Paradise Postponed
by
Dominique Kyle
Not Quite Eden series - book 2
Paradise Postponed © 2016 Dominique Kyle
Cover Design © 2016 Dominique Kyle
All Rights Reserved
Someone put their finger on the doorbell and held it there. Since Quinn and I were just dossing on the settee it wasn’t that much of an intrusion, but Quinn rolled his eyes and was very reluctant to let go of me.
“Let Jamie answer it,” he murmured lazily.
“Jamie’s out,” I pointed out, and pulled away from his grasp to go to the door.
Nasim had been leaning on the door so hard that she practically fell into the room. Her face was streaked with tears, she was bundled into a warm coat despite the unseasonably hot weather, she had a huge bag over one shoulder and a stuffed-to-bursting hold-all in her other hand.
“They’ve found out about Rajesh!” She sobbed.
Quinn sat up on the settee. “Oops…” His eyes met mine.
Nasim dropped the bags and threw herself into my arms. “They’ve banned me from seeing him. They locked me in my room and took my phone off me and they said I couldn’t go to school tomorrow!” Her tone rose higher and higher in hysterical upset. “So I climbed out my bedroom window and I came here because I knew you’d know what to do and I knew you’d hide me here!”
I patted her awkwardly on the back as she clung to me, crying. Shit, why would I know what to do more than any other of her friends?
Quinn leant over and hauled on his many buckled biker boots without bothering to do them up, his mass of wavy dark hair falling forward to hide his face. Then he reached for his leather jacket, heaved himself off the settee, and sidled across the room to the door.
“Think I might just ring Kes up about getting together to finish off that song,” he excused himself, his gaze sliding over the top of Nasim’s head. “We need to get it done before next week’s gig.” And he beat a hasty retreat out the door.
Coward, I thought. I eased Nasim over to the settee and got her to sit down. “Sssh,” I soothed. “Calm down. I’m sure we can sort this out.”
“We can’t!” Nasim wailed. “Tariq’s threatening to kill me, Dad’s talking about sending me out to Pakistan, Mum’s screaming and weeping and alternating between ringing Auntie Mo and swearing everyone to secrecy because she says she’ll never dare leave the house again for the shame of it if anyone finds out, and I just want to die without Rajesh!”
Fuck, I thought. I went over to the music centre and switched the sound off with relief. When I started going out with Quinn a couple of months ago, I’d assumed that because he’d lived next door for most of my life, I knew him pretty well. But I was finding out that I didn’t. His music for instance… I should have realised how much music meant to him as a lead singer and guitarist. But I hadn’t. It drove me nuts the way he always had music on really loud every moment of the day. And most of his music did my head in.
In the blessed silence I turned to Nasim. “How about a nice cup of tea?”
“Tea?” She exploded. “How can you possibly think a cup of tea will solve this?”
I don’t, I thought. I just want you to calm down and since you don’t drink I can’t hand you a bottle of whisky. I sat down beside her on the settee and put my arm around her. “Are you certain your family won’t think of you coming here? Not even Sahmir?”
She sniffled unhappily and nodded.
“Well, why don’t you ring Rajesh and ask him to come round to talk it over with him?” I suggested.
She stared at me as though it hadn’t even occurred to her that she could do that.
“The phone’s over there.” I pointed towards the corner of the room. “And while you’re doing that I’ll go and make us a nice cup of tea, shall I?” I removed myself discreetly to the kitchen.
By the time I came out with two steaming mugs, she was drying her eyes and blowing her nose. “He’s coming round in half an hour,” she told me, her big dark eyes brightening with hope.
“Good,” I said in a positive tone and handed her the mug. “Let’s see if he has any ideas up his sleeve.”
Her eyes suddenly filled with tears again. “If I go with Rajesh, my family will cast me off and I’ll never see them again!”
“Hmm,” I observed with a deepening frown as the reality of what she was facing finally started to sink in, “and if you go with Rajesh you need to make sure that he’s willing to support you through the rest of your schooling. At least he’s old enough to have his own job and flat. If he was only the same age as us you’d be completely shot.”
