The audience began to clap. Marika wiped a tear from her eye. ‘My daughter is doing politics,’ she said to the women nearby. ‘That’s my daughter.’
‘Good speaker!’ they all cried.
But at the back of the room there was a big commotion. Nikolae recognised Mr Ahmed. The landlord walked past the seated onlookers and looked him straight in the eye. Then he announced. ‘Everyone, I have to tell you something. Look what I found in the house of the Romanians.’ From his pocket he plucked something out. He pointed at Nikolae and held up a small photo. ‘This was under the boy’s bed.’
Chapter Eleven
HIS EYE STUNG and the blow came so fast he had no idea who had thrown the punch. In the distance he could make out the face of Zareen, advancing closer. ‘I’m sorry. Zareen. It was an accident.’
Zareen stared. Her voice was so weak he could hardly hear her. ‘No. Not you.’
‘I love you, Zareen.’ Another smack in the head and he almost passed out.
She was still nearby, her face pale and filled with grief. ‘How could you?’
‘Accident,’ was all he said. ‘Accident.’
He felt the hands of a police officer grip him by the arm. Dragos was shouting. ‘Where did you get the fucking picture? Where?’
A chair went flying overhead. Women and children were screaming. And then a young woman’s voice came on the microphone telling everyone to stop. Her voice was shrill and her arms were wrapped around her chest as if she was in terrible pain. At first Nikolae thought it was Zareen but he saw the girl now, a frail thing, about twenty, her eyes wide and scared. ‘Please stop.’ Blood poured from his nose. And he wiped it away with his sleeve.
‘It was me.’ The girl continued to sob, her voice trailing away. ‘I was in the car. I didn’t see her. She died. Died in my arms.’
The crowds turned. Zareen covered her face, her mind racing. Nikolae watched, his mouth open, blood dripping from his lip.
‘My daughter died in my arms. I will never forgive myself.’ Sajida dropped the microphone to the floor and began to wail. Marika ran to her. Bilal remained motionless.
‘I have to go to my family,’ Zareen said. Still she couldn’t think straight. Her sister! How could it have been her sister? No one could have predicted this. For a moment she wondered if Sajida was confused. But then she remembered. It was Sajida who had found Amna’s lifeless body that night. Pink dress soaked in rain. White socks stained brown. Crushed against the wall. Zareen shook the images of her niece away. Sajida had run in the house screaming. When she didn’t speak everyone put it down to grief. Not grief. Instead it was guilt. Poor Sajida. Poor Amna. A terrible accident. Now Zareen watched Sajida’s contorted body. So thin, she looked as though she might snap. And it was her gaunt cheeks, the sunken eyes that told a story of unimaginable pain. Zareen ran to her, ignoring the abuse from her mother. ‘Haven’t you done enough?’ Marika snarled.
‘Let me help her. Let me help her!’ She knelt down and put her arms around her sister. ‘Sajida!’ Her sister stared at the ground, not moving, her face blank. ‘It was an accident. Don’t cry. It was an accident.’
‘Sometimes I see her,’ Sajida said, touching Zareen’s face. ‘I see her and she always looks perfect. My perfect daughter.’
Zareen smiled. ‘Yes, she was perfect.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Nikolae put his hands together in prayer. The hall cleared quickly. Nikolae heard the Romanian Café owner offering to drive Bilal and his family home. Bilal shook his head and muttered a small ‘thank you.’ He moved around the hall stunned, dazed, feeling as though it was all a dream. He thought he might pass out.
Dragos pulled his son up. ‘It wasn’t you. Thank God, it wasn’t you.’
‘It wasn’t me,’ Nikolae repeated.
‘Touch my sister again and you’re a dead man,’ Mohammed said, poking Nikolae’s chest. Dragos shoved him away. Nikolae placed his hands on his head in disbelief. He staggered forward. ‘All this time, I was thinking, it was me. All this time.’
Dragos hugged his son, his eyes wet from crying. ‘Leave the Asian girl alone, Nikolae. Promise me you’ll leave the Asian girl alone. No good will come of it.’
