by J.A. Skinner
Saturday 17thth May
It was a long walk to Khalid’s house, from one side of the village to the other. Not long enough to warrant getting the bus, but long enough to build up a bit of nerves about meeting someone new who could be very different from me. Different culture, different lifestyle, different religion, and of course the biggest difference, they live in a big house at the very posh side of Carfin. The walk along the main street is pleasant and familiar. I have lived in this village all my life and changes happen slowly. The shops I remember in my childhood are basically the same. Some have different owners or a second generation of the same family carrying on the business. Carfin is a pleasant place with no real bad housing stock and some delightful gardens. The Grotto of course is the village show-piece, complete with its own lake and shrines to various saints. There is a shop at the entrance where you can buy guides and holy pictures and leaflets about the history. You can also buy medals, rosaries, and other Catholic brick-a-brack. This has been copied from the shrine in France where there are rosary supermarkets, so I’m told. One thing the Catholic Church has never had a problem with is making money.
Across from the Grotto there is the reliquary. This is another unique Carfin institution. It houses hundreds and hundreds of bits of Saints bones and clothes and all sorts of other seemingly precious items. There is a bit of an ankle bone of Saint Theresa, donated by her sister. It doesn’t bear thinking about that her sister gave parts of Theresa’s body away to parishes all over Europe. There is a cheek bone of Saint Ursula, a martyr in the fifth century, a carving of Saint Vincent in his last agony of being roasted alive and of course a piece of the true cross. Calvin made note that if all the bits of the true cross were to be gathered together it would take a large ocean going ship to contain all the timber. My favourite relic is a bone or some other bit of Saint Barbara (a virgin, aren’t they all), and a martyr who was cruelly tortured for her faith then her own father cut off her head. Angels appeared and carried off her soul to heaven and her father was struck dead by a lighting bolt as he walked home. A very satisfying ending to the story. Saint Barbara is the patron of miners, although I don’t understand the connection, she is very highly thought of in Carfin.
Further along the main street there is the chip shop, originally Italian owned, which does very good business. They cater for all tastes in carry out food and as long as it’s fried, and from personal experiences it is all delicious. They also sell sweets, chocolate, and sugary soft drinks to cater for the Scottish sweet tooth and the tendency to morbid obesity. I take the road that passes the dog track and eventually leads to New Stevenson. Charlie and I used to have an occasional night out at the dogs if we had any spare money, but it was not the opportunity to gamble that attracted me. I loved the wealth of local characters, people who knew everything about the dogs and would discuss them endlessly. Gamblers would try to bet with the bookies in the last seconds before a race to get the best odds and often caused pandemonium, money flying all over the place. I loved the Bookies with their touts and minders, wearing camel hair coats and flat caps, shouting the odds. There is a culture of gambling in Lanarkshire, people will bet on horses or boxing matches or football scores, but a night at a flapping dog track with a few pound in your pocket is an extremely exciting experience.
Khalid’s Mother must have been watching for me. She opened the door, as I was half way up the garden path. I only got a quick glimpse of an emerald lawn with no weeds, and tulips standing to attention like a rainbow of soldiers round the border.
‘Hello, my name’s Amergita, but please call me Amy, and come right in,’ she said.
I managed a smile and said,
‘I’m Margaret but call me Mags, I’m very pleased to meet you,’ but truthfully I was a little intimidated by her beautiful clothes, ultra slim figure, no sign yet of the baby in the making, and waist length shiny black hair. She led me through the house to the kitchen which looked out onto the back garden. They didn’t have a tennis court in the hall, but not because there wasn’t enough room.
The kitchen was a big square room, with a big square table in the middle of the floor. At each end of the table there was a small child, and the table was covered in paper, paints, pencils, and scissors and generally very messy. The children were totally absorbed in creating art.
‘This is Chloe and Zara,’ said Amy, ‘Khalid’s little sisters.’
I felt myself relax at once, I smiled, said hello to the children and pulled out a chair and sat down. This was something I could cope with, normal, familiar, children and a bit of untidy mess.
