by Ayisha Malik
He left the table as I looked around at the deep reds of the restaurant and its mahogany furniture. A few minutes passed as I turned the manuscript towards me: Everything but the Other. I started reading the first few pages – by the tenth page Sakib was sitting back down. ‘That took an age.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ I said, pushing the manuscript towards him.
‘Don’t be,’ he replied, looking round for the waiter. ‘Why haven’t they brought the drinks out yet?
‘You’re big on efficiency, aren’t you?’ I said.
He looked at his menu. ‘Haven’t got to where I am without it.’
He asked how the book was going, and as we spoke about it I realised how much I missed having this conversation with Conall: which chapter’s a bit tricky, what parts he does and doesn’t like. Maybe that’s what relationships are about.
‘What did you think then?’ Sakib asked, glancing at the manuscript.
‘That prologue needs to go,’ I replied. ‘They’re handholding the reader and the first few pages are backstory.’
He got his phone out, tapping on his iPhone as my phone beeped. ‘I’ve sent you the manuscript,’ he said. ‘If you fancy reading it.’
‘Oh.’ I mean, a bit random, isn’t it?
‘I agree with you. I’d give you the hard copy but . . .’ He pointed to his glasses. I get migraines and I need to finish it this week.’
‘Sure. OK.’
He smiled, and as he turned to call the waiter I caught the smell of Sakib’s aftershave. Probably a good idea to stop smelling men who aren’t my husband. We spent most of the lunch talking about our respective families and how we’d have to beg our parents to go to the library so we could get new books to read.
‘Incredible, isn’t it? Just how much can change in one generation,’ he said.
I nodded, thinking about that moment Conall told me: I have a son.
‘Or just in a day,’ I said.
He gave me a curious look, taking a sip of his water. ‘If you’re worried about the interview, don’t be.’ Then he leaned forward. ‘Think of this as just the beginning.’
‘Beginning of what, exactly?’ I asked.
He paused. ‘Any kind of beginning is cause for celebration; no?’
‘Are you an optimist or something?’
‘With a happy childhood, don’t forget,’ he added.
I laughed as he raised his glass. ‘To beginnings.’
I always thought my new beginning was when I got married, but maybe there are all types of new beginnings – you just haven’t seen them yet. I raised my glass to his.
‘To beginnings.’
MAY
He Said, She Said
The Women’s Kelly Bright Interviews . . .
Sofia Khan, author of Lessons in Heartbreak and Laughter, on dating as a modern Muslim woman and her happily ever after. Out now, Ignite Press, priced £7.99
Kelly:
First of all, I’m so pleased to have you with us to talk about your book. And can I just say I love your shoes.
Sofia:
Oh, thank you.
Kelly:
And congratulations on your happily ever after.
(Pause)
Sofia:
Thanks.
Kelly:
So, just to begin, what are your thoughts on the recent bombings in Europe?
Sofia:
Sorry?
Kelly:
Do we need stricter border control? Revisiting foreign policy? Should parents and schools be paying better attention to children who might be prone to radicalisation? As a Muslim, are you worried?
Sofia:
Well . . . (Pause) As a human being, I’m worried.
Kelly:
Of course.
Sofia:
Should we just, maybe, talk about the book?
(Pause)
Kelly:
Yes, yes, of course. It’s really very wonderful. And what strikes me about it is your refusal to settle for what’s expected – you’re quite damning of Asian Muslim men.
Sofia:
There are always exceptions to the rule, but I’d say they mostly walk around saying they want a fierce, independent woman, but at home they just want a younger version of their mother who they can shag.
(Kelly clears her throat)
Kelly:
I loved the feminist thread throughout. Was it difficult growing up without any feminist role models?
Sofia:
You haven’t met my mother.
(Kelly laughs)
Kelly:
That’s very good. But didn’t you wonder why she had to wear a hijab and yet your father didn’t?
Sofia:
He’d have looked very odd in a hijab. And anyway, my mum never wore one.
(Pause)
Kelly:
Ah, how unusual.
Sofia:
Is it?
(Kelly clears throat)
Kelly:
Quite. OK. In a romantic twist of fate, your husband actually converted for you, didn’t he?
(Sofia nods)
Kelly:
Aside from the obvious romantic gesture, does the growing number of converts who are then radicalised concern you?
(Pause)
Sofia:
Excuse me?
Kelly:
I mean, on an objective level.
Sofia:
So, you’re not asking me whether I think my husband might become a terrorist?
(Kelly laughs nervously)
Kelly:
Of course not. I mean, generally speaking.
Sofia:
Is this linked to the book?
(Pause)
Kelly:
I suppose I’m rather curious: would you have married him if he hadn’t converted?
(Pause)
Sofia:
My husband?
Kelly:
Yes.
(Long pause)
Sofia:
Would I have married him if he hadn’t converted?
Kelly:
Exactly.
(Another long pause)
Sofia:
Well . . . I suppose . . . probably not. No. I wouldn’t have.
