by Fin C Gray
Rain battered Daniel’s bedroom window on Saturday morning, waking him before he was ready. This time, he couldn’t blame the light because his new curtains, pulled tightly shut, were thick and black. There were no boxes anywhere on the floor. The bong he’d been craving so hard on his birthday now stood on the table next to his bed and had been put to good use for much of the previous night. He rubbed his eyes and checked in the drawer next to him to see if there was any weed left. Sighing at the empty pouch, he got up and pulled on his dressing gown.
‘The Scientist’ chimed from his pocket and he pulled out his phone. Tom’s name shimmered on the screen. Daniel rejected the call and stuffed the phone back into his dressing gown pocket, making a mental note to change his father’s ringtone to something different, maybe the dreaded ‘Hallelujah’. That would be just right for the old cunt. If any tune would put him off answering, it’d be that one. He looked around the living area, now clear of all boxes, and smiled at the new feeling of space before him. The sparse furnishings – a scruffy futon, two kitchen chairs and the threadbare red rug that had been in his old bedroom at his father’s house – made the room seem more expansive. Daniel carried a small table from the spare room and placed it in front of the futon. The picture of his mother on the mantelpiece caught his eye. He picked it up, went to his room and lay down with it. Holding it to his chest, he fell back to sleep.
Starbucks was full of people when Daniel got there at 12:48 p.m. He ordered an espresso and stood by the counter, scanning the crowd around him. None of the other customers appeared to be alone, so he sat down on a chair that had just been vacated, facing the doorway. Couples with kids pushed through the entry way, then a group of girls, followed by a traffic warden. Daniel glanced at the clock. Waqar was five minutes late and still no sign of him. Keeping a watch on the front door, he went back to the counter and ordered another coffee.
As he sipped the last drops from his second cup, Daniel looked at his phone – no missed calls – and finally got up, ready to leave. Just then, the door opened, and a dark-skinned man stood there looking around anxiously. He was tall and slim, with a mound of bushy black hair tangled on his head. His eyes were large and searching, scanning the room. Daniel smiled and got up. He felt his heart quicken as he approached the man. As their eyes met, Daniel found it hard to form any words. This had to be him, and he was way better than he had imagined. The man walked towards him, eyes quizzical.
‘Vacker?’ said Daniel.
A broad smile spread on the man’s face, revealing crooked white teeth a little too large for his mouth.
‘Doneel? Praise be! You waited. I apologise a hundred times. My boss—’
‘Well, you’re here now,’ mumbled Daniel, taking his hand and noticing how long his fingers were and how clammy his grip was. He took a deep breath and tried to get the thoughts straight in his head.
‘My name is WaqAr, Doneel,’ said Waqar. ‘W-A-Q-A-R’
A family nearby got up and made to leave. Daniel gestured to Waqar to follow him over there.
‘And my name is Daniel pronounced Danyel OK? Not Doneel. What can I get you to drink?’ said Daniel, throwing his jacket on one of the chairs. He felt his face flush and looked away, searching for his wallet, hoping Waqar wouldn’t see.
‘Ahh, sorry Daniel… No, please, I will…’
‘Sit,’ said Daniel. ‘What’ll it be?’ He was already walking to the counter. The idea of having this man stay with him was almost thrilling. He’d have someone to talk to every day, someone to eat with, someone to laugh with. Maybe even… His flat would feel less empty. Waqar could help with the bills. He looked back.
‘Thank you. Water, please. From tap.’
Daniel returned with their drinks and handed the water to Waqar, who smiled, looking nervously at him. They sat in silence for a moment, each taking stock of the other. Waqar pulled a piece of paper from inside his canvas bag and smoothed it on the table, pushing it towards Daniel.
‘Here is recent bank statement,’ he said. ‘This gives you confidence to rent me the room, yes?’
Daniel glanced at the paper. He pushed it back to him. ‘It’s not just a question of money, Waqar,’ he began, hardly knowing why he was saying it. ‘If we decide to share my flat, I need to know that we are, well… compatible.’
He gulped, thinking what an idiot he was being. Offer him the room. Don’t frighten him off.
‘This word… com…? I do not know this word.’
