The Other Half of Happiness

by Ayisha Malik

  When I looked into her eyes, though, there was such hurt that anger surged into my veins. In that moment I wished I had a knife so I could slash his tyres for her.

  ‘How could he do this to me?’ she said, tears in her eyes. ‘Why does he think he can get away with it?’

  Foz reached out for Suj’s arm. ‘This isn’t going to help anyone.’

  It was the rational versus the passionate.

  ‘Unfortunately, Foz’s right,’ came Han’s voice. ‘Plus, he has a restraining order against you so you should probably leave.’

  ‘A restraining order?’ exclaimed Foz.

  ‘Was I not meant to say anything?’ said Han.

  Bloody hell. This was news to me. I told Suj to start the engine – one of us would stay with her and the other would follow her back home. But she just sat there. Foz looked at me nervously. Just then the lights of Charles’s house came on, a figure appearing at the window. In an instant Suj was out of the car and strode towards his house in her four-inch heels, picking up a rock and throwing it at his window.

  ‘Shit,’ said Foz, as we both followed her out.

  Charles appeared at his door. ‘What the fuck are you doing? You’re not meant to be here.’

  A rather long argument ensued, Foz and I standing a few feet away like her entourage.

  We heard sirens in the distance.

  ‘That’s the police,’ he said. ‘Leave now or you’ll get arrested.’

  Suj scoffed as Foz said she was getting the car. Even in my mode of panic I had a quiet but deep admiration for Suj’s unflappability. It almost made me want to update my Facebook status. But there’s a time and a place for everything and the sirens were getting louder.

  ‘I’m telling you, Suj. Don’t make it worse.’

  ‘Me? I’ve made it worse. You fucking cu—’

  Foz pulled up and rolled down her car window. ‘Get in!’

  ‘Suj, let’s go,’ I said, pulling her away from him, the sound of the sirens getting ever closer.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, with such sincerity that I wondered what went wrong and why I wasn’t here for her – in a proper way – to know?

  I leaned into her ear: ‘We’ll come back. We’ll slash his tyres. Whatever you want.’

  She raised her head: defiant, proud. My Suj. ‘Fuck this shit. Let’s go.’

  And we would have done too, if that hadn’t been the moment when his new girlfriend appeared at the door.

  Being in an actual prison – not just the prison of your mind – changes a person. Especially when your ex-boss/current business partner shows up. He was the only person I could call who’d be at all useful given his short stint in law.

  ‘A restraining order against your friend?’ he said as he sat next to me in the interview room. ‘And you actually accused the police officer of arresting you because you’re Muslim?’

  I smiled at him, as emphatically as possible. ‘Oops.’

  ‘Have Foz and Suj given a statement?’

  ‘I don’t know. They were in a different cell and I don’t have supersonic hearing.’

  ‘Perhaps you can be sarcastic on Monday?’ he said.

  ‘Sorry. I know this isn’t the time, but do you have any chocolate?’

  ‘Are you joking?’

  ‘Sorry. I left my KitKat in the car. It’s for my stomach lining.’

  ‘Have you said anything?’

  ‘No. I thought I’d exercise my civil rights.’

  ‘Well, common sense prevails.’

  He shook his head. I was reminded of Conall.

  ‘You’re lucky he’s not pressing charges against any of you. It didn’t take much persuading, to be honest.’

  I looked at my hands, shame personified. ‘Thank you,’ I mumbled.

  He looked at me. ‘You know, a criminal record will increase the business insurance.’

  Sakib dropped me and Foz home (it apparently being easier to explain to my mum why I was coming home at four in the morning than to Foz’s parents). We got out of the car when my phone rang. I picked it up.

  ‘Hello?’ I said.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi.’ I sat back. It was Hammy! ‘Hi.’

  Thanks to God!

  ‘Is everything OK?’ she asked. ‘I was out of Karachi.’

  ‘Next time maybe suggest therapy for your friend Suj,’ said Sakib to Foz.

  ‘Oh, are you busy?’ she asked. ‘Shit, sorry. I just realised it’s four in the morning there.’

