by Donna Alam
Sleep disorientation aside, I’m pretty sure I haven’t been transported into the past. That’s not my mum’s voice and those definitely aren’t her teeth pressing delicately against the lobe of my ear.
‘Five more minutes, please.’ I groan through a badly hidden smile, stretching out along the bed.
‘You can stay here all day, habibti, I’m just trying to do the responsible thing.’
‘Then why is your hand between my legs?’ Eyes scrunched closed in defiance, I pull the sheet further up my body, grasping it between my teeth. Hello, Miss Morning-Breath.
‘Because I can never resist,’ he purrs. ‘Better than an alarm clock, no?’
‘Oh, is that what this is?’ I giggle, reaching out with my hand.
‘Don’t they teach anatomy in Catholic schools?’ he asks huskily, adding a further, ‘Ouch!’ as his body jolts in response to my less than tender fingers. ‘Be gentle, that’s a very alarmed cock you have there.’
Releasing him with another giggle, I clamp my legs together over his hand. ‘How long before we need to leave?’
‘We have a little while,’ he says, pushing the mass of hair away from my eyes. ‘I wanted to talk to you first.’
Turning my head, I open one apprehensive lid. ‘What about?’
‘Us.’
‘Then you’d definitely better move your hand.’
With a reluctant smile, his hand slides to my hip. One hand propped under his head, he lies on his side, facing me.
‘What’s up?’
‘I thought we should discuss Essam.’
I shiver without meaning to appear theatrical. ‘Talking about him at the best of times makes my skin crawl. Naked in your bed, talking about Essam doesn’t do it for me at all.’
But I get it; he wants to avoid guilt by association. His cousin is a man with a wife and child and a girlfriend on the side. Oh, and he has his family fooled into thinking he’s the pious type. The scumbag.
‘I know, but the girl he has the apartment for,’—he pulls himself up against the pillows—‘do you know her? Does she have a place of her own? A job?’
I take a moment to answer, my fingers worrying the edges of the sheet. The last time this was the topic of conversation, it ended with me ordering him out of my bed.
‘As far as I can tell, she gave up her job to move in with him, so no. And she doesn’t know he’s married, obviously.’
‘I can exert enough pressure for him to get his house in order, but I doubt he’ll give a thought to the girl.’
‘Sarah,’ I say, bringing his attention back from his frowning thoughts. ‘She has a name, and what does that mean?’ I don’t know her, but she could’ve easily been me: an exotic and new country, a handsome man sweeping you off your feet. Maybe I’m just lucky in my choice of man.
‘It means I recognise that what he’s doing is wrong, on so many levels. I can make him stop.’
‘What can you do? Lock the dirt-bag up?’
‘He has too much to jeopardize, both work and family, especially now that he’s been found out. I can’t imagine he’d risk losing face or his standing in the family. And let’s face it, he’s not very invested.’
‘He’s got her a flat but he’s not hot on the girl?’ I ask, incredulous.
Kai’s response is blunt in the extreme. ‘You know he’s still fucking around. Remember, he asked me about Sofia.’ He speaks her name softly. To soften the blow?
‘Asked you . . . Oh. The conversation in the gallery, he was asking about her availability, wasn’t he?’ Eww. Sloppy seconds. ‘Maybe he should’ve asked her husband, not you.’ Does she have a magic muff or something? Do tricks? Double jointed? Give awesome head?
His reply is an awkward gesture. It pretty much says it all, without words. ‘What she does is of no interest to me. But, Kate, this Sarah. I’d like to be sure she’s going to be okay, logistically at least.’
‘You’d do all this for someone you don’t know?’
‘I’d like to make it right.’
‘You aren’t responsible for . . .’ The realisation dawns as his eyes slide from mine. ‘Oh, Kai, you don’t have to do this for me. I don’t want you to think I have you both in some kind of category.’ Other than for that one, brief argument. Call me sensitive about marriage and commitment, all right?
‘I never imagined you could be so cold. It was a wake-up call. I deserved it, I suppose.’ He looks so hurt.
‘No, you definitely didn’t,’ I say, reaching out. ‘Look, I was angry, scared, and drawing parallels a mile apart. Your words were a bit careless, that’s all. I have a thing about . . . fidelity.’ My words draw off in a mumble, my turn to look away.
