Nightingale

by Andrea Bramhall

  “Hm, that would have been nice. Sorry to spoil the surprise.” Charlie could feel herself blushing again.

  “Nice?” Hazaar’s voice slid over her like honey. “Oh, I think it would have been more than nice.”

  Charlie’s reaction was immediate. Heat flooded between her legs, her nipples stood to attention, and every inch of her body felt sensitized.

  “Much, much more than nice. And you know you agree, Charlie.”

  “Charlie,” Charlie’s mother called from downstairs.

  “One second, Hazaar.” Charlie cleared her throat. “Yeah, Mum?”

  “Lunch is ready.”

  “I’ll be right down. Sorry, I have to go.”

  Hazaar laughed again. “Okay. When can I see you? To return your music.”

  “When did you have in mind?”

  “Now.”

  Charlie laughed. “How about tomorrow night? My family will want to celebrate the good news with me tonight.”

  “Sounds good. Do you want me to pick you up or meet you somewhere?”

  “How about meeting in town?”

  “Sure. Coyote’s? About nine?”

  “Sounds perfect. I’ll see you then.” Charlie knew she was grinning like an idiot, but she couldn’t stop.

  “Charlie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Wear something that comes off easily.”

  Her breath caught again as the phone went dead, and she crossed her legs to stop the throbbing.

  Beth was at the foot of the stairs, grinning. “Was that her?”

  “What?”

  “Hazaar? Was that her?” They both knew exactly what she was talking about, but Charlie eased past her and into the kitchen. Her sandwich was waiting on the table alongside a fresh coffee, and her mother smiling sweetly at her.

  “You both have big mouths,” Charlie grumbled as she sat and took her first bite.

  “That means it’s tomorrow night, Mum.” Beth slid into her chair. “Pay up.” She held out her hand, but their mother shook her head.

  “Not until we get confirmation.”

  Beth scowled. “When are you seeing her? Mum bet the last bar of chocolate that it would be tonight. I said tomorrow ’cos you wouldn’t want to look desperate. So who gets it?”

  Charlie glanced from one to the other while she quickly finished her sandwich. “Put the chocolate on the table.” Her voice was low and quiet. Her mother clearly worked hard to hide the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips as she slid the chocolate bar into the middle of the table. Charlie slowly picked it up and twisted it in her hands.

  “So who wins?” Beth’s pleaded with her, but Charlie was up and out of her chair like a shot. She was at the foot of the stairs before they had a chance to react.

  “Neither of you. It’s all mine.” She giggled as she reached her room. “Serves you right for betting on my love life!” Heavy footsteps thumped up the stairs, and Beth complained loudly every step of the way. The door swung open as her mother and Beth crashed into the room.

  “Where’s my chocolate?” Beth was insistent.

  “Mine!” Her mother was doing her best to keep a straight face, but failing miserably.

  “Mum, it’s not funny. It’s, like, theft or something.” Beth dropped onto the bed.

  “It’s gone, Flipper.”

  “No way. Not even you can eat chocolate that fast.”

  Charlie held her stare.

  “Seriously? No way.”

  Charlie didn’t even flinch.

  “Damn.” Beth looked crestfallen. “At least let me know if it should have been mine?”

  Charlie grinned and started to laugh.

  “That’s evil. Mum, tell her she owes me a chocolate bar.”

  Her mother broke out laughing too. Charlie loved times like this, when she could let go of the pain and anger that she carried and just enjoy the laughter and love of her family. The days when she could almost forget Gail. Almost, but not quite.

  Chapter Four

  Pakistan, today

  Hazaar held her hand up to shade her eyes from the brutal midday sun. The heat beat down on her as she moved, and she was still uncomfortable in the shalwar kameez and dupatta she was expected to wear daily, the robes and head scarf that covered her completely. She watched Afia play on the tiled floor of the courtyard. The chunky wooden blocks shaped like animals were bashed into place with a triumphant smile, before they were tipped back onto the floor for the game to begin again. Always in the same pattern, first the giraffe, then the bear, the elephant, and finally, the lion. The bear and lion were put in with accompanying roars, and the two-year-old squealed with laughter.

