by Donna Alam
Hugging my knees to my chest, I begin to sob.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The dark-tinted window accentuates the smear of tiredness beneath my eyes, my reflection staring back at me, weary and morose.
The intercom had sounded as normal this morning, alerting me to the arrival of my cab. Only, on reaching the door of the building, Kai’s high-end Mercedes was parked in its place. For one mad moment, my heart swelled. Fleeting glimpses of his taking me in his arms, images disappearing in an instant as Rashid stepped from the car.
‘Mr Khalfan’s instructions,’ he’d said quietly, opening the rear passenger door. ‘I’ve cancelled your cab, madam. I am to be at your service until his return.’
‘How kind.’ The words sounded more like a retort, my heart aching at the mention of his name. Nonetheless, I’d slid inside.
As always, I have to clock-in at school but this morning I take exception. This is supposed to be a place of learning, not a place of keeping tabs. Arab time may be pretty relaxed, but we’re all grownups here, responsible for children as well as ourselves. It’s not even a digital clock but a huge metal monstrosity, a primitive machine branding cards and sometimes fingers. It does so today, the icing on my black day.
Huda’s head doesn’t rise as I walk by her open office door, even the usually affable Baby avoids my eye. I don’t have time to wonder why as Arwa calls me into her room.
‘Please sit down.’ She gestures me to the chair opposite hers, her massive desk in between.
My words are delivered with a half-held breath. ‘Is there something wrong?’
‘Perhaps you can answer that better than I.’
I make a gesture of bewilderment as the air-conditioning turns over, a susurrus of air moving wisps of her untucked hair. She slides both hands around her face, tucking away the stray curls with a sigh.
‘I don’t wish to pry but try to understand my position, if you will. I have a school full of impressionable young girls and parents to placate.’ My eyes find hers wary as she inhales a deep breath, straightening in her chair. ‘It has been brought to my attention that you have arrived at school several times in a car, in fact, several different cars. Now, what you do outside of school hours is none of my business, but this school and its teachers, as guardians, have a reputation to uphold.’
I almost want to laugh, my eyebrows taking up residence in my hairline. ‘I’m not allowed to travel to school in multiple cars? Most of those cars are taxis by the way . . .’ My words trail off as I realise where this is going. ‘But we’re not talking about taxis, are we?’
Her hands open for a brief moment, as though holding an invisible book. ‘Let’s be frank. Kais Al Khalfan is responsible for your transport to school. His cars have very distinctive number plates, it’s hard not to notice. The higher a person’s stature, the smaller and more memorable the plate, it seems. This . . . relationship is a terrible idea. I’m sorry, but I can’t say more than that.’
In the absence of knowing how I should react, I ask, ‘Is this an official warning?’
She shakes her head but doesn’t speak, relying on an eloquent look instead.
‘Then I have nothing to say beyond I agree. You shouldn’t pry.’
I’m rising with the desire of appearing an island of dignity and calm, until I inadvertently hook the handle of my purse around the arm of the chair. Its contents careen through the air; diary, phone, loose change and a neon-pink feather-topped pen scatter across her desk.
Arwa stands quite suddenly, laying her hand over mine as I lean across the desk, scrambling to gather my stuff. ‘It’s not just the school I’m concerned about, my dear.’
Turning over my hand, she folds the filigree nipple clamp into my fingers.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘Here’s to seeing double, living single and testing negative!’ With an impish grin, Niamh tips the liquid down the back of her throat.
‘Amen to that.’ I sip the froth from my own freshly poured glass, bubbles tickling the inside of my nose.
I’m in the mood to get absolutely hammered after the day I’ve had. Schools are always a hotbed of gossip, but it’s no fun when you’re the topic. Hushed voices as I’d passed in the corridor, funny looks and words whispered behind hands. Yep, I’m glad today is done. Plus, a bit of Dutch courage might also aid my resolve to keep ignoring Kai’s calls. I have no desire to repeat to him my earlier words to Rashid. Collect me in the morning? Fuck that.
