The Carmel Sheehan Story

by Jean Grainger

  Carmel swallowed the lump in her throat as a tear threatened to spill. She couldn’t speak but squeezed Nadia’s hand.

  They hadn’t much more time for chat as the flight had landed, so they made their way to the arrivals area. And, eventually, behind a stack of suitcases, manoeuvred by an airline staff member came Zeinab, being pushed in a wheelchair.

  They watched as the large woman wearing the most beautiful lilac-and-gold shalwar kameez, the loose-legged trousers and tunic top synonymous with Pakistan—tipped the young man fifty pounds. He could hardly believe his luck, the usual tip being closer to five.

  ‘Thank you, my dear.’ Zeinab waved regally, as he handed her over to Carmel and Nadia.

  ‘Zeinab, what happened? Did you hurt yourself? You never said!’ Nadia was shocked to see her sister in a wheelchair.

  Zeinab ignored the question, launching straight into criticism. ‘Oh my word, Nadia, it is so cold, how can you endure it? And look at you—not enough clothes on.’ She turned to Carmel. ‘You must be darling Sharif’s new wife! I saw the photos of the wedding, even if I wasn’t invited. It looked like a big affair.’

  Though the words were delivered with a sweet smile, Carmel felt the barbs. Nadia had insisted that Zeinab would ruin the day, and anyway, at the time, Tariq was dying, so if she had been asked she would have said they were being insensitive. According to Nadia, you just couldn’t win with Zeinab.

  ‘Hello, Zeinab, how nice to meet you. Nadia’s told me all about you. I’m so sorry you missed our wedding, it was quite small actually, but Nadia and Sharif didn’t want to add to your pressures, as you were caring for Tariq, God rest his soul.’ Carmel began to manoeuvre the heavy wheelchair as Nadia struggled with the trolley and Zeinab’s four large suitcases, two duty free bags, and an enormous jewelled handbag. Nadia shot her a grateful glance, and Carmel had a moment of exhilaration at how well she’d handled it. The old Carmel would just have reddened and muttered something apologetic.

  Once they were at the car, Zeinab calmly got out of the wheelchair, walked to the passenger door, and sat into the front seat, regally allowing Carmel and Nadia to load up her many bags and return the wheelchair.

  Carmel and Nadia exchanged a glance that said more than words could ever say. Nadia was gritting her teeth in frustration already, and Carmel stifled a grin. This Zeinab, clearly perfectly healthy, was certainly a piece of work.

  Carmel sat into the driver’s seat and tried to look confident. She wasn’t driving long, but she had passed her test first time and Sharif bought her a gorgeous Renault KADJAR as a birthday present. She was determined not to look incompetent in front of his aunt.

  Nadia said nothing but seethed in the back as Carmel switched on the sat nav.

  ‘Do you not know how to get home?’ Zeinab asked incredulously, looking in distaste at the screen.

  ‘Well, I’m not from London, I’ve only been living here less than two years, and it’s a huge city, so I’d get lost without the sat nav.’ Carmel tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. Nadia wasn’t wrong, though—Zeinab was a bit of a weapon all right. That said, she couldn’t be any worse than Bill’s sister Julia, and Carmel had managed her for seventeen years, so she was sure she’d cope with Zeinab for a month. ‘I imagine Karachi is the same?’

  ‘Oh, I rarely leave the house, and when I do, I have a driver, so I wouldn’t know,’ she answered imperiously.

  ‘London is very rundown, is it not?’ Zeinab gave a running commentary as they drove, criticising everything: the congestion, the buildings, the jaywalkers… And as they came closer to Aashna House, she ramped it up.

  ‘I’m surprised Sharif did not act on my suggestion for gold gates for this place. At the moment, anyone can just drive in. It doesn’t give the right impression. And also those cars in the car park, they are so small, surely he has a separate staff car parking area? What will people think? If you come to Aashna House, it is for the exclusive treatment by my nephew and his team. You don’t want to have to park your Mercedes beside some old dirty Japanese car.’

  Carmel smiled. Zeinab had Sharif so wrong. He wanted patients, families, and staff to realise the place was open to all and that money didn’t matter. Those who could pay did, but many more did not.

