Dishonour

by Jacqui Rose

  The knock on the door was loud. Tasha swung round with her hand on her chest.

  ‘Bleeding hell, that frightened me. Scared me half to death.’ They held each other’s gaze for a moment before Tasha glanced down to see what Arnold had in his hand.

  ‘What you still holding onto that for? Put it away, it’s filthy.’ The second knock on the door was louder and more prolonged. ‘Hold on, we’re coming,’ Tasha shouted as she put the phone down, gently pushing past Arnold and going to open the door.

  A small man dressed in jeans and a stripy blue jumper followed Tasha back into the living area. ‘Sorry to bother you, but I heard you come in. I’m from number twenty-five by the way. It’s a bit embarrassing, but there’s a really nasty smell and I sort of worked out it was coming from here. I wondered if you had some drainage problems?’

  ‘Oh that’s fine babe; I was actually just trying to get through to the caretaker about it now. No answer though. I don’t suppose you know anything about drains do you?’

  The man smiled, eyeing Tasha’s well-proportioned body.

  ‘A little bit.’

  ‘Maybe you want to take a butchers in the bathroom then? See if there’s anything to see.’

  The tiny width of the flat meant Tasha could reach the bathroom door without needing to move. As she put her hand on the door and began to open it, Arnold who’d been frozen to the spot, leapt across the room, frightening the man and stopping Tasha from opening the door fully. He pulled it shut with force and spoke in a trembling voice. ‘No. Not yet, it’s not ready for you yet. You can’t go in there.’

  Tasha glanced at the neighbour who looked slightly shocked and mildly embarrassed. She smiled warmly, then giggled, sounding like a teenager.

  ‘Your face is a picture. It’s a surprise; I’m not allowed to see it yet. Been going on about it all day, though really it should be me giving him the surprise; it’s his birthday.’

  The man beamed at Arnold and a moment later a grinning Tasha and the neighbour burst into an impromptu rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ to a pensive-looking Arnold.

  ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in the car.’ Arnold spoke monosyllabically as Tasha walked down the stairwell with the neighbour, chattering away.

  Everything seemed to be going wrong. It was supposed to be so simple, and now he’d let her down. If he hadn’t been so hesitant he’d be giving her what she deserved. His father had always told him he was hesitant. Hesitant and stupid. Stupid and hesitant Arnold.

  Putting his head round the bathroom door, Arnold scowled. ‘Well, would you look at that.’ He walked into the windowless room as he spoke to himself and picked up a towel lying on the floor. As he straightened the towel, putting it back on the rail with meticulous care, he caught a reflection in the mirror. Mess. Mess seemed to be everywhere.

  Standing over the bath, Arnold brought out a tissue from his pocket and began to rub the offending tile, which held the tiniest of black marks. Stepping back to admire it, a scowl appeared on his forehead. There was another mark. He’d no idea how they got there. He was grateful Izzy hadn’t seen the mess.

  After a few minutes of rubbing the ceramic clean until it squeaked, Arnold gave a final check before leaving the bathroom, closing the door and ignoring the headless torso lying in the bath.

  ‘Pull over here.’ Tasha felt sick. Her stomach turned in a cramp and her heart began to race faster. There, outside the hospital, she saw the figures of two large men standing by the entrance. They were Freddie’s men and they couldn’t be more obvious if they tried. Dark glasses with expensive leather jackets. Designer jeans with handmade Italian shoes. They stuck out like the proverbial, especially as this was Bradford, not Soho.

  Her stomach lurched as Arnold slowed down the car, bringing it to a stop in full view of the men. ‘Arnold, I’m sorry but I have to go. I’ll call you. I’m sorry about spoiling today.’

  Arnold looked at her. He’d been quiet the whole journey.

  ‘I’m the one who should be apologising to you. I know this isn’t how you expected it to work out but …’

  Tasha interrupted sharply. ‘Not now Arnold. Like I say, I’ll call you.’

  The car door was slammed as Tasha got out and she was oblivious to Arnold’s car driving off. Her mind was on other things. Taking a deep breath, she walked towards the men who she knew by name, trying to ignore her legs wanting to give way underneath her.