  ‘How are you?’ I said. For some unknown reason the familiarity of her voice made me feel nice towards her.

  Then, as if he were talking to a child, Sakib exclaimed, ‘Sofia, who is calling you at this time?’

  ‘Hello?’ she said.

  ‘Sorry,’ I replied.

  ‘Who was . . . never mind,’ she said.

  I saw Mum’s shadow lurk behind her bedroom blinds before I saw her face peek through them.

  Sakib cleared his throat. ‘Sofia – seriously?’

  ‘This is important,’ I said to him. Didn’t he know my mum’s happiness depended on it??

  He looked at Foz and raised his arms to the sky. ‘Is she always like this?’

  ‘Listen, I need to speak to you, Hamida.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Have you spoken to Con?’

  Even the moment I was feeling real gratitude towards Hamida, I wanted to hit something when she mentioned his name.

  ‘No, it’s not about him.’

  ‘I think –’

  But before she could finish Mum’s front door opened and she appeared with rollers in her hair, bending down, looking at us all in the car.

  ‘Shit,’ I said. I opened the car door.

  ‘Haw . . . what are you doing?’ exclaimed Mum.

  It felt very busy for four o’clock in the morning. Foz was in the process of explaining something or another to Mum and then Sakib walked over to them. Mum’s frown eased. I wondered what utterly embarrassing comment she might be coming out with to Sakib.

  ‘Hello?’ said Hammy

  ‘Soffoo,’ Mum called out. ‘At least shut the car door.’

  Sakib looked over at me and adjusted his glasses. Foz made staccato head movements; I’m assuming to get me off the phone and join the so-called party.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Can I call you later?’

  She paused. ‘Fine.’

  It didn’t sound like she thought it was fine but when I said thank you, I really meant it.

  11.35 a.m. I called Hamida back and told her that I needed to be in touch with Uncle Mouch. I could’ve got in touch with him via Facebook but it seemed better if Hammy spoke to him – ease him in before I contacted him directly – seeing as he seemed to care about her so much.

  ‘I liked your mum,’ she said.

  Which really is a wonder, to be honest.

  ‘She was kind to me,’ she added.

  ‘She regrets it, Hamida,’ I said. ‘It was because of me and, you know, what’s happened with Conall.’

  There was a crackling down the line.

  ‘Listen, Uncle’s been good to me. It’s not my place to say anything to him which might upset him,’ she said.

  ‘I know, but when he spoke about you he seemed to really care and I thought maybe . . .’

  More crackling and a longer pause.

  ‘Sofia, I might say something now that you don’t like, but I’ll say it anyway.’

  I paused. ‘OK.’

  ‘If you and Conall are over, then please just divorce him.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘He’s been this great friend to me and hearing him the way he is . . . it’s not good for him.’

  ‘Hamida, he’s the one who left me.’

  ‘I know there are always two sides to a story, but to be honest, I’m not interested in your side.’

  The bluntness somewhat disabled a response from me. Incredible, isn’t it? Conall lies to me, turns round and tells me about a family he has, that he shou
ld never have married me and he still manages to be people’s favourite. I sometimes wonder if people would be so forgiving towards him if he were brown.

  ‘Do it and I’ll speak to Uncle Wasim. As I said, I liked your mum.’

  Was this blackmail?

  ‘What are you gaining from staying married to him?’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t talk to him when Sean asked you; you don’t care, so what’s stopping you?’

  ‘If he wants a divorce, then he can pick up the phone and say it to me himself – three simple words and it’s done.’

  She gave a small laugh down the phone. ‘You’re something else, Sofia. He’ll stay married to you for fifty years before he does that. Yaar, just do it. You’ll be free and so will he.’

  I paused.

  ‘Anyway, I said what I needed to say,’ she said.

  ‘Will you speak to Uncle Wasim?’

  The house phone rang and Mum picked it up. I heard her say, ‘Haan, just very tired with the same, same work.’

  ‘I have to go,’ I said, with which I put the phone down.

  12 p.m. Sod Hammy and her blackmail! I’m going to find Uncle Wasim myself.

