The Other Half of Happiness

by Ayisha Malik

  Conall: ‘I need to pray.’

  ‘What? You do a lot of that, but it’s not doing much for you, bro.’

  Silence.

  In a lowered voice I heard Sean say: ‘Do you really believe all this? I mean, are you actually Muslim? Or is it just because . . .’

  My heart lurched somewhere in my stomach. Then I heard a bang – as if someone had hit a wall or table. I ran up a few steps and saw the two of them through the bannister. Conall was leaning into Sean as I heard him say, ‘Of course it’s because of her. You of all people should understand.’

  The door to Hamida’s room was ajar. Going back into the living room, I tried to calm the thudding of my heart. He came back downstairs.

  ‘Go home, Sofe.’

  ‘I –’

  ‘Just go.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  He looked at me and gave a short nod.

  ‘It just –’

  ‘-It’s fine,’ he said, rubbing his hand over his face. ‘I’ll deal with it.’

  ‘Are you su—’

  ‘Sofe. It’s fine.’ He walked up to me. ‘Once this wedding’s over we’ll talk. I promise. I’m booking a weekend away – just you and me.’

  Why couldn’t he explain it now? What was going to happen? Was he going to leave me on account of my interfering family? Before I could ask, there was banging at the door and when I opened it Mum exclaimed, ‘Hain? What are you doing here? How long does it take to get milk?’

  She gave me a look – one that told me she knew milk was not the reason I’d left the house. ‘Your Auntie Scot has something to say about everything. And I still have to tell them I’m engaged.’

  She looked over my shoulder at Conall, disapproval written all over her face. ‘When the wedding’s over, you both can spend all the time you want together.’ Mum’s features seemed to soften as she watched him. ‘Acha, before the wedding, make sure you trim your beard a little. You don’t want to look like a fundamentalist.’

  Friday 22 March

  10.15 a.m.

  From Conall: Just picked Ma up from airport. We’ll be over at seven.

  To Conall: Are you nervous? I’m nervous. Can you warn your mum that my family tend to be slow-burners?

  Of a person’s energy.

  It’s been calm. Strangely so. Conall seems to be carrying on as normal but I can tell there’s something wrong by the distant look he has. I tried getting him to talk about what was on his mind but we’ve not had a minute alone. Mum’s invited everyone for dinner in honour of my in-laws. Conall clenched his jaw (as per), but then just said they’d be there. Have asked family to remember to speak English though I’m pretty sure no one heard. They were too busy listening to Auntie Reena shouting at her husband over the phone.

  ‘Your poor Auntie Reena,’ said Mum, flinging water into the dough mix in the Kenwood. ‘But she doesn’t remember that this is a wedding house – no one wants to listen about her divorce.’

  ‘Is she really getting divorced?’ I said.

  Felt bad for Auntie and had to pray two nafls to God just to make sure my marriage wouldn’t have the same conclusion.

  ‘Haan,’ said Mum. ‘Now I have to worry about her giving me the evil eye because she keeps asking what will happen to her when I get married. And Malcolm’s brother still hasn’t come to fix my wall.’

  ‘Speaking of, Mum – you’re not knocking down the wall,’ I said.

  ‘Haw, bu-—’

  ‘No, Mum. Just no.’

  She went back to her Kenwood, looking unimpressed with my assertiveness. The only other saving grace tonight is that at least Uncle Mouch isn’t coming because Mum hasn’t told the rest of the family yet – maybe there’ll be a miracle and she won’t have to.

  Sorry, God, for that thought.

  But not that sorry.

  10.45 a.m. I’ve locked myself in the bathroom because it’s the only place I can get any privacy from Auntie Reena, who wants her bikini line waxed. Ugh.

  From: Sakib, Awaan

  To: Sofia Khan

  Subject: Error

  Hi Sofia,

  I’m really sorry but we were putting the contracts through and realised you missed signing a page. Any chance you can come into the office today to expedite things?

  Sakib.

  Yes, of course! I’ve all the time in the world! Honestly.

  11.15 a.m. Argh! There was no hiding from Auntie Reena’s bikini line and so when my phone rang Maars picked it up. It was Sakib and she told him to come over tonight to get the contracts signed. If I could give my family a lesson in anything, it would be barriers.

