by Ayisha Malik
2.35 p.m. ‘I’ve been calling you every day. Why haven’t you picked up?’
‘Busy.’
‘Listen, Sofe, I’m so sorry. An emergency came up at the restaurant. I called but it was going straight to voicemail. You got my message, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were you waiting long?’
I paused. ‘A half hour or so.’
‘There was nothing I could do.’
‘Doesn’t matter, Naim. It’s fine.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Home.’
Which was not a complete lie as the hospital has become like a second home. Enough of the family is here for it to feel zoo-like.
‘Can you meet tonight?’
‘No.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Definitely, no.’
‘Well, when then?’
‘I don’t know, Naim. Things are a little mad at home.’
‘That’s new.’
‘I’m busy.’
‘Uh-huh.’ There was a pause.
‘Dad’s having an operation tomorrow, so maybe after that.’
The last thing I wanted was for him to feel sorry for me, so I told him that everything would be fine.
And now I must go and see Imran to tell him that I don’t think I can marry him, even sans hole-in-the-wall.
10.35 p.m. We were in Green Park, sitting in a café opposite the Wolseley and I kept on seeing flashes of Dad in hospital. It was raining so hard I couldn’t take my eyes off the slanting downpour. Every time I wanted to say that I just don’t feel that way about him, the words wouldn’t come out.
‘Listen. I know things are hectic. Once the op’s over, just talk to your parents and tell me what you want to do.’
‘The thing is, Imran . . .’
‘Just don’t think about it for now. Man, I’m hungry, and you need to eat.’
So I never told him. Not yet, anyway. One shouldn’t make hasty decisions. Especially when you’re trying to get it right. Especially when there’s a person opposite you who’s there to pick up pieces of life if needed.
Tuesday 17 April
9 a.m. Mum is looking very haggard. When she’s not running around doing things, she’s sitting and praying. It’s as if she doesn’t even notice anyone around her. Every time I’ve asked Auntie Scot to do a task Mum needs completing, she picks up the rosary beads and starts rubbing her knees, saying, ‘Hai hai, my arthritis.’ Where was your arthritis when you danced at my sister’s wedding, hmm?
She was drinking tea (rosary beads in hand) while Mum made breakfast in the kitchen. Auntie looked like she was about to cry.
‘Bhai has been so good to everyone. Mehnaz, every night before I sleep I say, “Ya Allah, keep him alive and healthy to see his daughter get married.” Don’t leave this poor family widowed and orphaned.’
I thought Mum dropped something because there was a bang. When I turned to look in the kitchen she was standing at the sink with her back to everyone.
‘I am not a widow yet.’ She looked over her shoulder at us. ‘And if, God forbid, I become one . . .’ Her voice began to crack. I felt useless. I can’t remember the last time I saw Mum like this. Perhaps it was when she had those bags packed, holding on to the door handle, almost changing the course of all our lives. ‘My daughters will not be orphans. They will still have me.’
I looked at my hands. Auntie Scot cleared her throat. ‘Haan. Of course. Also, thanks to Allah you have Tahir, at least.’
I wanted to point out that you’d get more use out of a used teabag than my brother-in-law, but I didn’t trust that my voice would be quite as strong as Mum’s. And plus, it was some comfort that from the corner of my eye I saw his hand resting on Maria’s.
10.12 a.m.
From Naim: Daisypuffs. Hope it goes OK today. Mother Mehnaz will be getting Uncle-ji to put up the solar lights in no time. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.
10.13 a.m.
From Naim: PS I hope you can see how nice I’m being. See, I’m changing for you.
To Naim: Of course you are.
From Naim: I knew you’d respond to that. Most guys would do anything to get a girl to sleep with them; I’ll do anything just to get a response from you. This love–shove business isn’t easy. Don’t worry about anything for now, though. You just do what you do best – pray, and I’ll even do the same. Your dad will be fine.
Typical. Every time I want to ignore him, he thaws my cold resolve. Bastard.
2 p.m. No one’s ever been this quiet before. Everyone is on the floor with their Qur’an or rosary beads, praying Dad’s operation goes well. Nothing like a bypass to shut everyone up.
9 p.m. It went well! He’s out and in intensive care, but it went well. Thanks to God in the hospital ceiling.
Thursday 19 April
3 p.m. Dad woke up while Mum had gone to pray and Maria had gone home to rest. He took my hand, smiled and said, ‘You will send your baba to the grave before you get married.’
I smiled, stroking his grey hair. ‘It’s good you’re well enough for emotional blackmail.’
I held his hand in both of mine. He was about to say something, but he just fell back asleep. It’s different to when everyone around you is telling you to get married. Very different when your own dad takes your hand and asks you to do the same. Especially when he’s attached to wires and tubes.
Very different.
7 p.m. I was on my way out to get some fresh air and Conall was walking into his house. He asked about Dad and if there was any way he could help. Hmmm, I don’t know, change the conversation? I know getting married is part and parcel of life, but it’s not life. Everyone’s obsession with it is bordering on the obscene, especially when there are people who are trying to mend their heart.
‘Are you all right, Sofe?’
‘Yeah, just the . . .’