‘I mean that we need to get along, be friends. You see?’
‘I want us to be great friends. I am so friendly. We get on like burning house, yes?’
Daniel laughed and felt glad that Waqar seemed oblivious to his awkwardness.
‘I know my English is not yet perfect,’ said Waqar. ‘This I can improve. You can help me. We can talk all the time. I love to talk. I love to read too. I have lots of English language books.’
‘Where are you from, Waqar?’
‘Palmyra, but my parents from Pakistan. Me, my sister, my parents, travel here as refugee. Only I made it here.’
‘Where are you parents and sister now?’
‘Allah has them.’
Daniel looked into Waqar’s eyes. There was sadness there now, his smile gone, and were there even tears? He took hold of both his hands and said, ‘I’m sorry.’ These brown eyes gave him a strong sense of his mother’s gaze, of her presence almost.
Waqar pulled his hands away, but stood up and came to Daniel’s side of the table. He put his arms around him and kissed him on both cheeks. Daniel’s face started to burn again. He glanced nervously at the other people around him, but no one seemed to be paying any attention.
‘You see? We are friends,’ Waqar said.
‘Yes,’ said Daniel, blood throbbing in his cheeks. ‘Let’s go. I’ll show you the flat. It’s nothing special.’
Daniel swung back on his chair when he heard the front door click and watched Waqar pull off his parka. He glanced out the window; it was already dark and barely four p.m. He smiled as his friend folded his scarf into a neat rectangle, laying it on the hall table and placing his gloves and keys on top. Since spring, Waqar had a coming home ritual that changed with the seasons – light scarf and hat at first, sunglasses and cap in summer, and now this autumn/winter routine. Daniel loved watching these rituals change, and this was his favourite.
‘Hello, Waqar. Good day?’
‘Yes, my friend. Thank you. I bring for you some buns and bread that did not sell today.’ Waqar held out a plastic carrier bag. Daniel took it and placed it in the kitchen.
‘You look tired,’ said Daniel.
‘Four o’clock is early to start, yes? I get up when it is dark, I finish work, and it is dark. I forget what daylight is.’ Waqar laughed as he spoke. ‘Come sit with me on the sofa. I learn more English with you. What will you teach me today?’
Waqar draped his body on the futon with a careless grace. Daniel joined him, pushing his friend’s legs a little, so he could sit down without disturbing him too much. Waqar brought his legs onto Daniel’s and wiggled his toes against his thigh.
‘Your English is nearly as good as mine. You practise all the time. You’re even correcting my grammar sometimes. What can I teach you any more?’
Waqar laughed. ‘But then I go to the mosque, and it all goes again. Everyone there wants to speak their own language.’
Daniel leant over and took his friend’s hand, then cupped it in both of his, rubbing.
‘Those gloves don’t do much good, do they? Your hands are still like ice.’
‘It is freezing today. Wind feels like spikes. This is my first winter here. Very cold.’
‘OK, I have an idea… go and get changed. I will fill a hot bath for you and get you warmed up.’ Daniel looked for some reaction from his friend, but Waqar’s face remained impassive. ‘What’s more, I’m cooking tonight, for a change. It’s not fair that you cook for us all the time. I bought some chicken falafel for us, and I�
�ve made rice with saffron and onions. Oh, and I have some fresh dates for after.’
‘Am I hearing right?’ Waqar was cupping his ears and looking up to the ceiling for answers, smiling. This was something Daniel had often seen his mother do. Her face filled his brain. Was his mother somehow channelling herself through this lovely man? Had she brought Waqar to him?
Daniel pushed him, playfully. ‘OK, if you’re going to be like that—’
‘No, no, no. I get ready now.’ He jumped up from the futon and headed towards his room. ‘You are so kind, my friend. Thank you.’
Daniel smiled and went to run a bath, pouring Radox under the flowing water. An aroma of spicy menthol began to permeate the steam, filling the room. Pulling his lighter from his pocket, he lit candles that he’d placed around the bath. He agitated the water with his hand, stirring up bubbles and checking the temperature. Turning off the light and the taps, he went to Waqar’s door and knocked.
