by Jacqui Rose
Moving forward in the queue, Tariq realised he was just as much a prisoner as Laila was.
‘Laila! … Laila! Bloody hell, look at you. What are you wearing that long thing for? You look so different. Where’ve you been? Miss Davies absolutely did her nut when you didn’t turn up for the end of term exams and when you didn’t show up at the start of this term, well you should’ve seen her. Julie Fowler had to take your place on your science experiment; apparently she totally messed it up. She’s such a stupid cow.’
Laila listened to her classmate as she stood in Leeds Bradford airport car park, feeling awkward and conscious of the difference in their appearances. She’d seen Yvonne a moment before Yvonne had seen her, and instead of waving, Laila had tried to put her head down and walk away unseen, but Yvonne had spotted her, racing up to launch into school gossip.
Laila watched Yvonne, with her flowing brown hair and tight-fitting clothes, happily not taking a breath as she excitedly recalled the events of the end of term. It’d only been two months or so but it seemed so alien to her. School and all it had to offer seemed a world away from her reality now.
Everything seemed not quite real to Laila as she stood ill at ease, her hair tightly plaited under her headscarf and her long plain Shami dress on.
The carefree chattering of her school mate stamped harder on Laila’s reality. Her eyes filled with tears and she was grateful Yvonne was too busy talking to notice. ‘So anyway, Miss Davies says you’re not going to be Head Girl now because you let everyone down. She was so bloody angry. I wet myself laughing. But don’t worry, those geeks you like to hang about with are going to have a protest, Emma says she’ll lead it. No one knew where you were. It was like you’d just vanished. And you’ll like this; everyone thought you’d run off with Ray-Ray, because he wasn’t in either. Bloody hell, how cool would that have been eh, to rock up with him?’
Yvonne paused to take a much-needed breath, then almost as if something had struck her, turned to Laila; her face showing a look of genuine concern. ‘Oh shit, you wouldn’t have heard what happened to Ray-Ray then. Get this; apparently he was at home …’
‘Laila.’ Baz’s voice sounded behind her, startling her. She didn’t know how long he’d been listening and hoped it hadn’t been too long. Her face began to pale when she realised Yvonne, affronted by the interruption, was going to say something to Baz.
‘Er, hello? Excuse me. Can’t you see we’re talking?’
‘And who would you be talking to?’
Yvonne rolled her eyes at Laila. ‘Thicko, I’m talking to her.’
Baz’s eyes cut narrowly at the girl. He took in her overly tight, pink nylon top showing off her youthful midriff, her denim cropped shorts with sequinned pockets, and even though it was a hot September day, the scuffed cowboy boots she was wearing. She was a silly little tart, but it made for interesting viewing to see what sort of friends Laila had.
‘When you say her, I take it you mean my wife?’
A look of bewilderment came over Yvonne’s face. Laila could see she was trying to process the information in her mind as she opened her mouth, then closed it, only for her to open it again and say precisely nothing. Putting her head down, Laila wondered why she felt so ashamed.
The once-excited voice of Yvonne changed into a small, quiet, caring one. She held Laila’s hand and it took all Laila’s willpower not to break down completely. It was the first real touch of affection she’d had since Ray-Ray.
‘I didn’t know. You didn’t say anything. Is that why you look so different? Are you okay?’
‘She’s married, not dead,’ Baz interjected.
‘I was talking to Laila, not you.’ Yvonne’s words were quick and harsh and Baz stepped closer, trying to intimidate her. But undeterred, Yvonne carried on. ‘But you’re coming back to school aren’t you? We’ll talk then?’
‘No, she won’t be back at school. Now do yourself a favour, and get lost,’ he snapped at her.
‘What is it about you, mate? I’m talking to my friend. You don’t scare me.’ Yvonne got out her mobile phone, turning back to Laila. ‘Let me check I’ve got your number. I’ll call you.’
Baz grabbed hold of Yvonne’s arm, pulling the mobile phone towards him. ‘Get off me! Ouch, you’re hurting me.’
