Nightingale

by Andrea Bramhall

  “How did you become an electrician?”

  Charlie’s dad told Hazaar the story of his decision to become an electrician, mostly because he didn’t want to be anything else, and about his father, who was less than paternal. Banter flew across the table between her mother and father and left them all laughing. Hazaar listened and joined in occasionally, but with everyone laughing and talking over one another, she mostly just laughed along with everyone else.

  Charlie’s mother collected the empty plates before making her way to the kitchen. “Last one in here with a dish gets to wash up.” The scramble to grab dishes and head for the kitchen left Charlie feeling dizzy and staring at an empty table. They had a brief moment alone.

  Charlie leaned back in her chair and studied Hazaar’s serious face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look so serious.”

  “I’m fine. It’s wonderful to see. It’s so obvious how much you all love each other. Family meals for us are a constant competition. Honour and pride are served as condiments with every meal, and for me, the fear of stepping out of line, saying the wrong thing, letting my feelings slip…” Hazaar whispered. “It drips into your soul with the water in your glass. Every accomplishment is documented and detailed, paraded before guests like a pony in the pasture.” She smiled sadly. “My father loves me. I don’t doubt it for a second. But it feels so different from what I feel and what I’ve seen here tonight. Your parents know you. They know Flipper. My parents don’t. They love the person they think I am. The one I pretend to be when I’m with them. Me, the real me, would only bring them shame.”

  Charlie cupped her cheek, searching desperately for something to say. “I think we can probably negotiate a deal to share them.”

  Hazaar chuckled softly. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “And what kind of deal did you have in mind?”

  “Well, I was thinking, if you take Flipper off my hands, I’ll share Mum and Dad with you. How does that sound?”

  Hazaar leaned forward and kissed her, a slow smile spreading across her lips. “Like you’re getting the better part of that deal.” She pressed her lips to Charlie’s and slowly deepened the kiss. “How about you share all three of them and I’ll make it up to you in sexual favours?”

  Charlie’s breath caught in her throat. “I think that would more than suffice, sweetheart.” Their lips met in a kiss that scorched Charlie to her very soul.

  “Dessert.” They broke apart as Beth placed a stack of small plates, forks, and spoons on the table with a noisy clatter. Charlie reddened as she broke away from the kiss but stared deeply into Hazaar’s eyes before she moved away.

  “So what do we have, Flipper?”

  “Some stuff I can’t pronounce. I don’t think Mum can either. She’s hoping you’ll tell us how to say them all.” Beth handed them plates and slid the cutlery across the table as Charlie’s parents came in. Her father was holding two plates filled with slices of some sort of cake in different colours, and her mother was juggling five glass bowls of creamy-looking sweetness.

  “Wow. Where did you get these?” Hazaar grinned broadly.

  Charlie’s father put the plates down and helped her mother with the bowls.

  “I made them all. The Internet is a wonderful thing.”

  “You made them?” Hazaar looked at the goodies on the table. “All of them?” Sarah nodded. “That must have taken hours. Kheer, barfi, and balushahi.” She pointed at each item as she said them. Everyone sat down and started helping themselves.

  “And what exactly are they?” Charlie’s father started filling his plate even as he asked, looking curiously at each treat as he did so.

  “Well, barfi is like a little sweet cake. It’s made from condensed milk and lots of sugar, then flavoured with almonds, or pistachio nuts, sometimes spiced with cardamom too.”

  “Good for the diabetics then.” Andy bit into one of the slices.

  “Absolutely. Balushahi are pretty similar to doughnuts.”

  “It’s really nice,” Beth said around a mouthful.

  “Elizabeth Porter, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  “And what’s this one?” Charlie pointed at the glass bowl.

  “This is kheer. It’s like rice pudding but with nuts and fruit and saffron.”

  “Do they taste like they are supposed to?” Charlie’s mother asked.

