I’ve seen the way you look at me.’
What?
‘And the clothes you wear,’ he adds hoarsely. ‘Those tight little jumpers and butt-hugging trousers. God! That’s some hot booty you’ve got under there, Miss Ali, and it’s driving me crazy. And as for all this talk about making our relationship more special this evening.’ He shakes his head. ‘Baby, I didn’t know how I’d get through dinner. I’ve been longing for this moment for so long. So stop being such a tease: you can drop the virginal act now.’
I’m really frightened. There’s a manic glint in his eyes I haven’t seen before.
‘It’s not an act!’ I cry. ‘You know me better than that, Raza! I thought you respected me, that we shared the same values.’ Tears slide out of my eyes and I taste salt in my mouth. ‘Please, get off me!’
But my pleas fall upon deaf ears.
‘Ssh, baby,’ he croons. ‘We both know this is what you came here for. Just chill. You’ll enjoy it. I’ve never had any complaints.’
Is this really the same guy I thought was going to do the decent deed tonight and propose? The model Pakistani son-in-law I was so hoping to impress my parents with? This man is a stranger, the fire in his eyes so intense I’m amazed he doesn’t scorch the sofa. I’m such an idiot. Why did I ignore all my misgivings and come here alone? Why didn’t I listen to Wish?
‘Oh Mills,’ groans Raza. ‘My sweet, lovely Mills.’
He lowers his head and presses his lips against mine, pushing his tongue against my mouth and forcing it inside where it swirls against my teeth and tongue like a washing machine on a spin cycle.
Is this it? Is this kissing? Rather than the sweet ice cream tasting, melting slushy smooch that I’ve dreamed about this feels more like a slimy slug trailing all over my mouth, and a dribbly slug at that. And ouch! This kiss really hurts.
Raza’s teeth and tongue are making a meal out of my lips and his stubble rasps against my skin. His eyes are closed and he’s making the oddest groaning sound as he pushes himself against me. Just when I’m about to pass out with terror Raza shifts his weight onto one elbow and suddenly I have room to manoeuvre. Somehow I manage to twist my body to the left and bring up my right knee hard and fast, straight into Raza’s groin.
‘Jesus!’ yelps Raza, as my kickboxing catches him off guard. ‘What did you do that for?’
He lets go of me and topples off the sofa, clutching his crotch. ‘You bitch!’
‘I’m not the one in the wrong here!’
‘Don’t pretend you didn’t come here for it,’ he pants. ‘I know exactly what you want.’
‘I wanted to talk about our relationship! You said we were going to have dinner and then discuss how to make things special between us. I never agreed to ... to…’
‘To what?’ Raza’s black eyes glare at me. ‘To have sex? Yes you did, you bloody tease. What sort of decent Muslim girl has dinner all alone with a man in his flat? You knew exactly what was going on.’
My hand flies to my throat. ‘I thought you wanted to discuss marriage!’
‘Marriage? Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘The necklace? The meal tonight?’ I’m starting to see where this is going, ‘The talk about making it special?’
Raza pulls himself to his feet then collapses onto the sofa, still clutching his gonads. ‘Tonight was about sex, Mills, not shaadi. I wanted to shag you, not propose to you.’
I feel sick.
‘Anyway,’ he says coldly, ‘what made you think I’d marry a girl I hadn’t slept with? Ever heard about sexual compatibility? I’m a modern guy and I’ve got the same needs as every other man. Either move our relationship up to the next level or it’s over.’
‘But you know I can’t sleep with anyone until I’m married! That isn’t how it works for Muslims.’
‘Get a life,’ sneers Raza. ‘Do you really think the world is full of virginal young Pakistanis waiting for marriage? What century are you living in? Do you think Wish and Minty just hold hands?’
‘But I’m not like that! I respect my faith and my parents, and myself too much!’
‘That’s not the impression I got. You’re always hanging out alone with Wish. Christ! You spent most of yesterday with your arms wrapped round him.’
