The Wedding Countdown

by Ruth Saberton

I say quickly, ‘I know all about your engagement. Congratulations! I’m sure you’ll both be really happy. You make a perfect couple! And I’ve got something to tell you!’ I gallop on. ‘I’m engaged too!’

  Wish stares at me. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I’m engaged!’ I slap a one-hundred-watt smile onto my face. ‘To a doctor called Subhi. My parents are over the moon.’

  Wish’s fingers tighten their grip. ‘And what about you, Mills? Are you over the moon?’

  ‘Of course!’ I pretend to be absorbed by my first aid. ‘I can hardly wait to meet him.’

  Wish says nothing. Then his fingers slide from my wrist.

  ‘I’m really happy for you, Mills.’

  ‘Thanks, Wish. What did you want to tell me?’

  Wish shakes his head, the dark curls falling over his face. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  Then he does the most unexpected thing, something he really shouldn’t do but the memory of which I know I’ll take out like a precious treasure and pour over during the dark days ahead. Wish reaches forward and touches my cheek tenderly with the back of his hand. I close my eyes and savour his touch.

  ‘Whatever happens,’ he says softly, so softly that I have to lean closer to catch his words, ‘I wish you all the happiness in the world and your fiancé too. He’s a very lucky man.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I whisper. ‘I hope you’ll be happy too.’

  But even as I say this my throat tightens with misery. Both of us are engaged to different people and both of us are moving on.

  I don’t think I’ve ever felt so desperate in all my life.

  Chapter 31

  They say time flies when you are having fun. The same is also true when you’re as miserable as sin but rushed off your feet preparing for a marriage that’ll take place in Lahore. It hardly seems possible that tomorrow I’ll be flying to Pakistan to marry Subhi. Eve and Nish arrived yesterday and last night Nanny-ji gave me her precious bangles, her eyes moist as she pressed the gold into my hands and told me how she wished she was well enough to travel to Pakistan.

  ‘I know you’ll be very happy, Milly beti,’ she quavered, squeezing my hand. Hers felt papery, the bones bird frail, and I couldn’t help wondering whether she’d still be here when (if?) I returned to Bradford.

  All I seem to do lately is say goodbye.

  Allah hafiz, Allah hafiz, Allah hafiz.

  And I hate it.

  The staff at GupShup threw me a fantastic leaving party. There were balloons and streamers, more food than I could possibly eat and lots of promises to email. Even Nina showed up for an hour and presented me with a beautiful folder of all my articles and a top-of-the-range digital camera.

  ‘Nina!’ I’d gasped. ‘This is far too much’

  ‘Nonsense!’ snapped Nina. ‘I have a proposition for you, Amelia. Rather than letting that brain rot away I want to contract you to write a series of articles about your experiences as a young British woman in Pakistan, starting with the truth about arranged marriages. I want all the details. We’ll pay you, of course, our standard freelance fee.’ And then she named a figure so ridiculously high I’d needed oxygen to even contemplate it.

  ‘The camera is so you can email pictures with your copy,’ Nina explained. ‘I don’t imagine Darwish will be flying out to shoot for you.’

  Wish had taken leave from the office and was rumoured to be busy planning a big society wedding. I hadn’t heard from him except for a short note expressing his regret for not being able to attend my leaving party and a text with his new mobile number.

  ‘I thought not,’ said Nina curtly. ‘Well, you must do what you think best, Amelia. But promise me you’ll keep hold of your career. A young woman can’t put a price on her independence.’ And with that she’d dismissed me and swept out of the restaurant.

  Today the Ali household is a hive of busy-bee activity as my family tears around cramming clothes into suitcases and doing last-minute shopping. Overseeing all this and ruling with an iron fist is Mummy-ji. She’s especially hard on Fizz, making her repack her suitcase over and over again to get rid of any evidence of gora flesh-baring clothing and to make certain Fizz only packs churidar kurtas.

  ‘I don’t care what you think, my girl!’ I hear my mother shouting from Fizz’s pit. ‘If I find those hipsters in there you’ll feel the back end of Daddy-ji’s juta!’

  I hear Fizz scream something back followed by the slamming of the front door.

