Payback

by Rosemary Hayes

  ‘Perhaps he might do for me?’ I said. I was only joking – but she turned on me.

  ‘No!’ she said harshly.

  ‘Why not! Aren’t I good enough for Habib’s family?’ I said angrily.

  ‘You concentrate on your studies, Halima,’ said Ammi. ‘Baba’s too busy looking for a girl for Khalil to think of you.’

  I was astonished. Ever since Asma had been a teenager, there had been talk about who she would marry, yet here was Ammi telling me not to think of marriage for myself.

  I shrugged it off. I was doing my A levels in the summer and I wanted to get a place at college. I wanted to study politics and economics at university and, although I never let on to my family, I still had a dream of one day going into politics.

  So I had plenty to think about and I certainly didn’t want to get married just yet. I supposed that Baba wanted to see Khalil settled before he thought of my future, and I was quite happy with that.

  A few months later, the search began in earnest for a bride for Khalil.

  I told Kate all about it.

  ‘So, this will be another London wedding, will it?’

  I shook my head. ‘No. I don’t think so. There’s talk of going back to Pakistan for this one.’

  ‘Have they found a girl for him, then?’

  ‘Hmm. Sort of. Baba’s got someone in mind, but…’

  ‘But?’

  I knew that Khalil had been seeing someone. He was very keen on the girl but, in Baba’s eyes, she was quite unsuitable. She wasn’t from our tribe, she wasn’t a devout Muslim and she wasn’t even Pakistani.

  Khalil had tried to persuade Baba to accept her, but Baba would have nothing of it.

  The rows they had reminded me of the dreadful time with Imran. But there was one big difference. Khalil couldn’t stand up to Baba.

  One night, Khalil and I were alone in the house, watching television in the front room. Neither of us was interested in the programme so I turned it off.

  ‘Do you love this girlfriend of yours, Khalil?’ I asked.

  He made a face and looked down at his hands. ‘Yeah. I guess.’

  ‘And you want to marry her?’

  ‘Well. Yes. But I can’t, can I?’

  ‘Baba might give in, if you keep on at him.’

  He shrugged. ‘He’ll never budge. You know that.’

  I frowned. ‘But surely, if you really love her, you should fight for her, go against Baba.’

  Khalil gave a mirthless laugh. ‘And be turned out like Imran? No thanks.’

  ‘So you’ll leave this poor girl and marry whoever Baba finds for you?’

  He said nothing, just picked at his teeth.

  I stood up, suddenly sickened by his cowardice, and walked away. When I reached the door I turned back.

  ‘And what about the girl Baba finds for you, Khalil? What sort of life will it be for her if you don’t love her? Have you thought of that?’

  ‘I’ll be kind to her. She’ll do OK.’

  ‘Huh!’

  Kind. She’ll do OK. What sort of basis for marriage is that? I thought. But maybe it was better than many Pakistani women could expect.

  When I told all this to Kate, she raised her eyebrows. ‘Ah, so it’s not always ideal, then, this arranged marriage business.’

  ‘Oh. It probably works OK most of the time. I still think it’s better than your system.’

  Kate blushed and turned away.

  I had said the words without thinking. The moment they slipped out, I regretted them. I had forgotten that Kate’s parents were divorcing.

  ‘Kate, I’m so sorry.’

  She swallowed. ‘No, our system’s not perfect, that’s for sure, but at least my parents can split up. Honestly, Halima, they’ll will be much happier living apart – and I won’t have to listen to their rows.’

  I thought about Ammi then. Was she happy? Kate read my thoughts.

  ‘It’s different for your mum. She’d never leave your dad, would she, even if she was really unhappy?’

  I shook my head. ‘No. She’d never leave him – and she’ll always give in to him. She was only a child when she married. I don’t suppose she expected much from her marriage except children and security. She accepts what life has given her. I don’t suppose she thinks much about being happy.’

  ‘But you, Halima, you have expectations, don’t you?’

