by Ayisha Malik
Mum turned round, taking her yellow rubber gloves off. ‘Very weird family who keeps forgetting to call you back,’ she said, but I was blinded by a flash of multicoloured light.
‘What is that?’
She broke out into a huge smile, thrusting her hand in my face. ‘My engagement ring.’
‘Oh my bloody hell. Is he loaded?’
‘Hain?’
‘Rich?’
‘Of course. He was colonel in the army. See your ring, Soffoo?’
She eyed my gold band, looking like the grief-stricken widow she should be, but grief-stricken for the wrong reasons.
‘I like it,’ I said.
Can’t believe I was comparing engagement rings with own mother. Especially when own mother feels sorry for mine.
‘Do you really like it, or because you have to like it?’
I looked at it and remembered when Conall got it out of his pocket. We were sitting on the outside step of the Karachi flat – people staring at us, the unlikely pair, me not giving a damn and Conall looking so at home I should’ve known he’d want to stay as long as possible.
‘See this?’ he said, holding it up to me. ‘The man who sold it to me –’
Man? What man?
‘Don’t worry, I got it checked and it’s real. Jesus. Anyway, I met him in Bangladesh – remember when I was there for a week? He told me it was his mother’s who’d fled India in 1971. She was leaving with her family – her husband was fighting in the war – and realised she’d forgotten her wedding band. She went back for it when she heard an explosion. She lost her whole family.’ He paused.
God, he was grim sometimes. I thought about my own family, muttering a prayer for their safety. This story didn’t feel like a particularly good omen.
‘But this ring,’ he said, turning it around in his hands. ‘It saved her.’
I watched him stare at the ring with such intensity anyone would’ve thought it belonged to his own mother. These are the people with extra goodness – that kind of excess empathy is hard to find.
‘You really are a sucker for a story,’ I said.
‘Shut up and give me your hand.’
He put the ring on and I have no idea why tears surfaced my eyes.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘You need something to show you’re married.’ He looked at me. ‘Plus, I’d like to think of you as a woman who will always survive. Despite adversity.’
It’s funny, because you never can be sure how a person sees you.
‘We didn’t know we were getting married when you went to Bangladesh,’ I said.
‘No,’ he said. ‘But the ring was always going to be yours.’
I’d twisted it around my finger, an unusual cocktail of emotions swelling in my chest. ‘You know that if there was a war I’d be the first to go,’ I said.
He took my hand and replied: ‘Killed by your own people, probably.’
I nodded. ‘Or just can’t be arsed to move.’
‘Still,’ he said, looking at me, ‘you’d probably save a person or two along the way.’
I came out of my reverie and noticed Mum staring at me as I rubbed the ring on my finger.
‘I really like it, Mum,’ I replied.
She was looking at her own by this time, though. ‘See how it shines?’
That’s when I noticed she was no longer wearing Dad’s ring. A sinkhole seemed to give way in my heart. Her happiness shouldn’t be hard to see, but it was, and I don’t know how much of a bad daughter that made me.
‘I’m just going to do some work,’ I said, knowing the only place I’d be going was Dad’s grave.
I ran down the stairs, grabbed my jacket and opened the door when I started. There he was, flesh and sturdy bones.
‘Conall?’
I couldn’t believe it. I dropped my jacket and jumped into his arms, taking in the scent of musk, plane and Pakistan. He came home!
‘What are you . . . ? You didn’t . . . Why didn’t you tell me?’ I looked at his lovely face and I’m not ashamed to say, perhaps I was a little dog-like, kissing it. I guess that’s what happens when you realise how much you miss a person. His arms tightened round my waist.
‘Thought I owed you a surprise,’ he said.
Everything was going to be OK. Those weeks of worry were needless and irrational. He was here and we’d be OK.
‘Soffoo! Who is it?’ came Mum’s voice from upstairs.
I looked up at him again when a figure caught my eye. There she was, standing behind the gate, suitcase by her side; the oh-so-familiar figure of Hamida.
‘Hai hai, you are wasting the heating,’ came Mum’s voice as she thudded down the stairs.
