‘Why did you reach out to me?’ Sabah says when we are settled in, a fire crackling in front of us. ‘The card – it was you, right?’
Noor lifts her feet up onto the sofa, resting them against my hip. She looks at Sabah, sitting across from us in the armchair. ‘Do you know how I heard about Abbu’s death?’
I can guess but I don’t say anything. I remember how I felt when I found out that my grandfather had died. I couldn’t believe that I was finding out on the phone from my mother, instead of being there by his side. The idea that I had been tucked in my bed watching a film while he took his last breath was appalling and even though the doctors had warned us it was coming, the intensity of the loss took my breath away. I was furious, but more than anything I felt cheated, like I’d been robbed of the chance to say goodbye. All that when I’d seen him just the night before.
‘On the BBC,’ Noor says, her voice bitter. ‘My own father . . . and I found out through the fucking BBC. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t seen him in years . . . and I know it doesn’t make any sense but I’d always thought that I’d see them again at some point. Him and Ammi. And in one moment, that whole possibility, as unlikely as it may have been, was gone.
‘I spent weeks reading every article about Abbu, watching every YouTube clip from the funeral, again and again and again. I’d been able to stay away for fifteen years because I spoke to Abbu every week. Even though I wasn’t there, I still felt connected because I knew what was happening in their lives. I felt involved. Suddenly there was just this void. My father was gone and I knew how much pain Ammi would be in, but I couldn’t do anything about it.’ Her voice cracks. ‘I am not an orphan but I felt like one . . . I don’t know if I would still have had the courage to do anything. But then I saw that article about your documentary,’ she says, looking at Sabah. ‘And that video of Ammi . . .’ Noor swallows.
I remember seeing the teaser that had accompanied the article. Seated in her dilapidated garden, Fatima Aunty had looked distraught as she spoke about Noor. It had torn through me, her pain so visceral, so immediate even after fifteen years. I can’t bear to think what it would have done to Noor to see her mother in such obvious agony.
‘I’d always assumed she’d moved on . . . but seeing her in so much pain . . . and knowing that you were still looking for answers after all these years.’ Noor pauses, takes a breath, then starts again. ‘I couldn’t let it go. I had to reach out.’ Her eyes dart across to Sabah. ‘And frankly, after reading that article, I was worried about you.’
‘Why?’
‘That bit about foul play? I didn’t know how much you’d already figured out, but I knew that if Faraz so much as suspected you knew about his involvement . . .’ She breaks off, presses her fingertips into her forehead. ‘You don’t know what he can be like. He would’ve killed you. I couldn’t risk coming to London and I didn’t want to endanger you by ringing or emailing in case Faraz was keeping tabs on you, but I knew that if I could just get you to the gallery, you’d figure it out.
‘A few months ago, Abbu told me he was planning to retire and hand over the party leadership. Faraz had always assumed the position would be his to inherit. He’d been pushing Abbu to support his nomination for the next election and Abbu had been putting it off. When Abbu told him that he had no intention of recommending Faraz for party president or even as a candidate in the next elections, Faraz lost it. Their relationship was already splintered but I think that’s when Faraz realized that although Abbu had protected him, he had never forgiven him.’
I think about all the times Javed Uncle had pushed Faraz towards strategy, or accounting, or campaign management instead of supporting him to run as a candidate himself. I’d always thought it was because Javed Uncle needed someone he could trust behind the scenes. Now I realize it was the opposite. He never trusted Faraz.
‘He finally has everything he’s ever wanted,’ Noor says, looking from Sabah to me. ‘While Abbu was there, he managed to control Faraz but now . . . he’s not going to let anything get in his way.’ Noor says. ‘The last time I spoke to Abbu, he sounded worried. Really worried. He’d been talking about moving away, cutting Faraz off –’
I close my eyes as I take this in. I have seen Faraz’s ruthlessness first hand, but how far might it stretch? Surely he would draw the line at hurting his own father. I feel myself going off on a tangent and I remind myself that Javed Uncle had died of a heart attack. I try to ignore the little voice in my head that tells me that I don’t know that for sure. It would be easy for Faraz to influence the coroner, and just like with Noor, the funeral had happened so quickly . . . But the idea is too horrific to voice. I reach for an easier question instead. ‘Your mother never knew?’