‘I was on his motorbike!’
Raza shrugs. ‘Wish thought you’d sleep with me. Why else would he leave us alone unless you’d made it clear that was what you wanted?’
I think of the conversation Wish and I had earlier and feel hot with shame. Did Wish really think I was going to Raza’s flat to sleep with him? Did he know that sex was what Raza wanted? Am I really so naïve?
‘We put money on which one of us would get to shag you first,’ Raza says. ‘I was going down the seduction route. Flowers, jewellery, meals, candles. Women love that stuff. Wish was playing the long game, easier for him because he’s got a hot chick on tap while he waits for you to thaw out.’
I can hardly take this in. Wish and Raza had bets on who could take my virginity? They’ve discussed it?
Raza curls his top lip. ‘How was I to know you’re a frigid bitch? It doesn’t run in the family. Your slut of a sister was more than up for it. Maybe I should have taken my chances with her instead? She couldn’t get enough.’ His eyes narrow. ‘I chose the wrong sister, didn’t I? What a fucking waste!’
Oh no, please Allah-ji nahin, not Fizz–
‘What?’ jeers Raza. ‘Come on, you knew it anyway. She couldn’t keep her hands off me. It was all I could do to persuade her to get on that train yesterday.’
‘You utter, utter bastard!’
Raza puts his feet up on the coffee table and picks up the remote control.
‘She’s hot stuff, your little sister. All I had to do was buy her some clothes and she practically rolled over and begged.’
If I wasn’t already shaking from my near miss on the sofa I would be now. As he flicks through the Sky channels, so handsome and utterly unscrupulous, I finally see Raza for exactly what he is, an amoral opportunist and a consummate liar. He’s used me to score points in his ridiculous feud with Wish as well as to get his hands on Fizz. Empty-headed, strong-willed and inexperienced Fizz must have thought all her Eids had come at once.
‘If you’ve done anything to her…’
‘You’ll what?’ Raza sneers, settling on CNN. ‘Hit me with your handbag? Oh chill out, Mills. She’s still pure.’
I scoop up my bag. There’s a buzzing in my ears and a red mist before my eyes. I don’t lose my temper very often but when I do, it’s normally a spectacle. I want to keep my cool. I want to walk out of this flat with my dignity intact.
So I count to ten, put on my coat and am almost out of the flat when I hear Raza say nastily, ‘Well, almost pure. I wouldn’t like to say how many others have got there first.’
Down comes the red mist and the next thing I know Raza is clutching his nose, blood spurting all over the designer clothes and the cream rugs.
Oops. I think I just hit him with the Prada bag.
Did I mention that it’s covered in big gold studs?
‘That’s for Fizz,’ I say, ‘and for me, and Caroline Moncrieff and any other women stupid enough to have been taken in by a low life like you.’
And I let myself out of the flat with my head held high, while Raza tries to hurl more insults but sprays blood and snot all over the floor instead. Then I’m in the lobby, where I ignore the lift and race down the stairs, tears streaming from my eyes and my heart hammering.
I guess this is what they call delayed shock.
By the time I let myself back into the Chelsea apartment, rage has been replaced by horror at what nearly happened. Bruises colour my arms, fanning out and marking the places where Raza’s fingers bit into my flesh. I feel so tired it’s all I can do to haul myself up the stairs rather than collapsing in the hallway. I’d like nothing more than to close my eyes and never wake up again.
It’s late and the flat is in darkness. Eve’s car keys are on the table and Nish’s laptop is still open on the sofa. A pizza box lies discarded on the floor with a few crusts and congealing slices soaking greasily into the cardboard. An empty bottle of Chardonnay stands over this scene, testament to a girly night in.
I wish so much I’d been there too that it hurts. I could have been finding out the truth about Eve and her boss or teasing Nish about Jamal and how keen he is. But I knew best and off I went to spend the evening with Raza. Alone.
I’ve only got myself to blame.