I stepped to the side.
‘Hi,’ said Conall.
Mum’s face hardened, her lips pursed, Fairy Liquid and rubber gloves squeezed to her chest. Just then I heard a car pulling up and engine turning off.
‘What’s going on?’ came Maars’ voice as she got out of the car.
She looked at Hammy as Tahir unstrapped Adam from his car seat.
‘You are here,’ said Mum to Conall.
I heard banging at a window and saw Maars telling Auntie Reena to get out.
‘Maybe we should go in,’ I suggested, but Mum didn’t look like she had any plans to move.
Conall clenched his jaw and put his hand on his chest. ‘Mrs Khan – I’m sorry. Really.’
‘Well! Would you look who it is.’
I angled past Mum to see Sean striding past Hammy, towards Conall, bringing him into a hug.
‘You came,’ he exclaimed.
‘Why wouldn’t he come?’ said Mum.
‘Inside, anyone?’ I said.
‘Who’s your friend?’ asked Sean, looking at Hammy.
‘Oh, this is Hamida,’ replied Conall.
‘Oh, you’re Hamida!’ Sean was already shaking her hand. ‘I’ve heard plenty about you.’
‘Who’s Hamida?’ asked Mum.
‘She works with Conall,’ I explained.
I looked at Maars, who mouthed: Why is she here? I don’t know! Why were there so many people here??
‘Beta, don’t mind me, you drop me back home,’ said Auntie Reena.
‘Hai Allah, she’s started,’ mumbled Mum.
‘It’s kind of cold out here,’ added Tahir, holding Adam.
‘Yes, please let’s go inside before the neighbours start complaining.’
‘Maybe I should go to my friend’s,’ suggested Hammy.
‘No, wait,’ answered Conall, looking back at Mum. ‘It was all Sofe’s idea, you know,’ he said.
‘Excuse me?’ I said.
‘Don’t listen to her,’ he added to Mum, pointing at me. ‘She tricks you with her words.’ He paused. ‘But I am sorry. If it caused you pain.’
‘You should think before acting so you don’t need to say sorry,’ she replied.
His jaw tightened again and I thought, please don’t let this be the time you start talking about your principles and how we’re adults and blah blah bleugh.
‘You’re right,’ he replied.
He did that every so often: reminded me of the reasons I married him. Putting up with my mad mother was right up there. I wanted to kiss him. That was before I looked at Hammy again.
‘Mum, what is that on your finger?’ exclaimed Maars.
Mum waved her hand in the air, forgetting that my husband was in front of her, asking for forgiveness.
‘It’s bigger than yours, haina?’
I saw Tahir lean in and ask Maars something. Mum looked back at Conall, observing his unkempt beard.
‘Chalo,’ she said, moving to one side. ‘Come indoors.’
3.50 p.m. There was a lot of throat clearing. Now and again Mum stared at her ring. Auntie Reena’s paan-munching speeded up whenever she witnessed it.
‘Your mum’s getting married?’ whispered Conall. ‘Think you should’ve mentioned that to me?’
I’ve tried to tuck Mum’s OAP love story
into the folds of my unused mind, but flashing engagement rings make it hard to forget. Sean slapped his hands together, smiling at the room, just to fill the silence.
‘Listen,’ Conall continued to whisper to me. ‘About Hamida – I’m sorry but –’
‘You had a good flight then?’ asked Tahir for the third time.
Conall and Hamida nodded. What was she doing here? I kept glancing at Mum, who gave Auntie Reena unimpressed looks every time she considered Hamida.
‘So, this is my nephew,’ said Conall, walking up to Adam and picking him up. He threw him in the air as Adam’s drool fell to the floor. I’ve not had much pause to consider my ovaries but I wondered why they seemed to be throbbing at this sight.
‘Maybe we should go to Sean’s and unpack?’ said Conall, looking at me. ‘Sofe, you want to bring your stuff. You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked Sean.
‘No, it’s fine,’ he said.
‘Soffoo,’ said Mum urgently. ‘Come in the kitchen.’