As she sat waiting for him she bit her nails. She’d worked her way systematically from the little finger of her left hand right through to a tentative start on the thumb of her right hand before the door bell rang. She stared at the door in a mixture of hope and horror, as though she didn’t know whether to expect the heroic appearance of Rajesh to whisk her away like a knight on a white charger, or to find her family standing there ready to drag her away by the hair in some medieval melodrama. It turned out to be Rajesh. She flushed with relief and pleasure, leapt up and threw herself into his arms.
He patted her soothingly in much the same way that I had, and I began my polite retreat, “I’ll leave you two to it then.”
Nasim pulled away from Rajesh, looking alarmed, and her dark eyes flashed naked appeal at me. “No, stay!” Her tone held a note of panic.
“Ok,” I gave in reluctantly, “Can I get you a cup of tea, Rajesh?” Honestly, I was beginning to sound like someone’s maiden aunt! Still this cup of tea thing was a good get-out clause. Rajesh shook his head. “Sit down then,” I said abruptly. Clearly I wasn’t cut out to be a hostess. Beyond the tea thing I was completely out of ideas.
They sat across the room from each other, the atmosphere awkward. Nasim looked painfully into his face like he was the font of all knowledge and her saviour appeared in the flesh. She must have filled him in on the basics on the phone because Rajesh plunged straight in.
“So how did they find out?” He asked. “Was it Sahmir?”
She shook her head sharply. “Tariq. One of his friends saw us out together a couple of nights ago. Then they confronted Sahmir. So don’t blame him,” she rushed hastily to defend her little brother, “what else could he do with Dad and Tariq at him? Tariq got really scary and practically picked him up off the ground by his collar!”
Rajesh pulled a face. “So what are you going to do now?”
Nasim’s face crumpled at his attitude. It sounded like he was expecting her to sort it out herself.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I tried again. I shouldn’t be listening in on all this private stuff. I stood up.
Nasim, again, looked alarmed. “No, please stay!” She begged.
I stared at her then looked queryingly at Rajesh. He looked uncomfortable. “We’ve never been on our own together,” he explained with a note of exasperation in his voice. “Sahmir’s always been somewhere in the vicinity.” His expression conveyed that it wasn’t his idea of fun, especially not at his age.
“Well, it’s about time you did!” I exclaimed. That was just plain ridiculous! I turned abruptly towards the stairs.
In my room I picked up an F1 racing magazine that I’d left half-read, and I sprawled out on my bed to try to absorb a long article about the latest technological changes ushered in by this season’s new rules. But those amazing big brown eyes outlined by luscious dark lashes kept swimming between me and the pages. I had to admit that Rajesh was utterly gorgeous… Those short dark curls, that straight nose with flared nostrils, the way every fea
ture seemed as though outlined by a kohl pencil, the long slim hands with the perfect nails. Well, of course he worked in IT so he didn’t have to get oil under them like I did. I’ll bet his palms and fingertips were really soft, unlike Quinn’s which felt like sandpaper on my sensitive bits, and my own which I could only stop from cracking open in the winter with industrial sized tubs of hand cream advertised as being formulated for Norwegian deep-sea fishermen.
Rajesh smelt good too. Something really subtle. And despite his decent height and broad shoulders, he moved kind of lithe and quick and light on his feet. Dammit! I wasn’t cut out to be a relationship counsellor, was I? You weren’t supposed to fancy one of the couple! If I thought any more about Rajesh, I’d have to start fanning myself or take a cold shower. So instead I tried to think about Quinn. Unfortunately that just filled me with irritation and an uncontrollable urge to slap someone, preferably him.
Some while later I heard the front door bang and a forlorn looking Nasim stood in my doorway. I put the magazine down and swung my feet round.
“What did he say?”