Noor shakes her head. ‘That’s the only – the biggest regret I have,’ she says. ‘Abbu told me that Ammi begged him to let her see me before the funeral so she could say goodbye but he couldn’t let her. He made sure Salma’s body was embalmed and wrapped before Ammi and Faraz arrived. He told her that seeing me like that, with a gunshot wound piercing my face, was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do and she wouldn’t be able to handle it.’
There is a pause while Sabah and I take this in. Javed Uncle had thought of everything. Of course, Fatima Aunty wouldn’t want to see her daughter like that. No parent would.
‘No one deserves that kind of pain,’ Noor continues, ‘but Abbu and I knew from the beginning that she could never know the truth. Letting Faraz be her perfect son was the best way to keep her safe. Faraz would never jeopardize that.’
‘Unless she does something that might endanger his position,’ Sabah says.
Sabah and I glance at each other, coming to a silent understanding. It’s time to lay all the cards on the table. Noor’s face crumples as Sabah tells her about the diary entry, about how Faraz made sure Fatima Aunty never spoke to her unaccompanied. Her eyes widen as we tell her about the police commissioner, found dead in a ditch.
Noor shakes her head as realization dawns. Fear wraps itself around my throat.
If Faraz is as dangerous as we think he is, Fatima Aunty isn’t safe.
None of us are.
It’s nearly dawn by the time we get up from the sofa.
I look at our faces reflected in the huge mirror above the fireplace and I think back to the girls we once were. We had lied to each other, we had plotted against each other and we had hurt each other, but ultimately, when it came down to it, it was always us against the world.
Three girls and a whole lot of spunk.
Noor catches my eye in the mirror and I turn to face her. ‘What do you want to do?’
Her answer is instant.
‘I want to go home.’
SABAH
The walls of the studio are filled with Noor’s paintings, at least fifty canvases showing the world we grew up in, the world that once upon a time Noor and I ruled. I move from canvas to canvas, stopping every few minutes to admire a particular landscape or examine a detail that I’d missed earlier.
I end up next to Alia, both of us drawn towards the painting of the Qureshi estate. The house is dark and empty. The fountain on the drive is covered in moss. The forest that surrounds the house is overgrown; sinewy branches, plants and vines twisting together, threatening to engulf the estate. And in the corner is the same figure that I’d spotted in the painting I’d seen at the gallery. Lurking in the forest, hidden almost entirely from view, but watching. Waiting.
I’d assumed that the figure was Ankit. A stalker. An outsider trying to get in. I realize now that I had it all wrong. The figure is Noor. An insider trying to get out.
I think through the plan one more time.
If we go to the police with everything, Faraz might find a way to escape the consequences. He could flee the country, make sure the case takes years to reach the courts or, worse still, he could find a way to silence us before he’s even arrested. We have all seen it done enough times to know just how easy it would be for him.
I am still scheduled to interview Faraz for the documentary next week and I wanted to catch him out during filming, find a way to trip him up, and have him confess on air. It seemed like the easiest, and safest option. He wouldn’t dare try anything while the camera was running, especially if it was a live broadcast, I argued.
It had taken Noor mere seconds to dismiss my idea. ‘And what, you think he’ll just confess? On camera?’ she’d demanded.
‘He thinks you’re dead, Noor. If you confront him during the shoot, then yes, he might incriminate himself. What is he going to do, deny that you’re his sister? We can find a way to surprise him.’
‘Stop kidding yourself. You know that he will find a way to twist the story. The only way he’s going to admit to anything is if it’s just me.’
‘Are you insane? He already tried to kill you once.’