‘. . . random thoughts buzzing around your head?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Everything will be fine.’ And before he walked into his house he said, ‘Everything will turn out just grand, you’ll see.’
8.25 p.m. There are times in one’s life when you have to ask yourself, what am I doing? This must be that time for me. Not voluntarily obviously – I keep pushing the damn thought into any dust-filled corner in my mind. Imran, Naim, Naim, Imran . . . Where are those empty, cobwebbed spaces when you need them? But as much as I try, an answer keeps bouncing back; I don’t know. And then a whole conversation begins which, no matter what direction it takes, keeps coming back to that moment when I held Dad’s hand and he said those words.
Friday 20 April
10.30 a.m. What the hell, man. On my way to work I got splashed by two cars, then a bus, the Victoria line was delayed, a man picked his nose and wiped it under his seat (not my seat, but might very well be my seat some other day) and now Brammers wants to see me in her office.
10.50 a.m. ‘Sofia, how are you?’ She leaned forward and clasped her hands together, concern etched in her furrowed brows.
‘Fine, thanks.’
She scratched her head and sniffed her finger. Ugh.
‘Well, I just wanted to say that I’m really impressed with your professionalism here. Considering.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ I was rather impressed myself, to be honest. Didn’t think I had it in me.
She cleared her throat and glanced at her computer screen, tapping her fingers on the table.
‘So we’ve had a read of the redrafted pages, and I think you could do more.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Have a look at the notes, and see if you can revise it a bit more,’ she said.
Ha, the concern etched in her brows wasn’t for me. I smiled as graciously as possible, and left the office.
I’ve had a look at the notes: Do we need this? Could you give some more examples? The tone isn’t quite consistent throughout – we begin with something light, though a little formal – please amend – and then i
t becomes a little serious. Whilst heartfelt, remember what kind of book this is. Keep it light.
And it went on, and on. But mostly I just stared at that comment – keep it light. Sigh.
Why is nothing ever good enough?
7 p.m. ‘You don’t need to write the book,’ said Imran, clearly not understanding the situation.
‘That’s not the point. I want to write it, I just don’t think I want to write what they want me to write.’
‘So, just do what they’re asking. You’re already halfway there. No point in starting over. It’s like the law, isn’t it? It’s not what I want to do, but it’s what I’ve done, because well, that’s what the plan was.’
‘You didn’t want to do law?’
How did I never know this? Weird.
‘Who gives a shit about it? But it pays the bills and more. Plus, Mum and Dad love telling people I’m a lawyer.’
That didn’t particularly fill me with confidence, but I had made a commitment to work. He was right. And anyway, what were the options when I’d already pocketed their money? Must remember that money. I could do something useful with it.
11.05 p.m. It was kind of impossible to think about the book and not think about the person who was there from the beginning. After looking at Naim’s name on my contacts list for twenty minutes, I thought, sod it, I’ll call him. He’ll be glad to hear from me.
His phone rang for ages before he picked up. There was all kinds of noise in the background. Namely, loud music.
‘Sofe? You OK? What’s going on?’
Life! That’s what’s going on.
‘Where are you?’ I asked.
‘I can’t hear you.’
Then I heard some girl shout out his name.
‘Hey, can I call you back? Won’t be too late, right?’
‘Never been too late before,’ I said in what was supposed to be a light (I’m practising for the book) tone, but which came out perhaps a little stiff.
‘Huh?’
‘Nothing. Yes, of course, that’s fine.’
Why should it bother me that he’s out? That girls are calling out his name? He’s making more friends in London. I should be glad. I am glad. Ecstatic.
11.58 p.m. Naim hasn’t called.
12.55 a.m. Been a while since I’ve been up at this time waiting for a call from Naim. Point is, never really had to wait before.
2.12 a.m.
From Naim: What are you wearing?
WTF??
2.13 a.m.
From Naim: Oh, shit, sorry, Sofe. Are you awake? Shall I call you?
Erm, hellooooooo? Who the hell was he messaging? No, don’t call me. Don’t even think of calling me. ARGH!
Saturday 21 April
6.35 a.m. I had to call Suj and rant (though she was half asleep). What was I expecting? I just thought . . . maybe, just maybe, there’s something here. Suj listened and obviously cursed him several times and said all the things best friends are meant to say. It’s just hard to believe them sometimes. Especially at this time. Most of all at this time.
8 a.m. I’ve thought about this, and when a man asks you to marry him and basically does everything you want him to do, it’d be unreasonable to say no. Very unreasonable. I’m completely capable of making a decision based on pros, cons and compromise. I’m finally a grown, mature woman.
So I’ve decided, I’m getting married. I’d better call the man I’m marrying and let him know.
8.20 a.m.
From Imran: Cant wait to spend rest of my life with you. You spoken to your parents yet? Let me know so mine can call and then we can come over. I think May wedding would be good xxxxx
Arghhhh! Come over? Already? Could at least wait until Dad doesn’t have to be fed through a drip. May does sound OK, though. Maybe it’ll give me some time to think of another book: one that I actually want to write.
9.12 a.m.
To Imran: Will have to wait until Dad’s out of the hospital, obviously. May is good.