  They saw her and nodded. No smile. No wave. Only the small acknowledgement telling her they were here for a serious reason. Freddie.

  Tasha couldn’t see their eyes behind the Ray-Bans but she could tell they were watching everything around them.

  ‘Who was that?’ The cockney accent growled out at her.

  ‘Who was what?’

  ‘The car you just got out of. Whose was it?’

  Tasha swallowed and looked directly at them. ‘A cab. I felt too tired to drive. Problem?’

  ‘Not particularly; not yet anyway. We need a word.’ The men stood unmoving, waiting for Tasha to give them their full attention.

  ‘Freddie’s coming out.’

  A look of astonishment crossed Tasha’s face. ‘What?’

  ‘He’s coming out. We’re springing him out on one of his visits to Ray-Ray. We’ll have to move fast when we get the nod. So you need to be on standby.’

  Tasha’s face drained of colour. ‘Is he off his fucking head Johno?’

  Ignoring her comment, Johno continued to talk. ‘He asked me not to give you any details. Oh, and you’ll be driving one of the cars.’

  Tasha opened her mouth to say something but her shock silenced her.

  ‘You’ll only have to take him to where the helicopter will be waiting. He’ll worry about the rest but once Ray-Ray is out of hospital you’ll both go and join him.’

  ‘Just tell me why? And how he thinks he’s going to pull it off?’

  ‘Listen Tash, you ain’t got to worry about that. He wants to get out. Get whoever did this to Ray-Ray and once he has, you’ll all be shooting abroad.’

  Tasha shook her head. ‘You don’t get it do you? There’s been enough shit already. My son’s lying inside there and you lot are talking about breaking out and fucking revenge. You make me sick.’

  She began to walk away but her arm was grabbed by Johno. ‘Don’t make this hard for yourself Tash. Just be ready for our phone call. I’ve always liked you, but Freddie ain’t happy with you and however I feel about you won’t come into play if he gives me the nod … I don’t want to have to hurt you.’

  Tasha shook off Johno’s hand and walked away without saying anything, feeling not only their stare but the chill of their warning.

  12

  Laila Khan looked at the man who was waving his arms about and shouting, not understanding a word he’d just said.

  The hostility in the old man’s voice holding the cart was evident but the words didn’t make any sense. Tears stung Laila’s eyes but she refused to cry again. It seemed as if she’d been crying for the whole of the journey. Her nose was so blocked she could hardly breathe out of it and the combination of the dust and the heat wasn’t helping.

  ‘He’s telling you to move. To get out of the way before you’re killed. Did my brother teach you nothing?’ Mahmood stood behind his niece, once more despairing at the lack of teaching his dead brother had given his children.

  Moving back, Laila braved herself to look around. Only a few days ago she was struggling over her maths homework, texting her friend Jasvinder and wondering how she was going to persuade her uncle to let her have a Saturday job to afford the jeans she’d seen in Topshop.

  Yet here she felt virtually in a dreamlike state; a sense of almost being removed from her own being, looking down on herself standing by the side of the dusty road, in a country which looked as if every house, every road, every village had been scorched by the sun.

  Terror ran through Laila in powerless, uncontrollable waves, the fear gripping her mind, instinctively putting h
er body on heightened alert and sending panic signals to her brain, telling her to run; to escape the danger she was in. But where would she go? Where would she hide, when she knew her uncle would stop at nothing to find her.

  Ray-Ray came into her head, but the thought of his kindness, contrasted so much with what was happening around her that she blocked the thought out of her mind.

  ‘Stop daydreaming Laila, we’ve got a lot to do and you’re slowing us down. Tariq take the bags off the cart, I’ll get someone to help us. Stay here with your sister.’

  Laila watched in horror as Mahmood walked towards the clay buildings. She’d presumed they’d just been taking a break from the unforgiving journey. Her body ached and she was exhausted. They’d taken the plane, a taxi and then a train, squashed in a stifling, squalid carriage with women, children and even a goat.

