by Ayisha Malik
That’s when he went from being my boss, to being my business partner. Something lifted in my heart. A lightness. One without patches of dark. It was hope springing – right here, in what would be our office. My office. I looked at the sign and you know what it brought? Meaning.
I was about to be queen of my own world.
Saturday 7 September
2.45 p.m. Went to Mum’s for lunch and Maars came over too.
‘Soffoo,’ said Mum. ‘Now at least you must move back home? If you put all your money in a new business how will you survive?’
I looked at Mum, her rationality a blight on my freedom. ‘But –’
‘-Listen,’ interrupted Maars, ‘if you want to do this – I mean, really want to do this, then you have to make some compromises. Right?’
I nodded. Mum tried to suppress her smile. Maybe she wanted me around more for herself than me? The thought hadn’t occurred to me before.
‘OK,’ I said, looking at Mum. ‘Time for me to move back home.’
I must focus on the bigger picture. It’s just added ammunition to make the business venture work. This, after all, is my freedom at stake.
Sunday 15 September
11.15 p.m. The troops came to help me move my stuff into Mum’s at the same time as Foz was moving hers into Kam’s flat. We both have a lot of shit. Well, had a lot of shit. I’ve purged my life of extraneous items – in the physical sense. It’s the step you take before purging yourself of extraneous emotional items. This is moving forward; leaving behind the house that was your husband’s. Although moving back into your mother’s feels a lot like regressing.
I watched Katie seal up a box, scrawling Books on to it with a marker pen. She looked at it for a moment before adding Classics. ‘Genre is important,’ she said. ‘Moving and organising things is what I live for.’
She wasn’t being ironic. Love Katie.
‘Is your brother-in-law going to take the heavy things next door?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I guess he should. Is it very heavy?’
She put the lid on the marker and looked at me, her face flushed. ‘Well, I’m sort of carrying a baby, so don’t think I should carry anything else for a bit.’
I almost fell off the bed.
‘Foetus, actually – more accurately speaking,’ she added.
‘You’re preggers?’
She nodded, smiling, and looking at me in utter joy.
‘Oh my God, you’re having a baby!’ I exclaimed, pushing myself – in a rather ungainly manner – off the bed and into her arms.
‘Early days – it’s only been seven weeks, but I had to tell you. Obviously.’
‘Why are you here? Why aren’t you resting? You shouldn’t be moving things.’
She waved the marker at me. ‘I’m pregnant, not an invalid.’
‘I needed some good news. Is Tom over the moon?’
‘He’s not said one negative thing about general life since we found out.’
‘That’s quite something,’ I said. ‘Can I text him?’
‘Yes, of course. He’ll be thrilled. He’s walking around with his chest puffed out as if he’s going to push something the size of a melon out of his vagina.’
I got my phone out and composed a message to him, feeling, for the first time in a long time, as if there was some kind of hope. Apparently some of it can be found in one sperm and one egg coming together.
‘Just one thing,’ said Katie.
I looked up at her.
‘Tom and I have been talking about this for the past week, and I wanted us to decide before I told you.’
I pressed ‘send’ as I nodded.
‘And feel free to say no if it’s too much – it’s just that we feel that you’d be the best person for it.’
‘What?’ I asked.
‘We’d love it if you could be the godmother.’
Hain?
‘Me?’
‘Yes. You.’
‘Godmother?’
‘Yes.’
‘To your baby?’
‘No, Sweetu – our dog.’
People talk of milestones in life – graduating from university, getting your first job, buying a house, getting married, etc. – but no one really thinks about the milestones that are offered to you. And how they can mean so much more when they’re unprecedented.
‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,’ I said, barely able to control my tears.
‘Well?’
‘You’re really sure?’
‘You don’t realise how much we love you. Anyway, no one else would be quite the right fit.’
The question ‘why’ they did came to mind, but I am far too grateful to want to give myself the evil eye.
‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘Can you have a Muslim godmother?’
She thought for a moment. ‘Changing times, Sweetu. We’re making new rules now.’
From Tom: Cheers, Tinker. Can you wear a properly bling Pakistani outfit at the christening? We’re gonna show ’em how it’s done. Tom xx
With a lot of rapture, a few tears and more gushing than is appropriate to record, I accepted the role of being another human being’s spiritual and moral guide.
I closed the door to Conall’s house, posting the keys through the letterbox and entering Mum’s house once again. As I stood in the passage it was as if nothing had changed in two years since before I even knew Conall’s name. Sitting on my bed, in my old bedroom, I wondered how you can be in the same place where you started yet with an entirely new path set out in front of you.
For the first time in a long time, I am going to sleep with a smile on my face.
Thanks to God.
Tuesday 17 September
8.25 a.m. I’d forgotten how much the damn house phone rings. Moving back home could be the thing that drives me to insanity.
8.40 a.m.
From Sakib: I hope you’re awake. Get ready. I’ve taken holiday and we’re going office supply shopping.
Oh my God, if it wasn’t so inappropriate I might’ve kissed him if he were in front of me.