‘And he thinks I’m dead,’ Noor said slowly, using my own words to convince me. ‘He won’t see it coming.’
‘How exactly are you going to get in? That house is guarded like a fortress.’
‘Not anymore, it isn’t,’ Alia said, apologetically. ‘The bodyguards were all for Javed Uncle. Faraz isn’t even an MP yet . . . he’s not important enough for the state to provide security.’
I glared at her.
‘He’s always paid for private security, though,’ Alia hastened to add. ‘One armed guard, I think.’
‘Which means I have to confront him at home and it has to be in the middle of the night. That’s the only time I’ll get him alone.’
‘What is wrong with you? Both of you!’ I yelled. ‘We know what he’s capable of. It’s far too dangerous. The only way I’m agreeing to any sort of a confrontation is if we do it together, with proper backup.’
We had batted back and forth, Alia stepping in every few minutes to referee, but I’d known from the beginning that this was a battle I was going to lose. Noor is nothing if not stubborn but it’s more than that. Alia is invested, and for years, I’ve wanted nothing more than to unearth the truth, but this is Noor’s fight. She’s lived in fear for fifteen years and I can’t blame her for wanting to face her brother alone. I can see that for her this is as much about confronting her demons as it is about bringing Faraz to justice.
But that doesn’t mean I think it’s a good idea.
And it definitely doesn’t mean I’m going to let her go in unprepared.
I turn around at the sound of footsteps behind me. Noor wanted to speak to Kate before we did anything. Alia had seemed surprised that Noor had kept such a big part of her life hidden from her wife for years, but to me it makes complete sense. The events of that year had left me so scarred that I’d all but isolated myself, not even trusting anyone enough to go on a second date. I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like for Noor. She had been lied to, betrayed, let down by pretty much everyone she had ever trusted.
‘Hey,’ Kate says.
‘All set?’ I ask, looking from her to Noor, hoping that this time Noor’s got the ending she deserves.
I smile as Noor takes Kate’s hand, their fingers intertwined. ‘All set.’
SABAH
‘Are you nervous?’ Alia’s voice pierces through the silence.
I look at Noor in the rear-view mirror. I can’t keep the exasperation from bleeding into my voice. She knows how dangerous this is – she had refused to let Kate accompany us to India on that account – and yet she is adamant about doing this alone. ‘There’s still time to back out,’ I say. ‘You don’t have to do this alone.’
Noor shakes her head, but the movement is too quick for it to be convincing. I ignore the knot of anxiety twisting in my chest and focus instead on the road. We are driving in near darkness, the headlights switched off, just the milky glow from the moon illuminating the narrow road. ‘Noor?’
I flick a quick look at Noor, the twinge of hope taking me by surprise. But she shakes her head again. Her voice is quiet, but there is an edge to it. ‘I need to do this,’ she says, before turning to look out of the window. ‘On my own.’
We park in a clearing behind the house, the small black hire car hidden amidst the overgrown bushes and gnarled trees. I twist in my seat to look at Noor. I talk her through the kit I’d managed to borrow from Arch Films.
‘Remember we can only see what you see so try and keep some distance between you and Faraz,’ I say, buttoning up Noor’s jacket and checking that the camera is secure, before tapping into her phone to set up the hotspot.
‘What if he’s behind her or there isn’t enough light?’ Alia asks.
I’d asked Gillian, the producer on the covert filming team, the exact same question. ‘The night vision on this camera is pretty good, so I wouldn’t worry about lighting too much,’ I say. ‘And even if Faraz isn’t in the frame, it’ll still pick up the audio.’
‘And you’ll be able to see everything from here?’ Noor’s eyes scan my face. Her voice carries a hint of apprehension. Her fingers twist around themselves.
‘Hey, look,’ I say, pointing to the laptop on the dashboard. I fiddle with Noor’s phone and see an image of my face appear on the screen. ‘The cameras are linked to the app on your phone, which transmits directly to my laptop. We’ll be right outside watching.’