  1.30 p.m. ‘You look like you’re about to throw up,’ said Maars, coming into my room when I finished praying.

  ‘I think I might.’

  ‘Don’t be nervous.’

  I explained that tonight’s assortment of people doesn’t inspire confidence.

  ‘Mum started talking to me about her wedding dates,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t make it worse,’ I told her.

  ‘After Ramadan. Here. His kids will fly over. Hopefully your wall will be fixed by then.’

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Then another event in Karachi.’

  I kneeled on my bed, burying my head in my pillow.

  ‘You know,’ continued Maars, ‘Tahir asked that if he died first would I get married so soon after. I was like, yeah. Already have someone on standby.’

  She walked over to my dressing table and started trying on different lipsticks. ‘Of course I wouldn’t,’ she added.

  ‘No,’ I replied.

  She shrugged. ‘Maybe when I’m sixty I’ll think differently.’

  12.35 a.m. My God. I need a paracetemol and a fag.

  ‘Hello,’ I said as I opened the door to my mother-in-law.

  I didn’t realise she’d be so small: her brown shoulder-length hair set in curls, slightly rugged skin and small freckled nose. Conall introduced us as Sean stood, holding a bunch of flowers. I stepped forward, not sure whether to shake her hand or give her a hug. Her eyes hovered over the fairy lights and bunting.

  ‘Hello,’ she replied, smiling.

  I leaned forward, putting my arms round her in an awkward one-sided hug; she patted me on the back. When I stepped back she stared at me. Was she thinking: This: this is the girl he converted for?

  Sean came in, handing me the flowers, whispering, ‘I’m sorry but I had to have a drink. I mean . . .’ he glanced at Conall and his mum, walking into the living room.

  ‘Welcome. Come, come,’ exclaimed Mum, glancing at Conall’s mother’s bare legs. ‘But where is your husband?’

  Sean looked at his brother, then at his mum before she answered, ‘He couldn’t leave work at such short notice.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’

  I held my breath, wondering what the verbal landmine that is my mum might add.

  ‘Well, I’m very happy you came,’ she said. For a moment, I did love her for her sheer sense of hospitality.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Conall’s mum – who I’m told to call Mary. ‘Certainly was nice of you to invite me,’ she added, glancing at Conall.

  ‘Ah, Hamida, Beta, you are also here. Good.’

  Hammy came in, handing some sweetmeats to Mum, which was thoughtful of her. I’m sure the fact that Conall was there to witness her thoughtfulness had nothing to do with it.

  ‘Everyone,’ said Mum. ‘This is Conall’s mama.’

  Everyone went quiet and looked at her, standing at the door.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, her face flushed.

  Sean smiled. Auntie Reena stood up and hugged Mary for at least thirty seconds. Mary’s arms seemed as reluctant to go round Auntie’s as they did mine.

  ‘In our culture,’ said Auntie Reena, ‘the mother of the groom is most important person.’

  Mary looked up at Conall whose face, of course, I couldn’t read, though Lord knows I try.

  ‘That’s very nice,’ she replied.

&n
bsp; ‘Mehnaz – flowers,’ said Auntie Reena.

  Mum was standing, at the ready, with a festoon of chrysanthemums and marigolds and placed them around Mary’s neck.

  ‘Oh, well . . .’ she said, looking down.

  Mum then got out two more and put them around Conall and Sean. Maars hid her face behind Adam, lowering her head as they all stared at the garlands around their necks.

  ‘It’s tradition, mate,’ said Tahir, helpfully, to Sean.

  Uncle Scot got up and shook Conall’s hand, insisting that he was like a father to me, which was the first I’d heard of it.

  ‘We are very happy about this marriage,’ he said, speaking rather louder than necessary. ‘Some people would mind but we are forward-thinkers. What is white and what is brown?’ He looked at Mary. ‘We are all the same in the eyes of God.’

  Mary gave a tight smile. ‘Indeed.’

  As we all went into the conservatory Mum scoffed and whispered to me: ‘He wasn’t even going to come to the wedding. Auntie Reena spent two hours on the phone to persuade him.’

