by Ayisha Malik
Not that I care who he’s friends with. Obviously.
‘He was well pissed off and put the phone down. Oh, God, I have to go now. The old man wants to watch a Bollywood film. Toffee?’
‘Hmmm, yes,’ I replied. ‘Love you, call you later.’ I put the phone down and continued to scroll through his FB page. It’s just so uninspired. I wonder if these are also people he meets on marriage websites.
2.30 p.m. Typical! I was praying and missed Naim’s call. Maybe it’s a sign from God.
6 p.m. Tahir and his family are coming over for dinner in half an hour. Apparently I’m not allowed to come downstairs in my pyjamas.
10.25 p.m. Tahir’s dad consumed any chance of there being left-overs. Three helpings of rasmalaai, a cup of chai and three satsumas later – because apparently they’re good for one’s digestion – the subject of my wedding came up. I wonder what the cut-off point is for that question? When does it become uncomfortable because the idea has become hopeless? Late thirties? Forties? Also, it’s annoying to have to come up with a new answer each time (to avoid wanting to poke a pen in my eye from sheer boringness of question), but perhaps it’d be far worse when people stop asking. That is when true spinsterhood begins.
‘To be aahnest, girls are very fussy nowadays,’ said Tahir’s dad, suppressing a burp.
The word ‘fussy’ doesn’t even rile me any more. I pity people who think a girl should marry a man who’s so overweight beads of sweat drip down his forehead, or a man who, at the age of forty, wants to marry someone no older than thirty, or one who wants his wife to spend her life walking in and out of holes in the wall. I said to Tahir’s dad that I’ll gladly pass on any of the above’s number for his younger sister who’s looking to get married. It wiped the smug look off his face.
Dad cleared his throat and Maria widened her eyes at me. Mum was busy placing tea cups on coasters.
When I went into the kitchen Maria said, ‘Can you try not to say that kind of stuff to my future in-laws?’
Trust me, I don’t like to make a commotion, but I said, ‘I’ll happily stop saying shit to people as soon as they stop saying shit to me.’
Sigh. We single people are lone warriors.
Friday 18 November
12 p.m.
From: Bramley, Dorothy
To: Khan, Sofia
Subject: Book
Will the opening pages/first chapter be ready soon?
Why, why, why haven’t these been written yet? Must bring all my notes into a cohesive chapter. If I’m going to replace the fact that I don’t have babies with fact that I do have a book, then writing is rather instrumental in that. I’ve told her she’ll have it after the weekend.
Argh! Also, Shain Murphy’s launch is in under two weeks and I haven’t sent out the invites.
5.23 p.m.
From Maria: We found a photographer! Tahir found him! It’s his cousin. Families are the best.
Note for book: People in love suffer from selective amnesia and distorted sense of reality.
8 p.m. Maria came into my room just as I was about to start writing.
‘The thing is with Tahir, he does do nice things like sort out a photographer or get me flowers when I’m angry or in a bad mood.’
I wanted to point out that he generally inspires this anger. Then she looked at me and there were tears in her eyes as she smiled. ‘I do love him.’
Just for a second I thought, I’ve never met anyone who’s made me smile and brought a tear to my eye simultaneously. I mean, I’ve met people who have induced both actions independent of each other – but never together.
9.20 p.m.
From: Hopeless Romantic
To: Hello, Publicity
Hi. Thought I’d drop you a line. You seem like a pretty cool person. That and I have a thing for spiritual ladies who happen to look incredible in hijab. Is that corny?
Abid.
Hahahaha. That has to be the funniest message, ever. What a cheeseball email, coupled with a cheeseball name. Then I looked at his picture. Now, I’m not one to be swayed by handsomeness (much), but he did look like he’d stepped off a catwalk. I couldn’t stop staring at him. I’ll forgive him for cheesiness – for obvious reasons – but won’t be waylaid by immense hotness. Obviously.
In the meantime, maybe I’ll take a snapshot and send it to the girls.
10.45 p.m.
From: Hello, Publicity
To: Hopeless Romantic
That was totally corny. But a person can get away with it now and again.