  The mustard yellow paint on the clay-covered walls of the aging house was peeled and chipped, as was the deep green paint on the wooden window frames. It frustrated her every time she washed the windows that she would inevitably end up picking paint chips out of her nails. The heat was stifling, and she wished she could open the windows more than a few inches. She craved the gentle breeze and the illusion of freedom it gave, but the security bars on the outside prevented it. The house sat in the heart of Peshawar’s old city, tucked away amidst a maze of tea shops, bazaars, and the many gates that had once protected the walled ancient city. They’d been built to halt invaders, to protect those inside the walls, and now they were attractions for tourists, monuments to the past.

  Hazaar had only seen one of those gates. Once. The day Yasar had brought her to his home and told her that she would learn to be a good wife and mother. She could see it so clearly in her mind. The red brick structure shaped like a proscenium archway had pedestrian walkways on each side and the flag flying proudly in the breeze. She dreamed of seeing that gate again. Just once.

  Hazaar ran her hand over her chest and enjoyed the feeling of comfort she got from the pendant underneath her clothes. She wore the silver nightingale to remind herself of the life she really wanted—the life she’d had. The life she continually worked to get back to in every way she could. No matter how long it took, she would find a way. She shifted her head covering and continued hanging out the laundry, cursing herself and how awkward the shawl made her movements when she dropped the peg.

  “Here, Mama.”

  “Thank you, Afia.” She smiled and took it from Afia’s chubby hand and squatted down beside her. “Have you finished playing with your puzzle?”

  Solemn brown eyes stared at her as she nodded.

  “Good girl, then you should put it away.” She tickled Afia’s belly, making her giggle and squirm. “Quickly now, Afia, before Baba and Abu come home for lunch.”

  “I’ll help her.” Amira bent beside Afia and helped her pack the blocks into the handwoven basket she used to move her toys around the house.

  “Thank you, Ami.” She smiled at her sister-in-law. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Well, you’d probably have more arguments with Abu.”

  “Very true.” She dropped another pair of linen pants into the laundry basket. “He hates me.”

  Amira laughed. “The feeling is entirely mutual, Hazaar, and don’t you even try to pretend it isn’t.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t come here hating him.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “And I don’t blame you. The way they brought you here, the way they have kept you here—I understand.”

  Hazaar looked down at Amira as she scooped the last of the jigsaw pieces into the basket and then held out her hand for Afia. “I always thought you agreed with them. That I was wrong.”

  “I don’t think you were right. He is your husband, and you should not have tried to do that. But I do not think he was right either. He was scared and reacted badly. Now,” she said, “well, Abu is the way he is.”

  “Why do you stay, Ami? He treats you just as badly, and you could go and stay with other relatives.”

  Amira shook her head. “No, they will not have me. My mother’s shame haunts me
still, and they were glad I was no longer a burden to them when I was married to Rafi. They will not accept responsibility for me again.”

  “What happened to your mother? You’ve never mentioned her before.”

  “It does not matter. I was a young girl, just eleven years old. My uncle arranged for me to marry Rafi three years later.”

  “At fourteen? They made you get married at fourteen?”

  “Yes. I thought you knew this.”

  “No.” Hazaar shook her head and dropped the last of the clothes into her basket while Amira picked up Afia and settled her on her hip.

  “My uncle did not wish to be reminded of the shame she had brought to the family. The quicker he could send me to a respectable situation, the better it would be for everyone.”

  “But you were fourteen.”

  “Yes.” She smiled a little sadly. “It is not so unusual, Hazaar, and Rafi was good to me. He was kind and mostly left me alone.”

  “How old was Rafi when you married?”

  “He was just a young man. Twenty-five years only.”

  “That’s wrong, Ami.” The image of her fourteen-year-old daughter being married off to an older man seared itself into her brain. She couldn’t let it happen. She just couldn’t.