‘You never have to be frightened with me,’ he replies softly, his fingers entwining between mine.
But the sudden weight of the conversation is cloying. I thought Shane was faithful, and look where that got me. And I may not have to fear in the same sense with Kai, but where our relationship will end? That’s something else. I sit up, grabbing the sheet and a different thread of conversation. ‘Look, Niamh knows more about this from Sarah’s perspective. If he’d stayed any longer at the bar that night, he’d have left without his head, believe me. She’s her friend. Let me speak to Niamh.’
‘I can help. A job, money or whatever.’ He runs his free hand across the top of his head before I take it in my own, placing a kiss against the knuckle of his thumb.
‘I know. I appreciate . . . you.’
He smiles quite diffidently and shakes his head. ‘And in the next order of business.’
‘There’s more?’
‘You said Arwa had spoken to you, about me. I’d like to know exactly what she said.’
‘Not much more than I’ve already told you. She just said it probably wasn’t a good idea to get involved with you, though it’s a bit late now.’
My laugh is hollow and he doesn’t join in, a range of emotions passing over his face, settling upon a reluctant kind of acceptance.
‘I can’t say I don’t see her point of view, though it’s not terribly professional.’
‘Is this going to cause trouble?’ His body stills before rousing, as though shaking off unpleasant thoughts. ‘You said before I would give your dad leverage, what did you mean by that?’
‘Nothing that concerns you, I promise.’
Despite his reassurance, I notice he doesn’t answer. He also changes the topic quite deftly.
‘Your car will be ready next week, until then Rashid will take you where you need to go. I don’t want you travelling in cabs.’
‘I can’t take the car now. Arwa already has me feeling like some kind of slut.’
‘Stop, please.’
‘But she’ll definitely know this is your doing now, assume I’m a gold digger, a wh—’
His finger moves swiftly to my lips, silencing me. ‘She won’t think anything of the sort, because it’s not true.’
‘But the gossip—’
‘Leave this to me. I’ll straighten out any misunderstandings, okay?’
‘But—’
‘Promise me you’ll trust me, habibti.’ His eyes are warm and sincere and his voice holds a note of mild reprimand, which damn it, is more than a little hot.
‘I do,’ I whisper. ‘But—’
He kisses me. Just once, an open mouth kiss that has my body rolling instinctively into his.
‘What are you doing the rest of the week?’ he asks, stilling me with a hand on my hip.
‘Work. And more work. There’s a big open evening coming up next week.’
‘Ah, the look at how wonderful our school is evening and Faris’ dazzling speech.’
I up scrunch my nose. ‘There’s an awkward encounter I hadn’t foreseen, meeting your dad, I mean. Isn’t that going to cause—’
‘No. It’ll be fine,’ he answers, reinforcing his words with a firm squeeze of my hip. ‘My mother usually gives the opening address but she’s off to Bangladesh for a few days.’ Trail
ing the tips of his fingers up my body, he raises them further, linking them above his head. As he stretches out, muscles and tendons flex beneath his lickable caramel skin.
‘Is this for her charity?’ I ask, filling the sudden silence left by my stare-fest. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of the sight of him.
‘Yes, the orphanage. She’s very hands-on with it all.’
‘Wished you could be there,’ I mumble.
‘In Bangladesh?’
‘Lol, really,’ I answer, deadpan. ‘At the school.’
‘I won’t be in the country, unfortunately. Please don’t worry,’ he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. ‘It will be—’
‘Fine. Yes, you’ve said that already. It’ll be fine. Awkward, but fine.’
‘Trust me, Kate,’ he says smiling. ‘That’s all you need to do. I’ll take care of the rest.’
‘What about you? What’s the week got in store for you?’
‘I have to be in Berlin tomorrow for a meeting, then onto Nice for a couple of days.’
‘Get you, Mr International Jet-Setter. I suppose it’ll be first class all the way?’
‘Sort of. Private jet,’ he replies with one raised brow.
‘Oh, of course . . .’