Frightened, Laila looked on. This was her friend and even though she knew she’d get into trouble for stepping in, she couldn’t stand by and do nothing. ‘Baz, leave her alone. Baz!’
Ignoring Laila and the tug on his sleeve, Baz twisted Yvonne’s wrist. She yelped and dropped the phone as she pulled away, giving time for Baz to pick up the mobile before Yvonne could.
‘Hey, give me that back.’
‘I warned you to get lost.’
‘Do you know what you are? You’re a bully. Just wait till I get me step-dad on to you.’
Baz stuck his face into Yvonne’s. He grinned. ‘Tell him I’ll be waiting and if you want your phone, have him come and pick it up from the police station. Tell him to ask for DS Gupta.’
Baz turned and walked away, followed closely by Laila. She couldn’t face looking at her friend to say goodbye. She didn’t want to see the expression on Yvonne’s face as she stood in amazement in the middle of Leeds Bradford airport car park. But as she got to the car, she heard Yvonne screeching.
‘I want my bleeding phone back! You haven’t heard the last of this mate.’
19
Laila lay in her room. The same bedroom she’d slept in as a girl when her father had come to tuck her up at night. The same room she always felt safe in, and the same room she’d thought about Ray-Ray in. But those were all distant memories now. Everything had changed. It was no longer her room. It was now her and Baz’s room and she was a prisoner in it. Though she supposed she was grateful she hadn’t had to stay in Pakistan with Baz’s family, who’d all moved back there recently. She couldn’t say her uncle was happy about the arrangement; she had a sneaking suspicion he’d wanted her to stay in Pakistan and be rid of her completely. When her family left the house, they locked her in the bedroom. Her mother had spoken to her a couple of times through the door but Laila knew there was nothing she could do to help. Though she wasn’t angry with her mother. The last few weeks had made her really see it wasn’t just her who feared her uncle, it was her mother as well. From the first time her uncle had entered the house he had been cruel and sadistic. Not caring how any of them thought or felt. Forcing his views and his ways onto them all, as well as forcing himself into her mother’s bed, and no-one had been able to do anything about it.
There was no chance of calling anyone because they’d already taken away her mobile, and sticking her head out of the window and shouting for help would only be asking for trouble. Most of the street and the surrounding area were people from her community, and they were either friends of her uncle or friends of friends. One bellow from her and someone would be calling her uncle, brother or husband to inform them of her behaviour.
Laila winced as a sharp pain ran down the middle of her stomach. It’d begun before they’d got the plane home but it was slowly becoming worse. Coming and going in waves.
She’d told Baz who’d ignored her, apart from shrugging his shoulders. It would’ve been pointless telling her uncle who would’ve only scorned her, disgusted at the idea she would speak to him about such matters. Her mother had gone to stay with one of Laila’s sisters, so that had left only Tariq. She’d tried to speak to him last night but it seemed he was frightened to talk to her.
And now as the pains were becoming worse, Laila was getting more worried. But she didn’t have anybody to tell or anyone to go to. What she really wanted to do was go to the hospital, although she knew it was never going to be an option. So all she could do was sit and wait, hoping everything was going to be all right.
A tap on the door, then the rattle of keys made Laila turn sharply around. It was Tariq. He smiled at her. ‘Hey. Are you okay? I was worried.’
Laila’s eyes fill
ed with tears. She knew he was taking a risk coming to see her. Tariq put his head down as he spoke.
‘I brought you these.’ He passed her a bag of chocolate buttons – her favourite since she’d been a child. ‘I’m sorry Laila. I’m sorry I haven’t been the brother you deserve.’ Laila began to interrupt but Tariq put his hand up to stop her speaking, wanting to continue with what he was saying. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing, I believed what uncle was telling me; or rather, I made myself believe it. But I know now, I was wrong. Can you ever forgive me? I don’t know how to make it better for you Laila, but I will. I promise. In the name of our father, I will.’ Tariq stopped, breaking down into tears as Laila wrapped her arms around him, crying along with him too.
‘I want to talk to Yvonne.’
