She had.
‘You might get three hundred quid. Depends how old y’m am. You caar use it for rent you know?’
‘I know. The lady done the form for me.’
Mark raised his eyebrows. Pakis got special treatment at the Jobcentre. Everyone knew it.
‘I just came to get my bag and say thanks for last night.’
‘It weren’t nothing,’ he said. ‘Jooss a few … Asians … in a car.’ It was a shame they hadn’t got out. Then she’d have seen something. He’d have battered the lot of them, with or without Bob. And put a few dents in the door panels on that fake M3. Maybe even kicked in a backlight unit.
‘D’you fancy a brew?’
‘No, I should get out of your way.’
‘Have a cup a tea,’ he insisted. ‘You got somewhere to stay then?’
‘I’m going to a B&B.’
‘Black two sugars waar it?’ Mark said, returning from the kitchen with two mugs.
Beauty took the cup and wiped the rim with her sleeve.
Bismillah hir Rahmaanir Raheem.
Mark rolled a cigarette and watched the Asian bird on his sofa. ‘Fit’ wasn’t the right word for her. Pretty. He couldn’t make out what her body was like. Paki clothes didn’t show much.
‘Anyway,’ he continued. ‘I were jooss cleaning up. The place ay usually like this. I had to let the dogs in cuz of the bad weather.’
Beauty nodded and looked at her tea.
‘So what you gonna do then?’ he asked.
‘Stay in the B&B until that money comes, and look for somewhere to live.’
‘I’ve bin looking for a lodger to rent me spare room. You could rent it for a few days even,’ he suggested. ‘A fiver a night?’ She’d been here one night already.
‘I can’t stay here!’ she said. ‘I mean … you done enough.’
‘You wo’ be in me way. Anyway, I like Indian food.’
‘Thanks, I’ll be fine.’
‘Is it cuzza me dogs? They wo’ come in now it ay raining. And the room’s clean.’
*
The spare room was above the kitchen and looked out over the backyard. He was right, it was clean. The purple pile carpet had kept its colour and the walls were white. The room even smelled faintly of paint. A large double bed with an orange velvet headboard and a new-looking mattress stood along the far wall.
Beauty went to the window and looked down at the dog in his backyard, at the colourless, damp concrete of the surrounding houses, and the trees that hid some of them from view. There was no road and no one to look at her. It was tucked away, sheltered from everything.
Can I stay here? With a white bloke?
They went downstairs. Mark wanted to know. He needed the money.
‘Think about it,’ he said to Beauty. ‘How much is a B&B? You could spend that on a set a sheets an’ a duvet cover; towels – yer gonna need …’
There was a knock at the door. The dogs barked in the yard. Mark got up from the armchair to see who it was through the ripped curtain.
‘It’s two Asian lads.’
‘Is it them? Is it my brothers?’
‘How the fook do I know? Wodder they look like?’ He peered again at Faisal Rahman and Dulal Miah. ‘One’s ’bout fifteen, in tracky bottoms,’ Mark said. ‘The other one’s older.’
Al-lh! How did they find me?
‘Please, don’t answer the door. Don’t let them in, I’m begging you.’
‘Do’ worry, I ay gonna.’
A fist pounded on the door. Beauty ran through the kitchen and out into the yard. The dogs barked louder around her, and clawed at the doors inside their kennels.
Mark followed her outside.
‘If they do’ give up I’m giwin’ out there. They wo’ come here again.’ He looked around for a useful weapon. The shovel.
A clean-shirted arm appeared above the fence two doors down and pegged a pair of pants to a washing line.
‘Oright, mate!’ Mark called out.
Peter could just make out Mark’s head over the fences. His dogs had been howling for some time. He raised a hand in greeting.
‘Here, listen,’ he heard Mark call out. ‘I could really use a favour.’
His head disappeared from view.
Peter groaned. Christ, did he want to bring one of them round? Why did he have so many if he couldn’t look after them?
‘Come wi’ me,’ Mark said to Beauty. ‘He’s safe.’