I dash the back of my hand across my eyes. I can’t believe I’ve got any tears left. My feelings are churning around. Guilt. Anger. Fear. And most of all a horrible feeling that I’m somehow dirty, as though Raza’s unwelcome assault has tainted me.
I throw down my keys and blood-splattered bag and make a dash for the bathroom where I yank off my clothes, making a mental note to grab Eve’s lighter in the morning and burn them in the sink. Then I jump under the shower, turn the temperature up until it’s so hot I flinch at the needle-sharp jets of water, and scrub my body until it’s sore. I’m lobster pink when I step out, but at least every trace of Raza has been scoured away and the outside of me feels clean.
Inside is a very different matter.
I turn my attention to my teeth and spend an age brushing, rinsing and spitting out every trace of Raza’s saliva until my mouth is metallic with blood. Then I crawl into bed and pull the duvet over my head. My hair is still dripping but I am beyond caring. Worse things have happened today than a wet pillow.
In my hand is my mobile. I flip it open and it fills my under-the-covers world with green light. I speed-dial Fizz but her phone is switched off.
‘Fizz,’ I say to her answerphone. ‘It’s Mills. I need you to call me, as soon as you get this message. It’s urgent.’
That’s Fizz dealt with for the moment. The other person I need to speak to is Wish. I need to ask him why he had a pathetic bet with Raza and I want to tell him how angry I am that they’ve embroiled me in their pathetic rivalry. And how hurt and let down I am because I really thought he was better than that.
As though it has a life of my own, my thumb locates the phone book, scrolls through the names and then presses the call button. Somewhere in London Wish’s phone rings and rings before the messaging service cuts in.
I take a deep breath. He’s cosied up with Minty while I’m here alone, red raw and shaking thanks to him and his childish bets. It’s about time Wish heard a few home truths.
‘It’s me, Mills,’ I say, hating the tremble in my voice. ‘I’m just calling because…because I wanted you to know that Raza hasn’t won his bet. What did you say to him, Wish, to let him think I’d ever, ever sleep with him? I thought you respected me! I thought we were friends!’ I start to cry again. ‘How could you, Wish? How could you make that horrible bet as though I’m just a piece of meat? Don’t ever talk to me again! I hate you.’
Burying my face in my pillow I give in to my spinning thoughts and the unrelenting knot of grief that winds itself around my heart, squeezing and twisting until the pain is so sharp I cry out. Then I sob and sob until the sky is streaked with pink and the birds sing in the trees outside my window.
I don’t know if I’ll ever stop crying but I do know one thing that’s for certain.
My husband hunt is well and truly over.
Chapter 29
‘Mills!’ Nish knocks on my bedroom door. ‘You up?’
I raise my head and my brain swivels horribly in my skull. I spent most of the night crying into my sodden pillow. At one stage I raced to the bathroom and hurled the half digested remains of Raza’s meal down the toilet, where I stayed kneeling and retching for what felt like hours until the room stopped spinning long enough for me to drag myself back to bed.
‘I’m not feeling too good,’ I croak. ‘Could you tell work?’
‘No probs,’ says Nish. ‘Hope you feel better.’
Moments later I hear the front door slam, followed by the thud of Nish running down the stairs. Then silence pools through the flat.
I pick up my mobile and check the screen carefully but there are no messages. The phone remains stubbornly silent, as do Fizz and Wish. Fizz will be shaking in her boots but as for Wish… I can only assume he’s ashamed of himself and too cowardly to call, which is a shame. I have some news I’m particularly keen to share with him.
It’s amazing how clear things become in the silent watches of the night. In between crying and vomiting I found the time to step back and do some really hard evaluating. One thing is abundantly clear: I’ve made a total balls-up of hunting for my own husband. My determination to find a soul mate rather than accept my parents’ choice has compromised Fizz’s reputation and could have led to me being seriously assaulted. It could have cost my family their izzat and ruined my sister’s life.