  I laughed and punched her on the arm. ‘You know I have! I want it all. I want a good man who respects me, a terrific job and children, too, one day.’

  ‘Huh!’ said Kate, ‘I’ve gone off the whole idea of marriage. I’m just going to have a string of lovers and a fantastic career.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Much to Baba’s excitement, I was accepted at City University to study International Politics. It was quite a long journey in on the Underground, but it did mean I could still live at home, which is what he wanted.

  I was certainly ready to leave school, but there were people I would miss – Kate, of course, more than anyone. My brilliant, wild Kate had got into Oxford. Our school was so proud of her – only a handful of their students had ever got into Oxbridge and her photo was splashed all over the local paper – but I knew it would suit her. There she would be challenged in the way she loved challenging others. And she would thrive.

  The other person I would miss was Miss Brunner. Those sessions at her debating club had opened my mind so much to other points of view, other ways of life. Before I left, I went to see her.

  She hugged me. ‘Well, Halima, this course you’ve chosen should suit you really well. I’ll expect to see you in Parliament one day! Now, you be sure to make something of your life, won’t you? You’ve got a good brain and an enquiring mind. Don’t waste them.’

  I smiled. ‘I’ll do my best, but …’

  She frowned. ‘But what?’

  I sighed. ‘My dad will expect me to marry as soon as I leave college.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, you know how it is with us.’ I hesitated. ‘It could be a struggle to have a career.’

  ‘But surely, if you have an understanding husband?’

  ‘Mm,’ I said, uncertainly. That was a big if. I would probably have to fight for my independence. But maybe, if Habib’s cousin… now there was someone who understood – and surely Baba would approve of him?

  I thought of Asma. She was so lucky. She and Habib were happy together and he was a good, intelligent man. She was pregnant now and they were thrilled – and of course Baba and Ammi were over the moon. Asma seemed quite content to be a housewife and she hadn’t worked since leaving college. But I was different. I wanted a career. Somehow I would find my way into politics.

  Miss Brunner put her hand on my arm. ‘Well, if you ever want to talk to someone about your future, you be sure to come and see me, won’t you?’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  I started at college in the autumn. It was where Asma had been and there were a lot of Muslim girls there, so I felt comfortable. Some had come from our school so I already had a nucleus of friends, but other Muslim schoolfriends had not been allowed to go on to college and had already been married off.

  Work was going well. I didn’t find it easy but I really enjoyed the stimulus and buzz of college life – and my debating skills grew as they were challenged all the time.

  At home, Ammi had bought the most beautiful red chiffon for my wedding dupatta as well as loads of sequins, beads and cut glass. But I had no time for embroidery.

  ‘Halima, you’ll never finish your dupatta!’ cried Ammi.

  I laughed. ‘I’ll finish it in time for my wedding, Ammi, I promise.’

  And to please her, I did make a start on it.

  Asma and Habib lived quite close to the nearest Underground to our house and sometimes I called in on my way home. Asma was eight months pregnant and wrapped up in preparing for the baby. The flat was full of baby clothes and equipment and the spare room had been turned into a nursery.

>   I didn’t often see Habib because he was usually still at work when I called, but one day I was much later than usual, and he was there.

  And so was his cousin – Mahmood – the man I’d met at their wedding. It was so unexpected, that at first I found myself blushing and stammering when we were reintroduced, but soon we were chatting naturally, just as we’d done at the wedding.

  Instead of sidelining me, as usually happened when there were two Pakistani men in the room, Mahmood made a point of talking to me. We chatted about all the people at the wedding and I giggled at his description of one particularly oily fellow with a deformed little finger.

  ‘Who was that guy, anyway?’ Mahmood asked Habib.

  Habib shrugged. ‘No idea. Not one of our side.’

  ‘Oh, I know who you mean,’ said Asma. ‘He’s a really distant cousin who was asking Baba to help him get a visa, and Baba was in such a good mood, he invited him along to the wedding.’

  Asma went through to the kitchen and Mahmood and I went on talking. He asked all about my course at college and my career plans and I found myself confiding to him that I wanted to go into politics.