  As they drove through the grounds, verdant lawns stretched either side of the avenue, and a tinkling fountain sparkled in the sun. Aashna House itself was an old stately home, so the main building was protected, but behind it, Sharif had built so many wonderful spaces for the patients and their families to enjoy. The one thing he was adamant about was that it should neither look nor smell like a hospital.

  The Aashna restaurant, which specialised in organic locally sourced food, was used by everyone in the locality and was housed in a huge glass building along with yoga studios, classrooms for all sorts of things, therapy suites and a pool. On the other side of that building was a beautiful garden full of trees, flowers and shrubs, cared for in the main by the patients and anyone else who wanted to get stuck in. There were gardeners for the heavy lifting, but they really only encouraged and supported anyone interested in getting their hands dirty. Carmel had been delighted to discover she, too, had a love of plants, having never grown anything before. Bill would not have seen the point in wasting grazing land, and in Trinity House where she grew up, there was just a yard.

  She felt a surge of pride as they drove slowly past the main house to the apartments at the back of the property, where she and Sharif, Nadia, and other staff members lived. She waved at the children from the local primary school who would come in and help the patients with the garden. There was even a group from a young offenders rehab place coming twice a week, and they were teaching some of the older people who were interested how to use the internet. The patients seemed to love them. Initially, she and Nadia had been reluctant when Sharif suggested it, but she had to admit it was working out great. Though, if Zeinab saw any of them with their tattoos and earrings, she would probably run away shrieking.

  They pulled up outside Nadia’s apartment, on the other side of the staff complex from Carmel and Sharif’s place.

  Zeinab demanded her handbag from Nadia, who was holding it on the back seat, crushed by suitcases. Nadia shoved the enormous Michael Kors bag forward with a heave, and Zeinab took it without a word of thanks and extracted her huge Versace sunglasses.

  ‘The sun in England is much too glary,’ she announced.

  Carmel caught Nadia’s eye in the rearview mirror. It was going to be a long month. It was with a sigh of relief she left the sisters to it, inviting them both over later.

  Chapter 4

  They arrived before Sharif finished work, but when he did arrive, he found himself enveloped in the voluminous embrace of his aunt before he even had time to register her arrival. He was barely in the door, and Carmel marvelled at the transformation in Zeinab.

  Though Carmel had invited them for dinner, Nadia said she would bring something, not because she didn’t love Carmel’s cooking, she did, but because she would hate for her daughter-in-law to get the full inevitable lash of Zeinab’s tongue on day one. Nadia had been cooking feverishly all week to prepare for the welcome dinner, and Carmel remarked to Sharif how it was touching, that even though Nadia exclaimed how annoying her sister was, she was going to such lengths to impress her.

  ‘My darling boy, look at you! You are so handsome and so fit looking, I cannot believe some Pakistani beauty did not snap you up, though of course, it is impossible to replace dear Jamilla! Oh, what a lady she was; you must miss her terribly to this very day.’ She laid her hand on his cheek.

  The photo of Sharif’s first wife, who’d died of cancer when she was only twenty-nine, had pride of place on the shelf beside the TV, and both he and Nadia spoke of her often, but never in a way that made Carmel feel inferior or left out, which was exactly Zeinab’s intention.

  ‘Hello, Khalla Zeinab,’ Sharif answered, extricating himself from her hug. ‘It’s nice to see you.’ He cross
ed the room and put his arm around Carmel protectively. ‘Hi, darling, how did you get on with the traffic?’ He knew she’d been nervous about driving to Heathrow.

  ‘She did wonderfully, like a pro.’ Nadia smiled while she chopped coriander, and her son kissed her cheek and gave her a quick squeeze.

  ‘How are you, Zeinab? You must be lonely, finding it hard to adapt to life without Tariq?’ Sharif had a way of being both direct and gentle. Carmel had seen it many times with the patients who came to Aashna to die. He never used fluffy words, or euphemisms, but he was so empathetic, people seemed to be able to take it. Not only that, but she had seen the trust in his patients’ eyes. When everyone else would skirt around the realities and refuse to tell the person in the last phase of life the truth, they knew Dr Khan would.

  ‘Oh, I am finding it very hard. He was my world, my whole world, and life without my dear Tariq is just hopeless.’ She sniffed for dramatic effect.

