by Ayisha Malik
Maria picked Adam up and said, ‘Your khala’s a little liar, isn’t she? Yes, she iiiis – yes, she is a little liar.’
‘You must look for something nice for the wedding too na,’ Mum said to Hammy, looking at her skinny jeans and sweatshirt. ‘You are very tall, you will look nice in a sari.’
Mum then began asking her about her parents as the tailor stuck more pins in my gold and coral dress, my arms sticking out as if I were about to be crucified.
‘What does your baba do?’ she asked.
‘He’s a general. In the army.’
Mum abandoned filling the favour boxes.
‘Oh,’ she said, giving me a look that suggested this was the first thing I should’ve told her. ‘Beta, you should’ve brought your parents to the wedding.’
‘Well, I don’t really speak to them,’ she replied.
She looked Mum straight in the eye. It was exactly like her not to flinch. Am I a flincher? Should I be less flinch-y?
Is this what Conall and Hammy have in common? Apart from being non-flinchy, does he tell her things about his family that he can’t tell me?
‘Acha? Why not?’ Mum asked as boldly as Hammy had answered.
Hammy gave a wry smile. ‘Let’s just say they don’t like my lifestyle choices.’
I mean, to be fair, which Pakistani parent would? What with her getting gritty when she clearly comes from money. But then I married a white guy so I could hardly talk.
‘Ooh, pakoras,’ I exclaimed as Auntie Reena came in with tea and snacks.
I stepped forward, not realising the length of material wrapped around me as my foot got caught and I went lunging forward, knocking the tray out of Auntie Reena’s hands and hitting the floor, face first. The cups of chai fell all over the flooring, and my body was punctured by several pins as a shower of pakoras fell upon me.
‘Fuck,’ I said.
‘Haw hai!’ exclaimed Mum.
Hamida looked at me in disgust. Even in the midst of my chai-stained wedding outfit I thought: does she wonder why Conall married me? I tried to sit up as I removed a pakora from my cleavage. Sometimes I really do wonder the same.
7.35 p.m.
From Foz: What do you mean something doesn’t feel right? All OK here. Miss you XX
11.45 p.m. So, Hamida was with Conall while I sat with nothing but pakoras for company. I checked that Mum and Auntie Reena were asleep. I think Mum believes I’ve become a sex-starved maniac. But, I mean, what’s the point in being married if you can’t shag at will? Or, you know, just hold a person.
When Conall opened the door he looked at me for a moment, then leaned forward.
‘Christ, is that a . . . pakora?’
‘Bastard.’
I walked past him and into the living room where Sean and Hammy were sitting, watching television.
‘Hey, sit,’ said Sean.
Hammy just looked at me, as if bored by my very presence.
‘It’s fine,’ I replied, walking into the kitchen for a bit of privacy.
‘You muppet,’ said Conall. ‘Is the pakora why you have a face as long as your internal monologues? We all fall from grace now and then, Sofe.’
I leaned against the counter, not paying much attention to what he was saying.
‘Bit shit being in different houses, isn’t it?’
He nodded. Then he opened the kitchen cupboard and got out a jar of peanut butter.
‘I fucking love you,’ I said as he handed me a spoon.
‘You’re easily pleased.’
‘It’s what the peanut butter represents, Conall.’
I sat on the counter and opened the jar. ‘Ooo, it has bits. I love me some bits,’ I said.
Conall’s eyes travelled from the spoon to me. I put the jar down and hooked my fingers into the waist of his jeans, pulling him closer. He was just leaning in when a flash of light came from next door. Next thing I saw was Mum, head full of rollers, arms folded, glaring at me. Conall blew out a puff of air and rubbed the back of his neck.
‘Nuts for another day, I guess,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’
Not as sorry as I was for myself, though. As I walked past the living room, catching sight of Hammy, I said a quick prayer under my breath.
‘For protection from bad things,’ I explained to him.
‘Yeah, I need that,’ he replied. ‘Protection from the wedding.’
Note for book: If possible, try to ensure there’s an ocean between you and the in-laws. Short of that, a different postcode will do.
