by Ayisha Malik
Katie looked at me. Sakib leaned forward, the office light catching the glint of his gold watch.
‘Oh, he’ll be here for the wedding, anyway,’ said Katie.
Argh!
‘I thought you were already married?’ he asked.
‘I am. It’s my mum. You know, the parental celebratory rights,’ I replied.
He smiled and raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh yes, I know about that.’
Brammers put two cubes of sugar in her coffee.
‘How about pitching a strong feminist stance?’ Katie interjected.
‘I’ll be shot for saying this,’ said Sakib, ‘but I always thought women preferred romance to feminism.’
Brammers shook her head while he wasn’t looking, as if it was just the typical thing a man would say.
I took another biscuit, thinking about Conall. Romance versus feminism. ‘Whoever said you can’t have both?’
3.45 p.m. Just as I was walking out of the building Sakib caught up with me.
‘You know, I just wanted to say . . .’
He paused, looking very shiny – like a new doll – even on such a grey day. I liked his black, thick-rimmed glasses.
‘Yes?’
‘I hope I don’t sound patronising . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s just that, I feel very proud.’
I looked round to see what exactly he might be proud of. ‘OK . . .’ I said.
‘Of you.’
It made me blush. I’ve never been very good with the candour of compliments. ‘Oh.’
‘I mean, this is brown-to-brown speaking,’ he added conspiratorially, and then looked immediately embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I –’
‘-No, it’s fine . . . Thank you.’
It was kind of patronising, but he meant well. And it was weird – the camaraderie in colour. It almost felt un-PC.
‘Good. Great.’ He stuck his thumbs up at me.
Buffoon in me ended up doing the same to him.
‘We’ll speak soon,’ he said.
‘Yes. Soon.’
I sat in St James’s Park, a little lifted, which goes to show how fickle feelings can be. I’d been dreaming of a decent cappuccino for months but now I had one and it was too strong. As I watched passers-by the lift began to deflate. When was contentment going to kick in? The bench was still wet from the rain and I thought I was getting a cold. I attempted to get excited at the prospect of book publication but something didn’t quite feel right. It turns out that thoughts are no more significant sitting in a park in London than they are sitting in a flat in Karachi.
My finger hovered over Conall’s number. It was ridiculous to hesitate over calling your own husband.
‘Hi,’ I said as he picked up the phone.
Pause.
‘Hey.’
Forget about the last conversation, Sofia. Think about now.
‘Guess what I’m holding?’ I said.
‘Well, I’m not there so I hope it’s not what I think it is.’
I laughed. What was I talking about, Conall on paper? He’s more than ink and parchment.
‘My book.’
‘Ah. How does it feel?’
Love his voice.
‘Better than I thought.’
He paused. ‘That’s grand. You deserve it.’
I watched the overcast skies that looked ready to chuck it down with rain again.
‘I never liked that saying. People don’t get what they deserve generally, do they?’
Mum didn’t deserve to lose her husband. Auntie deserved one who appreciated her. Murderers don’t deserve freedom. But if we all began thinking about what we deserve and what life gives us, well: that way bitterness lies.
‘You get what you get and that’s the way it’s meant to be,’ I added.
‘Some might ask what the point is then,’ he replied.
‘Well, dear husband, that’s where believing in God comes in handy. Bigger picture and all that.’
‘I’m not sure how I feel when you start making sense, Sofe.’
‘Shut up.’ I turned the book over in my hand, smiling. ‘Have you changed your mind yet?’
‘Sofe . . . ’
‘It’s really not that complicated,’ I said.
Lightning flashed and I got a chill in my bones.
‘Listen, Hamida thinks –’
Thunder roared as I got up when I realised he’d said Hammy’s name. ‘Hamida?’ I asked.
‘There’s too much to do here. I’m sorry. I should be there, I know. I just can’t.’
I know that tone. My own husband won’t be at my wedding. How exactly was I going to face this? What was I going to tell everyone?
‘Feels like you’ve been away for a long time,’ he said. ‘My moral compass is all over the place.’