  Great.

  Mary, Conall and Sean sat in a row, on the sofa, in all their wreathed glory.

  Silence.

  Uncle Scot cleared his throat. ‘Do you like spicy food, Mary?’

  ‘It’s got a bit of a kick for me,’ she replied.

  ‘Sorry?’ said Uncle.

  ‘Too much kick,’ she repeated.

  He leaned forward, squinting. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘It’s too much for her, Uncle,’ I said.

  ‘I love it,’ said Sean. ‘I made some dhal the other day. Killer.’

  ‘Kill who?’ asked Auntie Scot.

  ‘No, killer,’ I explained. ‘As in it was good.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Silence.

  Hamida and Conall exchanged a look.

  ‘You know,’ began Sean, ‘our ma doesn’t leave Kilkee let alone Ireland much. First time you’ve flown for what? Twenty years?’

  ‘I love my home,’ she replied, speaking slower, her voice raised. ‘London’s a frantic place.’

  ‘We can’t live without London,’ said Mum, a few decibels louder than Mary. ‘You must. Come see. Your children more.’

  ‘My boys know where I live,’ she replied.

  ‘Conall,’ continued Mum, ‘you only get one mama in your life. You should look after her.’

  Conall looked down, eyes fixed on some orange petals that had fallen to the floor.

  ‘Well, I can look after myself. But a bit of company never harmed anyone,’ replied Mary.

  There was a five-second delay between Mary finishing her sentence and Mum, Auntie Reena and the Scots smiling.

  Every time I looked at Conall, I kept trying to decipher what he was thinking. He seemed to be friendly enough with everyone, but then he’d look distracted and I noticed Hamida staring at him.

  ‘Have you heard Indian music?’ Uncle Scot asked Mary.

  The woman’s not left Ireland in twenty years, but yes, it’s her favourite pastime.

  ‘We show you.’

  Oh God. Uncle Scot switched on the CD player. ‘This isn’t like the modern music now. No . . . just listen . . .’

  Uncle Scot closed his eyes. Mary leaned forward, a show of polite concentration. Sean shuffled in his seat.

  ‘Oh, Soffoo, go upstairs and get the CDs next to my drawer,’ said Mum.

  Lord have mercy.

  I stood in Mum’s room, CDs in my hand, thinking of Dad. ‘If you were here, Baba,’ I whispered, ‘I’d probably ask you for a cigarette and I don’t think you’d say no.’

  As I came back down the stairs I noticed a figure standing outside the house. I opened the door and it was Sakib, leaning against the wall. He turned round.

  ‘I rang the doorbell but no answer.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’

  He smiled. ‘I could hear the music. Sorry, I see there’s a party going on.’

  ‘In-laws,’ I said meaningfully. ‘You didn’t have to come over, really.’

  ‘I only live in Clapham – not far. Anyway, your sister insisted.’

  Of course she did. I handed him the CDs while I signed the contracts so he could leave as quickly as humanly possible.

  ‘This is a good one,’ he said, holding up one of them.

  I looked up from the papers. ‘Are you fifty?’

  ‘Come on, doesn’t it take you back to your childhood? When your parents would sit and listen and you’d be doing a puzzle or reading a book. I love old Bollywood songs.’

  ‘Were you happy as a child or something?’

  ‘Weren’t you?’ he asked.

  Mum peeked through the window and before I knew it she came shuffling in as Sakib stood up and said salaam.

  ‘O-ho, you must join us for dinner,’ said Mum once I told her who he was.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked, looking at me.

  Yes, I do bloody mind but that doesn’t seem to matter much nowadays.

  ‘The wife’s away this weekend so it was just going to be me tonight anyway.’

  I followed them into the conservatory and there was already a roar of laughter as Sakib and Conall were shaking hands. Note, Conall was not laughing.

  ‘I’m serious,’ said Sakib. ‘This wedding’s getting in the way of Sofia doing any work.’

  I noticed Conall’s eyebrows twitch. As he sat down, Sakib lifted his trousers, flashing a pair of rainbow socks.

  ‘I was just telling Sofia: these songs bring back such memories,’ he said.