My iPod plays an eclectic mix as Niamh lowers herself across my bed. She’d arrived earlier toting a bottle of bubbles, almost as though possessing a sixth sense. The bottle, now nearly empty, stands on the dresser as she rummages through a pile of clean laundry dumped on the bed.
‘Do you fancy a drink down at the marina?’
‘One drink, bucket-sized, please.’
‘Like that, is it? You didn’t happen to find my purple top, did you? Take it by accident when you were staying at mine?’
‘Purple brings out the veins in my eyes.’
‘Only when you’ve been drinking,’ she quips. ‘What the feck are these?’
With an expression best described as devilish and not at all confused, she holds up my satin bow-peeping bra, the slightly kinky gift from Kai. I make to grab it from her as she jumps from the bed, holding it against her chest as she begins mouthing a cheesy porn-style soundtrack while gyrating her hips.
‘You little fecking deviant! What happened to knickers with Monday through Sunday printed on the front?’ Flicking the bra onto the bed, she throws her arms around my shoulders. ‘I’m guessing a certain tall, dark and smokin’ bought you these?’ Grabbing the matching knickers from the pile, she begins to turn them in the air above my head in an attempt to make sense of the design. ‘Where the feck do you put your legs?’
‘How about I pour you a nice glass of piss off?’ Lifting the near empty bottle, I top up her glass and hand it to her.
She drops the underwear back to the bed with a snigger. ‘You’re so easy to wind up. In knickers, too, by the look of things.’ Transferring her attention to the hair straighteners on my nightstand, she touches the end tentatively. ‘Ow, shit! Do I sense trouble in paradise?’
‘Hello? Heating for a half hour? And we had a bit of a row.’ I mutter the latter, embarrassment retracting from my cheeks as I shove the offending underwear under a pile of t-shirts. ‘The woman at brunch I told you about? I met her. Seems they had a . . . thing.’
One hand on her hip, the other jabs the straighteners in my direction. ‘That’s brutal, babes. You think he’s been stringing you along? He’d better not have, or I’ll—’
‘No.’ I sigh, discerning at this moment that’s exactly what I think. So far I haven’t proved myself to be a great judge of character, but I can’t believe that he’s had the time, let alone the desire, to screw someone else. But I’ve been wrong before. ‘Not really,’ I add, ‘but I’m still pretty pissed off. She said I was vanilla. D’you suppose she meant tasteless?’ I flip my hand, making light of the comment. ‘I mean, it was definitely an insult, but I think I’m probably something more with nuts.’
Niamh’s mouth drops open before she closes it with a snap, her neck flushing red.
‘What did Kai say?’
‘I’m pretty sure he doesn’t think I’m bland. He seemed cut-up about it all, but not like he’d been caught out or anything. And to guild my day, someone at work seems to have found out. About Kai, I mean. I was hauled into the office. It felt like I’d been caught pashing behind the bike sheds.’
‘Pashing?’ she asks, momentarily confused. ‘Oh, you mean snogging. Yeah, they’re funny like that out here. Big on morality. No nooky before marriage and all that.’
‘Can we not talk about it for at least, I don’t know, say several more drinks?’
‘Sure, but just give me the word and I’ll go stamp on his head if need be.’
I smile half-heartedly and reach for my glass. ‘And in other developme
nts . . .’
‘Christ, what else?’
‘My mum called to pass on Shane’s profuse apology a few days ago.’
Releasing the section of hair in her fingers, she lays the straighteners down, coming to sit next to me on the bed. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
I knew that’d get her attention.
‘She apologized for him. Said he’s only human.’
‘Sub-human, you mean. What kind of fucker cheats on the woman he’s supposed to be marrying? Of all the . . . he got your ma to call with an apology?’
‘Yeah. And she did.’
Astounded, she slowly shakes her head. She really never understood the relationship I have with my mum. Must be nice to be loved unconditionally.
‘Well, hun, it’s a good job you’ve got good taste in friends. And shoes,’ she says, pointing down to my Vampanado’s.
Yeah, I’ve got them on again. I think it’s called shoe lust. I glance down at my bondage high heels. They do look fab with these black cigarette pants, if I do say so myself.
‘I do hope I picked a good one this time, bloke I mean.’
