Alison came into the living room and sat down. They watched TV and the news came on with more depressing footage of conflict in the Middle East. Joe looked over the top of his newspaper and tutted at the TV screen.
Alison sighed. She knew that Joe needed to talk but he didn’t actually want to talk about anything. She sensed that there was something burning within him, but she was too scared to probe him. Joe gestured at the TV: “Don’t worry – it’s just more of the same old rubbish.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Joe,” Alison replied softly, quieter than she normally would. “You’ve done what you can. Try and get back into things. Don’t worry; you’ll be fine.” She cuddled up to him. She didn’t notice a tear creeping down his face.
Later on that evening he was looking at a football programme he had dating from the Second World War; one that his father had acquired all those decades ago. It was Tottenham Hotspur v West Ham from November 1943, a Southern League game, printed on a single blue sheet. It had been his father’s from when he had been a soldier and was home on leave. They were getting ready for D-Day. At the bottom of the programme were the words “Support the Lads in Khaki”. Most of the players were referred to by rank.
“So these ‘top-flight’ footballers were all serving their country in between playing footy,” Joe shook his head. “You wouldn’t get those overpaid creeps in the Premiership doing that these days; they’d be too scared at getting their hair out of line or losing their fucking jewellery.”
***
The dress was on display in Saira’s parents’ front room and various aunts were filing in to chat to her and her sister before she would have to withdraw and prepare the rest of the festivities. Khalil and Saira were happy. A friend of Saira’s family, for a small fee, would do the wedding photos.
“Yes, I think we did well there, Khalil; I know he’s good because he did Nisha’s wedding photos.”
“Yes, I am glad that’s sorted now. Have you done the seating arrangement love?”
“Yes, but the two rear tables are not yet resolved. How many extras do we have?”
“Well; we have Joe and Alison, and Pete and Jan from work; oh and Shakil and Az.”
“What? I can’t believe you.”
“I spoke to Shak and he says that Az has completely changed; he seems quite normal now apparently.”
“And you believe him? Hasn’t it occurred to you that Az probably has some kind of learning disability? I mean that side of the family has got history if you know what I mean. He may be just pretending to be normal.”
“You call that pretending? I just think that if we keep him out it will look bad for the family and they will never forgive us; and nor will Shaks.”
“Oh for pity’s sake, Khalil,” Saira stumbled and thought for a moment. “He won’t be there for the Niqah, will he?” Khalil shook his head.
“Ok, I suppose you’re right. But if anything goes wrong, and I mean anything, it’s your fault. Do you understand me?”
“Yes love, of course I do.”
***
Az picked up the phone – he hardly recognized the voice at the other end. It was one of the contacts he had met in the Yemen. He was calling him from Pakistan.
“A-salaama Alaykum,” the man said.
“Awalaykum salaam,” Az replied.
The man talked for a while about the situation in the villages where he knew Az had been situated.
“Yes, I understand. But I’m not worried, and I don’t think I will be returning any time soon. What are you going to do? Will you carry on?” Az replied.
The man said that it sounded too dangerous to go back to that area. He would leave it for as long as necessary. When Az put the phone down he felt slightly vindicated. He had not believed that the local Talebs were well-organized and dealing with an enemy that now had large scale “Overwatch” capabilities had restricted much of their activity. He also didn’t feel that his place now was in the middle of a battle zone. He had done what he could.
He then thought about what he could do now he was back. He rang Shakil who seemed to be more bothered about Khalil’s recent activities in politics. Shakil described his trip to the meeting with the foreign delegation a few weeks before and carried on in the same vein: “It’s the class thing that really bothers me, Az, not anything else. I mean why did Khalil join these people? You should see them, a bunch of posh scroungers, like the idiots that started the wars in the first place. They’re the sort of people that built up Saddam Hussein and gave him all the weapons he needed against Iran and the Kurds. They’re the kind of men that poison everything they touch and they start wars they can’t end. Khalil shouldn’t go anywhere near them. He’ll get his fingers burnt. Mark my words.”