‘Come if you’d like.’ His offer is spoken so matter-of-factly, my head rises quickly but his expression is mild. I suppose when you’ve pockets as deep as his, maybe the offer is a bit like me shouting Niamh to a muffin with her Starbucks. Before I’ve spoken, he holds up a forestalling hand.
‘I know, you have work. I was just thinking aloud. Trying to tempt you. Maybe.’
I insinuate myself between his arm and chest as his finger begins to stroke my ear. ‘You do that well anyway. It does sound pretty awesome. I’ve never been to Europe.’
Pulling his head back, he peers down at me. ‘Then let’s do it. Meet me in Nice after work on Thursday. We’ll fly back in time for class on Sunday.’ His finger begins to move again, the shell suddenly as sensitive as I’ve ever known. ‘I know the perfect little hotel, secluded gardens . . . private pool,’ he murmurs. ‘We can hit the nightlife. Get you a little drunk, head back, and fuck the rest of the weekend.’
‘You sweet-talker, you. And you so don’t need to get me drunk.’ My voice sounds oddly dreamy, my body boneless against his.
‘Maybe I need those inhibitions of yours to be floating for what I have in mind.’
‘I’m intrigued.’
‘Oh, you definitely should be.’
‘Should I also be worried?’ I ask, knowing right now I’d give in to lots of things. Slightly tipsy, my body warmed by a holiday sun, wrapped in his arms and under him, I’d probably give into anything. I wonder if those thoughts are written on my forehead as he smiles like the cat that just succeeded in humping the canary.
‘I suppose you’ll have to wait and see.’
‘Is that so?’ I sigh, coming back to the earth with an uncomfortable bump. ‘Sounds heavenly.’
‘Then you’ll come.’
Nope, I’m not touching that one.
‘I can’t. I’m so sorry, but I’ve already made plans. There’s a pool party back at my place. Sort of a building get together, and while I can’t believe I’m about to blow off a weekend in Europe, I’ve already promised. In fact, I said I’d be there to help set up and stuff.’ I really must be mad. ‘I’d love to, but I’m a girl of my word.’ I am. I also must be bat-shit crazy. Europe against a pool party. Yep, batters. That’s me.
His finger slips from my ear, curling around my arm. ‘Of course. I understand. Your weekend sounds . . .’
‘Suddenly very boring, compared to how yours will be.’
‘I won’t stay for the weekend, not without you. Maybe I can see you the following day, after your party?’
‘If you’re going to be in town, why don’t you come?’ I pull away and lift my head. ‘Friday. It’ll be pretty casual and you could meet Niamh properly.’ Although that’s a scary thought, I keep it to myself. I’m also not sure it’s his scene. Mr. High-End-Everything-Lives-in-a-Hotel. Would he enjoy a simple afternoon of beers by the pool?
Kai’s expression softens as he pulls himself upright, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. ‘Not quite what I had in mind, but I’ll take you where I can. When I can.’
Kneeling on the bed behind him, I place my lips against his shoulder. ‘That sounds promising,’ I say, giggling. ‘Maybe we can rain-check your dirty weekend?’
Turning his head, his eyes glitter with intent. ‘Dirty, you say. In what way?’
‘Whatever way you like,’ I whisper, my breath now on his neck.
‘Be careful, habibti.’ His skin twitches beneath my lips, his low voice vibrating in the pit of my stomach. ‘You don’t know what you’re promising.’
‘Maybe,’ I counter, ‘but you keep asking me to trust you. You can be trusted, right?’
‘With some things,’ he answers enigmatically, his tone making my nerve endings ring and light up like a pinball machine.
‘So Friday?’ I cough, clearing my throat and moving back. Kai stands and stretches, giving me a great view of his buns.
‘Love to,’ he affirms.
‘Get there around fourish? Wear shorts?’ And nothing else.
‘Shorts. Will do, and you’ll wear an abaya over your bikini. Or a tent.’
Chapter Five
It’s all systems go at school today with parents’ evening just around the corner, and the administration department is in a spin. I think they’ve forgotten we have children to teach in between the million petty tasks we’ve been handed, but at least it’s kept me busy and the day has flown by.