The woman on the doorstep sniffed, then spat some phlegm into the unkempt hedges by the side of the path. She wore her hair in large pink rollers, and wore a low-cut acrylic top showing off her crinkled chest. Dark circles of sweat sat in the armpits like dark rain clouds. Her legs were skinny and chicken-like under a short mini skirt.
Her face looked disdainfully at the man on her doorstep, standing too close and looking too smug for her liking. She drew on her cigarette, kicking the cat out of the way and almost losing her balance as she moved her foot. She hated Pakis at the best of times. But a Paki copper was pushing it.
‘What you want her for? Cos whatever it is you say she’s done, she didn’t do it. She was with me.’
Baz smiled nastily. He knew her type. Didn’t give a shit about her kids until someone else told them what little bastards they were, and then they played the doting, protective mother.
‘Is she in?’ Without waiting for an answer, Baz pushed past the woman who gave an indignant cry. ‘Hey, you need a search warrant to come in. You can’t just barge your way in here you know.’
‘Really? I thought that’s exactly what I’d just done.’
Baz curled up his face. The kitchen was as messy as the front entrance which was as messy as the front garden. The place had a heavy smell of old chip oil and the heat of the day was clearly making it worse.
The wallpaper was stained, as was the ceiling with yellow nicotine. Unwashed pots and pans piled up in every corner. Overflowing ashtrays and newspapers lay around. And sitting in the middle of the kitchen table were a pair of muddy boots, displayed as if they were the centrepiece on a dining room table. ‘Nice place you’ve got here.’ Baz smirked.
‘Piss off, I know my rights. I want you out of here.’
‘No problem, just tell me where Yvonne is.’
‘I don’t have to answer any of your questions.’
‘No, you don’t, but rather here than down at the police station.’
‘I haven’t done anything.’
‘Maybe not, but I’m sure I can think of something.’
‘You’re fucking bastards you lot are. Worse than the fucking criminals.’
Baz could smell shit and he looked down at the cat litter tray which looked like it hadn’t been cleaned out for a while. He was tired and he wanted to get out of this dump as soon as he could. ‘Just tell me where she is. You don’t want me nicking your fella as well do you?’
‘Leave him out of it.’
‘Or what? He’ll sue me? He’s got form hasn’t he? On parole. You don’t want him bringing back in for violating it do you?’
‘She’s upstairs.’
‘Easy when you know how.’ Baz winked as he walked out of the kitchen. The woman began to follow him but Baz blocked her way. ‘No, I want you to stay down here. All I’m going to do is have a quiet little word with her, then I’ll be out of your house.’
Yvonne lay on her bed staring at the posters on her wall. She’d never bothered having pictures of popstars or footballers on her wall before, but it was either that or stare at the damp stains and the holes in the wall, an angry reminder of her stepdad’s drunken rants. The sooner she could get out of Bradford, the better.
The job she was working at was paying her well. She was working in a strip club on the other side of the city. She was underage but the owners of the club didn’t care if she was seventeen or seven. As long as she got her tits out that’s all that mattered.
It was long hours and the men made her skin crawl but if it meant being able to leave the shit hole she was supposed to call home, then she was more than happy to continue. She’d saved up over two thousand pounds. Mainly in tips for extras. But money was money.
Of course, she hadn’t told her family about it because she knew within forty-eight hours all her hard work would be pissed up against the wall. Neither had she opened a bank account. Her money was hidden. Hidden in the wall behind the poster.
Yvonne jumped as the door was kicked. She sprung up from the bed, presuming it was her stepdad pissed up to the eyeballs, looking for a fight. Seconds later the door opened, hanging precariously on one hinge.
Yvonne stood on the other side of the bed, shocked to see it wasn’t who she’d expected, but even more shocked to see who it was. ‘Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Does my mam know you’re here?’
‘Who do you think let me up?’
‘I want you to get out of my room.’
Baz smiled. ‘What is it with you lot, not very hospitable are you?’ He picked up Yvonne’s blouse which was lying on the bed before throwing it across to the other side of the room. ‘I thought you and I could have a little word.’
