City of Sinners

by Dhand, A. A.

  ‘Will he wake up?’ she said, turning back to Saima.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Is his condition very bad?’

  Saima’s eyes met her mother-in-law’s. ‘Yes.’

  Mandy shuffled uncomfortably at the news.

  ‘If I asked you for something, would you honour me the favour?’ Joyti’s eyes held Saima’s gaze intently.

  ‘Anything,’ said Saima.

  ‘Don’t tell my Hardeep. Not yet. He will be pained to see him this way, knowing that even in this state, for his father, nothing has changed.’

  ‘We don’t keep secrets from each other,’ Saima said firmly.

  ‘I’m sure you don’t,’ said Joyti. ‘But, my child, there can be no win for us here. Not like this. Let his father wake up. Let him build a little strength. Then,’ Joyti paused, uncertain how to finish, ‘we … will see.’

  Saima was about to object when the resus doors opened and Aaron ran inside.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ said Linda, looking apologetic. Saima nodded and mouthed ‘thank you’ just as Aaron reached her, grabbing her leg. She scooped him up.

  ‘Oh, wet!’ said Aaron, wiping a tear from Saima’s face. ‘Mamma wet?’

  Saima smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said, wiping her face before kissing him.

  ‘Mamma hurt?’ he asked innocently.

  ‘No.’ She tried to laugh his concern away as Joyti stood beside her, face streaming with tears.

  It was only the second time Joyti had met her grandson.

  ‘He’s my Hardeep,’ whispered Joyti in amazement, putting her arms out to take hold of him, but Aaron shied away.

  Saima hugged him tightly. ‘I … I … can’t do this,’ she said to Joyti. ‘Not here. Not like this. It’s too much.’

  ‘Please,’ said Joyti. ‘He … he looks just like my little Hardeep.’

  ‘Why does it have to be like this?’ said Saima, unable to hide her pain. ‘Why can’t you just let us be a part of your lives? We never wanted this. All we ever did was fall in love.’

  She started to cry and held Aaron tighter so he couldn’t see. ‘I don’t deserve this. I never asked for any of it.’

  Joyti brought her face closer to Aaron’s and kissed his head as he struggled free of Saima.

  Saima put him down, wiping her face and allowing herself a sob as Joyti crouched to her knees and held Aaron’s face reverentially in her hands. She watched as Joyti stroked his face, kissing his cheeks and letting her tears fall on to his head while Aaron shouted, ‘Wet!’

  ‘My Hardeep,’ she whispered, and kept kissing Aaron, hugging him tightly in spite of his struggles to break free.

  Saima crouched to her knees and allowed Aaron to scramble into her arms, watching as Mandy left the room, wiping her face as she went.

  SEVEN

  THE CLOCK ON the dash nudged five o’clock as Harry exited his car and headed towards Usma Khan’s house on Barkerend Road. She’d lived opposite the once vibrant St Mary’s Church, now abandoned like so many other churches in Bradford.

  Times had changed.

  People had changed.

  For Harry, walking past the dark shadow of the church, steeling himself to deliver the news no parent should have to hear, this felt about as far removed from God as he could get. An hour ago, standing in the mortuary with the stench of death clinging to every piece of his clothing, Harry had been wrong to think that was the worst part of the job.

  This was.

  Harry hated breaking this kind of news, but he had a feeling today would be harder than usual.

  Inside the house, sitting beside the family liaison officer, DC Paula Kelly, Harry observed a now familiar kind of hurt. Usma’s family were Muslim and when they’d learned they could not bury their daughter within twenty-four hours as their religion demanded, the pain seemed to deepen on their faces.

  The living room was hot and muggy with incense, which didn’t quite mask the smell of damp. Harry had first-hand experience of how warm Asian people kept their homes, but this was something else. The thermostat must have been close to thirty. DC Kelly looked ready to faint. An old gas heater in the corner continued to push punishing heat into the room, intensifying the suffering.

  Usma’s father, Mohammed, wearing loose, traditional Islamic clothing, took his seat next to his wife, Ameena, putting his arms around her. In spite of the heat, she was wearing a thick cardigan over her Asian suit, grey hairs creeping out from her headscarf. Their two grown-up sons lived nearby and had been at the house all day. They looked angrily at Harry, as if they could not believe what he had told them. Harry met their gaze and offered an apologetic nod of his head.