Kelly:
I think many women would find it extraordinary that you’d compromise your happily ever after because of your beliefs.
(Long pause)
Sofia:
Come on. You and I both know that happily ever after doesn’t exist.
Wednesday 1 May
12.20 p.m. I sat at the table in the bookshop where I was signing books and slammed my hand on the published interview. Katie had just walked in.
‘Hmm,’ she said.
‘You and I both know happily ever after doesn’t exist. Why did I say that? What possessed me?’ I said, scribbling my name for the twentieth time as I piled up another book.
I glanced at the door to see if Conall had walked in yet. He was coming back from Ireland and said he’d meet me here. Katie looked over at the clock on the wall behind me.
‘It’s just a glitch,’ she said. ‘You’ll get it down next time.’
Next time?
‘Will people hate me now they know I wouldn’t have married him?’ Never mind what my husband will think. ‘It’s just that I’d have been lying otherwise,’ I continued.
Katie gave me a sympathetic look.
‘But I can’t go around telling lies just to be popular.’ I put my head in my hands.
‘I guess I should be used to being unpopular,’ I added.
From Foz: Darling, have you seen your interview in The Women today? Was it meant to read like that? Also, which shoes is she talking about? Xx
From Hannah: Sorry been out of loop. Busy. Read your interview. Good! Interviewer came off as a twat. Although was that last line necessary? Call you later this week. X
‘Ah, good, you’re still here.’
I glanced up and saw Sakib looking down at
me.
‘She’s worried about the interview,’ Katie told him.
He paused. ‘It was an . . . interesting piece,’ he replied.
Oh my God, he thinks I think he wants to shag his mum. Though, to be fair, he probably does; he just hasn’t realised it yet. Wonder what Freud would’ve made of the Asian man sub-group.
‘Perhaps you need to be prepared to answer more uncomfortable questions. Ones that aren’t to do with the book,’ he added.
‘Why?’ I said.
‘You wear a hijab. People want to know things,’ he replied.
Katie cleared her throat.
‘I didn’t realise that this,’ I said, pointing to my scarf, ‘was the sum of all my parts.’
Wish I hadn’t said ‘my parts’. Wish I hadn’t said a lot of bloody things!
Just then, as I glanced behind Sakib, I saw Conall, leaning against the wall, holding my book in his hands. God, isn’t it pathetic how just the sight of someone can feel like you’ve been given a tranquilliser.
‘Hello, wife. Any chance of a signature?’ he said, handing over the book.
How can you be so relieved to see someone and at the same time not be able to meet their eye? I looked for signs of his annoyance about the interview, ready to counter it with, you’re not allowed to be annoyed. You lied to me.
He and Sakib shook hands as Katie said she had to be back in the office for a digital meeting. She leaned in to hug me and said: ‘Things are bound to go tits-up now and again. Don’t worry about it. He’s here. Remember that matters.’
Love Katie.
‘Are you feeding her good sense?’ Conall asked her.
‘Always,’ she replied.
‘Say hello to Tom,’ he added as Katie gave me a look and walked out of the shop.
‘I was just saying to Sofia that she should expect to be asked questions that aren’t to do with the book,’ said Sakib.
Conall leaned his hand on the table. ‘People ask stupid questions. Doesn’t mean she has to answer them.’
He knows I wouldn’t have married him if he didn’t convert.
As a concept of course he’d have known this, but implicit understanding is so different from seeing it in print – from everyone seeing it in print. I looked at both of them and thought that this could be normal – this set-up. I could forget that he’s only just returned from seeing his ex-wife and son. I could even fool myself into believing I don’t think about this ex-wife: what she’s thinking; whether she’s missed him; if she wants him back. Loneliness can fog the hard-edged line of principle.
Sakib put a hand in his pocket. ‘All the more reason to answer them.’ He looked at me. ‘It’s not the first and it won’t be the last time you have to do something you don’t want to do.’
‘Great, thanks,’ I replied.
‘Remember,’ said Sakib, leaning forward, ‘it’s just the beginning.’
I glanced at Conall, his jaw clenched.
‘Right, I’d better be going. Sofia, I’ll wait for some new chapters from you.’
Sakib turned towards Conall. ‘I think people will appreciate the honesty. No one who’s married could possibly believe in happily ever after.’
I looked out of the car window at the double-decker buses as Conall drove us home. He beeped at a van that had pulled out in front of him.
‘Feckin’ indicate, would ya?’
The driver stuck his middle finger up at us. We both paid him the same compliment.
‘Arsehole,’ I said.
Conall manoeuvred the steering wheel with one hand as he turned into a side road.
‘Interesting interview,’ he said, stopping at a traffic light. ‘Particularly the notion of Asian men wanting to “shag their mums”, ’ he added. ‘Your shining moment.’
I didn’t want to smile or laugh. ‘How’s Eamonn?’
I noticed the veins pulse in his arms as he overtook three cars without looking in the mirror.
‘He’s fine. Ma begins to cry and he just says: “There she goes again.’”