  12.40 p.m. Ugh. Have just trawled through Mum’s Facebook account and can’t find him. Then went through all Pakistan relatives’ accounts in case there were mutual friends. Also did a search for him, but didn’t know his surname and there are about a million Wasims.

  1.15 p.m. ‘A divorce?’ said Katie when I called her.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He just has to say he divorces you three times and it’s done?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This sounds very efficient. And you can just do it over the phone?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Incredible. It’s good in so many ways. You don’t have to talk to him and, you know, feel things.’

  ‘Yes, but can you believe she asked that? I mean, in exchange for my mum’s happiness?’

  ‘It’s very ballsy but she’s his friend. I’d probably do the same if it was you.’

  I really was expecting more energy from Katie’s condemnation.

  ‘But if it’s what you want for your mum, then the only one standing in her way, Sweetu, is you. Sorry.’

  ‘Has everyone taken a bluntness pill?’

  ‘Oh, stop it. We get them from you.’

  ‘Thanks, mother of my godchild.’

  ‘Why do they call it morning sickness when it happens all the time? Anyway, I don’t mean to be blunt, but don’t you want to be free of it all?’

  I’m beginning to realise that no one can ever be free of anything.

  12.10 a.m. Foz’s hen night was an evening at Hannah’s, with the girls, feeding Suj nothing but platitudes: ‘This is good for you.’ ‘It’ll get better.’ ‘He wasn’t right for you, anyway.’ Even as the deluge of words came out of our mouths they felt hollow.

  The light caught the glint of Foz’s ring.

  ‘That ring’s almost as blinding as his teeth,’ I said.

  ‘Are we all getting sunglasses at the wedding?’ asked Suj, stabbing at her drink.

  Foz looked at both of us, too content, I suppose, to be offended. Hannah took Foz’s hand and inspected it. ‘The clarity is amazing.’

  ‘He did OK, didn’t he?’ said Foz, observing the stone born of hard-earned cash and lasting affection. We all decided to agree, without quip, that he did. Idiot.

  I didn’t say anything about my phone conversation with Hammy – there already seemed to be enough going on. When Suj dropped Han and then me home, she said: ‘Fuck, Sofe. Starting over again. I can’t bear it.’

  I put my arm round her, the handbrake in the car digging into my thigh. I couldn’t bring myself to say that it’ll all work out again. Because, really, what do I know? Then I gave her leg a squeeze and said, ‘Hey, remember that time we got arrested?’

  Monday 23 September

  8.40 a.m. ‘Hi,’ I said as Sakib opened the door to his house. I handed him a bag with croissants. ‘For breakfast,’ I added.

  ‘Oh. Thanks.’

  I walked, with my head bowed, towards the office and took my seat.

  ‘Recovered?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Thanks.’ Switching my computer on I pretended to organise some papers, just for something to do as I felt his eyes on me. ‘Thanks for your help on Saturday,’ I added, without quite looking at him.

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘I see where you get your charming language from now.’

  I raised my eyebrows at him.

  He put his hands up. ‘OK. None of my business.’ Then he said, ‘Foz invited me to her wedding, by the way.’

  Hain? I looked up at him.

  ‘Should be fun,’ he added.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Maybe I should make a speech?’ he said.

  ‘Great. Give me a chance to throw eggs at you.’

  He laughed, getting up, ready to leave for work for the day. ‘I have a sudden appreciation for the calmness of my wife.’

  Pfft. Clearly he’s never heard about the storms that follow.

  Sunday 29 September

  8.20 a.m. Have spent entire week trying to figure out a way to get in touch with Uncle Mouch and have found nothing. There’s no number in Mum’s diary, nothing in her phone’s contacts list, nothing online. Asked Maars and she’s also tried to investigate when she’s come to Mum’s, though I’ve not told her about Hammy’s ultimatum – which might sound dramatic, but that’s exactly what it is.

  And now must go and begin preps for Foz’s wedding tonight.

  11.40 p.m. ‘Simple is the answer,’ said Mum as we took our seat at the restaurant table. ‘Anyway, it’s her second wedding and why make a fuss for that.’