Sofia.
11.55 p.m. Naim called and asked why I wasn’t being horrible to him (he’s such an exaggerator) and I just mentioned the tears, happiness combo.
‘Sofe, are you being sentimental?’
‘Don’t be annoying.’
‘It’s OK, it’s OK. It’s what humans call emotion. Let me walk you through it.’
I laughed and told him to shut up.
‘One day, Sofe, you’re gonna fall in love so hard, and it’s gonna make me so, so happy to see you lost for words.’
Hmph. Whatever.
Saturday 19 November
8.20 a.m. Today I’m going to switch my phone and wi-fi off so I don’t start YouTubing babies dancing salsa, or cats and dogs on skateboards, or – more importantly – check Facebook.
8.45 p.m. Hurrah! I have the opening pages of the book! I hadn’t realised how exciting writing is. I can detach myself from my surroundings because I’m involved in a superior form of creativity, which, if you think about it, should run parallel with spirituality. All of this unleashed because a man called me a terrorist. I should go out and celebrate and take a bloody hard-earned break – two thousand words down – only eighty thousand or so more to go. Think I’ll call Naim.
8.48 p.m. Ooh – thirteen messages and four missed calls. Funsies!
From Suj: Toffeeeeee! Where are youuuu? I’m having to fly out to LA – with C! I apologised. Can you believe it? Spoke to Han just now. Do you think she’s OK? FaceTime you all when I land. Love you! xx
From Fozia: I hate my job!!
From Naim: Where are you? And why the hell’s your phone switched off?
From Maria: Er, you wanna come down and have lunch? Mum’s been calling you for ages.
From Hannah: It’s wife’s day off! One of the pros of poly-gamy. Come over tonight and we’ll watch back-to-back episodes of SATC and scoff our faces with (homemade) brownies. Foz is bringing pizza.
12.40 a.m. Girlie evening of DVDs and brownies indeed. (On a side note, if you’re going to be in a polygamous marriage, then definitely make sure he’s rich. The house Zulfi’s bought Hannah is so lovely, I almost wanted to be his third wife.) We’d had pizza and I’d made tea. Hannah put the plate of brownies on the table while Fozia inserted the DVD.
I was about to bite into a brownie when Hannah said, ‘Are they having sex right now?’ Foz turned around as Hannah looked at us. ‘It’s fine for him to say that he loves me, but are they basically having a shag as we’re watching TV?’
What I wanted to say was ‘No! Of course not,’ which in the short term would’ve meant I could eat my brownie but also that I was a liar. I put down my brownie.
‘Nooo . . . I mean, you can never know, know. But they’re probably not . . .’ Probably ARE.
‘But there is a possibility? Isn’t there?’ She started tapping her fingers on her legs. ‘Isn’t there?’
‘Nothing’s ever certain, is it?’ added Fozia.
Hannah shot up off the sofa, remote control flying through the air, and almost knocking over a plant.
‘Let’s go to the house.’
‘What?’ Foz and I said together.
‘Sofe, we’ll take your car.’ She’d already walked into the passage to get her hijab. ‘He’ll recognise mine.’
Foz stood up and by the time I’d got off the sofa Hannah was wrapping the hijab around her head. I was caught between whether we should be a part of this unhinged behaviour, and whe
ther it made us bad friends if we stopped her. Foz looked a bit out of her depth, so I grabbed Hannah by the shoulders. She looked half mad and half helpless. ‘This is crazy. Now sit down and have a bloody brownie.’
We led her to the sofa and made her sit.
‘Why is Suj in LA? She’d understand,’ said Hannah.
Foz kneeled on the floor and took Hannah’s hand. ‘Darling, we can use her tracker device and night-vision goggles whenever we need, you know that. But it has to be for the right reasons.’
Hannah stared at her and nodded. Crisis was eventually averted, thanks to God. We went through a detailed account of Zulfi and his first wife’s relationship: arranged marriage, close family friends, children: ties that bind and blind etc.
It’d be different if we lived in a place where this kind of thing was acceptable, but talk about a marital fish out of water. When I said this, Hannah looked at me a bit wildly, to be honest.