He opened the back gate and she followed him along the narrow path which ran between the yards.
‘Pete, can me mate jooss sit round yours for five? I got to sort something out. Wo’ be a sec.’
Peter looked at the headscarfed beauty in front of him and felt his heart quicken and the blood rush to his cheeks. ‘Hi … I’m Peter.’
The girl nodded, chewing her lip, and ignored his outstretched hand.
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,’ he said.
‘Beauty.’
Peter moved around the kitchen thinking of something to say. That he’d seen her this morning leaving Mark’s house?
‘That’s an unusual name. Is it … ?’
She avoided looking at him. ‘It’s Bangladeshi.’
He wanted to say ‘it suits you’, but the anxious look on her face told him it wasn’t the right moment.
The sound of dogs barking and raised voices in the street came through the open front window. Peter went to look out.
‘What’s happening?’ Beauty asked from the kitchen.
‘Mark’s waving a spade at two Indian chaps. They’re going.’
He drew back from the window as the two passed. Had they seen the net curtain twitch? What was he getting involved in?
The girl had followed him into the front room. ‘Have they gone?’
Peter saw the torment in her eyes. ‘Who were they?’ he asked.
‘My brothers.’
‘Are you OK? Come and sit down.’
Peter guided her to an armchair and went to the kitchen to fetch her a glass of water. Who was she? Why were her brothers looking for her? How could she be called Beauty?
Mark let himself into the kitchen.
‘Oright?’ he said to Peter at the sink. ‘Nice one for that, cheers.’ He spotted the cups. ‘I’ll have one if y’m making it. Two sugars.’
‘Everything all right now?’ Peter asked.
‘Sorted,’ Mark said, loud enough for Beauty to hear. ‘They ay gonna come back here in a hurry.’ He went into the sitting room and sat down on the sofa.
‘What did you say to them?’ asked Beauty.
‘That there waar no Pakis here. And if they came back I’d knock ’em through the fookin’ floor and set me dogs on ’em.’ Mark saw her eyes widen. ‘Fookin’ ’ell, you should’ve heard Honey, man. Proper giwin’ for it, she were. Yer brother shat hisself.’
Beauty winced.
Al-lh!
‘Here, they ay gonna set fire to me house, am they?’
Peter watched the frightened, pretty girl. He’d seen the stories on Midlands Today, involving Muslims mostly, burning each other’s houses down and stabbing their daughters/sisters/wives/cousins to death over some primitive concept of ‘honour’. Mark seemed to take it lightly, enjoy it even. What was going on? Were these two an item? How could that be?
‘Am y’ coomin up the towun tonight?’ Mark asked him.
Peter didn’t think so. He had to be up early.
‘D’you fancy giwin’ out?’
Beauty looked up. Is he talking to me?
‘That aynt my thing,’ she said.
Mark nodded. ‘What d’you wanna do about the room?’
‘I dunno,’ she said. Would her brothers come back? Or would they get someone else to watch the house? And how could she stay here and bring trouble to these strangers?
Al-lh, what do I do?
‘Them pair ay gonna show up ’ere again. It’s probably the safest place in Wolves.’ Mark turned to Peter. ‘I told her to stay ’ere, rent m
e spare room, the clean one, for a fiver a day or whatever, ’stead of staying in a B&B, and save her money till she’s got enough for her own place. At least she’d be wi’ friends.’ He indicated himself and Peter.
‘Why not?’ Peter said. For that matter she could have his spare room. Free.
‘What d’you reckon then?’ Mark prompted.
‘I suppose so, for a few days,’ she said.
I can’t go home ever. Not now.
‘Right, nice one. We can giw up Asda and I’ll show you them sheets. Finish yer tea, I’ll jooss fetch the keys to the truck.’
Peter waited until he’d gone before speaking.
‘Are you OK?’
Beauty nodded.
Does it matter any more if I talk to strangers? They think it’s normal an’ I aynt gonna say anything bad.