  ‘Well, hopefully, you will find some peace and joy here with us, even if just for a while. Company is good, even if you don’t feel like it, especially in the early days.’ He smiled kindly. ‘Be gentle with yourself; it will get better even if it doesn’t feel like it now.’

  Zeinab replied in Urdu, which caused Nadia to roll her eyes and Sharif to say, ‘I’m sorry, Zeinab, Carmel doesn’t speak Urdu so we use English. But if there’s something you don’t know then of course I’m happy to translate. Now, I haven’t eaten yet today, so I’m really looking forward to whatever Ammi is working on in there.’ He grinned to lighten the mood after his gentle reprimand of his aunt.

  ‘Your mother has been making something in there, though I don’t recognise the smell.’ Zeinab dismissed all Nadia’s hard work with a wave of her jewelled hand. ‘I feared at first we would not be eating properly. Tariq and I always found the food in England dreadful whenever we visited in the past, despite only staying in five-star hotels. All fish and chips and boiled vegetables. But I’m sure Nadia won’t poison us.’ She had a horrible, tinkly laugh.

  ‘Tell me, Carmel, can you cook?’ she went on. ‘I hope so. If nothing else, you’ll need to be a good cook to keep this handsome nephew of mine at home!’ The implication was clear: Carmel did not appear to be in possession of any other traits that might keep her husband at home.

  ‘I love cooking, Zeinab,’ Carmel replied smoothly, ‘and I’ve learned a lot about Pakistani cuisine from Nadia and Sharif, so we eat half Pakistani, half Irish I would say.’ She smiled, marvelling at her ability to take Zeinab head-on. The Carmel that was raised to be quiet and grateful for any small kindness because she had no entitlement was not gone but was definitely on the back foot.

  ‘Irish? Oh, dear me.’ That laugh again. It was really grating on Carmel’s nerves.

  Zeinab was oblivious to the insult and carried on. ‘I suppose they eat the same as the British but insist on calling it something else. The Irish are a total mystery to me, I mean, where is the gratitude? They don’t seem to realise, as we in Pakistan did, that without the British Empire’s civilising care they would still be savages. Instead, all they do is try to create havoc, for a reason nobody understands, not even the Irish themselves, I daresay.’

  Carmel knew it was now or never. She’d bitten her tongue often this afternoon, but she knew if Zeinab was allowed to speak to her like this at the outset, it would never change.

  ‘Well, Zeinab, we Irish understand the whole situation perfectly. And we don’t see it like that. The British never cared for us, as you put it, they invaded and subjugated us, stole from us, terrorised us, and over the centuries eroded our most basic human rights, such as the right to speak our language, or practice our religion, or own our own land. We were ruled from Westminster with an iron fist, and woe betide anyone who dared to object. So, no, we are not grateful. We got rid of them through force of arms, the only language they understood at the time, after eight hundred years. That is something Irish people, me and my family included, are very proud of. I would have thought you as a Pakistani would appreciate that, given your country’s long history as a colony of Britain also.’

  Silence descended on the room as Nadia studiously chopped and Sharif grinned, giving Carmel a squeeze and a kiss on the top of her head.

  ‘You’d better be careful what you say to my wife, Zeinab, they are feisty, these Irish ladies.’

  Zeinab tried to appear nonchalant, but Carmel knew she had thrown down the gauntlet. Zeinab looked her up and down as if she was not worth her attention.

  ‘I recall that Irish woman—what was her name—who worked for you, she was very outspoken as well,’ Zeinab replied haughtily. She was clearly fuming that Carmel would speak to her like that but dared not say anything further.

  Carmel watched her reaction carefully. She might’ve been a snob and a pain in the neck, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d taken in the situation and realised that Sharif wouldn’t stand for anyone coming in and upsetting either Carmel or his mother, so Zeinab was realising she would have to tread more carefully than when the women were alone together.

  ‘Dolly,’ Sharif said. ‘She was—’

  ‘Dolly was my mother,’ Carmel finished. ‘I never met her, though it was my dearest wish, and still is, to have even a few moments with her. But Nadia and Sharif have kept her alive for me.’

  Zeinab could not hide her shock. She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again.