Az was astonished to hear his brother talking so frankly. Maybe he was starting to see how he had felt about the events of recent decades. He found it refreshing so soon after coming home.
“Well bruv, I don’t have a problem with anything you’ve said. It’s just that I don’t want to think about any of that at the moment. And anyway Khalil is old enough to decide for himself what he wants. He’ll find out in the end anyway what those types are like. He has a brain. And you’re right about the wedding; we need to get them some seriously nice gifts. They will never forget that, bruv.”
His leg was healing well; thankfully the National Health Service doctors hadn’t asked any difficult questions about how he managed to get partially shrapnelled. He could walk unaided and thought about some light exercises, whilst watching some ripped Australian women doing a workout on daytime TV.
“I could really get into this,” he thought to himself.
***
Khalil was standing at the entrance to the Indian restaurant just in case any of those invited didn’t know exactly where to go. He had hired the rear rooms of the Parmenter Restaurant for the “Bruvs Party” as Wazir had called it. It only had a few banners and greetings messages for the “Happy Couple”: he was now jaded by the whole thing and wanted it over. Saira’s bump was really very obvious and some of her older relatives had shown a certain disdain at times at their “situation” to the extent that he was still wondering if he was good enough for her.
“Hi guys, glad you could make it: straight through to the end.” The people he greeted were drawn mostly from work or his extended family and only Joe had turned up from the political meetings he had gone to. He hadn’t invited Jeff.
“Hi Joe; really glad you could make it, man. Straight down the end.” Khalil pointed through the side door of the restaurant, which led to the rear rooms.
By 8.30pm the room was nearly full and conversation flowing. People who didn’t know each other at all were chatting freely. It appeared to be a success even if there were only nibbles and some rather banal background music.
“So where are you tying the knot, Khalil?” asked Joe once Khalil had finished ushering people to the back.
“We’re having a small ceremony with close relatives and then a reception for everyone at a place in Hertfordshire near where Saira’s family is from.” He wasn’t giving much away.
“Well good luck with it all, Khalil; here’s a toast to you and Saira,” said Joe. The men raised their glasses and Khalil felt himself redden. He hadn’t allowed much alcohol – just enough for the non-Muslims. He never drank in public, but needed one himself. He resisted and pulled himself together.
“Thanks Joe: I really appreciate you coming.”
Shakil had revealed to Khalil on the phone that the ‘new’ wedding gift was a significant amount of jewellery and a large amount of cash. Neither Az nor Shakil were there, but that didn’t bother Khalil in the slightest. He was fairly certain it had all come from Uncle Haq anyway but didn’t mind.
Several other friends of Khalil joined them and he got them all fresh drinks. He turned to Joe, “I hope we will have a lot more fevered discussions at the party HQ from now on, Joe.” Khalil didn’t sound convincing and a cold sensation shot through his body. He
was so glad he had stopped being a confidant to Jeff Katz.
Turning to Joe again, Khalil asked him: “Joe, can I ask you a slightly personal question? What do you think of Jeff and the party?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Joe replied. “I am at a stage in my life where I need something different and I’ve got really hacked off with the mainstream politicians. I think all those loony lefties and stuck-up Tories have got on my wick over the years. I just wanted to talk to a few people about issues I suppose. I find things a bit of a drag; not least trying to find meaningful work.”
One of the other men overheard him and interjected: “I’m with you there mate.”
They all continued talking and Joe mentioned that he had worked abroad for a number of years due to the poor state of the economy in Britain in the nineties.
“Maybe you should talk about some of your experiences, Joe,” said Khalil. “It sounds interesting.”
“It’s been done to death, Khalil. There are loads of travelogues out there; people are sometimes just re-inventing the wheel. There is little new to add. I get bored listening to myself these days.” Joe felt a pain in the pit of his stomach that seemed to start to manifest itself more when he was speaking. He decided to stop talking so much.