‘A good looking one, for sure. Speaking of that spectacular looking specimen, where did you say he’s gone?’ She turns her attention back to her hair.
‘Riyadh.’ I sigh, readjusting the straps on my vertiginous shoes.
‘You don’t have to worry about him there. Pulling in Saudi must be like a lucky dip. For blokes, anyway. What do you think?’ She stands, smoothing the hem of her dress against her long thighs.
‘You mean ‘cos the women all cover?’
‘That’s just the start of it. Well?’
‘What?’
‘Focus, hun.’ She indicates her dress with a hand. ‘Does this say sophisticated and flirty or for fifty Euro’s y’can come in my bum?’
I’m just gobsmacked. Or maybe her gob just needs a smack.
‘Grab seats at the bar?’ Niamh suggests as we enter the darkened area and sitting would be fantastic. These shoes weren’t really made for walking, and the further away I am from the dance floor, the better as far as I’m concerned. Dancing is bad enough, but dancing in these shoes? Not if I can help it.
‘Yeah, I’m easy.’
‘That’s how you bag a rich man, is it?’ she guffaws, her hand on my shoulder. ‘Spread your love around!
‘Thanks.’
‘Sorry, babes.’ Her mouth becomes a small moue. Mine, meanwhile, probably looks more like a cat’s bum. ‘You know I’m only having a laugh. That and I’m jealous of all the action you’ve been getting, of course.’
Her words settle in my stomach like a cold stone. ‘You think maybe that’s all this is for him?’ I catch the bartender’s eye, masking my concern by ordering two beers. ‘A casual hook-up?’
‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ she says reaching for her bottle. ‘Right now, I’d settle for uncomplicated, if there is such a thing.’
‘We were talking about me, not you.’
‘I can’t catch a feckin’ break. It’s like the world’s conspiring against me or something!’ One hand on the neck of her bottle, the other weaves her frustration in the air. ‘First Rob’s all over me, but now . . . I don’t understand.’ Shoulders sinking, she swallows a mouthful of her beer. ‘Sorry. You. If you’re asking are his motives that transparent, you’re asking the wrong person. I can tell you what I see, if it’ll help.’
‘Can’t hurt,’ I mumble.
‘He seems a bit besotted. And then there’s all the time he spends with you. He’s obviously dead keen.’ Then she slides me a sly smile. ‘Could be he’s just imagining you in those knickers, mind.’
The music seems to have increased around us, so slowly it’s barely noticeable, until you try to have a conversation. Relaxed and enjoying our girls’ night, we move away from the bar onto a quieter table, each with a cocktail in hand.
‘That guy over there’s giving you the eye.’ Niamh giggles. ‘Don’t turn ‘round!’
‘What do you expect?’ I say, resist the urge to turn further. ‘You say look. I ask where.’
‘I thought you were all loved-up?’
‘I am!’
‘ ‘Cos you’ve only got eyes for Kai.’ With a quick vomit inducing finger mime, she stares blatantly over my shoulder. ‘He’s not bad looking. Shame his pal has a head like a half chewed toffee.’
‘He’s got what?’
‘He’s fugly,’ she replies with an expressive glance. And by that, I mean crossing her eyes.
‘You haven’t got your glasses on. From where you’re sat, they could both be primordial, lacking opposable thumbs.’ I hold both of mine up with a manic grin.
‘I dated a guy like that once. From Cork. They’re a bit like that from down there. And I’ve got my lenses in, ‘cos boys don’t make passes—’
‘At girls who wear glasses,’ we finish together.
‘That’s crap, though. They buzz ‘round you like flies on—’
‘Shit?’ she asks, sweetly.
‘I was going to say sugar, but it is what it is. See, what I’d like to know is, if you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, why doesn’t your gob keep them away?’
‘Some men like to be humiliated.’ She snorts before her eyes become wide, like she’s farted in the middle of mass or something. That can’t be right, Niamh doesn’t blush. It must be the lights.
‘Hey, if I’m playing the faithful seeing eye dog tonight ‘cos you’re too vain to put on your specs, I should tell you there’s a woman over there waving at you.’ I gesture behind her with my glass.