‘All ready,’ he said. ‘Enjoy. Food will be on the table in an hour or so, take your time.’
Waqar came into the hallway, a brightly coloured beach towel wrapped around his waist. Daniel looked at it and laughed. ‘Way too cold for the beach today.’
‘I know,’ said Waqar, laughing, poking Daniel’s stomach as he walked to the bathroom. ‘This is all I had in my room, and you don’t want me walking around in, how you say it? My birthday clothes.’
They both laughed as Waqar closed the door behind him.
Daniel went to the kitchen and turned on the oven, taking the falafel out of the fridge to reach room temperature. Then he filled up a jug of water and took it to his bedroom. He poured the water into his bong and lit the weed he had bought earlier that day. After a few minutes, he inhaled deeply from the bong and felt his inhibitions float away from him. When his deep drags finally dissipated the smoke in the pipe, he opened his bedroom window; Waqar wouldn’t approve of him smoking weed. He returned, smiling, to the kitchen.
When the falafel was in the oven, he took off his shirt and pushed his iPod into the sound dock on the kitchen island. He scrolled down the screen and found the playlist he wanted, one he’d created after hearing the traditional Syrian music that Waqar often liked to play in his room. The music started to fill the flat, and he turned the volume up a little, kicking off his shoes. He stood there for a few minutes, rubbing his finger on his lip, staring into the distance, then he pulled off his jeans. Dressed only in underwear, he tapped on the bathroom door and gently pushed it open.
Waqar lay in the bath, bubbles up to his chest, his head back against the edge of the tiled surround, eyes closed. His thick black hair was wet and clinging to his face and head, glistening in the candlelight. Daniel gazed longingly at the curls of dark hair at the top of his chest rising just below his neck, moving softly in the water with each breath. He knelt down and whispered into Waqar’s ear, ‘You like this music, don’t you?’ As he did so, he placed his hand on Waqar’s chest, feeling for his nipple, enjoying the coarse wet hair against his palm. The wave of joy that was gently washing over him disappeared abruptly as he felt Waqar’s body tense and sit upright, his sleepy eyes now wide.
‘Dani! What are you doing?’
‘Nothing, Waqar. I just wanted to keep you company. Maybe rub your back… I could join you in there…’
‘No! No, Dani! I don’t want this.’
Daniel stood up and took a sudden step back. Waqar’s astonished expression was all he could see; it was all he could focus on. It seemed amplified, frozen in the moment. A wave of nausea washed over him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, not waiting for any response. He rushed out, closing the door behind him.
When Waqar emerged from the bathroom, he had Daniel’s dressing gown wrapped tightly around himself. Daniel sat on the futon, fully clothed, his head bowed.
‘The food smells good,’ said Waqar. ‘I’m hungry.’
Daniel said nothing. He felt chastised, disapproved of. He couldn’t look at this man who’d made him feel so like his real self. He hated that he had offended him. Felt as if he’d lost something of supreme importance. Since his mother, he’d had nobody who made him feel safe, warm and loved.
‘Dani, my friend, let us have no bad feeling between us, please. Let us eat. Then let us talk. We must talk, and you must understand me. OK?’
Daniel looked up at him and smiled weakly, a sense of hope returning. ‘Sure,’ he said.
They ate their meal, saying little. A question now and again about each other’s day, about how early the darkness descended, about the rat that Waqar had seen at the bakery where he worked. Each subject would come with its own difficult silence at the end. Daniel typically would have explained any idioms that his friend was unfamiliar with, and compliment him when he used words and phrases that were used well, but not this evening. He found it hard to look Waqar in the eye.
Daniel took the dirty dishes to the kitchen and put them in the sink. He turned on the tap and concentrated on the stream of water splashing against the plates. His heart quickened when he felt Waqar’s hand squeeze his shoulder from behind. He turned to face him, looked into his wide clear eyes. Their deep brown lashes reminded him of his mother’s. Waqar’s eyes had the same love and trust exuding from them. A soft smile widened across Waqar’s mouth, revealing a glint of white teeth.
‘Come, my brother. Sit with me. I have much to tell you. Turn off the music, please,’ said Waqar, gesturing to the iPod.