‘Have you known Mark long?’ the man asked her.
She kept her eyes on the coffee table. ‘We met the other day, on a course.’
‘So, those were your brothers?’
It was family stuff, she said.
21
The Ford Transit bumped and jolted over the speed humps on Graiseley Road. Beauty sat in the passenger seat holding on to the door handle, while oddly shaped metal bits jumped on the dashboard and on the floor around her feet.
Mark swung into the car park at Asda and pulled up across two spaces. He went round to wrench the door open for Beauty, and she hurried to keep up with him as they walked to the entrance.
Asian eyes followed them down the aisles towards the home furnishings department. Couples nudged each other. She shifted under their looks and the bright lights. Mark seemed happy to linger and find the bargains. Beauty went to look for bleach, sponges and rubber gloves.
‘We need bog roll ’n’ all,’ he called out.
As they waited to pay at the checkout, Mark asked her if she was happy with the money they’d agreed on. She got the hint, pulled out the roll of notes from under her kameez and offered him twenty pounds.
‘Is that all right?’ she asked.
‘Beauty!’
She looked up at him.
‘I mean, like … nice one,’ he added. He paid for his sausage roll and they left.
*
When they got back to his house she made her way through the obstacles, up the stairs and into the clean bedroom. She covered the bed with a mattress liner and the new lime green sheets, smoothed down the empty duvet cover and stuffed the pillows into new yellow cases. Mark knocked and came into the room, a can of beer in one hand and a portable television in the other.
‘Thought you might want this. I’ll fetch you a table and I should have a lamp ’n’ all.’
He plugged the TV into the wall, yanked the aerial around until he was satisfied with the picture and ran through the channels.
‘I fixed this misself,’ he said.
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
He returned with an anglepoise lamp, a flat brown alarm clock radio, a ring-stained bedside table, a clothes rack and hangers, a full-length dusty mirror, and her rucksack, at which point she stopped him. She had everything she needed, she said. She arranged her belongings on the bedside table and decided to wait until he had gone out before she cleaned the bathroom.
Mark called up that there was a cup of tea for her and she went downstairs.
EastEnders was on. When two lesbians kissed noisily on screen Beauty looked at Mark as he ironed his clothes.
‘You OK, then?’ she asked him.
‘Sowund. Wha’ ’bout you?’
‘I’m OK now. Thanks again for what you done.’
Mark sniffed at his shirt and threw it on the back of the armchair, satisfied. ‘Thass all right, got misself a lodger, dey I? Even if it is only for a few days.’
The kissing on the television had stopped.
‘What was that all about with yer brothers then?’
‘Oh, you know. Asian stuff.’
‘Ami tamar marray sude,’ Mark said in Bengali.
Beauty stared at him in surprise, her ears and cheeks burning. She covered her mouth, but her laughter soon filled the room. ‘Do you know what that means?’ she asked, clutching her stomach and wiping her eyes.
‘Yeah, course. I wanna fook your m –’
She heard his Bengali accent again and her laughter broke out. The scowl and frown left her face, and her white teeth flashed. Mark was pleased that he’d made her laugh. She was a damn pretty girl.
He’d heard it from two Asian lads he’d shared a cell with, he told her. It was a long time ago, though, he added hurriedly. They’d also told him how it was for sisters, in Asian families.
At eight o’clock he put on his jacket to go up town. There was a spare key if she needed to go out, and Honey was outside if Beauty wanted to let her in. She did. Mark opened the back door and the pregnant creature came to sit at Beauty’s feet, nosing for her hand.
He watched his bitch.
‘Y’ve got a friend for life there,’ he said to Beauty. ‘Probly sleep outside yer door. If you get scared, giw round to Pete’s. He said ’e do’ mind.’
Beauty locked the door behind him and went upstairs to the bedroom.
It would only be for a few days, until the money came.
She sat down on the bed, pressed her face against the window and looked out at the darkened yards and the lights of the houses through the trees.