I followed her and she said: ‘Le, listen to this. You can’t stay in the same house as your husband . . . sharing a bedroom . . .’ Cringe. She cleared her throat. ‘It doesn’t looks nice.’
‘Mum, we’re married.’ LET ME BE WITH MY HUSBAND.
‘You think people care?’ she continued. ‘No, no,’ she said, looking at my stomach. ‘Are you pregnant?’
‘What? No.’
‘Good, because how people will talk otherwise.’
‘What’s going on?’ said Maars as she joined us.
‘Mum says I can’t stay with Conall.’
‘Oh God,’ said Maars.
‘Is everything OK?’ It was Conall. ‘You’re all talking kind of loudly.’
‘You understand these things, don’t you, Conall?’ asked Mum.
‘We’ll talk about this later,’ I said to Mum.
‘Soffoo, what would your baba think, hmm?’
‘Now you care what Baba would think,’ I murmured.
‘Hain?’
‘Nothing.’
Mum stared at me. ‘Do you think it will look nice for your widowed mama to explain why you are sleeping together before the wedding?’
Silence. Conall looked at the ground, jamming his hands in his pockets. What was I meant to do?
‘Listen,’ he said, looking at me, ‘why don’t you come over when you’re ready?’ With which he nodded to Mum and left the house.
4.15 p.m.
From Suj: Toffee! Do you like my new patio furniture? Is it too dark? The lighter one wasn’t as nice. Was well expensive – can you tell or does it look like any old shit? xxxxxx
I wished patio furniture could be the peak of my concern.
6.45 p.m.
From Hannah: My God, who’d have thought adoption would be so complicated? Kid needs a home and loving parents, I can provide both, just give me one. Sorry have been crap. Do you need wedding help? Heard from Foz? Yours, Frazzled. Xx
10.30 p.m. It’s only two weeks. That’s the argument I keep hearing. I told Mum I was going to Sean’s and expected more illogical arguing when she said: ‘If you think I haven’t heard enough gossip, then do what you want. Anyway, your Wasim Uncle and I are going for dinner.’
My mum had a date. With her fiancé. Why wasn’t she concerned about the gossip she’d have to listen to?
‘People can say what they want about me – I damn care – but I won’t hear anything about my daughter.’
‘Waisay, who is Hamida? You think it is proper for a girl to live with two men? What would her mama and baba say?’
‘Soffoo,’ said Auntie Reena to me. ‘No matter how nice men might seem, they are very weak when it comes to temptation. That’s why you should have a baby soon. Men don’t leave their children as easily.’
Well, nothing like that sentiment to anaesthetise the old ovaries.
Before I went to Sean’s I sneaked into the alleyway at the back of the house and had a fag.
He let me in and I walked into the living room where Conall was sitting. Hamida was in her room.
‘My moralising brother and sister-in-law, finally together,’ said Sean.
Sean bowed his head and took my hand. ‘Now, I’ve hidden the alcohol, so we’re good to go.’
‘Is Conall telling you what you can and can’t have in your house?’ I said.
‘Technically, it’s my house,’ replied Conall.
I looked at him to see if he was mad about what had happened with Mum. It’s always hard to tell when he’s being genuinely patient or just hiding being pissed off very well.
‘You could do without the alcohol. Not to mention the pork and women,’ added Conall.
‘Right, well, hungry?’ Sean asked.
‘Always with the sanctimony,’ I said to Conall.
‘It’s not sanctimony,’ he replied. ‘It’s experience.’
Sean cleared his throat. ‘Caponana d’estate and ditalini rigati something or another – that’s with sun-dried tomatoes. But first a good old Caesar salad.’
We sat at the table as Sean went into the kitchen. ‘Dinner’s ready,’ he called out to Hamida.
Bloody Hammy.
‘Listen, Mum just needs a bit of time to get her head around things. And thank you,’ I said. ‘For coming.’ I hesitated. ‘But what’s Hamida doing here?’
Before he could answer Sean returned with drinks as Hammy followed him.
‘This is an impressive last-minute spread,’ I said. Hammy was not going to deter me from acting like a normal person, rather than a jealous lunatic wife. Had to remember, he was here. That meant something.