  ‘Well, I must say I am’—she noted Sharif’s warning gaze—‘surprised. You never mentioned this before, Nadia.’ Zeinab turned on her sister.

  ‘It wasn’t relevant. Sharif and Carmel fell in love, and both I and Dolly, if she were here I’m sure, would be thrilled. Dolly loved Sharif, and she spent her whole life looking for Carmel. I think the whole thing has a nice symmetry to it, don’t you?’ Nadia smiled a genuine smile, willing Zeinab to keep her nasty thoughts about Dolly to herself.

  ‘Oh, yes, I can see a resemblance, now that you mention it.’ There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Zeinab did not see that as a good thing, but Nadia only sighed—it could have been much worse.

  Dinner was served and was so deliciously tasty, they washed it down with a lovely bottle of Merlot. Initially, as Sharif went to pour some wine for his mother, she placed her hand over the glass, refusing.

  ‘I’ll just have water,’ she murmured. Drinking alcohol was frowned upon by polite Pakistani society.

  ‘But you love this one, I got is specially.’ Sharif smiled innocently, but he knew perfectly well what he was doing. If she refused a drink now, Nadia would not have one for the entire month her sister was here, and while Nadia wasn’t a heavy drinker, she loved to unwind with a glass over dinner. Sharif was not going to have his mother deprived of her pleasure because of Zeinab.

  ‘Can I tempt you, Zeinab?’ he offered.

  She looked at him like he had ten heads. ‘I don’t drink alcohol, I never have, so no, thank you, Sharif. I was not brought up that way.’ She looked pointedly at her younger sister, who was now sheepishly sipping her wine.

  Carmel could empathise perfectly with Nadia. Though she was a very capable and confident person, something about being back with the people of your childhood makes you revert to who you were then. Nadia was intimidated by Zeinab, and who could blame her? Zeinab was twice the size of Nadia and dressed so ostentatiously, complete with an arm full of very expensive bangles, both hands adorned with jewelled rings, and a hand-embroidered dupatta covering her head. Though she looked in no way like Carmel’s ex-sister-in-law Julia Sheehan, Carmel realised there were lots of similarities. Both women were only happy when they were undermining someone else or pressing their own advantage.

  ‘Well, maybe you should start.’ Sharif was cheerfully topping up Carmel’s glass. ‘It is a wonderful way to relax, and we have a glass of wine most evenings, so if you change your mind...’

  ‘I don’t think I will, Sharif, but thank you,’ Zeinab said primly and went on eating, and even had seconds, without ever once complime
nting the cook.

  ‘So, have you ladies filled Zeinab in on the surprise we have planned?’ Sharif asked. Neither Carmel nor Nadia responded.

  ‘A surprise for me?’ Zeinab beamed. Now this was more like it.

  ‘Yes, a really special one, actually,’ Sharif said enthusiastically.’ As you know, Dolly, our family friend who died last year, was Irish, and when she gave birth to Carmel, she was forced to give her up for what she thought would be adoption. For a variety of reasons that I won’t go into, Carmel never was adopted, and therefore was raised in state care. When I eventually found her, as I promised her mother I would, she was married to someone else, but it was not a happy marriage, so she left and came over here.’ Carmel kicked him under the table. This was excruciating. Nadia had deliberately kept the details very scant in her communications with her sister.

  ‘So you are a divorcee?’ Zeinab’s eyes bored into Carmel.

  ‘Y…yes,’ Carmel admitted, all previous courage seemingly having deserted her.

  ‘Well, you must consider yourself very lucky indeed then, to have snapped up a man such as my nephew. He could have had anyone.’ She rested her jewelled hand on Sharif’s proprietarily, but he removed his immediately.

  ‘Oh, I’m the lucky one, Zeinab, not Carmel, make no mistake about that.’ His voice was quiet but firm. This dinner was excruciating, but they needed to get everything out in the open. He went on, ‘Anyway, in that process, and through a connection we have over here, Carmel was reunited with her father, Joe McDaid. He is a lovely man, and he has a daughter and a son besides Carmel, so she not only found her dad but she got two siblings into the bargain. The connection we have with him is through two friends of Dolly’s, a gay couple, Brian and Tim. Well, Brian died last year, but he was Joe’s brother.’