I ran down the stairs of Green Park Station as the rain began beating down on the ground. ‘Maybe you should consider letting it guide you back home.’
7.50 p.m.
From Foz: Darling! What do you mean you’re having a wedding? It’s so soon! Can’t believe I’ll miss your pissed-off face on stage! Xxxxx
Will anyone I want actually be there? Must remain calm. I have to get Mum to cancel. How can there be a groom-less wedding?
10.45 p.m. Mum and Auntie Reena had gone to the cinema when the doorbell rang. I opened the door and it was Suj and Hannah!
‘Did someone get married?’ said Hannah, walking into the house.
I leaped into Suj’s arms as she lifted me off the ground and consequently almost broke her back.
‘You guys are shits for not abandoning everything and coming to see me sooner.’
‘I think my husband’s co-dependent,’ said Hannah.
‘Your husband needs more friends,’ said Suj.
‘It’s so weird. I’m like, I need to see my girls and he’s all, but I’d planned an evening for us,’ said Hannah.
Ugh. ‘Isn’t that annoying?’ I asked.
‘Totally. But it’s better than him ignoring me,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t understand. When you get married in your thirties you’ve formed all these close female friendships and the man ends up being a bonus. Men don’t bond in the same way.’
This is what I’d missed: Hannah’s analysis of life. She looked at the fairy lights wrapped around the bannisters.
‘Toffee, I can’t believe you’re having a wedding,’ Suj exclaimed.
There was the panic again.
‘But before that, do you have any Sudocrem?’ she pointed at a minute pimple on her temple.
‘She hasn’t shut up about it the entire journey,’ said Han. ‘Here: we brought pizza.’
Hannah went into the kitchen to get plates out while Suj looked at her pimple in the mirror. ‘I have a photo shoot tomorrow,’ she said.
‘That pimple’s not going to ruin your modelling career.’
She turned round. ‘Let me look at you, Toffee. You look amazing.’
Which was so untrue but so Suj.
We sat and ate, catching up on the past six months. I don’t mean to be sentimental here but you can’t really underestimate the comfort of friends.
‘Foz messaged this morning. She’s in Peru,’ said Suj. ‘Lucky cow.’
‘So, when’s Conall coming?’ asked Hannah.
I picked at the mushroom on the pizza. ‘Not sure, exactly.’
‘Man with a cause,’ she said. ‘Is he actually quite practising? Praying regularly?’
‘Underlines verses from the Qur’an and all sorts,’ I replied.
‘Fascinating, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘Fucking great,’ added Suj, looking into her hand-mirror. Despite being Sikh, she feels very strongly about other people being Muslim.
‘He’s not started dictating to you, has he?’ asked Han. ‘Why are your jeans so tight, why’s your forearm showing?’
Suj looked up from her mirror.
‘No,’ I said. ‘He’s not a fundo.’
‘I think I’d find it q
uite hot if Charles told me my jeans were too tight,’ said Suj.
‘You’d throw a plate at him,’ I said, cutting a piece of pizza for her.
‘Maybe I would.’
‘She’d run him over with a bulldozer!’ said Han. ‘What’s Conall’s brother like?’ she then asked. ‘Is he a liberal? Liberals don’t mind converts.’
I told them he’s away – speaking of, having been away myself I’d forgotten how many questions Hannah asks.
‘Who cares what anyone thinks,’ said Suj. ‘It’s about fucking time you were happy.’
Love Suj.
‘What about his parents?’ said Hannah. ‘They’re Catholic, right?’
‘Bloody hell, get the Pope on the line,’ said Suj.
I shrugged. ‘He doesn’t really speak to them.’
This time Suj put her mirror away. ‘He doesn’t speak to his parents?’
I closed the empty pizza box and opened another. What was I meant to say? Tried asking my husband about it but he doesn’t talk about them. That doesn’t sound like winning behaviour. They had to get to know Conall before they could judge him. Just then I heard the keys in the front door and Mum and Auntie Reena came in.