Daniel got up and pulled it from the dock. He returned to the futon, sitting as far from his friend as the small space would allow.
‘Come closer, Dani,’ Waqar pulled at Daniel’s arm. ‘Nothing is changed between us. Know this please: I love you.’
Daniel heaved a great sigh, and he could feel the tightness across his chest loosen. He shuffled closer to Waqar and took a deep breath as he felt his friend’s arm tentatively work its way around his shoulders. Daniel took hold of Waqar’s free hand and squeezed it.
‘My life was hard, Dani. My path was not straight, but I have known my true way for a long time. Now I know my destiny. I think we are the same. You haven’t found the way that is yours yet. We are on the same journey, my brother, you just need to know it and understand it. I feel sure we are meant to lead each other towards a true path.’
Daniel felt Waqar pull him closer. He could feel the hot breath of his friend’s words caress his cheek. He craved this closeness. He craved the sound of his soft, reassuring voice. The only thing in the room was Waqar. Everything else had melted away. This is where he wanted to be. Waqar placed Daniel’s hand underneath the dressing gown, against his chest.
‘Feel my heart, brother.’
Daniel felt the warmth of his skin, the rough, moist hair on his palm, the soft motion of him breathing. The euphoria he had felt earlier was slowly returning, but it felt different, deeper, more visceral.
Waqar spoke quietly. ‘When I was a boy, I was lost. I did not know Allah. He had not shown Himself to me and I know now this was a test. In my country, men who sleep with men are no better than dogs. This is what my father told me when he found me with my friend, Mahdi; we were fifteen or so, only boys. He beat me.’
Waqar stood up and opened the dressing gown, revealing his back to Daniel. Deep-red scars, white at the edges, corrugated the skin on his back. Daniel winced when Waqar dropped the dressing gown to the floor, and he saw the same welts on his buttocks and legs. Waqar pulled the gown back on and sat close to Daniel once more.
‘He almost killed Mahdi. I think he wanted to kill me too, but my mother stopped him. My father took me to the imam, and I stayed many months with him, going to the mosque six times a day. I missed my family, at first. I missed Mahdi. I missed the closeness I had shared with him. I missed his body. My flesh was weak, Dani, but the imam showed me my mind was strong. He guided me to the light. He taught me the law of Sharia so that I took it inside me. Everything my parents tried to teach me began to make sense. Allah came to me as I beca
me a man. Allah protects the children who are lost.’
Waqar paused. He took Daniel’s hands.
‘Wait here,’ he said.
Waqar went to his room and returned with a book. He held it out.
‘This is the Qur’an. I give it to you. This will show you your path, Dani, just as it showed my path to me. Together, we will find yours.’
Chapter Sixteen
Then
‘Your post, Mr McIntyre.’ Moira placed a pile of mail, neatly bound with a red rubber band, on his desk. ‘Shall I bring your coffee now?’
‘No thanks, Moira.’ Tom stared at his screen, hardly registering what was on there. As his secretary started heading towards the door, he became aware of a faint smell of Opium wafting back from her. Alison’s scent. A flood of memories came on the back of it, and he stood up, trying to inhale its last traces. Her hand was on the handle.
‘Just a second, Moira.’
Tom walked around his desk and beckoned towards the sofa by the window. ‘Take a seat, will you?’ he said.
Moira looked at him, a perplexed expression on her face. She moved tentatively back into the room.
‘Have I done something wrong?’ She sat down on the edge of one of the cushions, looking tense and uncomfortable.
Tom sat opposite her in one of the armchairs. He smiled at her, trying to look reassuring.
‘No, it’s nothing like that,’ he said. ‘The thing is… well, I’m going to be moving to London. Permanently. Soon. Early May, in fact.’
‘What? Are you closing the office here? Am I losing my job?’ Moira looked as if she might start crying.
‘No. No, your job here is safe. I have a young man, Martin Hope. He’ll be starting here the week after next. He’ll manage things until I decide what I want to do in the long term. Whatever happens, Moira, you’ll be looked after. I promise you that.’
The phone in the reception area began to ring. Moira got up, smiling weakly. ‘I’d better—’