“I must admit things have got ridiculous with all these travel shows on TV,” one of the other men replied, missing the point that Joe had been making. “No one’s interested in any more except for brain dead types with nothing better to do.”
Joe grinned back and decided he would drink more than he had intended, as he had only a short walk home.
“You know that’s pretty close to my feelings as well,” Joe stated politely and shuffled off to talk to some other people.
Khalil checked his other guests and then checked to see if the other men nearby were still as engrossed in conversation as he had hoped and therefore not within earshot. He came round close to Joe again: “Joe, two of my friends have had to drop out of the wedding reception this weekend. I have two spare seats going. It will look a bit daft; you know - empty spaces. Would you consider coming to the reception with your good lady? You will be in good company; my two cousins will be on your table and they’re fine.” Secretly Khalil knew that it was his last gambit. He needed someone who looked both different from everyone else and solid enough to sit next to Az. It would discourage Az from making any awkard comments.
“Wow; that’s a big ask,” Joe replied, waking up slightly. “I haven’t got anything planned with Alison this weekend. Can I ask her when I get back tonight and text you? I mean it’s only this Saturday right?”
“Yep; spot on. I will send you all the details. It will be 4.00pm at the reception. It’s a hotel just up the A10.”
“OK I will put it to her.”
The evening dragged on and Joe called Alison at 10.15pm. “Hi love, this is a bit short notice, but do you fancy coming to a wedding reception this Saturday?”
“Not a stitch, darling; I don’t think I can work that one.”
“What about we do a bit of shopping in town tomorrow after work? I can meet you up there.”
“How do you know these people?”
“They’re a nice Asian couple. I know him through work,” Joe lied.
“Oh; that might be different from the usual boring events I normally go to. I suppose we can arrange something. OK let’s meet, say 5.15pm; Oxford Circus?”
“No problem; see you there. Night darling.”
***
Joe and Alison were standing in Joe’s conservatory staring at his garden. It was Saturday morning and they had managed to get Alison’s new outfit the night before. Joe was just going to wear his black “births, deaths and marriages” suit. However, due to the amount of working out he had been doing before he went to Afghanistan it no longer seemed to fit properly. He would manage, but he knew that he needed to sort out his own wardrobe. He had noticed Alison throw a few disturbed looks his way in recent weeks and he’d assumed that it was down to his appearance.
“What about those two idiots; they won’t be there will they?” Alison enquired.
“Oh, you mean Baz and Dex, no, no; they’re not part of that set of friends. They don’t know each other,” Joe replied laughing. It was the first time he had laughed properly since returning home.
“Well that’s a bloody relief, Joe; I don’t know why you ever bothered with them, they’re just beer monsters,” Alison said, returning to a subject that Joe had hoped was buried and obviously wasn’t. He didn’t want this to escalate into an argument so he decided to agree with her in order to defuse the situation.
“I must admit I was getting fed up with their pointless conversations and hearing their views on just about everything. I haven’t spoken to either of them recently, love.” Joe lied but Alison wasn’t listening.
She continued: “They sound like all those armchair experts with their conspiracy theories. I have even met some people who tried to tell me that the Americans destroyed the Twin Towers themselves. People like that need to take a long, long look in the mirror.” She was going red.
“I know, love; but let’s leave it there, shall we?” He paused. “We don’t need to be at the place until 4.00pm. So I’m going to do a bit more masticking if that’s all right with you?”
“It’s OK,” she replied. “I need to go and get a few things first; I will see you just before two.” Alison walked out the front door.
***
Khalil and Wazir were sat in the flat.
“I can’t believe you did it. Why did you invite Az to the reception?” asked Wazir. “I told you that I had gone up there and done enough to put him off.”
“I suppose I just felt sorry for him. And you know his brother is a good lad. I did it for him really.”