  “No, he was nice to me. He treated me very well. When we first married, he would bring me home little gifts from the market sometimes. He brought me a music box one day that played me a lullaby to go to sleep to on nights when he was out late. He knew I did not like to be in the house alone. The quiet made me nervous, so he brought me the music box. He was sweet.”

  Hazaar wanted to say that she didn’t care how sweet he was, that he was abusing a child, but she knew it would only alienate Amira. That Amira considered the situation to be normal and acceptable wasn’t a shock for Hazaar, nor was the fact that Amira considered her husband to have been a good man because of a small kindness shown her. The amazing fact was that they had lived together for more than three years, and Hazaar had known so little about the shy young woman who had helped her through the early days of her new life in Pakistan. Her sister-in-law had helped her through the morning sickness, the headaches, and dizzy spells that had accompanied the late stages, and the difficult home birth, and she just now realized that she didn’t even know how old she was.

  “Ami, how old are you?”

  “This next birthday I will be twenty-five. They will be home soon. We should take Afia inside.” Amira picked her up and swung her in her arms.

  “You’re right.”

  “Do you want me to take her? I could put her to bed if you like.”

  “No, thank you. I miss it if I can’t read her a story before she goes for her nap.” She leaned forward and kissed Afia’s cheek and laughed as Afia wrapped her arms about her neck and placed sloppy baby kisses on her face.

  “Here, you take her.” Amira passed Afia over. “I’ll get the laundry.”

  “Thank you.” Amira finished the chore and opened the door with one hand to lead them both inside as the wrought iron gate to the courtyard swung open. Hazaar forced a smile and turned to face her husband and father-in-law. The resounding click of the gate behind him assured her that the lock was firmly in place. It was a sound that haunted her dreams.

  “She should be sleeping.” Tazim Siddiqi kicked off his sandals at the doorway and crossed the room. “I don’t want to come home at lunch time to hear your brat squalling.”

  “Abu, she is not a brat.” Yasar closed the distance to Hazaar and bent to kiss Afia’s cheek. “Are you, Beti? You are a very good little girl for your Baba, aren’t you?” Afia giggled and jumped into Yasar’s arms.

  “I was just about to put her to bed. I’ll do it now.” She reached out to Afia, but Yasar spun her around above his head.

  “I’ll do it.” Yasar beamed while Afia kicked her legs excitedly. “Do you want Baba to take you for your nap?” He blew a raspberry on her tummy. “Do you?” Afia squealed and clapped her hands.

  “You should probably stop doing that or she’ll never go to sleep,” Hazaar said.

  “I don’t have time for this nonsense. I have meetings this afternoon. Where’s my lunch?” Tazim scowled at her.

  “Very well, I’ll get it for you.” She kissed Afia’s cheek. “Be good, and Baba will read you a story, okay?” Afia nodded, and Yasar smiled as he walked out of the room with Afia cradled in his arms.

  Amira quickly prepared a simple meal of dhal and chapatti while Hazaar set the tea to boil. The khawa tea that Tazim and Yasar both loved was a tradition among the Pashtun tribe. Both men were so fiercely loyal to their tribal heritage that she had spent time perfecting the mix of Chinese-style green tea flavoured with cardamom and spices in an attempt to gain favour with them. She sighed as she poured the tea and mixed in milk and sugar. It had given her something to concentrate on, as she had very little else to do with her time anymore. She looked down at her hands and ran her fingers along the edge of the counter as though it were a piano, and for a second, she let herself believe that she still had the life she had chosen, rather than the one she lived.

  She carried the food and tea into the dining room and set it down for him. Yasar was still upstairs. She could hear his voice as he told Afia her favourite bedtime story about a zebra who wanted spots instead of stripes. Hazaar pictured her clapping her little hands when the zebra finally got her wish and her stripes were changed for spots, only to decide that she didn’t like the spots after all.

  She waited patiently until Tazim had finished eating to reload the tray, and gathered her courage to ask a question she was certain she already knew the answer to. “Abu, we need more food from the market. I know you’re busy, so I can go this afternoon.”

  “No.” He wiped his hands on a napkin and tossed it on top of the tray. “You do not know your way around. You will get lost. You stay here and take care of Afia. I will arrange for the shopping. Give me a list.”