I’m leaving now. Hot, sweaty, tired and finally done with the day. Plus, I have a date this evening. A date with my bath. I’m going to soak, let the day disappear from my shoulders down. I’ll stay there until the water turns cold. I might even make it a racy three-way and invite in a glass of red.
‘Bar-steward! M-m-mother trucker!’
The words fly from a classroom I pass on my way out, so I pop my head in through the partially open door, where Hala sits in the middle of the floor, pounding her clenched fists on the ground.
‘Fuck it!’ she yells savagely. ‘Just fuck it all to hell!’
‘You’ll put a hole in the floor.’
Her eyes are wide, a mixture of shock and horror as she looks up, the pounding hand now flying to her chest. ‘Kate, shit . . . mean sorry, I’m . . . it’s just . . . Astughfer’allah!’ she cries, throwing both hands in the air and in doing so, dousing herself in glitter from a tiny pot clasped in her other hand. As her chest begins to heave with big, fat sobs, I crouch next to her on the floor avoiding a craft display of some sort, both she and it now covered in purple glitter.
‘Hey, it’s okay. I think everyone’s had a crappy day, don’t let it get you down.’
Her chocolate brown eyes rise dolefully. ‘It’s not the job.’ Throwing her head into her hands, her shoulders begin to shake again.
Not sure what to do, I rub her back in weak circles. I like Hala, but we’re only really acquaintances, at least not yet friends.
‘Hey, look, you’re covered in glitter now. You look like a throwback from disco. Or Tinkerbelle.’ I begin to brush spilled glitter from her shoulders and head.
‘Tink never wore a hijab,’ she says, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
‘Then you can be the first Hijabi Tink.’
‘And Peter was never an arse to her,’ she mumbles.
‘Just as well, she was a nasty little minx. Would’ve probably turned him into a turd, I mean toad.’
She snorts. ‘He was probably a turd to begin with, being a man and all.’ Then I think she might laugh. Or hiccup, her shoulders jumping in the action.
‘You can polish a turd, you know. Make it all shiny.’ She looks at me dubiously, like I’m not playing this game right. ‘Underneath, it’s still a piece of shit, of course.’
This time
she definitely does laugh, shaking her head, and I feel a bit like that myself. I can’t believe I’m literally talking shit.
Seeming calmer now, Hala inhales deeply, dragging a glittering hand across her wet cheeks, leaving her looking like a throwback from the disco days. ‘Men,’ she exhales venomously.
‘Agreed. About as useful as tits on a bull.’
Smiling a little wetly now, it seems she’s done with fresh tears. ‘You grow up on a farm?’ she asks with a small laugh.
‘Nope. I just know my shit.’
‘That’s really bad, you know.’
I shrug and consider leaving it at that, but despite no longer crying, she still looks upset. So I have to ask. ‘You okay?’
‘I’ve been better. I’m considering running away.’
‘Your time of the month or his? What?’ I ask, in response to her expression. ‘You don’t think men get all hormonal?’
She bursts into giggles, holding a hand to her mouth. ‘Come to think of it, probably just about all month long.’
‘Come on, up you get. Off the floor,’ I cajole, beginning to gather her art supplies into a pile. ‘Go home, have a glass of wi— I mean a cup of coffee. Chill. De-stress. Bang him on the head with the frying pan if you need to make him see sense.’
‘I did that already. Well, I hit him.’ She frowns, knitting her fingers together and studying them in her lap.
I freeze, the papers I’ve gathered almost static in hand. ‘Oh.’
‘He deserved it.’ Her eyes narrow in reflection. ‘If he comes back tonight, it had better be with an apology.’
‘Oh,’ I repeat, not sure what to say as she turns suddenly, fingers digging into my arm.
‘He told me he’s going on holiday with his mates, to Thailand. That’s not right, is it? Not when you’re married.’ Without waiting for my response, her words fall in a hurried jumble. ‘I told him, he’d better not expect me to be here when he gets back. Told him I’d go back home.’
‘That sucks.’ It’s all I can think to say.
‘I mean, I trust him, really I do. But not the shifty gits he’s going with. I’ve heard them chatting, they think I don’t understand. No, of course not, stupid gypo wife.’ Her expression twists, tone viciously mimicking someone else. ‘Temporary marriages and whores!’ she yells.