  Time flew by, and suddenly I realised that Mahmood had been asked to dinner.

  I got up, embarrassed. ‘I must go home. They’ll be expecting me.’

  ‘Why don’t you stay?’ said Habib. ‘Ring your parents and tell them you’re eating with us.’

  I didn’t need any persuading. And anyway, it wasn’t that unusual for me to eat with them, so Ammi was quite happy when I phoned.

  ‘Ask Habib to walk home with you, Halima. You hear me? You’re not to come home on your own in the dark.’

  ‘Habib, will you walk home with me after dinner?’

  He grinned. ‘Of course, little sister.’

  It was one of the happiest evenings of my life. Mahmood had travelled a lot and he knew so much about other countries. And he asked for my opinions and listened to them, sometimes agreeing and sometimes not. He treated me as an equal. I’d never met a man from my own background whom I found so interesting or attractive.

  He wasn’t particularly good-looking, but he was so alive – and so funny. My sides ached with laughing as he teased me or told us silly stories about his family or his job.

  When finally Habib and I set off for my home, I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face.

  ‘You like Mahmood, don’t you, Halima?’

  I looked down at my feet. It wouldn’t do to be too enthusiastic. ‘Yes, I like him very much. He’s an interesting man.’

  ‘He’s my favourite cousin,’ said Habib.

  And that was all that was said. But I knew that Asma would tell Ammi and Baba that she had introduced me to a suitable young man. And I couldn’t believe that Baba or Ammi would disapprove of him. I knew he wasn’t married, though there was always the possibility that his family might have someone else in mind for him. But somehow, I didn’t think so. He was so obviously his own man and I guessed that, although he was looking for a Pakistani girl, for sure, he definitely wanted a girl with a mind of her own.

  I held my breath, waiting for a reaction from my parents. However, the days passed and nothing happened. I was puzzled. I was so sure that Asma would have told them.

  Then I was invited to dinner with Asma again.

  I was really excited. Maybe they would invite Mahmood too! I dressed with extra care and arrived at the door of their flat nervous and excited.

  But when I went inside, Asma was on her own.

  ‘Where’s Habib?’

  Asma didn’t meet my eyes. ‘Oh, he’s out tonight,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll be back in time to walk you home.’

  I hid my disappointment and we chatted on about her pregnancy and the names they had chosen for the baby. Once or twice I tried to talk about Mahmood, but she always changed the subject.

  She was tense. I could sense it, and, after we had eaten, I said gently. ‘Is everything OK, Asma?’

  She put out her hand and led me over to the sofa. We sat side by side.

  ‘I have some wonderful news for you, Halima.’

  I was so excited, I couldn’t help myself. I blurted it out: ‘Mahmood?’

  She looked startled. ‘What? No. Nothing to do with Mahmood.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘No Halima. This is about your future.’

  I must have looked puzzled.

  ‘Silly girl. Your marriage!’

  ‘My marriage,’ I repeated, stupidly. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that Baba has found you a husband!’ She hugged me. ‘Isn’t that exciting?’

  I stared at her. Nothing to do with Mahmood. That meant Baba had someone else in mind.

  ‘But I thought you’d told him about Mahmood,’ I stuttered.

  She studied her hands. ‘Yes, yes I did. He’s a lovely man, Halima, and if Baba hadn’t already…’

  ‘What! You mean Baba’s already approached someone?’

  She nodded.

  ‘When? He’s never said anything to me.’

  ‘Well, no. Nor to me. But apparently it was all arranged a long time ago. Back in Pakistan.’

  There was a tight knot of dread in my stomach. ‘How? What do you mean?’

  Poor Asma. I knew she was finding it difficult. She was torn between loyalty to Baba and loyalty to me. But all I could see was Mahmood’s laughing eyes, and I felt sick with anger.

  ‘Do you remember when there was all that trouble about Baba’s land?’

  I nodded. ‘Vaguely.’