Monday 18 March
9.35 p.m. Went out to write and came home as Suj and Han were coming over. Was brought face-to-face with a man called Malcolm, wearing a white beret.
‘Malcolm, man,’ Mum said, ‘you have to get the house painted before the wedding.’
Mum thinks he’s her Jamaican brother from another mother. Getting engaged has put a tune in the unstoppable song of Mum. Malcolm broke into a pearly white smile, asking if it was my wedding or hers as we both look like sisters. If only you knew, Malc, if only you knew. Mum giggled as she added: ‘And you will put the new TV in my bedroom, man?’
I really wished Mum would stop speaking like that, even if Malcolm didn’t seem to mind.
‘When I’m married it’ll be nice to watch TV in bed, na?’ she said to me.
Oh God.
‘Acha, Soffoo, Malcolm will give me an estimate for breaking this wall down so we can live in one big house!’
My God.
‘What? A hole-in-the-wall?’ I replied, aghast at the idea.
She nodded very passionately when the doorbell rang.
‘Seen that brother of mine anywhere?’ asked Sean as he walked into the living room.
‘He said he was going to the mosque,’ I replied, looking over at Mum to put a stop to her ludicrous wall-smashing plan.
‘Oh.’
‘You see the garden?’ said Mum, walking into the kitchen with Malcolm. ‘All back of house needs painting too.’
‘So, he goes to the mosque a lot, does he?’
‘Hmm? Yes, I suppose.’
‘Right. Not that I have a problem with it,’ he said. ‘Just that . . .’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Forget it.’ He looked around the house.
Mum rushed into the room, leaving Malcolm in the garden. ‘He’s doing the painting so cheap,’ she exclaimed. ‘Sean, come, sit. Have tea.’
‘No, thanks. I’d better go.’ Sean looked restless.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, grand. I’ll go then.’
As he left, Suj and Hannah came through the door.
‘Hi,’ he said, doing a double-take at Suj. As do most people, to be fair.
They both paused, looking at each other.
‘Bye, Sean,’ I said.
‘He’s quite fit, isn’t he?’ said Suj as she and Han walked into the house.
‘Girls!’ exclaimed Mum. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Oh my God, Auntie,’ exclaimed Suj, grabbing my mum’s hand and looking at her ring.
Mum gave her the whole he’s a colonel spiel.
‘It’s very brave what your mum’s doing,’ said Han as we went in the kitchen to make tea.
I glanced at Mum giggling as Suj held the ring to the light. ‘Hmm.’
‘Too many women would care about people,’ she said. ‘Look at her; a big eff-you to anyone who judges her.’
Hannah looked as proud of Mum as I probably should be. I switched the kettle on, getting mugs out of the cupboards. ‘I suppose so.’
Suj shot me a look as soon as Mum told her about the hole-in-the-wall idea. Hannah took the teabag that was dangling from my hand. ‘He’s not replacing your dad.’
‘Malcolm?’
‘Tst, Uncle Wasim.’
I thought about it for a moment. ‘No. He’s having his cake,’ I said. ‘All those years of struggling and finally coming to a point where they were at least content . . . I don’t know. Mum an
d Dad lived the grit. This is fluff. I suppose it doesn’t seem fair that Uncle Mouch is getting to live Mum’s comfort days with her.’
‘Fair on who?’ she asked.
‘Acha, Soffoo . . .’ Mum cleared her throat as we sat in the living room. ‘Has Conall done his soonthay?’
I spurted out my tea. Oh my actual God. Cannot believe my mum asked me whether my husband has had a circumcision.
Suj looked like she’d been sucker-punched. ‘What? Like, have it . . .’ She made scissor signs with her hands.
Why, why, whyyyyyyy??
‘I don’t know,’ I said to Mum.
‘Haw, haven’t you seen it?’
‘No! I mean, yes, but . . .’
Please someone save me! Maria and Auntie Reena walked in as Mum filled them in on the topic du jour. Maars handed Adam to Hannah and left the room. A few seconds later, laughter erupted from upstairs.