  An hour later, with the family trying their hardest to answer Harry’s questions, he had learned Usma had called Ameena the evening before and told her she was staying late at Waterstones to arrange a new window display.

  Ameena was on morphine and sleeping tablets for chronic back pain and had gone to bed early. Her medication had knocked her out.

  That morning when Usma had not woken for college, Ameena had gone into her room and been startled to see the bed unslept in and called the police.

  It had been around the same time that Harry had been supervising the recovery of Usma’s body from Waterstones.

  Looking at Ameena now, Harry couldn’t help but think of the look on his own mother’s face when she had led him to the door of her house and handed him her slippers. Ameena’s loss, though different from that of Harry’s mother in one obvious regard, was too close for comfort.

  Both had lost a child.

  Harry stood staring into the gloomy shadow around St Mary’s Church, the night air a welcome chill on his face. His eyes saw nothing, for his mind was still in the Khans’ living room, the sorrow palpable. Even from here, Harry could hear the wailing; deep and unrelenting.

  ‘Christ, I’ve never known heat like that,’ said DC Kelly, stepping outside to join him.

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘They’ve just turned that gas heater up again. Made me feel faint.’

  ‘You’re going to be with them a while.’ Harry turned to face her. ‘Best keep yourself hydrated.’

  ‘I’ll need an IV line at this rate.’

  ‘Shittiest part of the job, this.’

  ‘Sons are trying their best, but it’s a mess.’

  ‘Can they take them to theirs while we finish clearing Usma’s room?’

  ‘Doubtful, but I’ll give it a try.’

  Harry removed his tie and unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt, welcoming the breeze on his skin. ‘That place ever used for anything?’ he said, pointing towards the church.

  ‘Don’t think so. Certainly not for Mass. Think it’s used as a storage facility for clothes and food for the homeless now.’

  ‘Run by the council?’

  ‘I guess so. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Just interested,’ replied Harry.

  A SOCO exited the house, passed them on the steps carrying a large clear bag of Usma’s belongings. Harry prepared to re-enter the house; he wanted to see her bedroom for himself.

  Back inside the house, the family’s grief was palpable, thick like the air. The phone rang almost constantly.

  If you need a rumour spreading, tell the Asians, Harry thought.

  On arriving upstairs he’d found Usma’s name carved into her bedroom door in elegant calligraphy.

  The bedroom was unremarkable. Magnolia walls, a couple of framed paintings of what appeared to be teachings from the Koran. Three SOCOs were working methodically through the cramped room.

  One of them gave Harry an update. Usma’s wardrobe had contained half a dozen traditional Islamic outfits, not quite burkas but not far off. They had found no make-up in her room, no perfume and the only western clothing was an old pair of jeans. Harry wasn’t surprised, everything about the house and the family within it screamed traditional. But something didn’t quite fit.

  Usma’s nails.

  Harry tho
ught of the immaculate pattern and the three-dimensional rose.

  ‘Harry?’ said a SOCO.

  His attention was drawn to Usma’s bed. The SOCOs had lifted the mattress and found five carrier bags neatly bundled under it. Harry moved closer and nodded for them to be examined.

  ‘Don’t think our girl was quite as straightforward as we thought,’ he said.

  EIGHT

  SAIMA AND MANDY sat in silence outside the resus room, leaving Joyti with her husband. They were away from the main A&E area and Saima had allowed Aaron to sit on the floor in front of them and play with a stethoscope and a truck.

  As the voices of A&E staff echoed down the corridor, each woman waited patiently for the other to break the spell. Saima glanced at her watch, dismayed to see it had passed five thirty. She needed to get Aaron home.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mandy, finally.

  ‘For what?’ replied Saima, focusing on Aaron and not looking at her.

  ‘Saying what I said to you, last time we spoke. About Harry.’

  ‘Was it not true?’

  Mandy didn’t reply.

  ‘Mandy?’ said Saima, a little more forcefully than she intended, looking at her now.