Chloe and Zara were obviously twins, about two years old, a little younger than Rosie. They were beautiful girls, like little exotic flowers within long black wavy hair, very dark eyes and dimply grins. I couldn’t believe Amy was old enough to have three children, and be expecting a fourth, she looked like a teenage version of her daughters, all dressed up in a soft sky blue sari, pretending to be an adult.
Chloe, on the left side of the table, looked at me intently and whispered,
‘If we behave while you’re here, we get biscuits when you go.’
Amy and I laughed at this betrayal, although she looked a bit pink and embarrassed.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I firmly believe in bribery as a child management tool. I use it all the time, in fact I think they should have the biscuits now as they’re behaving beautifully.’
This certainly broke the ice, Amy made a pot of tea and we all settled down with the biscuits in front of us. Amy was desperate to discuss the party. She was very excited as it would be the first big family party she had ever hosted. It was to welcome Amy’s young sister, Rena to Scotland. She was due to arrive next Monday from Pakistan, hopefully to settle in Carfin close to Amy, and most importantly, to meet her husband to be and get married. Their Father was travelling with her, and staying for a few weeks.
Obviously Amy was older than the sixteen years she looked, as she explained that she had come to Scotland eight years ago to meet her husband and settle here. She explained that she had four brothers already living here, all married with children. Rena was the youngest of the family and was looking forward to meeting all her nieces and nephews and sisters-in-law. She hadn’t met Amy’s husband or the twins. Amy had gone home for a holiday when Khalid was four and ever since then Rena and her father had been planning this move and making arrangements for the wedding. Amy looked a bit solemn and said,
‘The party is going to be for Rena’s engagement, if everything works out. You probably don’t agree with arranged marriages, but young Pakistani girls have a lot of choices now, they are never forced into anything.’
‘Listen,’ I said, ‘if my father had chosen a man for me he would’ve made a much better job of it than I did.’
I truly believe this. Arrangements can’t always be great, but if a member of your family, Father, Brother or Uncle knows you well and loves you, he will obviously do his best to get a good match for you. If your family has your best interest at heart and the benefit of some life experience, there must be a good chance of success. Romance is a very shaky foundation to build a lifetime relationship on, or indeed parenthood. I told Amy that I also think my father would have chosen a man with some money which would have been very nice.
Amy brightened up again at this,
‘If you don’t have a partner at the moment, I can ask Malik to look out for someone for you,’ she said with a grin.
‘No thanks, I’ve done all that once before.’
We laughed, and I couldn’t help thinking that she seemed to be thriving in her arranged marriage.
I learned that Amy’s husband, Malik is an obstetrician at Bellshill hospital, his brother Akeem is a lawyer and the proposed husband for her little sister is their cousin Ali who is a trainee doctor at present working in casualty at Monklands. He is due to qualify this summer.
‘How come you got all the men with good jobs and no baggage?’ I ask.
Amy looked at me from under h
er long dark eyelashes and coyly says,
‘A rich father and a whopping dowry help a lot.’
The girls join in the laughter this time although they have no idea what it’s all about.
‘Khalid is desperate to have John at this party, it’s next Friday, a week today. He always says he feels he is crowded out with women, his aunts, his sisters, cousins and my friends.’
‘I’m happy for John to come, but you must tell me if he has to bring a present or do anything special.’
Amy looked solemn again, she looked down at the table and pushed her hair behind her ears,
‘My husband’s family and mine are not strictly Muslim so they do drink alcohol; I hope you’re tolerant with that. The children will be well looked after by me and Rena, we will be sober even if the men get drunk.’
‘No problem,’ I say, ‘we’re in Scotland after all.’
They say people drink a lot in Scotland, for some this is a gross understatement, some drink colossal amounts. I think these lapsed Muslims will be fairly amateur by comparison to Carfin standards.
John will certainly be ecstatic to know the mothers came to an amicable agreement.
Chapter 13
Monday 19th May