  I peer out the window just in time to see Fizz screech away in her Fiesta. I chew my thumbnail. I’m really worried about my sister. She’s more moody and selfish than ever and won’t talk to anyone. When I tried to tell her about Raza she just blanked me. Even my bruises and scratches failed to move her; her only comment was that I’d probably done them myself to spite Raza. It’s like she’s been brainwashed or something.

  The little bit of brain she does have anyway.

  I’m so glad I’ve left London and have absolutely nothing to do with Raza anymore, because he’s had the most horrendous effect on my sister. Thank goodness she’ll soon be thousands of miles away from his toxic influence.

  ‘I give up with that girl!’ hollers my mother, and then, ‘Roma! Oof! How many times do I have to tell you? You cannot take all your chemistry books to Pakistan!’

  Aren’t weddings great? We’ve turned from a noisy, happy family into a bunch of grouchy strangers who nag each other and argue all day. Mum can’t think beyond fabric and make-up and if I find Auntie Bee ensconced in the sitting room one more time and passing judgment on the arrangements I won’t be responsible for my actions. I don’t know what the word is for murdering one’s aunt but I think I’m going to find out very soon.

  The only people who seem chilled in the midst of this insanity are Nish and Eve. Nothing ever riles Nish and Eve is so busy waxing/fake tanning/beautifying for her trip to Pakistan she wouldn’t notice if a herd of elephants stampeded through the house.

  Qas has popped in a few times to check that Mum’s packing his things appropriately and, as usual, to get his washing done – or to spend time puffing away on fags with Eve in the loft. So much for being in disgrace.

  ‘Thanks for taking the heat off me, sis,’ he’d grinned when I arrived home after a long journey in the Ford Transit. ‘I’ll do the same for you one day.’

  I was about to tell him exactly what I thought of his selfish, undutiful behaviour when I thought of Wish and realised, had things worked out differently between us, I’d have done the same in a heartbeat. Well, that and the thought of being faced with Mummy-ji’s rolling pin if another row broke out. I'm trying to savour every second with my family members, good or bad. Who knows how long it will be before I see my family again once I’m married? Mummy-ji can hardly wait to see her sister Shammi. It must be over ten years since she and Uncle Ghulab came to the UK for a visit. So, annoying as Qas was, I flung my arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder.

  ‘Do you mind, Mills?’ Qas had said after five minutes of my snivelling. ‘This is a Ben Sherman shirt.’

  I smile as I recall this comment. I’m gathering these memories as a miser hoards his gold, knowing that once I’m alone in Pakistan these will be all I have to sustain me, along with the bittersweet memory of Wish’s hand tenderly touching my cheek. Closing my eyes I can almost be there again, feeling his hand, so gentle upon my skin and smelling the scent of him. Will it ever get any easier?

  I hear my father calling me, and the memories evaporate. I’m supposed to be going to town with Nish and Eve for some last-minute shopping. There’s no time to mope around and feel sorry for myself, however much I might want to just blub my eyes out all morning. I pick up my bag and tell myself my memories of Wish will become fainter with the passing of time, until one day I’ll realise I can no longer picture his face.

  And I guess that’s when it will stop hurting.

  In spite of my gloom the girls and I have fun shopping for new clothes. The outing was actually planned for Eve
’s benefit so that she could purchase a few trendy shalwar kameez and kaftan tops. Eve’s reluctant to lose her skimpy vest tops but I think she’s starting to understand the culture she’s about to be immersed in after being stuck with Auntie Bee this morning.

  ‘Where are we meeting Qas?’ asks Eve once she’s all shopped out.

  ‘Pizza Hut,’ I say. ‘There he is! Who’s he with?’

  Qas waves at us and the blonde girl at his side smiles shyly.

  ‘That’s got to be Lizzie,’ says Nish.

  Nish is right and once the introductions are made we troop inside and order enough calories to feed an army. Qas can’t take his eyes off Lizzie and is holding her hand beneath the table. My baby brother is smitten.

  Eve turns to Lizzie. ‘We all know how the Alis feel about you, but what do your folks make of Qas?’

  ‘They’re Catholics,’ says Qas. ‘And they’re horrified.’

  ‘They’ll come round.’ Lizzie squeezes his hand. ‘Once they realise how serious we are.’

  ‘Your mum’s been cool,’ Lizzie says.

  ‘You’ve met Mum?’