  Mandy’s continued silence said everything she could not.

  ‘If you’re unhappy with Ronnie, divorce him,’ said Saima. ‘But don’t look at my husband as something I took from you. You never had him to start with.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Mandy, irritation clear on her face. ‘You think it’s easy to simply up and leave in that household? The shame that—’

  ‘Don’t talk to me about shame,’ Saima snapped, turning her body towards Mandy so her next statement was delivered with full force: ‘Screw the shame and screw the damn community. You want to be happy? Make it happen. Don’t hide behind some out-of-touch idea of honour or shame. The only shame which still exists is people peddling those ideas which should have died with our parents’ generation.’

  Mandy was taken aback.

  ‘You sound like Harry,’ she said, her tone soft but her eyes cold.

  Saima knew she couldn’t trust her.

  Not one bit.

  ‘Are you going to tell Harry?’ said Mandy.

  ‘About what? His father? Or the fact his sister-in-law harbours secret feelings for him?’

  Mandy looked uncomfortable. ‘I don’t,’ she said.

  Saima wasn’t convinced.

  ‘Two years ago, when we last spoke, I had lost a daughter, my marriage was unravelling and I was a mess. I … I … wasn’t thinking clearly.’

  ‘You were thinking just fine,’ said Saima icily.

  ‘Even if it were true, what’s the point of dwelling on it? It doesn’t change anything.’

  ‘Because for years you made me think you hated me because of who I am.’ Saima corrected herself: ‘Because of what I am. Do you know how that made me feel? We’d never even met.’

  ‘This isn’t the time to talk about—’

  ‘Yes it is. Look at him,’ said Saima, pointing at Aaron. ‘You all judged me. Judged him. When you know nothing about who we are.’

  ‘I sided with the family. You would have done the same thing in my shoes.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what I would have done.’

  ‘We can’t all have a fairytale love story, Saima. I’ve endured living in that house with them,’ she said, nodding towards the side room. ‘I’ve endured an arranged marriage to an ex-convict alcoholic. So, I sought comfort in Harry’s company. Can you blame me?’

  She paused for breath, then went on:

  ‘He was kind to me, he made me laugh. He gave me respite from a terrible situation. But I’m not in love with Harry. Perhaps, once upon a time, I fell in love with how free he was. But to hell with you if you think that was unnatural. I never acted on it, I never crossed any lines. And then one day you took him from me— from us all,’ Mandy quickly corrected herself. ‘And yet you can’t see why I hated you?’

  Saima sighed and looked away. She so wanted to hate this woman.

  ‘You might have suffered,’ whispered Mandy, ‘but no more than I have.’

  The women were interrupted by Aaron, who thrust a toy truck into Mandy’s lap.

  ‘Vroom vroom!’ he said excitedly.

  Mandy smiled, the first genuine smile Saima had seen on her face. ‘What colour is the vroom-vroom?’ she asked.

  Aaron thought about his answer very solemnly before replying, ‘Red?’

  ‘Good boy.’

  ‘Look,’ said Aaron, pulling at his top, his confidence buoyed. ‘Blue.’

  Mandy clapped her hands. ‘Aren’t you clever!’

  ‘Black,’ said Aaron pointing at his trousers, before grabbing the truck and running down the corridor, driving it along the seats of empty chairs.

  ‘He really is Harry’s spitting image,’ said Mandy.

  ‘Same temper as well,’ replied Saima.

  ‘They’re not the only ones.’

  ‘Is Ronnie coming?’

  Mandy nodded down the corridor where Ronnie was striding towards them in a smart grey suit, no tie. ‘He’s already here.’

  Ronnie was standing by his father’s bed, holding his hand, his back towards the women. He’d changed considerably since Saima had last seen him. Thinner, almost ill-looking. There was little colour in his face and his black hair was flecked with grey.

  Saima had left Aaron with a friend in the staff room but she longed to hold him close for comfort. She felt like an outsider in this room, alone.

  ‘What’s the prognosis?’ asked Ronnie clinically, glancing at the cardiac monitor which continued to beep rhythmically.

  With any other patient, Saima would have given a well-rehearsed noncommittal response. But she couldn’t mislead Harry’s family.