‘Sofia – you married the wrong brother. This guy throws a pile of shit together and calls it food. Me? I take love and care,’ said Sean.
‘Don’t pay a bit of attention to what comes out of his mouth,’ said Conall, looking tired. ‘You bankers have all the money without an ounce of the morality.’
Sean threw his hands in the air. ‘Guilty.’ He picked up his fork and looked at us. ‘Well,’ he said, looking at Hamida. ‘Don’t these two look very . . . Muslim.’
Conall shook his head, the hint of a smile showing. ‘Shut the fuck up.’
I caught Sean staring at Conall for a moment – a stare that didn’t quite go with his easy nature.
‘You’ve gone and increased your chances of wearing an orange jumpsuit, though,’ he said.
‘We all know he thrives on a challenge,’ said Hamida.
‘She’s got you down,’ replied Sean.
‘We got stopped at immigration for four hours,’ she said. ‘He loved every minute.’
Conall’s fork scraped against the plate.
‘All those stamps in your passport’s going to land you in prison one of these days,’ said Sean.
There was that look again – a question mixed with caution.
Conall clenched his jaw as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. ‘Let it.’
‘So, you’re the one keeping him out of trouble when he’s in Karachi?’ Sean said, looking at Hamida. ‘When Sofe’s not around, of course.’
‘Only because he does the same for me,’ she replied.
When Conall looked up and gave her such a kind smile, I thought I might throw my fork at someone. They held each other’s gaze a fraction longer than necessary. Something was happening. I felt it with a certainty I hadn’t before and another sort of panic came over me.
Sean considered her for a moment. ‘You don’t wear a scarf.’
‘So?’ She picked up her drink, smiling. ‘Do you think all Pakistanis are the same?’
‘I’ve got a feeling none of them are quite like you.’
‘OK,’ said Conall. ‘Keep your one-liners for your dates.’
Sean threw his napkin on the table. ‘My brother. He’s no fun at all. Life just sapped it out of him.’
Conall stopped for a moment, still looking at his plate.
Sean paused. ‘Better clear this up.’
Hammy went to help him and I to
ok the chance to say sorry to Conall again. Why wasn’t he looking at me??
‘It’s fine,’ he said, reaching out for a drink. ‘Me here, you next door – it’ll be like old times.’
‘Not with that tone it won’t.’
He took a deep breath.
‘Who’s handling the oh-so-important project now that both of you are here?’ I asked.
‘She insisted on coming, Sofe. I couldn’t say no.’
‘Why are you OK with me not living with you?’ I asked.
‘Why are you looking for an argument? Because if we wanted to do that I could ask how that book about our marriage is going.’
I looked at the table. Why does he think I always want to argue? And why has he only been in the country for a few hours before it feels like we are.
‘It’s not specifically about our marriage,’ I mumbled.
‘Listen, I put up with a load of shit from you, Sofe.’ He paused, his voice softening. ‘But so do you from me. So I’m here.’
I wanted to ask whether this meant he was OK about the book now, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment. ‘Hamida made me see that.’
I gripped my glass.
‘I probably should’ve warned you that she was coming, but I wanted to surprise you. Plus, she’s been through a lot.’ He leaned into me. ‘If it’s one thing you can do it’s cheer a person up.’
In the case of Hammy, I think he was being rather optimistic, but when someone puts such faith in your abilities, I suppose you have to give it a try.
To Foz: Where the hell are you? Haven’t heard from you in ages. All OK here, but something doesn’t feel right. You and your bloody Eat, Pray, Love journey. Still love you. Xxxxx
But answer your damn messages.
Sunday 17 March
6.15 p.m. Mum told Hammy to come to my dress fitting because the more time she spends here the less time she’s with Conall and Sean. I was grateful on the inside but obviously pretended to roll my eyes at Mum’s suspicious nature.
Maria watched Hammy take a seat in the TV room as she came into the house.
‘Why don’t you like her?’ whispered Maars, while everyone was bustling round her.
‘She’s fine,’ I replied.