And promises be damned, if anything starts to go wrong, I will come in, I think, silently reassuring myself.
‘Great,’ Noor says. Her voice is shaky but the panic I’d sensed a moment ago is gone. She nods at Alia and me, then picks up the scarf resting on the back seat and swirls it around her face, draping it so that all I can see are her eyes.
She doesn’t hesitate as she climbs out of the car and slips back into the house that had almost swallowed her whole.
It’s odd seeing what Noor’s seeing, the camera feed showing us her route in. It’s a route that I’m so familiar with I can almost feel the grass prickle my ankles and the splinters in the wooden fence press into my back.
My breath catches as she slips into the kitchen.
The camera stills. I picture Noor taking off her hijab and tucking it into her pocket.
I steal a quick glance at Alia. Her eyes are fixed on the screen.
We watch the view change as Noor walks into the living room.
She lifts a vase off the coffee table then drops it onto the floor, the sound of glass crashing onto marble deafening.
She follows with another, a ceramic bowl that she drops at the foot of the stairs and then another vase, dropped from halfway up the curved staircase.
It takes less than five seconds for the lights to switch on. Faraz appears at the top of the stairs, phone in hand.
Noor continues walking up the stairs.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ she says, her voice steady.
I watch the phone slip out of Faraz’s grip and bounce down the stairs. He remains frozen in his spot as Noor climbs the remaining steps to the first-floor landing.
When his face finally comes into focus, it is ashen.
He has quite literally just seen a ghost.
Even with Noor standing right in front of him, Faraz doesn’t speak.
Noor’s hand reaches out to touch his chest and he jumps back. The expression on his face goes through a hundred different iterations from disbelief to shock to panic as he realizes that the scene before his eyes is real.
The woman before his eyes is real.
‘You’re dead,’ he says, taking a step back, the panic obvious as his voice gains volume. ‘You can’t be . . . You’re dead.’
Noor’s hand curls around his arm, her grip on him tight. ‘No, I’m not.’ She pauses. I can’t be sure, but I think I detect the hint of a smile in her voice when she speaks again. ‘You aren’t disappointed, are you?’
We watch quietly while Noor talks, explaining to her brother the machinations of the li
e that kept her alive and him outside prison for fifteen years. Faraz doesn’t interrupt or ask any questions, just nods along as Noor speaks. His features crumble as understanding dawns.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says when Noor stops talking. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I wish I had known, I wish Abbu had trusted me enough to –’ His voice fractures. ‘Not a day has gone by when I haven’t thought about you. I was supposed to protect you and I . . .’ He trails off.
Alia leans forward. ‘What is he doing?’ she whispers.
I hold my hand up as he starts speaking again, his deep voice filling the car.
‘Those people, they brainwashed me, Noor. I spent that entire year walking around in a daze. I had no idea what I was doing. My sister. My own sister.’
Alia and I look at each other. A few beats pass in which neither of us say anything, so shocked are we at Faraz’s presence of mind. I allow myself a breath before speaking. ‘He’s building a defence.’
Around us, the velvet blackness is lifting as dawn breaks, forcing all the hiding places of the night to disappear one by one.
I slide my eyes back to the screen. The shock and paranoia from earlier are gone. Faraz’s face is contorted, his features twisted in a show of anguish. His hand shakes as he runs it through his hair. ‘If there’s anything I can do, to make it better, to take it back,’ he continues.
His hands reach out and I picture him gripping Noor by the shoulders. I try to imagine what it would feel like, his grip gentle but bolstering. The grip of a brother who made a mistake and has regretted it ever since.
Or the grip of an experienced politician trying to talk his way out of a crisis.
The silence is deafening.
‘He’s trying to manipulate her,’ Alia mutters and I nod, hoping that Noor doesn’t get swept up in this grand apology.
The frame tightens as Faraz steps closer and there is the sense of zooming in as he pulls her into a hug. The screen blacks out, the camera pressed between them.
Can You See Me Now? Page 27