What if Faisal saw Mark at the course? He’d know she was here. What if? What if? She was tired of her thoughts, and of feeling hunted.
When they gonna give up? If I had a boyfriend?
No. If you was pregnant they’d have to.
Or if I moved far away.
And what would she do if they stopped looking for her?
She pictured herself in a small flat, high up maybe, or on the ground floor with a small garden and high fences so no one could see in. She’d get a cat and play with it; she’d look after it, and they would hide together from everyone. Beyond that she couldn’t imagine.
She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. The blackness and sparks behind her lids were familiar. Images from the last days replaced each other in the darkness. She shuddered at her brothers outside in the street, and felt shame for the two Indians selling their mobile phones; she pulled faces at the Asian couples who stared at her in the supermarket, and told her little sister what white people’s houses were like inside; and she was running in the dark street, her rucksack jumping on her back, turning the corner. No one was there to save her and the car pulled alongside, her brothers’ faces staring at her in silence.
She started awake at the noise. Honey barked and scratched at the bedroom door. A thud came from the kitchen below and Beauty sat up, straining to hear.
The dogs outside were quiet; but she had to go down and check.
Honey followed her downstairs and through the darkened kitchen. When she stopped to peer into the sitting room the dog brushed past her, sniffed at the front door and growled.
Voices.
Beauty went out to the back yard, the dogs stirring in their kennels. The knock at the front door carried down the passageway and they started barking. She fumbled for the latch on the back gate and ran along the path to Peter’s house, stumbling in the dark.
The light was on in his kitchen.
22
Peter lay on the sofa with his eyes shut, blowing smoke at the lampshade and brushing ash from his chest when it fell. He played out scenes of himself on a petal-strewn four-poster bed in a marble-columned palace amid the lakes and mountains of Rajasthan. A demure-but-eventually-yielding veiled Mogul Indian princess abandoned first her religion, and then herself, to him in the midnight moonlight.
He heard the sound of tapping from the kitchen. It was most likely to be Mark, but his heart beat faster at the thought that it might be her.
Peter opened the back door and Beauty appeared from the darkness. He stopped smiling when he saw her anxious expression. ‘What’s
happened?’ he asked.
‘There was someone outside the house. Mark said you wouldn’t mind if I came round.’
Peter closed the door and locked it. The figure of his dreams didn’t have angry brothers.
‘Are they still there?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. It might be a friend of Mark’s.’
‘I’ll check.’
He took his keys and went to the front door. He’d get something from the car, see who it was, and come back.
He returned, locked the door and slid the bolts into place.
‘There’s no one there,’ he said.
*
Beauty sat in the armchair while Peter made tea. He put the mug on the coffee table in front of her and sat in the chair opposite. Where had Mark gone? he asked her.
Where do white people go?
‘To the pub?’ she guessed.
The words were strange to her, but it sounded like a normal, white answer.
Peter watched his Indian princess, her hands in her lap. Demure.
‘Do you think it was your brothers?’
‘Maybe,’ Beauty said. If not them, Dulal could have got someone else to come looking for her. No one she would recognize. The Pakistani boys at his work would do it. Pakis would do anything.
Peter scratched around for another opening. ‘Families can be difficult sometimes.’
Beauty picked up the mug of tea. ‘I left home, aynit,’ she said, and hoped it would be enough to keep him from questioning her further.
Apart from the possibility of danger outside, Peter was enjoying himself. Her reluctance to talk was a challenge. Unyielding at first.
‘Do you mind if I ask why?’
A flash of irritation crossed her face. ‘They wanted me to get married.’ She took a cigarette from the packet he offered her and lit it. What else was he going to ask?
Peter watched the smoke curl up around her.
‘Was that … an arranged marriage?’
She nodded.
‘And you didn’t want to?’
Peter slid the ashtray across the coffee table to her.
Beauty flicked the tip of the cigarette and shook her head.
He had a right to know, didn’t he? Wasn’t he helping her too?
So what if I tell someone? Do I have to hide it inside of me always?
Beauty Page 13