Nikolae shook his head. ‘I can’t. Don’t ask me. I can’t.’
‘There will be other girls, son.’
Nikolae pulled away. He glanced over at Sajida, who was knelt on the floor, her eyes staring up at the ceiling. He saw Zareen’s mother shouting, a fat finger pointing at him. Zareen was stroking her sister’s hair, tears streaking her cheeks.
Nikolae turned to his father. ‘I’m not giving her up, not for you, or anyone.’
How does a family recover from so much? Zareen lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. Swirling Artex dripped like whipped cream. Her mother had called her a whore and promised she would be punished. Who would want to marry her now? ‘But I am a virgin,’ she had protested in the street. Then the hard smack came. ‘Never speak of such things again. You are no daughter of mine.’ Soon after, Bilal and her mother had gone to the police station with Sajida. Mohammed knocked on the bedroom door and entered the room, his face bruised from fighting.
‘You OK,’ he called.
‘No. What do you think?’
‘You been seeing a Romanian?’
Zareen didn’t reply.
‘How long?’
‘You and your friends burnt the café down, didn’t you?’
Mohammed jerked. ‘I didn’t mean to. I rang the police.’
‘That doesn’t make it better.’
‘I know.’ He paused. ‘So many secrets in this family.’ He looked around the room.
‘We are such a let down for our parents.’
Her brother smiled slightly and sat on the end of the bed. ‘Shall I tell them it was me?’
‘No,’ Zareen said. Let them think you are still the golden boy. Let them think one of us is good.’
‘Sorry,’ Mohammed said. ‘You like this Romanian.’
‘Yes.’ She hesitated and then her eyes flared a little. ‘Don’t keep calling him a Romanian. His name is Nikolae.’
‘OK. Sorry. That’s bad.’
‘What’s bad? What have I done? Nothing as bad as arson.’
‘No. I mean, I feel bad for you. They find you a husband and you love a Romanian.’
‘Love?’
‘It’s written in your face, Zareen. Sorry I punched him.’
‘It’s all right. Well, it’s not all right. Mum hates me. Everyone hates me.’
‘And poor Sajida.’
‘This is why she didn’t speak.’
‘I know.’
‘Everything will change now. Dad will become more ill. You can’t see the Romanian again. It will kill him.’
Zareen sat up. ‘If I don’t see him again, it will kill me. I would rather be dead.’
Mohammed put his arm around her, something he hadn’t done since they were nine and eight, playing together in the park. ‘Family,’ he said. And he sighed.
Chapter Twelve
WHEN MARIKA RETURNED Zareen was cleaning. ‘She won’t see the Romanian again,’ Mohammed said, sensing the tension in the room.
‘She can speak for herself,’ Marika replied sharply, telling him to go. ‘We all know she can speak for herself.’
Zareen plunged her hands in the soapy water and stared out the window.
‘Why?’ her mother said, falling back onto a chair. ‘Why would you do this to us?’
‘I haven’t done anything,’ Zareen protested. She slammed the last plate on the draining board, turned and wiped her hands dry. ‘What do you think I have done?’
There was the sound of a large thud. Marika hit the table with her fist sending a spoon spinning.
‘You have been sneaking behind our backs with that, that Romanian.’
> ‘I love him.’
‘Don’t give me this sentimental nonsense. You don’t know your own mind.’
‘It’s the truth. I’m telling the truth!’
‘I don’t care if it’s the truth. You forget about it! You think about others.’
‘Mum, please, please listen to me.’
‘No, Zareen. You go to college and finish your exams, but then that is it. No more seeing this boy. He doesn’t even have a job. What’s got into you?’
Marika’s voice was fierce and angry. ‘Well, lucky for you, Tariq will still marry you. And it will be soon. Then you can get these silly ideas out of your head.’
Her mother sat down and inspected her hand. She clenched her hand shut. ‘Look what you made me do. Look how your actions are affecting me and your father. And now Sajida is in the hospital not in her right mind. This family is falling apart.’ She smacked the table with her hand again. ‘Not anymore. Mohammed WILL get a job and you WILL marry your cousin.’