From Imran: We better start planning then. Only a month away! xxxx
WTF??
To Imran: I meant next year! Next month? No way – not with Dad in hospital.
From Imran: Hahahaha, if you think I’m waiting until next year you’ve got another thing coming xxxxx
Think coming. Not thing. Honestly.
Naim calling. No, Naim. Just, no.
10 p.m. I’d rather have spent the evening with the girls discussing at length Hannah’s attempt to marinate chicken, Suj’s fling with Calvin Klein model (which was fine, apparently, as she and Charles weren’t talking that week) and Fozia’s latest man who, it turns out, is now a Buddhist, but failed to mention it to her until date three.
Instead we sat in my room and Maria came in, slumping on the corner ottoman. Now was as good a time as any to let them all know I was engaged. It wasn’t quite the reaction I’d been expecting. Maria leaned forward, looking confused. I explained about what happened with Naim and Fozia put an arm around me and said, ‘He was hardly marriage material.’
No, but I was willing to overlook that. Turns out he wasn’t willing to overlook it.
‘Oh, he was a prick,’ said Suj.
Hannah concurred on both counts.
‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ Maria asked.
I nodded, but felt something clench in my chest.
‘It’s an all-rounder, right,’ I replied.
They looked at one another. ‘What does that mean?’ asked Suj.
I wanted to explain about Dad and the wires and his hand on mine, the lack of Naim, the presence of Imran, but I didn’t have the energy. Here’s the thing about faith: just because you’re not a hundred per cent sure about something doesn’t make it wrong. In fact, doubt can be good – it stops you from that head in the clouds scenario, which is exactly when people make mistakes. Every time I feel like my insides are being flipped around like pancakes, I just close my eyes and think about Dad and how happy he’ll be.
‘Don’t worry. I know what I’m talking about.’
Hannah cleared her throat. ‘OK, I have something to say,’ she said, taking a deep breath. ‘I’m getting a divorce.’
‘What?’ said Suj.
‘I know they say the first year is the worst but, quite frankly, I’m not having it,’ replied Hannah.
‘Having what?’ asked Foz.
‘Joint wifehood, a baby. Any of it. Well, the baby is Allah’s will but I can’t just sit here crossing out dates on some calendar, waiting for my husband to come home.’ She looked around at us. ‘Different if I was going to have children, but look at me. If I can’t make a baby, the least I could have is a full-time husband.’
‘But, love, you knew he was going to be a part-timer before you got married,’ said Suj. I nodded. I know I was the one who had at one time mentioned divorce as an option, but what happened to ’til death do us part?
Fozia kneeled on the bed. ‘Are you sure you want to do this, Han?’
‘So now you all think I should be with Zulfi?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s just, you spent so many years fighting for this . . .’
Maria rested her hand on her stomach, looking at all of us.
‘So it’s my fault?’ Han said.
‘No . . .’
‘I shouldn’t have married a man with a wife?’
‘It just . . .’
‘And now I can’t have babies I can’t just change the rules?’
‘I never said that, but.’
‘Well, Sofe, let’s see what you think when you’re married and live in the real world.’
OK, perhaps I should’ve kept my large mouth shut, but since when did Hannah believe in the marrieds’ mantra that single people don’t live in the real world? You can’t help feelings but people make choices: good or bad, you need to live with them. Does no one fight for anything any more? She stood up and said she was going to make a move.
‘Just stay,’ said Suj.
‘No, I
should go.’
I was going to go after her, but felt, well, annoyed. I thought of Dad in hospital. Real world? My world feels real enough, thank you. Foz got off the bed and said she’d go and speak to her.
Maria, Suj and I sat in silence. I thought maybe Foz and Han would return, but after half an hour we were still sitting, waiting for who knows what.
‘Suj,’ I said, clearly on a roll, ‘stop messing about and just be with Charles.’
I’d had enough. Everyone needs to deal with their problems and stop pissing about as if we live in a Hollywood film. When Suj didn’t respond, I thought maybe she’d storm out too.
‘I know, Toffee.’ She played with her car keys and looked up at me. ‘I’ll get my shit together. You’re right.’
Suj left and Maria was still sat on the ottoman. ‘Bloody hell,’ she said. ‘Talk about drama.’
10.15 p.m. I heard Maria and T whispering in the next room. Obviously eavesdropping is wrong, in theory, but there are a lot of things that are wrong in theory – skinny jeans with hijab, for instance. But it’d be nice to know that at least someone was happy.
‘Sorry, baby,’ I heard Tahir say. Then there was silence.
10.25 p.m. I’ve had a panic at the potential of making a similar mistake as Hannah and marrying the wrong man. Where is that istikhara prayer??
10.40 p.m. Found it! Let’s see . . . normal prayer followed by istikhara, asking for guidance so that which is good for you is made easy, and that which is bad for you is made difficult. I will pray this and the rest will be in the hands of God.
Oh, Lord, please help me. Naim calling.
10.50 p.m. ‘Oh, hey. You picked up,’ he said.
‘Shall I hang up?’
‘If you hang up I’m coming to your house and throwing stones at your bedroom window.’