9.40 a.m. Maars is upset that I’m going office furniture shopping without her so I told her to come with us.
Sakib might as well get used to Khan family interference.
6.45 p.m. ‘Your sister,’ said Sakib. ‘She sure can bargain-hunt.’
Maars went back home as Sakib and I went to his house and had to carry through two new desks. I accidentally hit the corner of the box on the bannister. I heard Sakib inhale rather dramatically.
‘Oops. Sorry.’
‘It’s fine. Don’t worry.’
I looked at the chip. ‘You can just paint over it.’
‘Sofia, it’s fine.’
I walked backwards with the box in hand. ‘OK, you need to stop pushing.’
He flinched as the box knocked against the kitchen door.
I put my end of the box down as he did the same.
‘You’re going to have to accept that sometimes in life things get chipped,’ I said.
‘That’s a really expensive door,’ he replied, walking up and rubbing the wood.
‘Fucking hell.’
‘Please don’t swear.’
‘Sakib,’ I said, putting my hands on my hips. ‘There are two things you need to come to terms with.’
He lifted an arm and rested his hand on the door.
‘Things are going to get chipped and I’m going to swear.’
‘It’s just not very ladylike.’
I raised my eyebrows.
‘Fine. But you’ll have to come to terms with the fact that I care when things get chipped.’
I watched him for a while. ‘Fine.’
We settled the box into the office and I watched as he opened it up. He ripped the tape and laid out the pieces of the desk on the floor. ‘How good are you at fixing things?’
I looked at him, holding up two of the table legs in my hands. ‘I’m about to learn.’
9.10 p.m. When I got home Mum w
as standing with Adam in her arms.
‘Hey, monkey,’ I said, taking him from her. ‘What’s he doing here?’ I asked.
‘What am I here for but to look after your children and do your work for you? People say when children get married you are free.’
‘He’s not my baby,’ I said, then looked at Adam and whispered, ‘Of course you’re my baby.’
Mum was looking into the distance. ‘All your life you work, work, work. Then you are old and almost dead.’ She looked at me. ‘Where is the time to enjoy?’
When I began the Uncle Mouch conversation she stopped me, as per.
‘Then you can’t complain,’ I said. ‘Don’t blame me for the choices you make.’
‘You don’t understand what responsibilities are. When you have your own children, then you will know.’
I might’ve exhaled.
She shook her head. ‘Every year you are starting your life over again. Sometimes a husband, sometimes a job, and here I am doing the same thing every day and who notices? What do I get?’
‘Well, we notice,’ I said as Adam started whining. I took the seat next to her and added, ‘It’s not too late. It’s not like Uncle Wasim’s going to marry someone else. Better get in there.’
‘Life isn’t like this, Soffoo. You can’t break things and make things when you want. You think – if Conall came to you now and said sorry, you would listen?’
It only just began to dawn on me; Mum had broken off her engagement for my sake and now she regretted it.
‘We tried forty years ago and we tried now and it wasn’t in our kismet.’
I watched her, looking at the blank TV screen, as I squeezed Adam’s hand in mine.
The thing is, sometimes, you make your own kismet.
Wednesday 18 September
7.30 a.m. And sometimes this kismet means swallowing a little bit of pride and making a phone call you never thought you’d have to make. Isn’t it just the way life goes: the only person who can help me reverse my mum’s regret is bloody Hamida. Or, it would be, if she ever answered her phone.
9.10 a.m. ‘Sofia?’ said Sakib, waving at me. ‘I still have another job to go to so can you do that or not?’
‘What?’
‘Develop that spreadsheet?’
‘Oh. Yes. Sure.’
‘You’d probably better put your phone in the drawer.’
I pointed at him. ‘You’re not my boss so you can’t tell me what to do any more.’
‘I don’t think I ever could,’ he mumbled.
I glanced at my phone again.
‘Is that Conall’s call you’re waiting for? It’s no wonder he doesn’t want to speak to you with your charming moods.’
‘Where the hell are the staplers?’ I said.
Sakib stood up. ‘I’d tell you to organise your desk a little better, but I’m not your boss any more.’
I was looking under all my papers and found them before I shook them at him. He stood there while I put them in the stapler, only they weren’t the right size.
‘Bastard thing.’ I slammed the stapler on the desk and went back to my emails. ‘It’s not Conall’s call I’m expecting.’
He picked up his briefcase (what does he even have in there?). ‘Moving on already?’
I looked up at him pretty fast. What was that supposed to mean?
‘I’m still married.’ As the words came out of my mouth I realised: I’d moved out of the house, Conall was now in Ireland and yet we were still married. This wasn’t right.
‘Ignore me,’ he said, raising his hand and making his way out of the door. ‘I just thought maybe you were going to . . . I don’t know. Forget it.’
He left the house, but forgetting didn’t exactly come very easily.
10.05 a.m. Why isn’t bloody Hammy picking up her damn phone??
3.50 p.m. Have called her about ten times and also texted her, but nothing. Maybe will have to ask Sean if he’s been in touch, but really, last thing I need is a conversation with him on how worried he is about Conall.