“He’s been messing around with people he shouldn’t, Khalil. Don’t you get it? I sent him up north to get rid of him, to get him out of our hair, and Saira’s. It was a fucking mission. I was just faking that I was going to let him come down.”
“It’s too late now Waz. He’s coming with Shakil. Anyway it will be fine. I’ve put him on a table with this cool guy I know and his partner. It will be good for him.”
“I don’t think you were ever the best judge of people, were you, bruv? Still far be it from me to stop someone enjoying themselves.”
“You know a few months ago you were the one defending him and I didn’t want to know,” said Khalil.
“Well, things change bruv.” Wazir decided to stop himself saying any more about the matter. Khalil was evidently so pre-occupied with the wedding and the imminent birth he had stopped listening to reason.
***
Khalil and Saira were greeting the guests as they came through the doors under the garlands of flowers which bedecked the reception area. They had been lucky with the weather and everything was going well. Khalil spied Az amongst those who had not been invited to the main ceremony. Az had been joined by Shakil who had left the main wedding party and they were now hovering around outside. Khalil felt only slightly guilty when he saw this; he had no reason to cold-shoulder guests, but he consoled himself with the fact that all weddings had pecking-orders where those least connected to the bride and groom would be waiting on the order of ceremony.
Joe was just hoping that he and Alison wouldn’t be hanging around too long and could get off in a couple of hours without being seen. He had little time for weddings: a result of having too many aunts and uncles and therefore, too many cousins’ weddings to attend, nearly all of them south of the river. “Down there,” was his phrase for his extended family’s terrain. He had stopped going to family events many years before and he had never looked back as some of his cousins were on their third marriages. By contrast he hoped that Khalil and Saira’s union would be a long and happy one. They eventually filed past the happy couple; stuffing the present into the hands of Saira, who was greeting the guests as they came in.
“So nice to see you!” – ‘as if Saira knows who
they are’ - Khalil thought. She had a puzzled look on her face and looked askance at Khalil. She had no such kind words for Az, just a polite nod and a sideways glance. Shakil had already slipped Khalil the money and the jewellery was on display at the flat for when they returned.
Joe, Alison, Shakil and Az were put on a table at the rear with Khalil’s two backroom staff in his IT business. Joe joked with Alison that he was happy enough as he could already see an escape route out the rear, should they need or want one, as well as one at the side of the dance floor.
“Not so much a dramatic entrance as a dramatic exit!” he exclaimed to Alison who threw him a frown.
Alison briefly chatted with Saira as she came round to say hello and Az and Shakil politely acknowledged both Joe and Alison. Joe threw a furtive glance at Az who was sat on his side of the table. Something wasn’t right about these two men. He couldn’t put his finger on it - and it wasn’t Az’s walking stick.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Joe asked Az quietly.
Az looked at Joe and a blank, uncomfortable stare enveloped his face.
“No; I don’t recall.”
“Yes, you do,” Joe replied. “We were at school together.”
“Yes; yes of course. How could I have forgotten your face? It’s Joe Carney, isn’t it?”
“Yes, of course it is Az. My God how many years has it been? I had no idea you were related to Khalil, not that I know him very well. So what have you been doing all these years?”
“Oh I’ve bummed around a bit; nothing much really,” replied Az. He paused. “Do you remember when we used to bunk off school?”
“Yeah, they were the days. Mr Paulus, the Art Master, used to catch us every now and then; he hid in the forest. Do you remember that?”
“Can’t forget it, mate. And the time we set fire to those leaves near the cricket pavilion. We nearly set the place ablaze.”
“Yeah, but it was freezing. And we all smoked, didn’t we, like we were all really hard.”
They both laughed loudly and shook hands. Saira looked over and saw them through the crowd. She wondered for a moment what on earth was happening. Khalil was so stressed by everything he didn’t even notice, but kept looking at his watch.
Carney's War Page 22