‘OK.’ Zareen jolted and repeated OK over and over.
‘And give me your phone. You can finish college but give me your phone.’
Zareen gave her the phone. She had already deleted every message.
From the bedroom window she saw him get out of a silver car. Cousin Tariq was better looking than she remembered although she hadn’t seen him for several years. He was older than her and at twenty two had already spent four years living in London away from his parents.
He sat in the back room on a green velvet sofa drinking tea. Marika had paid decorators to strip the walls and the room smelt of fresh paint and new carpet. Upstairs Marika adjusted Zareen’s hair and told her to put on some eye makeup. ‘You have to make an effort,’ she said, ‘or he will choose someone else.’ Zareen nodded. She was thinking about Nikolae. No phone. They hadn’t spoken for a week. ‘And he has an expensive flat in Docklands where all the rich live.’ She fluffed her daughter’s hair up with a brush and inserted a comb with twinkling stones. ‘And a river view. And we can come and visit.’ Zareen smiled. ‘You should be excited,’ her mother said with a sting in her voice. ‘This is a good opportunity.’
‘I am, Zareen,’ replied, but no one was convinced.
His voice had changed and Zareen noticed that Tariq, who was dressed in a shiny grey suit, no longer spoke the same. He had a polished accent to match his polished shoes and there was little of the old Tariq left.
‘You are no different,’ Zareen, he said, his voice bright and cheerful. He didn’t hide the fact he was looking her up and down. And what did he mean? Did it mean she was still the same, dull girl from Blackburn with no prospects?
‘And you are still a cheeky shit,’ she retorted, hoping he wouldn’t want to marry her and would tell her parents she was unsuitable.
He laughed loudly. ‘Yes, you are just the same. Wild.’
Zareen sat down opposite him on a stool. ‘So, do you really want to marry me?’
Tariq said loudly, ‘Of course.’
‘So you have a flat in London?’
‘A wonderful flat in East London. You will like it there. I thought you wanted to go to University.’
‘Yes,’ said Zareen, glancing at the door, afraid her mother was listening. ‘I did.’ She stumbled on her words. ‘I do.’
Tariq frowned and bit his lip. Minutes passed. ‘This isn’t what you wanted. To be married?’
Embarrassed Zareen looked down at her hands.
‘I will do what’s best,’ she said.
Tariq looked concerned. She thought about what to say. ‘So tell me about your job.’ She struggled to speak to him. ‘And you studied politics?’
For an hour they talked. Tariq tried to impress her. Part of her thought she may have underestimated him. He made various promises. But Zareen forgot it all. Only his cufflinks she remembered. Shiny silver. Dollar symbols. Money and appearances were important to Tariq and his family. She wondered why he would want to marry a shopkeeper’s daughter. All these thoughts of marriage were eclipsed by thoughts of Nikolae. She tried to imagine being with Tariq. They had grown up together and Tariq knew her so well yet Nikolae strangely knew her better. The thought of Tariq touching her repulsed her. She imagined what sex would be like with Nikolae. She wondered what it would be like to totally surrender to a man. Nikolae was the last person she thought of as she fell asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
‘YOU NEED TO get this girl out of your head, for your own sake and for hers,’ Dragos stormed. He paced up and down the small living room in Henniker Road, while Nikolae sat buried under a blanket, his eyes drowsy from too much sleep.
‘I can’t,’ he mumbled. For seven days he had waited for Zareen to contact him. He guessed her mother had confiscated the phone. What could he do? If he just turned up at the shop, life would be worse for her.
‘Maybe I should bring her here.’
‘No! Have you lost your mind? Please tell me you will not do anything so stupid.’
Nikolae shook his head. His face was pale because he had hardly eaten.
‘Come with me today. Let’s find some metal. I know a good place.’
‘One day you get electrocuted like Andrei.’
‘Not me,’ Dragos said. ‘Because I think before I act. Not like other people I know.’