One look over her shoulder and Niamh is pushing back her chair, exclaiming, ‘My god, Liv!’
Half watching the pair’s effusive greeting, I take a small sip of my martini before scooping out the suicidal olive bobbing in the glass. Death by martini. Not a bad way to go.
I start as hands cover my eyes.
‘Guess who.’
The accented voice is distinctive, familiar almost. Before a split second passes, I know it isn’t Kai. The hands move as Kai’s cousin slides himself into Niamh’s vacated chair.
‘Essam?’
He certainly looks like Kai’s pretend pious cousin, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. A mufti in mufti. I know, lame.
‘You remembered.’
He smiles with satisfaction, grabbing a bottle of beer from a waitress’ passing tray. I expect her to bat his hand away but instead, she smiles and gives him the eye as she sashays away. His gaze and salacious smile eventually draw back. Looks like the wolf in sheep’s clothing is au naturel tonight.
‘I . . . I wouldn’t have expected to see you here.’ My voice holds a false brightness, the understatement hiding in the words.
He hooks an elbow around the chair back, eyes flicking over me, obviously so. I straighten in my seat, aware again of how alike, and yet poles apart, he and Kai are. Similar features, the same luxurious hair, but where Kai has a slight air of rake about him, in Essam I can only sense sleaze.
His hand grasps my wrist. ‘Shu al moshkil? What’s wrong?’
‘No, nothing,’ I answer too quickly, retracting the offended appendage ostensibly to push hair behind my ears. ‘So, what brings you out? I mean, a bar is the last place I’d expect to see you.’
Foot. Mouth. Cultural sensitivity and I are passing acquaintances sometimes.
‘We are all here for the same thing, I think.’
I look down at my glass before scanning the space over his shoulder, looking anywhere but at him, as warning bells the size of a cathedral’s begin to ring. ‘Yeah, what’s that?’ I mumble distractedly.
‘A drink, a chance to relax. To make new friends . . . To fuck.’
Words fire from my mouth, incredulous. ‘You’ve got a wife!’
‘They do not naturally go together, habibti.’
‘Don’t call me that.’ The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and rise and I can’t help the look of derision, of distaste, that crosses my face. �
��I guess she doesn’t know you’re here, then.’
‘It is not her concern.’
‘Why? Is she at some other bar, whoring it around the same as you?’
His face hardens, dark eyes burning like coals as a flare of light from the dance floor flashes across his face. The expression is fleeting, anger melting into an insipid smile. ‘You would no more find an Emirati wife in a meat market like this than you would find her washing her own floors.’ Smiling at his own joke, he relaxes back into the chair, expansive hands now behind his head. My distaste deepens. If this is a meat market, I’m under no illusion what he thinks this makes me. ‘Does Kai know you’re here, habibti?’
I ignore the endearment this time, using my teacher’s voice instead. ‘Are you suggesting I need permission?’
‘You would know better than me. Controlling, isn’t he? It comes with the territory, of course. You have met Faris, my esteemed uncle?’
‘Are you, like, making small talk, or do you actually have something to say?’
‘Me? No, wallah—I swear!’ He holds out his hands. ‘Only . . .’ He smiles wolfishly, his pale imitation of Kai. ‘I think you are perhaps not aware of his father’s favourite pastime. Controlling his son? For instance, this Riyadh . . . what would you call it? A merger? A union?’
Not him as well, what’s with all this Riyadh talk? I didn’t even know there was such a place until last week.
‘Yeah, I know he’s there. What of it?’
He laughs. It’s almost as though he forces the sound from his chest. ‘I think you do not truly know.’ I don’t like his tone. Scratch that, I don’t like him. Or his smirking face. ‘Personally, I’d call it a merger, not that it is my place.’ He taps the side of his nose. ‘Ask him. I dare you.’
‘I don’t play childish games and what he’s doing in Riyadh is his business.’
‘Very trusting, habib—’ Halting the endearment mid flow, he shrugs with acquiesce, watching me through hooded eyes. ‘Secrets. We all have skeletons lurking in our closets. I know for certain Kais’ rattle chains.’