‘I’ve got nowt to say to the likes of you.’
‘The “likes of” me? Now we’re a stupid tart and a little racist.’
‘You what? I don’t give a shit what colour you are pal. I’m talking about you lot. Coppers. Pigs. The Old Bill. You’re all the same. Bullies.’
‘Now that isn’t very nice Yvonne. I like to think of myself as special.’ As he spoke, Baz walked round to where Yvonne was standing. She wore only a tight t-shirt with no bra underneath, showing off her enormous breasts, and a pair of shorts.
For the first time since Baz had smashed down the door, Yvonne’s demeanour changed. The air of confidence she had began to diminish, though she kept her voice steady, holding Baz’s stare. ‘What do you want?’
‘Now we’re getting somewhere. Easy really. I want you to stay away from Laila. Not only that, I want you to make sure all her friends do too. I don’t want some little hooker like you coming to my house and walking round telling everyone my business. So stay away.’
‘And what if I don’t?’
‘Then you’ll be a silly girl. I want you to pretend you didn’t see her.’
Yvonne snarled at Baz, snapping back with self-assurance.
‘Yeah, of course you do because you don’t want me to tell everybody how unhappy she is. Laila doesn’t want to be married to someone like you.’
Baz smirked, prodding her in her chest. ‘And how would you know that?’
Childlike, Yvonne answered, shrugging her shoulders.
‘Dunno, but I do and not only that, I’m going to tell everybody you came into my house today.’
Baz grabbed hold of Yvonne’s hair. ‘And who do you think they’ll believe, hey? Some little scrubber like you or a police officer like me?’ He let go of her hair. ‘You’ve been warned, Yvonne. You’d be very silly to try to take me on.’
After Baz had gone, Yvonne lay on her bed and thought about Laila. In truth, she hadn’t thought too much about her since she’d seen her at the airport. She didn’t have much time for her. What she did have time for though was gossip, and after no one had known where Laila had disappeared to, seeing her had meant Yvonne would be the first one with the news. She’d only been at the airport to earn some extra money. One of the girls at the strip club had told her it was a good pick-up place for punters. Most of them only required hand jobs which was a good thing, as she was still a virgin and didn’t fancy giving it away for twenty quid. Her stepfather had tried hard enough to get it, so after fighting him off for the last five years she w
asn’t going to give it to some random stranger waiting for a cut-price Thomas Cook holiday.
At the time the only thing that had really pissed Yvonne off about the encounter with Laila’s fella was the way he’d spoken to her. The mobile phone being taken had been annoying more than anything. She’d lifted it from one of the punter’s pockets at the club the night before, so technically it wasn’t even hers.
Within an hour of seeing her at the airport, she’d forgotten all about Laila and her chump of a husband. Until now. The one thing Yvonne Scott hated above all was being told what she could and couldn’t do. All her life she’d been pushed around by people, and she certainly wasn’t going to add this man to the list. In fact, Yvonne was going to do quite the opposite. It was high time she went round and paid Laila a visit.
20
Whoever was ringing on the doorbell didn’t seem to want to go away. Tentatively, Laila tiptoed to the window, hiding behind the red curtain and trying to peek through the nets without being seen from the upstairs front room bedroom.
The bell was still ringing but she couldn’t see who it was, as they were standing out of sight, too near the door. A pang fluttered through Laila. What if it was Ray-Ray? What if he’d heard about what had happened and was coming to rescue her? Her heart began to race at the thought. Nervously, Laila craned her head, pushing her forehead onto the cool of the glass pane. She pulled back, dropping the net curtain as if it had stung her. Whoever it was had seen her. She hadn’t got a look of their face, only their brown hair, which meant it couldn’t be Ray-Ray. A wave of both relief and disappointment hit Laila. Pulling her jumper tightly round her, Laila retreated back to her bed, wondering why she felt so afraid.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Laila wasn’t entirely sure what the noise was at first. She lay staring at the ceiling unmoving; thinking it might be a moth trying to get out. The noise got louder and she realised it was coming from outside. Somebody was throwing stones at the window.