His son rolled his eyes and switched on the TV. ‘Staying in will not help,’ Dragos told him. ‘Women are the source of all trouble to a man. Forget her.’ He bent down and ruffled his son’s hair.
Nikolae laughed. ‘You make it sound so simple. All you care about is your precious metal.’
Dragos lifted up a tube of pipe from the windowsill and kissed it. ‘You see this red gold, this will not cause me as much trouble as a Zareen.’ He pushed Nikolae to the ground and the two of them roared with laughter.
‘I don’t know why I’m laughing,’ Nikolae said. ‘My life is bad.’
‘Not that bad,’ said Dragos. He looked serious. ‘You didn’t kill someone. Thank God, you didn’t kill someone.’
Opposite a piece of derelict wasteland was the college, a large glass structure with curved walls and smoky coloured windows. Nikolae read the signs that had been erected on the land. Another supermarket was being built. Already there were the first signs of building work, a few bricks and some wooden panels. England was full of supermarkets.
He crossed the busy road, ignored the green man and heard the sound of a horn beep. He ran. Everywhere there was noise. It was Monday. That’s why it was so frantic. The college was bigger than he imagined, situated on a corner, spanning several streets. Couples watched him from the benches outside as he walked up and down trying to find the entrance. It was not yet nine and already there were men staggering in the street with cans of lager in their hand. Students walked past in groups, purple tags round their necks. Strangers smiled at him. That was the thing about England, people were unpredictable. You never knew whether someone was for you, or against you. Sometimes he read the newspapers and it was clear people wanted the Romanians out. And he didn’t understand all the politics of it fully, but there were parties English people voted for, that much he knew, parties that promised to stop immigration. That made him feel angry. To be judged as worthless. For people to think he was lazy.
He thought about it. Next week he had a job interview for a factory. Not in a factory like Andrei’s son, but in a factory where he was guaranteed a proper wage. He put his hood up and waited in the main entrance. So many giggling girls he saw with dyed red hair, fake tan on their faces. All dressed the same. A stray dog was tugging a wrapper from a nearby bin. He checked his watch. What if this was the wrong entrance?
He thought about Blackburn. The town was full. And then he remembered why. People had no jobs. There were drugs being sold on every corner. Just last week he’d been offered cannabis by a young boy outside the community centre. The b
oy had hurled abuse when he said ‘no’. It was cold and Nikolae shivered. That was the worst thing about England, the weather. He was hungry and wondered if he had time to run to the newsagents up the road. But he stayed, frightened he might miss her, frightened she’d changed her mind about him.
She almost walked straight past him but he gripped her arm so suddenly that she let out a small scream. In a panic Zareen looked behind her. There was her mother robed in black waving at her. She altered her expression and waved back whispering, ‘Nikolae! I have to go in. I will come back out in fifteen minutes.’
Nikolae turned to face the wall, worried Marika might see him. He stepped back and disappeared into a crowd of smoking students. He saw Marika hovering on the path. After ten minutes she went away.
When Zareen appeared again she had a purple tag in her hand. ‘Put this on. I borrowed it from a friend.’
‘But he look nothing like me,’ Nikolae protested.
‘They don’t check the picture. Just try and look like a student.’
She led him inside to an open plan café and pulled him to a corner seat. Then she gripped his hands. ‘I thought I wouldn’t see you again.’
‘Me too.’ Nikolae felt his mouth go dry.
‘What you said at the community centre, did you mean it?’
Nikolae gulped. ‘Yes.’
Zareen smiled. ‘I missed you. My mother, she took my phone.’
‘Here. I have another phone for you.’ He handed her a phone he’d found in a skip. I check, it works. I put in new sim card.
‘What can we do?’
She shook her head and looked away. ‘I have to marry my cousin.’
Nikolae stood up. ‘NO!’ He pressed his hands to his head. ‘You can’t marry him. You can’t.’
‘I have no choice,’ Zareen mumbled, gesturing for Nikolae to sit down. ‘No choice.’
‘When?’
‘Soon.’
He reached for her hand again. ‘Next week I have a job interview. We can leave here. Together. We can be together.’
Precious Metal Page 6