  ‘Don’t sound so surprised, baj,’ says Qas. ‘Mummy-ji’s been great. It’s Dad I’ve got to work on. He’s still got a bee in his bonnet about Aunt Seema denting our izzat millions of years ago. He’ll get over me being such a let-down. It’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘How can you be so sure? He’s never forgiven his sister.’

  ‘Seema was a girl,’ says Qas blithely. ‘Everyone knows it’s different for guys. She totally defied Grandpa-ji and he could never again hold his head up in public, yada yada. I’m the only son. Dad’ll get over it. Anyway, now you’re marrying Subhi they’re totally distracted. So thanks, baj!’

  My appetite vanishes. There’s nothing like injustice to put a girl off her lunch. I’m pleased to see Qas so happy and Lizzie seems lovely, but there’s a part of me that wants to yell ‘It’s not fair!’ and kick the table over.

  The same part that’s wishing things could have been different for me…

  After saying goodbye to Qas and Lizzie we have a trolley dash around Asda, stocking up on Imodium, mosquito repellent, sun cream, tampons and, for me, six tubes of Sour Cream & Onion Pringles. I add several packs of Kleenex because, much as I’m now a pro at holding back the tears during the day, at night it’s a very different story. Once the lights are off my pillow is Sponge Bob soaking.

  Last night I dreamed Raza hijacked my PIA flight and threatened to blow it up unless I gave in to his demands and joined him in the mile-high club. While I was screaming ‘Nahin!’ Raza started laughing and parachuted out of the aircraft door with Fizz in his arms, yelling that my slag of a sister was a better bet. I’d woken up with a thudding heart and a horrible sense of unease that’s been stalking me all day.

  ‘Stick the kettle on!’ begs Eve when we arrive home.

  ‘It’s hard work shopping,’ says Nish, collapsing at the kitchen table.

  ‘But worth it!’ Eve pulls out the most gorgeous kaftan. ‘How could I live without this?’

  While I make the tea the girls coo over their shopping and I think how lucky I am with my friends. I know they think I’m crazy to be marrying Subhi but because they respect my decision they’ve been nothing but supportive and enthusiastic. But I also know if I changed my mind they’d be right behind me in an instant. Oh no! I dab my eyes with a tea towel. I’m at it again! I have to stop being so sentimental. I’m getting married, not going to my execution. Subhi will let me have my friends to stay.

  Won’t he?

  ‘Hello girls!’ says Mummy-ji, joining us at the table. ‘Had a good trip?’

  Nish and Eve take this as a cue to show off all their purchases again, while I mash a cup of chai for her and dutifully display the silky blue kaftan that I bought.

  ‘Lovely,’ sighs Mummy-ji, her fingers stroking the fabric lovingly. ‘Oh girls, I can’t wait to show you Mirpur! It’s such a beautiful city!’ Her expression grows dreamy. ‘The smell of jasmine in the evening is just amazing. Shammi and I used to pick it for our mother.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see Auntie Shammi,’ I say.

  Mummy-ji takes a sip of chai. ‘Sisters are special. And talking about sisters, what did Fizz buy?’

  ‘Fizz wasn’t with us.’

  My mother frowns. ‘Roma said she’d gone with you. That blasted girl! Where is she then? I haven’t seen her since we had a row over those jeans she keeps trying to sneak into the suitcase.’

  The creeping terror of my dreams is breathing heavily down my neck.

  ‘We haven’t seen her all day,’ I say.

  ‘Roma!’ Mum yells in the tone of voice none of us Ali kids dare argue with. ‘Down here! Now!’

  The light tread of Roma’s footfalls on the stairs is heard, then she sidles into the room.

  ‘I’m trying to study. I’ve got modules when we get back, you know.’

  ‘Never mind your modules, my girl,’ says our mother. ‘Where’s Fizz?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Roma looks at the floor. ‘I’m not her keeper.’

  ‘You said she’d gone shopping with the girls, but they haven’t seen her all day.’

  ‘I saw her leave this morning,’ I say. ‘Why did you tell Mum she went with us?’

  ‘Because that’s what she told me to say!’ Roma shouts. ‘Will you stop having a go?’

  ‘Where is she? If you know please tell us,’ pleads Mummy-ji.

  ‘I don’t know! She wouldn’t tell me! I thought she’d come back, OK? I’m sick of always having to cover for her, sick of it! Why can’t everybody just leave me alone?’