‘Ah, Betas. You make sure you are ready for the wedding,’ said Mum to them. ‘Suj, you must do Soffoo’s make-up and, Hannah, you are in charge of making sure no one takes the centrepieces.
‘So shame Fozia won’t be here. I don’t understand what all this finding yourself is. If you don’t know where you are, then what have you been doing in your life?’
It wasn’t worth explaining Foz’s need to stay in South America longer than necessary due to her break-up. On a less selfish note, it was probably best for her since Kam was always trying to claw his way back into her life. The further she was from him the better. Before anyone could respond, Mum had turned her back and was already checking Facebook.
‘Love how your mum just gets on with things,’ said Suj as we all hovered at the door.
I was inclined to check what exactly she was getting on with, but I had enough on my plate.
‘It’s great being married and still living with your mum,’ I said.
Note for book: When married to someone, standard state should be of cohabitation.
‘You can’t have the hot convert husband and a sane mum,’ said Hannah. ‘Life isn’t that kind.’
‘Don’t listen to her, Toffee.’ Suj grabbed my arms. ‘Life should only ever be kind to you.’ With which she pushed Hannah out of the house.
I spent the rest of the night wedged between Mum and Auntie Reena, looking online at chocolate fountains.
To Foz: I really miss you xxxx
Friday 22 February
11.20 a.m. Argh! Have spent morning teetering on the edge of bedroom window (having a fag) and hysteria. Tried to speak to Mum about postponing wedding but she’s already sent save the date e-invites! Combo of lack of personal space, looming wedding without an actual groom, need to buy a dress (apparently that’s important), Mum badgering me about Conall’s parents and Auntie Reena keeping me up, talking about her life’s regrets, is driving me to excessive nicotine intake. Not good for head, heart or lungs. Everyone keeps asking when Conall will be here. Must breathe. Mum’s addiction to Facebook doesn’t help. She’s constantly giggling, tapping at the screen. Shouldn’t she be knitting or something?
I noticed a taxi pull up outside and saw Sean climb out of the car. That was when Mum mentioned that he’d come over one day after Conall and I’d got married and she never really spoke to him after that.
‘Mum, he must think we’re so rude,’ I said.
‘And I think it’s very rude you got married without telling your mama,’ she replied, swiping something on her iPad.
What if Sean thinks Mum’s racist? And not the casual, but-some-of-my-best-friends-are-black type racist. I mean the proper you’re-no-longer-my-daughter-and-I-want-nothing-to-do-with-you type racist.
It was time to pay my new bro-in-law a visit. Especially since it seemed he’d be the only Irish representative at the wedding.
Must remember am paying my dues to Mum and then the debt will be paid. Though am beginning to feel like Greece in this continent of filial duty.
1.20 p.m. ‘Hi,’ I said as Sean opened the door.
He frowned at me at first, but recognition seemed to dawn as he broke into a smile. ‘Look who it is. My new sister-in-law.’
‘Should I come back later? You must be jet-lagged.’
He waved his hand and summoned me into the house.
I’ve decided I like Sean (more than his brother right now, actually). They look incredibly similar except that Sean is (very) clean-shaven, an easier version of Conall: the way he’ll walk up to you with a big smile and shake your hand so hard it might fall off. Or how he’ll just let the cigarette hang from the corner of his mouth (while you’re trying not to lust after it – the cigarette, that is).
‘This certainly cries out bachelor,’ I said as we walked into the living room.
It was so different now with its black leather sofa and HD TV mounted on the wall – all glass tables and fluffy rugs. I noticed photos of Sean and Conall as kids. Another one of what I assumed to be his parents; his dad looking unimpressed and his mum giving a tight smile; and a dog, lolling his tongue out. Conall never had pictures of his parents when he was living here.
‘And that’s exactly what I was going for,’ replied Sean, looking pleased. ‘Sit. Drink?’
‘No, I just wanted to say hi.’ And er, sorry about my mum, who’s rude, but not racist.
He sat down. ‘So, he finally did it. He actually got married.’