Friday 20 September
9.40 a.m.
To: Hannah; Foz; Suj: My God, I need a fag. Working with Sakib could lead me to much worse, I tell you.
9.50 a.m.
From Hannah: Ooh, is there sexual tension sizzling?
From Suj: You dirty cow!
From Foz: Is something actually going on here? Darling, maybe you should think about speaking to Conall . . . I mean, to be able to move on.
Honestly. These girls would have me marry a tree if they could.
6 p.m. Sakib came back and kept giving me weird looks over his computer screen. He smiled and looked at his empty plate before looking back at me.
‘You know what I think sometimes?’
I waited for him to continue.
‘Never mind.’
‘No, what?’ I said.
‘I sometimes think you can be a little –’
Just then I received a message.
From Suj: I can’t fucking believe it. It’s true. He was cheating on me.
‘Is everything OK?’ he asked.
I said I had to go and make an important phone call and dashed out of the room.
‘What the hell happened?’ I said when Suj picked up the phone.
She’d been right. She said she got so mad she can’t even remember what she said to him. Just that he left with a cut on his brow because she threw a picture frame at him.
‘Everything OK?’ asked Sakib when I walked back into the office.
I nodded, staring into the computer screen. Poor, poor Suj.
‘You sure?’ he added.
I looked up at him. ‘Just a friend having a few problems.’
‘Ah. Well, feel free to go make any calls you need.’
12.10 a.m. I went over to Foz’s – we tried to get Suj to come over but she said she was going out with some girls from work. Then I got a call from her five minutes ago.
‘Toffeeeeeee. I love you so much. Did you know that? Did you know how much I love you?’
‘Where are you?’ I asked.
‘I love you. No-mie! Nay-oh-mi! I’m speaking to my best friend in the world.’
I mouthed to Foz that Suj was on the phone.
‘Will you still make your salads in our old people’s home?’ said Suj.
‘She’s pissed,’ I whispered to Foz.
‘No, Toffee, I’m not! I just love you.’
Quiet.
‘What are you looking at?’ Suj shouted, presumably at a passer-by. ‘Do you have a fucking problem with brown people?’
‘Suj, listen to me. Where are you? Are you safe?’
‘No one’s safe in this world because it’s full of wankers.’
Foz got up. ‘Do we need to get her from somewhere?’
‘Suj, tell me where you are and Foz and I will come and collect you.’
‘Is Foz there? Oh, I love her. Give her the phone, Toffee. Did you know she says she’s worried about you?’
Foz must’ve heard her and went to take the phone from me. I nudged her away.
‘I told her, Toffee. I said, “Don’t worry about our Soffee Toffee. She is always OK!” You are, aren’t you? Because if you’re not I’m going to fly to Ireland and drag Conall back because, Toffee, I swear you guys are meant to be. Oh, it’s Hannah calling. Hannah! I love you!’
‘It’s still me, Suj.’
Then the phone beeped as she hung up. Foz was already messaging Hannah when I put the phone down. We both looked at each other.
‘Right,’ I said, getting up. ‘I’ll put my scarf on and you get the keys.’
Saturday 21 September
4.20 a.m. God Almighty. All this activity has given me a stomach ulcer. I picked up a KitKat from the kitchen drawer before Foz and I went looking for Suj. Foz looked at me and then at the KitKat.
‘It’s to line my stomach,’ I said.
Hannah told us that she gleaned Suj was near a club in Mayfair. After much googling,
driving around and calling Suj, she finally called us back. She was outside Charles’s house.
We made our way back to the car. ‘This is why no good comes from drinking,’ I said.
Foz got in the driver’s seat and started the engine. ‘Don’t tell me you couldn’t do with one right about now.’
Suj sat in her parked car. I got into the passenger’s side as Foz got into the back. Suj was staring out of the window at what I presumed was Charles’s house
‘What are we looking for?’ asked Foz.
‘Lights,’ replied Suj.
I leaned over Suj to take in the view of the house. ‘It’s quite big, isn’t it? The house, I mean.’
Suj looked at me, the rim of her eyes red, her eyeliner still immaculate. ‘Is Hannah at home?’
I nodded.
Foz got out her phone and called her. ‘Yeah, no, what? No, I’m not passing on that message.’
Suj turned round as Foz stared at her for a few moments. She sighed. ‘Han says that you should put sugar in his petrol tank.’
‘Hang on,’ said Foz as she put Hannah on loudspeaker.
‘What you want to do is get some superglue to glue his windscreen wipers to the screen. Sorry.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Omar’s friends are over. And you can also superglue the locks. Don’t forget the boot. But you’ll need lots of glue for that. One per lock, I’d say.’
‘It’d have to be strong,’ said Suj.
‘Of course,’ replied Han.
I peered over at Foz, who was shaking her head.
‘Or you could just actually slash the tyres?’ I suggested.
‘Sofe,’ said Foz.
‘I’m joking! Look at me, Suj. Look at me.’
She turned my way.
‘Vandalism is not the answer.’