‘Hannah, you are religious. He should have a circumcision, haina?’ said Mum.
‘Because, Beta,’ joined in Auntie, ‘when someone says they are Muslim, doesn’t mean they will be Muslim, na?’
Apparently all that stands between being Muslim or not is foreskin. Vom. Ironic thing is if Conall started talking about spirituality they’d kick him out of the room.
‘I’m not sure I have the scholarly qualifications for this particular . . . matter,’ replied Han.
‘That’s gotta hurt,’ said Suj.
‘Wait,’ said Mum, getting her iPad out.
For a minute I thought she was going to ask Sheikh Google.
‘See, Soffoo. Why ask you something when I can organise it myself?’
Had she already booked an appointment for Conall??
‘Well, Adam,’ I heard Han murmur, ‘isn’t this uncomfortable?’
‘Do they even do that for adults?’ said Suj.
‘See, technology?’ said Mum. ‘Who did I find on Facebook, Soffoo, but your mother-in-law.’
Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
‘Mum . . .’
I got a hot flush.
‘ . . . What did you say?’
‘I told her that she must come to the wedding.’
Oh God.
‘You shouldn’t have done this, Mum. I told you I’d handle it.’
‘The wedding’s in twelve days and you weren’t telling me anything.’
What would Conall say? What would he do?
‘He doesn’t speak to them, Mum.’
She paused. ‘Le, what do you mean? He doesn’t speak to his parents and he’s walking around without a circumcision?’
‘You never told me about his parents,’ said Maars, walking back into the room.
I’d lost track of what I know, what I’ve told people and what everyone is supposed to know. My brain was beginning to sizzle.
‘If a man is like this with his own parents, then who are in-laws to him?’
‘Small, small things people get upset about,’ said Auntie Reena, opening a packet of paan masala.
No one knew about the darkness that comes over his face whenever his parents are mentioned. I felt sick.
‘I have to go,’ I said, getting up as Suj, Han and Maars all looked at me.
‘Where? Your Auntie and Uncle Scot will be here soon.’
That’s what I needed; more family members.
‘But –’
‘O-ho, sit, sit. We have so much to discuss for the wedding,’ said Mum. ‘Once the painting is done and Conall has his circumcision, everything will be perfect.’
Tuesday 19 March
8.20 a.m. Woke up early to go and speak to Conall. Everyone was awake. I said I was popping out to the shops and Auntie Scot said, ‘Acha? What shops are open this early?’
Bloody aunties.
6.55 p.m. It was bad. It was so, so bad. Was embroiled in being tasked with putting more fairy lights up and fetching medication for Uncle Scot and God knows what else. Sneaked over next door under pretence of needing to get milk. It was ages before Hammy answered. I walked in, asking where Conall was.
‘Taking a shower.’
I went upstairs and she followed me.
Them living under one roof isn’t what matters right now.
‘Oh, hey,’ said Conall.
He looked at both of us, then stood around in a towel as if it was acceptable to be half naked in front of someone who’s not your wife.
‘I need to speak with you,’ I said.
‘I’ll just be in my room,’ said Hammy.
I followed him into the bedroom. Why did I have to tell him something that would ruin everything? Just when he didn’t seem angry at me, when he’d done everything I wanted by coming to London and not minding every time Mum gets a new notion in her head.
‘Listen,’ I began.
He walked towards me and kissed me so suddenly I went with it – because, well, you know.
‘No, wait, I need to tell you something.’
‘Mhmm.’
He’s just so broad. I was figuring out how I’d tell him about our respective mothers when he’d already unzipped my jeans and taken my top off. There was banging at the wall. I forgot how nice he smells as we lay on the bed, his towel on the floor next to my knickers. What did I need to tell him again? Another bang.
I put my hand on his chest, heart racing, and looked at him. ‘What is that?’
‘Who gives a fuck?’ he said, pinning my wrists down.
I concurred when the hammering continued, muffled voices coming from next door.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘It’s Mum.’