  They’d then got the cart, pulled by an ox and guided by the old man, which had trundled along the dust road, wheels hitting every stone as her bones were jarred whilst the clouds swiftly flew by, hurrying to veil the dazzling sun of its blazing heat.

  She didn’t know where she was. The signs had disappeared on the outskirts of Islamabad. Though Laila didn’t need to know the name of the place to know she didn’t want to be here. She couldn’t even call it a village; it consisted of five flat-roofed houses, ashen in description, almost as if the colours had been sandblasted away.

  Dried mud replaced any paths. An undernourished dog lay panting under the shade of the single mulberry tree, chickens wandered for feed by the crumbling stone wall, and wide-eyed, curious stares watched Laila.

  Turning to her brother, her voice was strained and pitiful. ‘Tariq, please help me. Please, I’m begging you. We don’t have to do this. We’ll be okay without uncle; we can manage. I won’t go back to school, I can help out; I’ll get a job. Anything you need me to do. But please, please, don’t leave me here.’

  Tariq’s eyes flickered; glimpses of hesitation and uncertainty showing in his brown eyes. A moment later it was gone, passing away like the breeze. He had to stay strong. If he didn’t he’d be letting her down, no matter how hard it was for her … for him. This was the only way. He had to keep believing he was doing the right thing. The only thing to keep Laila safe. If only she could see it was best. If only she’d stop asking him to help her. This was him helping her. He couldn’t allow himself to feel sorry for her. Better this than the family do what they’d originally wanted to do to her. Besides, he had to remember this was her duty. His duty as her brother was to show her what was expected. And surely doing something in the name of duty wouldn’t harm her?

  Angry at himself for letting doubts come into his mind, Tariq snapped at Laila.

  ‘What do you want from me Laila? What do you want me to do? Just tell me. Tell me how I’m supposed to help you.’ Tariq threw down the cigarette he was smoking, kicking a stone out of the way. ‘Look, we’re here now Laila; get used to it, make the most of it.’

  ‘We’re where? Where are we Tariq? You tell me where we are and then tell me this is what Daddy would’ve wanted.’

  He didn’t know where they were, although he wasn’t going to admit that to Laila. But mostly, he wasn’t going to admit his father would never expect him to leave Laila here. But what else could he do? In a way, Tariq felt as trapped as Laila did.

  ‘What difference does it make to you if you don’t know where you are? If you wanted to know, maybe you should’ve paid attention in your Saturday morning lessons; then you would’ve been able to read the signs.’

  Not being able to look at Laila any longer, Tariq stormed off to find out why their uncle was taking so long.

  It took Laila to the count of three to start running. She turned left, not wanting to go along the same road they’d come down. She could hear the children who’d been watching her shrieking with surprise and excitement as she darted along the road. She cried out a small cry as her ankle bent over to one side as she ran on the uneven stones in her dolly shoes, making her escape slower than she would’ve wished for.

  Laila looked up and saw nothing but the road ahead looming in front of her. A barren stretch going on and on into the distance. How far was it? One mile? Two miles? It was impossible to tell, but she knew if she stayed on this road she’d be seen.

  She couldn’t turn back and run past the houses, the children’s screams were bound to have caught her uncle’s attention by now. Almost without thinking, Laila swerved into the undergrowth. Her burka caught on the tall hard reeds, forcing her to drag and yank at it to make her escape. Within seconds she could feel her feet being covered in water, then her knees, and before long her waist. She began to cry; a loud audible howl. Scared, lonely, hollow cries of terror and pain.

  Pulling herself together, Laila slowly and carefully began to wade, waist deep in water and sludge. Her burka was water-logged and she had a sense she was dragging a heavy weight behind her. The reeds towered above her, obscuring her view.

  Not having any sight or landmarks, Laila looked up to the sky, making sure to keep the sun in front of her. She paused, tired and shivering in the heat of the day. She didn’t want to think or look round because she knew if she did she would panic; panic at the sheer hopelessness of the situation.