I waited for the expression: to you. But if it happened then I missed it.
‘This should be good for him,’ he said.
Which was an odd thing to say, but I nodded because it was important to be agreeable. Then I told him about the wedding.
‘But Conall won’t be there?’ he said.
I shook my head.
‘He’s not coming to his own wedding?’
‘No.’
‘Sorry, I don’t understand,’ he said.
Yes, Sean, welcome to the Crackpot Family. I told him that brown weddings tend to be less about the bride and groom bound to each other for eternity and more about three hundred guests, bound to the promise of biryani.
‘Oh,’ he said, looking confused. As well he might. ‘Well, I get big weddings . . . I’ll be there. ’Course.’
Just then his phone rang and he picked up. ‘Speak of the devil.’ He looked over at me. ‘Your wife’s hanging out with me and where the feck are you? Mm? No.’ He turned away. ‘What?’ He glanced back at me. ‘Right. I see. Sure. Sure. Why didn’t you . . . fine.’
He turned round again and gave me this look I couldn’t quite understand.
‘Right. Sure . . .’ Sean handed the phone over to me. ‘I’ll just get my bags upstairs,’ he said, walking out of the room.
‘I’ll send a video message for the day,’ said Conall.
‘Yeah. That’s just as good.’
I looked at the dinner table: the place I used to sit and write, Conall coming in and out, bringing me coffee and tea, giving me life advice. Why couldn’t he be here again? Even if it was just to hug me. Maybe I’ll write a chapter on ‘The Comfort of Arms’. As in a person’s arms – not weapons. Obviously.
‘You decided on this wedding without me. Trust me, I get it, what with your mum and all. But don’t blame me for not being there. You love logic, Sofe. Where is it now?’
Turns out I err on the side of too much hope.
Sunday 24 February
7.10 p.m. ‘Where are you going?’ I asked Mum, who was hovering at my door, dressed in her Sunday best.
I was trying to write. Chapter title: Great Expectations . . .
‘How do I look? she asked, touching her hair tied back in a chignon.
‘Very nice.’
She paused. ‘You’re writing?’
I nodded.
‘It isn’t easy always, haina, Beta?’
‘Writing or marriage?’
‘O-ho, marriage.’
The jewels around her neck sparkled. Dad bought her that necklace on one of her birthdays. We were poor for so long that when we finally had money Dad’s presents got increasingly extravagant. Maybe it was easier to be married when you had to focus on important things like putting food in your children’s mouths. Except now we have rather too much food, but I don’t think asking for poverty is particularly sensible.
‘First year is always hardest,’ she said.
What exactly did Mum know about me and Conall? Whenever I think she doesn’t understand something it turns out it’s not that she doesn’t get it; she just doesn’t get bogged down by it.
‘Acha, I’m going. Your auntie’s downstairs. Be nice to her.’
‘Obviously, Mum.’
She went to leave and then turned round. ‘Marriage can be hard, but I think it is worth it.’
Thursday 28 February
9.15 a.m. It’s life’s irony that I’m the one getting married in under four weeks and Mum’s the one who’s walking around with a face mask on. The knots in my stomach multiply each passing day. It’s not just that Conall won’t be here – it’s what people will think his absence means. What does it mean? How much longer can I leave it to explain to Mum what’s going on?
‘Uff, I don’t know when your Auntie Reena will go home,’ said Mum, lowering her voice as she checked whether the rice was done.
‘I thought you liked her being here,’ I said, noticing her flushed face.
‘She is going around like her life has ended because she has left her shit husband. Her hair all grey now. How many times I told her about discounted hair dye in Boots.’
Mum grabbed a rag and began to wipe down the coffee table. ‘Your baba left us all, Soffoo. Thirty-five years and gone.’ She looked at the dirty cloth and threw it in the bin. ‘But at least he died. Reena’s husband behaved so badly she is now left high and fly.’
‘Dry, Mum.’
‘But you know: men don’t wait like women do,’ she said. ‘And the biggest thing I realised, watching Reena with her long face?’