  She storms from the room, tears up the stairs and slams her bedroom door. Moments later muffled sobbing can be heard.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asks my mother.

  ‘Give me a minute, Mummy-ji,’ I say, seeing again that vivid image from my nightmare as Raza and Fizz parachute out of the plane. ‘Let me talk to her.’

  ‘Go away!’ sobs Roma when I knock on her bedroom door.

  I push my way inside, knocking over a stack of science textbooks, which Roma has used as some kind of intellectual barricade, and sit down on the bed next to my weeping sister. I’m so angry I could explode. How typical of selfish, silly Fizz to think nothing of putting Roma under such unbearable pressure.

  Gradually Roma’s sobs subside and she hiccups to a halt before wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

  ‘I didn’t want to lie,’ she sniffs. ‘But I’m scared if I say something I’ll get Fizz into even more trouble. I thought...’ Her voice shakes. ‘I thought she might change her mind and come home and then everything would be fine. Nobody would know.’

  ‘Know what?’

  Roma starts to cry again, tears rolling down her cheeks and splashing onto her jeans. ‘I can’t say! I swore I wouldn't.’

  ‘Roma, I don’t think you have a choice.’

  ‘Oh, baj,’ wails Roma. ‘Fizz has gone to find Raza. She said she’s the woman that he needs, the woman you could never be.’

  I feel cold all over. I saw the ugly look on Raza’s face when Wish hit him and I don’t doubt he meant every one of his threats. He’ll stop at nothing to get his own back.

  I’m consumed with fear for my foolish, selfish and totally innocent sister.

  Chapter 32

  ‘Mills?’ Wish sounds taken aback to hear from me. ‘What’s up?’

  Hearing his voice, so dear and so utterly out of reach, opens the floodgates and before I can help myself I’m sobbing out the whole sorry story. Wish listens patiently, interrupting only to express his anger when I tell him what Raza did to me the night of our meal.

  ‘I’m so scared, Wish! What if he hurts her? She’s only seventeen.’

  Wish doesn’t speak but I can feel his anger pulsing across the phone network.

  ‘He’ll destroy her,’ I say. ‘Just to get back at me. ’

  ‘I won’t let him hurt her, Mills,’ says Wish fiercely. ‘I’ll find Fiz
z and bring her back to you, I promise. She’s going to be fine.’

  I put my arm round Roma. ‘I hope you’re right.’

  ‘Look,’ says Wish, ‘it’s only four o’clock. Raza will still be at the office. I’ll shoot over there and make him tell me where she is. I’ll get her back safely, I swear.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to drag you into this mess.’

  ‘You’re sorry?’ Wish laughs bitterly. ‘Raza’s my so-called friend, so I ought to be the one apologising. Try not to panic. I’ll ring you as soon as I know anything, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ I whisper. ‘Sorry for the hassle.’

  ‘Mills,’ Wish says, and his voice is velvet soft, ‘you’ve never, ever been a hassle. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.’

  Wish rings off, leaving me staring sadly at the phone. I have every faith in him but none whatsoever in Raza. I can only pray Fizz hasn’t had the chance yet to do something she’ll end up regretting for a very long time to come.

  ‘What did he say?’ asks Roma.

  ‘Wish is going to make Raza tell him what’s going on. He’ll ring when he finds her.’

  ‘But what are we going to do until he does?’

  ‘The only thing we can do. We’re going to tell Mum and Dad exactly what’s going on.’

  ‘They’ll freak!’

  ‘We can’t lie to them, Roma. They have to know everything.’

  ‘Everything? Even,’ she gulps, ‘about the PoppadRUm party?’

  I nod. ‘Especially about the party, because that was where Raza first got his claws into Fizz. There’s no point covering up for her; look where that’s got us.’

  ‘Then I should tell them,’ says Roma bravely. ‘Since I’ve done all the covering up.’

  I give her a hug. ‘None of this mess is your fault. We’ll tell them together.’

  So we break the awful news between us and it has to be one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. My parents are disbelieving at first but once the truth sinks in they’re furious and distraught in turn. They try phoning Fizz but of course she doesn’t answer; then Dad blames Mum for letting me move to London, Mum cries and blames herself and Roma weeps so hard she can hardly see. Poor Eve and Nish, catapulted into this family catastrophe, busy themselves making chai and putting the shopping away.