She sank down beside me. “We can’t get married without my parents’ consent till I’m eighteen. He seemed to think the best thing for me to do was just go home!” Her eyes swam with tears at the sense of bitter betrayal. “You think he’d understand wouldn’t you? I mean Hindus have arranged marriages too! The Indians are just as bad as us with the whole family pressure thing. So you’d think he’d be a bit more sympathetic!”
She was getting angry now. That was better, I could deal with anger. On the other hand I didn’t want it directed at me, and I guessed I wouldn’t be flavour of the month if I actually said aloud to her what I was thinking, which was that I suspected Rajesh was panicking big time because he didn’t want to be jostled out of the blue into having to make that sort of commitment. “So he didn’t offer for you to come to live with him for a year until you could legally get married?” I enquired.
She looked askance at me, as though she thought that was an inappropriate suggestion, and shook her head. “He said it would be the first place my they’d look for me and he didn’t fancy having to have police protection every time he set foot outside the door.”
“Hmm…” I thought for a moment then sighed. “Well, in that case, you’d better stay here for a bit, but remember that your family have to pass the end of our street to get to your Uncle’s house, so you’d better keep your head down and we’ll have to swear Jamie to secrecy or he’ll be telling Sahmir.”
She looked horrified. She clearly hadn’t thought of that.
“I’m sure he’ll play ball,” I reassured her. He didn’t seem to care for anything outside of his music and his online-clan computer games at the moment, so he probably wouldn’t give a monkey’s about this either.
I heard the front door open and slam shut again, so I ran quickly down to intercept whoever it was. It was Dad.
“Do you mind if Nasim stays over?” I asked.
“Course not, why are you asking me?” That was typical of Dad’s laid back attitude.
“Because it’s a bit of a crisis and she may need to stay a few days,” I explained. Or a year, I thought. But it was a bit too soon to introduce that idea.
“Ok.” He seemed distracted. “Actually, I’m going out for dinner tonight myself, so don’t cater for me.”
That was useful. I’d been wondering how to stretch the meal for an extra person. When he disappeared upstairs citing a need to get into something more presentable, I quickly followed him up. If I didn’t keep an eye on him he might horrify Nasim by wandering across the landing in his underpants, or something dumb like that. As I had expected, he had left his bedroom door open while he was getting changed. I walked in and closed the door behind me.
“Oh, Eve,” he turned towards me. “What do you think? I want to look decent but I’ve only ever worn that suit for weddings and funerals and it seems a bit over the top.”
He was standing there in a pair of clean jeans and a tee-shirt.
I folded my arms. “You can’t be meaning to wear those surely?”
“Why not?” He asked blankly.
“Tee-shirts on middle-aged men are the pits!” I declared authoritatively.
He looked anxious. “Why?”
I patted his stomach. “Shows off the beer-belly, Dad,” I pointed out. “Save the tee-shirts and the builder’s bum for work, huh?”
He sucked in his stomach and put his shoulders back.
“Proper shirt, Dad,” I insisted.
He picked out a pale mauve one and put it on. I frowned and shook my head. “You can’t get away with that one now your hair’s gone so grey.”
His hand went worriedly to his curls. “I’m not am I?”
“Uh huh,” I confirmed.
He put on a short-sleeved one and turned round. I shook my head. “You don’t want to show off all those old bluing tattoos.”
Finally we settled on a nice long sleeved thick cotton shirt in a dark burnt orange shade. I tipped my head on one side and eyed him consideringly. “Once that’s ironed you’ll look great,” I rewarded him. He gave me a smile of sheer relief and I went back to Nasim.
It was only half an hour later, after he’d left, that I realised that I’d neglected to ask him where he was going, and with whom. An evening down the boozer with Con from next door wouldn’t entail him needing to wear a posh shirt.
Quinn rang. “She gone yet?”
“No, she’s staying for a few days so you must promise not to let on to where she is to anyone. You promise?”
He sighed impatiently. “Yeah, yeah, ok!” There was a short silence. “So I take it you’re not available to come out tonight?” He clarified, sounding less than pleased about her extended presence.