  ‘Fifty-fifty,’ she replied.

  ‘How long was he … flat?’

  ‘Three minutes.’

  Ronnie took a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Is Harry aware?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Let’s keep it that way.’

  His tone irritated Saima, his attempt at control in a situation he was far from in charge of.

  ‘You don’t get to decide that,’ she said to his back.

  Ronnie turned his face to the side.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me, Ronnie. This isn’t one of your businesses, you’re not in charge here.’

  Ronnie replaced his father’s hand on the bed but kept his back to Saima.

  ‘Harry comes down here and sees the old man like this? What good can come of that? Or, better yet, he wakes up and the first thing he sees is Harry and it kicks off and sends the old man’s heart over the edge.’

  Ronnie turned around. He glanced at Mandy, then his mother.

  ‘Look at this room. At the drama. The consequences of everything we’ve been through.’

  Ronnie touched his father’s body. ‘Five broken people and you think we need a sixth?’

  ‘Harry has a right to know,’ Saima repeated, her voice uncertain now because she knew Ronnie had a point. If Ranjit saw Harry here, he might never recover.

  ‘He does,’ said Ronnie. ‘Let the old man wake up, get out of here. Then he and Harry can do this on their terms.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t wake up?’ said Saima, glancing at Ranjit’s body.

  ‘Then the situation will be as it always has been.’

  ‘How can you be so cold?’

  Ronnie simply shrugged.

  Joyti took Saima’s hands, grasping them tight and forcing a smile. ‘Like always, it falls to the women to be strong in these times. If you keep this from Hardeep just until his father wakes up – and he will wake up – I will be in your debt. I’m asking you for this favour and I have never asked anything of you before except to be happy and keep my boy happy.’

  ‘You are asking me to lie to Harry.’

  Joyti shook her head. ‘I am asking you not to tell him. Nobody is lying.’

&n
bsp; There was silence as Saima struggled with a response.

  ‘Please,’ said Joyti, eyes welling up. She squeezed Saima’s hands tightly. ‘Please. For the sake of Ranjit’s recovery?’

  Saima nodded reluctantly. ‘Okay,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m in your debt.’

  ‘We all are,’ said Ronnie, finally looking Saima in the eye.

  NINE

  AT SEVEN O’CLOCK Harry opened his front door, reaching automatically to touch his mother’s slippers. Had his mother been there, she would have whispered a blessing, for God to protect her son. Incense was burning somewhere in the house, which meant Saima had suffered a hellish day at work.

  This is only the beginning, Harry.

  Hellish days all round.

  He shook the thought of the killer’s note from his mind, refusing to allow work to infect his home.

  Upstairs, he heard the sound of the bath running and Aaron singing ‘Wind the bobbin up’, his current favourite nursery rhyme.

  That crap drove Harry mental.

  At least the wheels on the bus made sense.

  Aaron appeared at the top of the stairs and grabbed hold of the baby gate.

  ‘Daddy! Out. Want out.’

  ‘That’s what the prisoners at Daddy’s work say,’ said Harry, climbing the stairs and stopping on the top one. ‘What crimes have you done today?’

  ‘Up,’ said Aaron, raising his hands.

  ‘Please?’

  ‘Peas.’

  ‘Better.’

  Harry scooped Aaron into his arms, held him close and pushed his face into Aaron’s, searching for that smell.

  Innocence.

  Instead of innocence, he found what appeared to be jam all over Aaron’s face.

  ‘What have you been eating?’

  ‘Jam. Toast. Want more.’

  ‘No, he bloody doesn’t,’ said Saima, coming out of the bathroom. She looked harried, still in her uniform.

  ‘Bad day?’ he said, opening the baby gate and stepping through to plant a kiss on his wife’s mouth.

  ‘There are no good days in A&E, love.’

  Aaron was busily licking his lips, trying to reach the jam he’d now found on his face.

  ‘It’s a good job you’re cute, kid; there’s not so much upstairs, is there?’ said Harry, carrying Aaron into the bathroom and setting him down on the floor. Aaron started to remove his clothes, excited at the sound of the running bath.