‘I don’t give a shit what people think or say. They’re not living my life. I don’t even care about the fact I’ll never legally be his wife.’ She pushed her hijab back and sat down. ‘Maybe this would be easier if I didn’t love him so much.’
Crikey. I opened my mouth to say something, but I hadn’t quite the words to comfort her. This love business is a tricky thing. Foz passed a brownie to her and patted her leg. We both looked at each other.
‘Once I have a baby,’ said Hannah, ‘it’ll be fine.’
I don’t know why dirty nappies seem to be the logical conclusion to happiness, but I put my arm around Han.
‘And won’t it be a fat and lucky thing, with a mum who makes the best brownies.’
It was probably the only appropriate time to eat said brownie and nod in approval.
Sunday 20 November
3.45 p.m.
From: Hopeless Romantic
To: Hello, Publicity
OK, I’ll avoid all corny lines now. Let’s talk about some serious spiritual stuff. I’d like to grow a beard. As you’re a hijabi, I’d like to know your thoughts on this.
Oh my God. How random, but if he grew a beard I think I’d die.
Monday 21 November
9.25 a.m. I’ve just sent the draft opening chapter to Brammers. God, this kind of pressure and stress can give a person alopecia.
5.25 p.m.
From: Bramley, Dorothy
To: Khan, Sofia
Subject: Opening
This is good. I think you’re on track. When can I expect some more pages?
On the one hand, thanks to God! On the other, Brammers is very impatient. I’ve let her know that she can wait a sodding month. Although it was put in politer words as I do value my job and fifteen thousand pounds.
Tuesday 22 November
9.45 a.m.
From: Murphy, Shain
To: Khan, Sofia
Subject: Launch
All geared up for the big day on Thursday! By the way, I’m going to bring some Bibles, hope you can sell them!
WTH? Bibles? What do Bibles have to do with hippos?
10 a.m. I’ve asked Brammers. Apparently Shain’s been religiously enlightened . . .
10 a.m.
To: Hopeless Romantic
From: Hello, Publicity
Salam. Well, I think a person should appreciate a beard. (Although note that I don’t think a beard is a true measure of religious enlightenment, but it’s a good start.) There’s the added benefit of beards being in fashion – if it’s good enough for Clooney etc. But, if you go abroad a lot then you have to consider whether time spent at Immigration is going to be worth that added sense of spirituality. Me? I don’t mind the headache.
PS I’m selling Bibles at an author’s launch party. Almost feels traitor-like. Do you think I should take copies of the Qur’an to hand out too?
Note for book: Chapter title: Love and Marriage Go Together like . . . Bibles and Hippos?
Thursday 24 November
9.45 a.m. I miss bent-out-of-shape Benji. At least he could laminate show cards properly.
10 a.m.
From Naim: You wanna grab a coffee tonight?
To Naim: It’s like I’m talking to myself sometimes – tonight’s the hippo launch, remember. Could meet afterwards – 8.45ish?
From Naim: Sofe, you know I hang on to every single word you say – until you give me something else to hang on to ;) Will see you at 8.45ish.
I looked at the message and laughed. He is such a compulsive flirt.
8 p.m. Well, isn’t the world a shrunken place? I got to Daunts in Hampstead and had just begun placing Bibles next to the hippo books when I was interrupted by a camera flash. Who should be with Shain but tattooed next-door neighbour! Turns out he’s a photographer and a friend of Shain’s from Ireland.
I was obviously a little surprised. ‘Oh, hello.’
‘Hi.’ I’m not being sensitive here, but he was curt. Nevertheless, I haven’t forgotten about killing people with kindness etc.
‘You’re my neighbour and I don’t think I even know your name.’ I held out my hand. ‘I’m Sofia.’
He shook my hand – firm – ‘Conall.’ He looked at the table and moved one of Shain’s books before taking a few shots of the display.
‘On this side we have facts about hippos, and on the other we have facts about God and the universe,’ I said.
He put his camera down and frowned.