‘And Claire?’
It took some effort to say her name. Beginning to accept something is all very well, but what about the subsequent small acceptances? The unexpected potholes you’re meant to skip over every time you turn a corner.
‘I’m sure she has lots to say,’ he replied. ‘But she doesn’t. Not yet, anyway.’
A group of people walked past the zebra crossing, cheering and laughing. My mouth felt dry. Would she want him back? What was I missing when I was here and he was there? How am I going to slot into this new narrative of his?
‘When will you go back?’ I asked.
‘Soon.’
He’ll need to go back and forth for as long as everyone lives.
‘Are you pissed off about the interview?’ I asked.
I buoyed myself up for it – whatever he had to say, I’ll say: fuck you, you lied to me.
‘Lost any right to be angry with you a while ago,’ he replied. ‘Plus, I always knew what I had to do.’
If he could give me the wrong answer I could conjure up embers of anger and they could rage against his lies. We approached our road and he parked up.
‘Listen, Sofe.’ Pause. ‘If you were half as sure about your beliefs, I’d have been half as sure about converting.’
He unbuckled his seat belt and looked at me.
I returned his gaze. ‘Didn’t you wonder: why should I do this if she can’t accept me the way I am?’ I asked.
Leaning his elbow on the steering wheel, he turned towards me. ‘I did what I did because . . .’ He searched for the words.
‘I get it . . . What does it feel like, though?’ I asked
‘What?’
‘I don’t know any different from what I was brought up to believe. But I want to know what it feels like – praying, the whole shebang.’
He thought about it for a moment.
‘I don’t know. It’s not like being around faith is new to me. But it’s different this time. Perhaps I was just lazy with it before. Perhaps I needed it less then.’
‘It shouldn’t be a need. Nothing should.’
‘No. It shouldn’t.’ He turned to look at me. ‘Sofe . . . if you can forgive me – however long it takes . . .’ He paused. ‘I’ll know that I must’ve done something right in my life.’
Why does he always say the right things? Just then Mum came out of the house and we got out of the car.
‘Do me a favour,’ he said. ‘Go inside.’
‘What –’
‘This is my fault,’ he said. ‘Let me tell her.’
Thursday 2 May
10.20 a.m. Went over to Mum’s this morning and Tahir was there, collecting new pans Mum had bought for Maria. He’d taken the day off work to help Maars reorganise the kitchen. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.
‘There are times, Sofe, you’ve got to think of the lesser evil, isn’t it? One day of reorganising the kitchen means I won’t have to listen about not helping for the next two weeks.’
He tapped his head. Poor Tahir. But at least this shows that you can grow into your brains.
‘These are the last straws,’ Mum said to me as Tahir went up to use the bathroom. ‘It is too much.’
‘What did he say to you yesterday?’ I asked.
‘What does it matter how much he loves you or how sorry he is?’ she replied. ‘You know these goray with their love-shove. OK, he’s divorced, doesn’t matter.’ She looked at me. ‘I’m not that backward-thinking. But he also has a child.’
I did wonder what was so inhumane about a child – maybe she didn’t want to be judged by Uncle Mouch. Bloody hell. I was beginning to see that the only way not to be judged was to be dead.
As Tahir walked into the room, he said: ‘Maria told me, by the way.’
Mum gave me a disgruntled look: see how people will find out. My brother-in-law already thinks I’m this strange Muslim/modern London-girl hybrid. Not only did I marry a
white guy, but now I’m sitting around while I watch him go back and forth to Ireland.
‘I mean, what’s the idea?’ asked Tahir.
Nothing is as ominous to some people as ideas. But, in the end, I’ve realised that people are just obsessed with others living like they do. No matter who they are.
Note for book: Departure from the norm is akin to sin.
‘Chalo,’ said Mum. ‘What can I say? You have made your decision and now you live with it.’
‘Is that it?’ Tahir asked Mum.
‘Do you want her to lock me up?’ I said to him.
‘No, it’s just . . .’ He looked between Mum and me. ‘Nothing.’ With which he gave a bewildered shake of the head and left the house with his pan-filled box.
‘Are you worried?’ I asked her. ‘About telling Uncle Mou— I mean, Uncle Wasim?’
She took a deep breath. ‘I am too old to worry about these things now.’
Saturday 4 May
8.35 a.m. ‘You need to give Sean money back on his rent,’ I said without looking up from my laptop when Conall walked into the room.
‘I’d forgotten about that.’
When I looked up he’d put tea and a plate of biscuits on the table.
‘You could use the fuel before sending those chapters to your editor,’ he said, getting his chequebook. ‘He seems bossy.’
I picked up a biscuit. ‘Thanks.’
It never ceases to amaze me how the small things make me love him.
‘Listen,’ he said when he’d come back. ‘I forgot to ask – what does soonthay mean?’
Oh my bloody hell.
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Your mum mumbled something about me needing one when I spoke to her the other day.’
I put my head in my hands as I watched him.
‘What?’ he asked, looking up from his chequebook.