  ‘So, Betas,’ said Auntie Scot, looking at me and Conall. ‘After the wedding I hope we will hear happy news, hmm? Make sure you have three, four, in a row. Because leaving it late is very bad for you.’

  ‘Hai nahin,’ said Mum. ‘Three, four! Soffoo still can’t cook, how will she look after so many children?’

  Conall’s mum looked confused.

  ‘Babies, Mary,’ said Auntie Scot, so loudly that Sakib leaned back.

  ‘Ah . . .’ replied Mary, the colour rising to her cheeks.

  ‘You must want lots of grandchildren, haina?’ added Auntie Scot.

  Everyone looked at Mary expectantly.

  ‘Well, I . . . yes. But they’re a big responsibility.’

  She began talking about how hard it can be – one of those things couples should talk about before committing to it.

  ‘Yes, yes, very good,’ said Mum, looking at the ceiling where I could tell she’d noticed a crack. Maybe that was Malcolm’s fault as well.

  Silence.

  ‘They are wicked fun, though,’ Tahir said to Conall, bouncing Adam on his knee.

  Sakib glanced at me before looking at the floor.

  ‘You know . . .’ added Maars after a few moments’ silence. ‘They should have a few years of fun before that, though.’

  Why was my womb open for public discussion?? Conall stood up so abruptly everyone looked at him.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, leaving the room as Hamida watched him go.

  When he came back he looked so out of his comfort zone, I almost told everyone to go home.

  ‘Dinner’s ready,’ announced Mum. ‘Groom’s mother must be first,’ she said, pulling Mary from the sofa and pushing her towards the dining room.

  ‘Just keep thinking: it’s all material for the book,’ whispered Sakib to me as we got up and followed suit.

  I had to laugh as I shook my head. ‘Or for my suicide note.’

  ‘Make a great posthumous story,’ he replied, winking at me somehow without managing to look like a knob.

  ‘You publishers – all about the bottom line.’

  ‘Actually it’s the Indian in me.’

  ‘Soffoo, what a nice boss you have. And Pakistani!’ whispered Mum as Sakib began talking to Uncle Scot. ‘Why couldn’t you have married him?’

  Argh!

  ‘Sakib,’ she called out, ‘you must come to the wedding with your wife, na?’

  Conall was looki
ng at Sakib as he graciously accepted the invite. Another guest to add to the list.

  ‘He’s Indian.’

  ‘Acha? He doesn’t look it. Chalo, at least he speaks Urdu.’ Mum then continued. ‘Which is better than your mother-in-law. I can’t understand a word she’s saying. Oh, and remind me to call Malcolm about the crack in the ceiling on Monday.’

  Maybe he’ll be able to fix the crack in my head.

  I had to text Katie to let her know my dear mother had invited her boss to the wedding.

  From Katie: Sweetu, that’s hilarious! Please make sure you don’t sit me at the same table, though. He’s great, but I don’t want to talk work on your bog day.

  I couldn’t help but think of Foz at the mention of guests, and looked at my phone to see if she’d messaged.

  From Katie: Whoops. BIG day. Obviously xxx

  It really does feel more bog than big.

  As the evening thankfully came to an end it was time to pray. Mary watched Conall as he made his way with us back into the conservatory for joint prayers. I looked at her and for a minute I wanted to sit near her and, I don’t know, console her. Sean engaged her in conversation, his eyes also flickering towards Conall.

  ‘Does she mind?’ I whispered to Conall as we walked out of the room, leaving Sean, Mary and Hamida behind.

  He looked at me, giving me a sad kind of smile. ‘Of course she minds.’

  Saturday 23 March

  7.20 a.m.

  To Conall: Ever think of babies?

  7.22 a.m.

  From Conall: Is there something else you want to tell me?

  7.23 a.m.

  To Conall: Just wondering. Did your mum say anything about last night? Are you guys getting on OK?

  7.24 a.m.

  From Conall: She was tired and went to bed.

  The mad Pakistanis probably exhausted her.

  7.28 a.m.

  From Conall: Do you think about babies? Sneak into my room. Best place to have this conversation.

  If bloody only. Went downstairs and Auntie Reena, Auntie Scot and Mum were already downstairs – my very own three-woman birth-control system.