‘All you need to know on one table.’ I smiled as widely as my mouth would let me, which, incidentally, is quite wide. ‘Don’t tell Shain, but I’ve left the upgraded version of the Bible at home.’ I leaned forward. ‘The Qur’an.’ Honestly, I don’t know why I said that but then that’s one of my ongoing problems. I pointed at my scarf.
‘Right.’
He took a few more pics and walked away. He returned twenty minutes later, and I tried to get him to buy a Bible or two, but to no avail.
‘You two are getting on like a house on fire. Conall – take some feckin’ pictures, will you?’ Shain slapped Conall on the back and gave him a glass of orange juice. This friendship didn’t make much sense to me. Shain’s, well, nice. ‘And don’t forget to buy a Bible.’
‘Don’t need more than one. Why aren’t you selling the Qur’an? I’ve heard it’s an upgrade.’ Shain looked a little surprised. I couldn’t tell if Conall was joking or not.
‘Eejit. That’s what you’re missing from life. Should ask Sofia for that one,’ said Shain. He then put his hand on Conall’s shoulder and said, ‘And while she’s at it, she’ll get you some Viagra.’
Note for book: Try not to sell religion and sexual enhancement drugs at the same time.
11.30 p.m. While waiting for Naim I’d dropped my lipstick on the floor and bent to pick it up. The bloody thing had rolled under a parked car so I had to get on my hands and knees and reach under to fish it out. I swivelled around on my knees and was about to get up when I saw a pair of legs in front of me. More specifically, was faced with an area of a man’s anatomy that really I have no business with at this point in time.
‘Well, this is promising.’
I looked up and there was Naim, smirking down at me. I stood up and brushed down my dress.
‘That’s optimistic,’ I said, with what I hoped to be a pronounced raise of one eyebrow. Honestly.
We ended up driving to the usual place on Edgware Road and sat under the warmth of the outside heaters.
‘Any more fake dates?’ he asked, looking at his phone. Why can’t he leave it alone for a minute?
I hesitated.
‘Not really. I am emailing someone who seems normal, though. Not sure what he’s doing on Shady. He’s far too beautiful.’
Naim put the phone down. ‘Do you know how many people put fake photos up?’
God, how naïve am I that I didn’t consider that? What if they are fake photos? Does that make me superficial?
‘I wanna see this guy,’ he said.
I put my hand over my phone at first. Then, reluc
tantly, I went to his profile and showed it to Naim.
‘Those photos and Hopeless Romantic? A total fake.’
I had to suppress my urge to laugh at his pissed-off face.
‘You’re just cynical,’ I said. If I didn’t know better, he almost sounded jealous.
Just then, an email popped up from Abid.
From: Hopeless Romantic
To: Hello, Publicity
Hey, you’re meant to be supporting the cause. I wanted to hear, ‘Do it! Forget what people think.’
‘What does he have to say?’ said Naim. ‘Assuming he does anything other than pose for photos.’
I pulled the phone away from him.
‘Bugger off. Show me the messages you’re always getting on your phone.’
‘Sure. I’ve got nothing to hide.’
Now, I’m not one to look into people’s private matters, but I wondered if he knew this about me – was this reverse psychology? I put my hand out.
He leaned forward. ‘Sofe, all this time we share and you don’t trust me?’
‘You don’t have a trustworthy face.’
He put his hand on my knee and I became very aware of how small the table was. ‘Lying to you would be like lying to myself.’
I took his hand and put it on the table.
‘Shut up, please.’
He leaned back and took out a cigarette.
‘Trust me, I’ve had enough of lies.’
And then, as if out of nowhere, he began telling me about his ex-girlfriend! Which, apparently, was a two and a half year unfulfilling relationship that fell to pieces. Because she was cold? Or was it him that couldn’t commit? Judging by the look on his face it didn’t seem as if his commitment was the issue. I asked for another cappuccino.
‘God, let me tell you – love? Man,’ he exhaled dramatically, ‘love can be the most beautiful thing ever. And the most devastatingly heart-breaking thing ever.’ He flicked ash on to the floor and smiled at me.