  Foz and Kam were sitting at the table next to us, talking and laughing. Han waved at us as she walked over with Omar. Just then Sakib appeared and took a seat next to me. Suj nudged me, but I’m not sure why.

  ‘Where’s your sister?’ he asked.

  ‘Had another wedding to go to.’

  ‘Your daughter,’ he said, turning to Mum, ‘is a very hard worker.’

  I eyed him suspiciously.

  ‘Is it?’ she replied. ‘Then you must give her a pay rise. She can’t live with me forever.’

  He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. Suj leaned in and whispered to me, ‘He’s flirting with you.’

  ‘Drink your mango juice.’

  A few seconds later I leaned into Suj’s ear and added, ‘He might very well get back with his wife. Plus, I’m still married.’ Which only reminded me of my conversation with Hamida.

  ‘We need to get our shit sorted,’ she said, looking over at Foz and Kam.

  Sakib was all affability, pouring drinks for everyone and speaking to Omar and, most disconcertingly, Mum. At one point I wanted to say to everyone that he’s not always this nice, but perhaps it might’ve looked a bit petty. Anyway, he lightened the mood. He picked up another naan and put it on my plate.

  ‘I think this is just what I needed,’ he said.

  ‘What? Naan?’

  He paused and squinted at me. ‘You know what you’re like?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re like a fox. They look sweet and innocent, but really they’re just . . .’

  ‘Eating food out of your bin?’

  ‘Destructive.’

  ‘Harsh.’

  Which it was, but it was also quite amusing. His eyes flickered towards Han, whose gaze rested on us every so often. She began filling her glass with juice as he looked away from me.

  ‘A fox?’ said Han, leaning over Suj.

  ‘Sshh,’ I said, in case he could hear. ‘You both need to stop.’ Honestly!

  ‘Are they trying to set us up?’ he said to me.

  Oh God. I had to slowly turn round to him, while giving Han and Suj the evillest look I could manage.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’re brown, we’re both on the brink of divorce, we’d be an excellent match in anybody’s eyes.’r />
  I gave a weak smile, feeling the colour rise to my cheek.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. I was suddenly rather too aware of his close proximity and the way he held my gaze a little longer than necessary. ‘We both know this would never happen.’

  ‘Never,’ I said.

  When Foz drove away in her car with Kam I linked my arm with Suj’s.

  ‘Let’s get you on Tinder,’ I said.

  ‘Might as well,’ she replied. ‘And then maybe you can join me.’

  Not knowing where my heart is located most of the time nowadays, I managed to discover at this point that it had wedged itself in the pit of my stomach. Dating horror came flooding back to me and had me clinging on to the idea that maybe, just maybe, my marriage is salvageable.

  That was until I saw Conall.

  2.10 a.m. His voice. You can forget the intonation of a person’s voice so quickly, and then you hear it again and it’s like pouring liquid balm over the cracked, hardened parts of a ridiculously susceptible heart.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, pausing outside his front gate as Mum and I got out of Sakib’s car.

  Conall looked into the car, while Mum was captivated by his beard that had grown at least a fist’s worth. He had a bag in either hand, the veins in his forearms protruding as he seemed to be clenching his muscles. I bent down and thanked Sakib.

  ‘All OK?’ he said.

  I nodded, with which he drove away.

  I glanced at Conall’s jeans, folded up, revealing his ankles. If he’d been walking with a bunch of guys coming from the mosque, he wouldn’t have looked out of place.

  Was he an apparition? I’d have thought it, especially since Mum merely nodded at him and went into the house. My feet were made of lead.

  ‘Hi,’ I replied.

  Then he looked at the ground and made to walk past me.

  ‘Conall.’

  He stopped just next to me as I looked at him. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Needed some things. Tenants moving in tomorrow.’

  ‘How’s Eamonn?’

  He didn’t seem to want to meet my gaze; just nodded. For a moment I thought, he’s back; he’s here to try and make it work.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be here,’ he added. ‘I’m sorry.’