I’m so ashamed of myself.
I sat in my lonely bed and came to a few hard-drawn conclusions.
The first is that soul mates don’t exist. It’s all bollocks. I’ve spent too many years with my nose in a book and must have absorbed romantic drivel by osmosis. But it’s fiction! Romance is nothing more than a myth used to sell everything from diets to knickers to cinema tickets. A nice myth but a myth nonetheless, and one I’ve bought into heart and soul. All the dreams I’ve had about meeting my one true love, my other half, my soul mate, are nothing but ashes now because I know that reality is very different.
Men lie. Men cheat. Men force women to do things against their will.
How unromantic is that?
The second conclusion is that maybe my parents do know best. Perhaps the terror of Raza’s so-called seduction and the pain of Wish’s betrayal were exactly what my parents were so desperate to protect me from when they sought to arrange my marriage? With the knowledge and wisdom gleaned from maturity they could foresee the dangers I would face seeking my own partner and tried to spare me from them. The arranged marriage came from the desire to love and protect me rather than from an impulse to control my life. They only wanted my happiness but I couldn’t see it.
As Nish once put it, Mills Ali the Dating Queen knew best.
It’s time to learn from my mistakes...
At precisely six-twenty-seven a.m., I make a decision. I’m going to call my parents and tell them I’ve changed my mind. I want to marry Subhi as soon as possible. I’ll go to work, hand in my notice then pack up my things and return to Yorkshire. My parents will be overjoyed, the family name will be untarnished and I’ll be able to give myself over to ages-old tradition and hand all responsibility for my marriage over to somebody else.
My tongue’s glued to the roof of my mouth and I feel lead-heavy with exhaustion. Coffee, that’s what I need. Once I’m buzzing with caffeine I’ll put my master plan into action. There’s so much to do: cleari
ng my desk, packing, writing resignation letters, booking plane tickets. Crap! I’d better get on with it!
I hobble to the kitchen. Every bone in my body aches – though whether this comes from hugging the loo for ages, or from being crushed beneath Raza, I can’t tell. Taking care not to catch sight of my reflection in the shiny chrome appliances, I put the coffee on and collapse at the breakfast bar.
‘Christ, Mills!’ Eve wanders in, clutching a fag in one hand and an empty cereal bowl in the other. ‘What happened to you?’
‘I don’t feel well.’
‘Bollocks,’ says Eve. ‘There’s only one reason why women get in a state like that. Man trouble! Right?’
Man trouble is one way of putting it.
‘Raza?’ Eve takes a drag on her cigarette and blows the smoke out of her nose. ‘Is it over?’
‘Yes. It’s over.’
‘Well, good riddance to him. I wasn’t sure how to tell you but one of my old school friends, Emily Moncrieff, told me yesterday that her cousin’s in a right old state over some lawyer also called Raza. Apparently this girl got pregnant by him and he totally abandoned her. Paid her a wad of cash for a termination and practically told her to sod off. If it’s the same bloke he’s no loss.’
Click. Another piece of the puzzle falls into place.
‘Caroline Moncrieff,’ I whisper.
‘That’s her, poor cow,’ says Eve. ‘So it is the same guy! What a bastard!’
‘You have no idea. But I’m over it.’
‘You look terrible.’ Eve stubs the cigarette out on the draining board. Then she takes my chin between her thumb and forefinger, raises my face to the light and studies me before picking up one of my wrists and lifting my arm so the sleeve of my pajama top falls to my elbow. The bruises flare bright against my skin.
‘My God! Did Raza do this?’
I snatch my arm away. ‘It was an accident.’
‘Like Hell!’ Eve pulls me into her arms. ‘I’m going to kill him.’
The comfort of having her arms round me opens the floodgates and suddenly I’m howling into her shoulder and coughing out the whole sorry tale. Eve listens, smoothing my hair back from my damp cheeks and shaking her head. Eventually I hiccup to a halt.
The Wedding Countdown Page 27