‘What?’ he said, stopping for a moment to look at me.
‘Mum’s getting a flat screen.’
‘Sofe –’
This just reminded me of her hole-in-the-wall idea.
‘-Sorry, carry on.’
The hammering was replaced with drilling, but it didn’t matter because, God, I’d missed the weight of him on top of me. The drill sped up to a screech as if it was about to burst through the wall.
‘O-ho!’ we heard Mum exclaim. ‘Look what you’ve done, man.’
I put my hand on my head and looked at his face.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ he said.
Have I mentioned I love that face? I remembered what I had to tell him.
The drilling stopped as I noticed that it had drilled a tiny hole through the wall, cracks appearing along the paint.
‘Conall,’ she called out. ‘Are you there?’
He stopped, bowing his head and closing his eyes. There was muffled noise from the other side.
‘Where is that Soffoo? Who is going to fix this, man?’
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Khan. I’ll call my brother.’
I put my hand on Conall’s face as we stared at each other, him shaking his head.
‘Conall?’ came Mum’s voice again, this time so close it was as if she was in the room. Was she peering through the new peephole?
We both got up and started putting our clothes on, listening to Mum argue with Malcolm in the house of perpetual renovation.
‘Sofe,’ he whispered, putting on his T-shirt. ‘Your ma’s nice and all, but please tell me this won’t be the rest of our life?’
I laughed but also thought: isn’t it nice to know there’s a future waiting for you with the person you like the most in it? Then I remembered what I’d come to tell Conall in the first place.
‘Christ,’ he said, picking up pieces of concrete that had fallen on the floor and putting them in the bin.
‘I need to tell you something,’ I said.
‘That we need to move?’ he replied, inspecting the cracks.
‘Your parents are coming to the wedding.’
His expression changed in an instant.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, explaining what happened. As the words came out his stillness became increasingly worrying. ‘It’s a chance for reconciliation,’ I added when he didn’t speak.
Mum was still shouting at Malcolm.
‘Your ma had no business inviting them.’
He stared at me before he left the room, slamming the door behind him. I went downstairs.
‘She felt it was rude not to,’ I replied.
I mean, it is rude.
‘This could be good,’ I said. ‘I mean, what if your parents think I’ve brainwashed you and that’s why you’re not speaking to them?’
I could see the Daily Mail headlines: Convert to Islam Severs Family Ties upon Demands of Scarf-wearing Wife. And didn’t he know how lucky he was to have both parents? What I wouldn’t do to hear the sound of my dad’s thunderous voice, even if it was to shout at me for eloping. Conall stared at me, his chest rising and falling, his fists clenched.
‘That’s not the reason,’ he said.
‘Then what?’ I asked, lowering my voice as I remembered Hammy in her room.
He got two mugs out of the cupboard, switching on the kettle. We waited for it to boil in silence. Just as I was about to say something he opened the cupboard.
‘What the fuck?’ he said, taking out a bottle of vodka. He slammed it on the counter. ‘I told him about this shit.’
‘Keep your voice down.’
‘Doesn’t he know what this stuff can do to you?’
I wasn’t sure if Conall was speaking as a Muslim or an alcoholic. Keys rattled through the door as Sean walked in and bounded up the stairs, saying, ‘What a minger. Tinder pics looked nothing like her.’
Conall took the bottle and followed him up there. After a few minutes his raised voice travelled down the stairs – something about Sean being disrespectful. Then I heard Sean say: ‘That’s rich.’
Just then Conall’s phone beeped. I looked round the kitchen and saw it on top of the microwave.
From Hamida: Con, what’s going on? What was that banging? And keep your voice down. Do you need to talk?
Talk?? Talk about what? I held the phone in my hand. My finger lingered over the message as I resisted the urge to swipe and read their previous exchange. There are many things I don’t want to be in life; being that wife, is one of them. I put the phone down.
Conall: ‘I want this shit out of here.’
Sean: ‘Christ, calm down.’
I went and stood at the bottom of the stairs.
Sean: ‘I know, but fuck – this isn’t the time.’