  She wanted to remind him that she would never learn her way around because he never let her leave the house. The courtyard in the centre of the high-walled garden was the only outside space she ever saw, and she ached to taste the air somewhere else. “I know you are a very busy man. Amira can show me the—”

  Tazim slammed his hand down on the table. “I said no.”

  Hazaar jumped and stepped away from him. The look in his eyes was cold, hard, and unforgiving. She knew there was no point in arguing further. He was the man of the house, and his word was law. She ducked her head and went to the kitchen to make out the list. The picture of the Peshawar gate flashed in her mind—then it was gone.

  Chapter Five

  The North of England, then

  Hazaar twisted the strap of her bag around her fingers, her palms sweaty as she chewed on her lower lip throughout the taxi ride. She still couldn’t believe she was doing this. Hell, she still couldn’t believe she’d seduced Charlie in the first place, and seeing her again was asking for trouble. But she couldn’t stop herself. She didn’t want to stop herself. She only had a little time left to call her own, and she intended to make the most of it.

  Hazaar paid the taxi driver and slipped her wallet back into her bag. She smiled as the blond bouncer with a crew cut pulled open the door of the nightclub, and the music hit her like a wave, the bass pumping in her chest as though it was trying to force her heart to beat to its own rhythm. She climbed the stairs and looked around.

  It was easy to spot Charlie. She was sitting on the edge of a brown leather sofa against the far wall with a drink in one hand, and a young woman trying to keep hold of the other. Charlie was shaking her head at whatever the other woman was saying to her, and Hazaar couldn’t help but smile. It was obvious the woman was trying to pick Charlie up, and equally clear that Charlie didn’t want to be picked up by the leather-clad woman with short, spiky hair and tattoos up both arms.

  Hazaar walked across the room, wondering if Charlie would notice her before she got to them, or if she would be able to h
ear the conversation first. Her smile widened as she homed in on Charlie’s voice.

  “No, really, I’m here to meet someone.” Charlie put her hand on the brunette’s shoulders in an obvious attempt to push her back.

  “Who says that someone can’t be me?” The woman leaned toward her again.

  “I do.”

  They both looked up, startled. Charlie’s eyes met Hazaar’s, and her smile lit up her face. The brunette was still leaning toward Charlie, and Hazaar held out her hand and helped her up.

  “You look beautiful.” She leaned in to kiss the lips she’d been dreaming about for the past two days. The kiss was gentle, her hands gliding softly over Charlie’s back and down to her waist. Suddenly, she didn’t want to be in the club anymore. She wanted Charlie to herself. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

  “Where do you have in mind?” Charlie smiled against her lips.

  Hazaar tossed the young woman a look that told her exactly where she had in mind and led Charlie to the door. Their fingers entwined as they made their way quickly down the steep steps.

  “Good night, ladies.” The bouncer smiled at them as they left. Hazaar caught the look of disappointment she cast in Charlie’s direction.

  “Do you always cause this much trouble when you’re down here?” she asked as they rounded the corner.

  “What?” Charlie blushed.

  “Between Spike in there and the look the bouncer was giving you, I thought I was going to have to fight to get you out of there.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Charlie squeezed her hand. “They were just being friendly.”

  “Friendly? Spike?”

  “Well, maybe a bit over friendly.”

  “Be honest. You thought she was about to rip your clothes off.”

  Charlie flushed brighter. “I’m not full of myself or anything.”

  “You don’t have to be, darlin’. She was about to rip your clothes off.” Hazaar looked her up and down. The form-fitting black pants clung low on her hips, and the black sleeveless top with plunging neckline was cropped to show a tantalizing amount of soft, creamy flesh. “If we don’t head somewhere soon, I might just do the same.” She grabbed Charlie’s waist and pulled her into her body for a fierce kiss. “You’re a dangerous woman, Charlie Porter.” They kissed again, deep and hungry, and raw passion surged between them. Hazaar felt her skin crackle where Charlie’s fingers touched her, sending electricity through every nerve in her body.