  Asma licked her lips, then continued. ‘Well, the cousin who helped him out, who solved the problem for him…’

  Suddenly, I knew exactly what had happened. I was back in the village again, eight years old, running home from school and seeing Baba at the well talking to a man I didn’t recognise, and Baba was calling me over and introducing me to the man as a good and obedient child.

  My heart was thumping against my ribs. ‘He promised me to that man?’

  Asma shook her head. ‘No, no, not the old man. But he promised you to his son.’

  I leapt up from the sofa. The sobs were rising from my chest. I couldn’t stop them.

  ‘My God, Asma! I can’t believe it. How could he?’

  ‘Calm down, Halima. You know nothing about the son. Baba says he’s got a marvellous job. He works in Saudi Arabia. It will be a good match.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ I spat at her. ‘It’s OK for you. You were lucky. You’ve got a lovely husband. And now, just as I meet someone… My God, Asma, why didn’t Baba promise you to this man’s son? You were the older one.’

  She shrugged. ‘Just luck, I guess…’ she said, ‘that you happened to be there at that moment.’

  I started crying in earnest then. ‘I can’t do this. I won’t.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Halima. You know what will happen if you refuse. It’s a matter of honour. Baba promised you, and he won’t break that promise.’

  I couldn’t speak any more. I was crying too much.

  ‘Look. They’ll let you speak to the boy on the phone. Don’t do anything stupid. Think of the consequences.’

  I blew my nose and looked at her miserably. She didn’t need to spell it out. I thought of Imran. How much worse would it be for me if I went against Baba’s wishes?

  When Habib walked me home that night, I thought back to the journey we’d made together only a few short evenings ago. How happy I had been then, walking on air. I was sure, then, that Habib was pleased I liked his cousin – but that was before he and Asma were told about Baba’s deal. And now, walking by his side, I was weighed down, my feet leaden and my spirits lower than they had ever been.

  Habib squeezed my arm when he delivered me back to our house. ‘Don’t do anything to annoy your parents, Halima,’ he said.

  I didn’t reply. I saw it all. I was the bait which had sealed the deal all those years ago.

  And now it was payback time.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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br />   At home, I challenged Ammi.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before? Why did you keep it from me?’

  Ammi sighed. ‘What for? Nothing will happen until you finish your studies. It is a good match for you, Halima. You should be pleased.’

  Baba was furious when I said I didn’t want to marry this unknown man.

  ‘Ungrateful girl!’ he yelled at me. ‘He is from a good family, making a lot of money in Saudi. Of course you will marry him.’

  ‘The wife of a migrant worker in Saudi Arabia! What sort of life would I have there? How could you promise me to him, Baba? How could you?’

  ‘Be quiet, Halima. How dare you insult me!’

  ‘Dare!’ I shouted back at him. ‘You didn’t even dare tell me about him. You left Asma to do your dirty work.’

  Baba’s eyes flashed and he raised his hand. I ducked out of his way and ran upstairs to my room, slamming the door behind me.

  I phoned Kate. I had to speak to someone outside the family. To my amazement, she didn’t immediately rail against my family, my religion and arranged marriages.

  ‘Look, calm down, Halima.’

  There was a noise at the other end of the line.

  ‘Hang on a sec, I’ll just get rid of this lot.’

  I heard laughing, and with a pang I realised that she’d moved on, had another set of friends, maybe even another best friend. Suddenly I felt unbearably lonely.

  Then she was back on the phone. ‘OK. Let’s think this through. Remember what you said about Asma’s marriage and how good it is?’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘Well, give this guy a chance. You’ve not met him, right?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or even spoken to him on the phone?’

  ‘Well no, but…’

  ‘How about you asking if you can speak to him? You never know, he might be great.’

  I was silent. She went on.

  ‘Halima. Remember what happened to Imran. You’ve explained to me so many times how it is in your family. If, when you meet the guy, you can’t stand him, then fair enough, you can refuse to marry him. But just think what will happen if you do. It won’t be easy, will it?’