“No.” I couldn’t leave Nasim on her first night here and definitely not in the state she was in.
He huffed in an annoyed way. “Ok, so maybe I’ll give Rob a ring.”
Rob was a mate of his from work, a fellow RAC mechanic. His name was cropping up more and more frequently these days, but I hadn’t ever met him. I tried not to feel jealous. “Has your dad gone out with my dad tonight?” I investigated.
There was a momentary pause while Quinn checked. “No, Dad’s sat in front of the TV right now with Liam and Declan and a pizza.”
“Ok,” I said. Mysterious or what?
Nasim was terrified that her family would be hanging around the school gates waiting to pounce on her the moment she turned up on Monday morning, but she couldn’t afford to miss a day with her AS level exams looming imminently, so I took her on my bike. School uniform allowed girls to wear either skirts or trousers and Muslim girls were allowed to wear leggings under their skirts if they wanted to. At one stage I remembered us girls campaigning that it was unfair that only the Muslim girls were allowed to wear the leggings. So they changed the regulations to state that any girl could wear leggings under her skirt and of course, no one did – well one girl, for a week or so, to make the point, but actually we were all doing to be a pain in the bum, just for the sake of it. Anyhow, Nasim had generally always worn a calf length skirt with loose shalwar kameez leggings underneath, but this morning she had borrowed some of my old school trousers to try to alter how her silhouette looked from a distance, and then she pulled her hijab tightly right round her face. I jammed the bike helmet forcefully over her head and flipped down the visor.
“Maybe you should go around all day wearing this,” I suggested, “Better than a burqa!”
There was an annoyed but indistinct murmur from underneath, which I missed as I revved the engine. “Hang on!” I advised cheerfully, and gunned us at somewhat unnecessary speed out of the drive, grinning to myself at the alarmed squeal from behind me.
We circled the school twice to make sure we couldn’t spot any lurking relatives and I waited until I’d seen her get safely inside. Don’t scuttle, Nasim, I thought. It marked her out as being guilty of something. I didn’t think the trous
er thing would work. Her family would recognise her instantly whatever she did.
I rolled up at work a couple of minutes late and parked the bike in the corner of the garage forecourt. The men were already standing around examining a Peugeot 3008 with a massive dent in the back side door.
“That was some impact,” Dewhurst commented, pursing his lips and shaking his head.
“Did you know,” I informed them mischievously as I hopped around beside them pulling on my overalls, “That insurance companies report that female drivers almost never get hit from the side because they have much better peripheral vision than men who see in much narrower binocular fashion?”
“No, they just all arrive here with huge dents in their boot from backing into lamp posts while attempting to park,” Bowker observed sarcastically.
I zipped up and grinned at him, and as if on cue, a lime green VW Beetle with a big yellow daisy dangling from its rear view mirror turned into the yard. A woman with a mass of dyed blonde streaked hair, an extremely low cut top with generous overflow, a tiny skirt, patterned tights and four inch stilettos eased her way out and tittupped towards us. The men fell extremely silent and I turned and smiled welcomingly at her.
“Hello, can I help you?”
“Oo, I hope so,” she plunged in with engagingly widened eyes. “My tick-tacker’s gone on the blink.”
I carried on smiling encouragingly at her, ignoring the men’s reactions beside me. “Your tick-tacker?” I echoed politely.
“Yes, you know! The thing that goes tick-tack, tick-tack when you turn a corner…”
“Oh yes! Your indicator,” I deciphered. “Well, that shouldn’t be too hard to fix…” I steered her away from the men who were clearly finding it hard not to fall about. They already claimed that since Mr. Entwistle the manager had taken the business decision to target the female market, working at the garage had become like a permanent game of Give us a Clue or Twenty Questions, with the bemused men looking on as a woman acted the problem out with graphic hand signals and imitative noises.
Paradise Postponed (Not Quite Eden Book 2) Page 1