  She wanted to focus on home, to try to imagine she was in her room, but however hard she tried, she couldn’t. The sounds, the smells, the feel of this foreign place she found herself in overwhelmed her senses, making it impossible for her to imagine she was anywhere other than here.

  A sudden noise made Laila freeze. Her heart speeded up and her breath became short. Coming towards her through the thick beige reeds was a snake; winding its body with graceful ease towards the ballooned floating cloth of her burka.

  Laila’s natural instinct was to scream out but as she continued to watch its long dark brown body with light gold sides and dorsal blotches, she was overcome with wanting it all to end. Wanting the snake with its concealed venom to poison her body; putting her out of the misery of her toxic life.

  She made a purposeful sudden movement, aware of the fear it would cause the snake; hoping its instinctive reaction would make it turn and bite her. Closing her eyes, Laila waited, embracing the fact it would soon all be over.

  Laila’s eyes were scrunched up so tightly they were beginning to hurt. Slowly she opened them only to see the snake weave its escape through the soaring reeds. ‘No!’ Laila shouted as the frightened snake disappeared from sight. Watching it vanish felt like the fleeting glimmer of hope had left with it too.

  Not knowing what to do, she put her head in her hands and cried. Cried for herself, for Tariq, for Ray-Ray, for her father and for the life which had been snatched away from her.

  She heard voices coming through the rushes.

  ‘Hello?’ Laila was startled by the voices. Her heart was racing faster. She couldn’t see who was there or even know how many people there were and for a second she wondered if she’d done the right thing by answering. She didn’t think it was her uncle or his friends; the tone was warm and kind.

  They were speaking in Urdu and Laila thought hard, trying to understand and remember what little she knew. It was unlikely they’d be able to speak English; they were so far away from any large towns or cities.

  The same question was repeated and then it came to her. They were asking if she was in trouble, telling her they couldn’t see her but wanting to know if she was all right.

  ‘Yes, help … I mean …’ Laila took a deep breath and then slowly and not very confidently, spoke her plea for help in Urdu.

  Laila listened as she heard a different voice answer her, louder than the first but again seemingly void of hostility. The sound of something breaking made Laila turn her head. She could see the top of the reeds being pushed and moved to one side, opening up her view.

  Standing just a few feet from her, waist-deep in water were two men. They stared at Laila, not unkindly, but puzzled to see her there. Their dark faces held a multitude of quest
ions but they said nothing, only waved their hand for Laila to follow them.

  It took a couple of minutes for them to reach the other side of the river and clamber up the muddy banks and immediately she felt exposed. No longer did the reeds give her sanctuary from being seen by her uncle and his friends. Laila knew she needed to move and fast.

  She looked at the men who had their eyes firmly on her but talked to one another in quick quiet voices. They looked almost identical in their clothing; both wearing a thin clothed cream shalwar kameez; something her uncle always wore. The usual loose-fitting trousers and long sleeved tunics, now wet, clung to their bodies, showing off their sinewy frames.

  Laila wasn’t certain what to do now. She looked both ways and the road was as long and barren as the road on the other side. She knew a woman on her own in Pakistan immediately drew attention and that was something she didn’t need to do. Clearing her throat, she spoke, more self-assuredly this time, as her Urdu began to come back to her. she asked the way to the nearest town. The men seemed to understand, though Laila could see the hesitancy in their eyes. Instantly she began to feel nervous again, turning her head to the thick reeds as if she was expecting to see her uncle appear out of them at any given moment. The younger and skinnier of the men pulled a face before gesturing and turning to walk. Taking this as a cue, Laila followed them. What other choice did she have?

  Her feet were hurting. Sweat was dripping down her back, adding to the discomfort of her wet clothing. She looked at her watch which was still set at English time, causing her to catch her breath once more at the reality of her situation.

  They’d been walking for fifteen minutes and with every second, Laila had to fight the fearful thoughts rushing through her mind. They could be taking her anywhere. Even back in Bradford she would never go somewhere with two men she didn’t know, yet here she was putting her trust and effectively her life in the hands of these people.