  Hazaar nodded, swallowing quickly before she spoke. “They taste perfect. I’ll have to get the recipes from you. These are better than the ones I make.”

  “Do you have a big family, Hazaar?”

  “Not really. Well, not by Pakistani standards, anyway. There are four girls and one boy. My father was determined to have a son, and once my brother was born, he was satisfied.”

  “Charlie said that your name means nightingale. Is that right?” Beth asked.

  “Yes. My father picked all our names with specific meanings. My brother’s name is Hatim, which means judge. My older sister’s names all have meanings too.”

  “Such as?”

  “My oldest sister is called Nadia. In Arabic that means first. My second sister is Yamha, which means dove. My dad likes birds. My next sister is Badra, which means full moon. Coincidentally, she was born on the full moon.”

  “Do you know what our names mean, Mum?” Beth asked.

  “I do. Charlotte means free, and Elizabeth means—”

  “God’s promise. Hebrew in origin and has very strong religious ties. As does Sarah, which means princess.” Hazaar flushed. “I’m sorry for interrupting you.”

  “So what do your parents do for a living, Hazaar?”

  “My dad is a business man. He does something to do with importing and exporting goods. I’m afraid I can’t tell you more than that because I don’t know. My brother is being trained to follow him into the business. My mother is a housewife, and my sisters are now all married. My sisters have seven children between them so far, with another on the way, and two of them have moved to Pakistan with their husbands.”

  “Your parents must miss them terribly. Do you get to see them often?”

  Hazaar shook her head. “My oldest sister moved to Pakistan six years ago now. My father sees her when he goes there on business. But the rest of us haven’t seen her since then. We get letters and pictures of the children sometimes. My sister Badra also went to Pakistan, but she’s in a different part from Nadia. I don’t think they’ve seen each other since she moved there.”

  “It must be very hard for your mum, not to see her daughters,” Charlie’s mother said as a frown creased her brow.

  “If it is, she’s never said so. Neither do my sisters. They do as they’re told.” Hazaar’s voice faltered a little. “My brother is due to get married next year. His bride is going to come to England for the first time three days before she marries him.”

  “How often does he go to Pakistan to see her?” Beth ate the last spoonful of her kheer and licked the spoon.

  “He hasn’t met her yet. My father arranged it all. He works closely with her father, and it will be good for both of them.”

  Charlie’s mother and father exchanged glances.

  “Why’s he going to marry someone he hasn’t met? Is it one of those arranged marriage things?” Beth leaned forward, obviously fascinated.

  “Yes, it’s an arranged marriage. It’s very often the way in my culture. My parents’ marriage was arranged and so were all of my sisters’ marriages. My brother has always known his marriage would be arranged for him too. But because he’s my father’s only son, he knows it will be a good match.”

  “But they haven’t gotten to choose who they get married to!” Beth said.

  “No, but that’s not unusual.”

  “I wouldn’t let them choose my husband for me!”

  “And I’m sure your mum and dad wouldn’t want to choose your husband for you. But that isn’t how things happen in my culture.”

  Charlie felt the tension rising. Every answered question
cemented in her mind the certainty that Hazaar would have to answer to her parents sooner rather than later. That she would have to decide not only between disappointing them to be who she really was, but between everything she had been taught since birth. How can anyone fight that?

  “So you’re different because you play the piano?” Beth asked.

  “Yes. I haven’t had a marriage arranged because my studies and my music have brought honour and prestige to my family. They’ve been content to allow me to continue with that.”

  “So if you didn’t play the piano they would have made you get married?”

  “They would have arranged a marriage for me, yes.”

  Charlie watched her parents exchange glances and tried to think of a way to stop the questions from Beth and allay some of the mounting concerns she could see written on their faces, that most likely mirrored her own.

  “But you don’t want to get married to a man, do you?” Beth asked.

  “Elizabeth Porter, that’s enough,” Charlie’s mother said.

  “What? What did I say?”

  “It’s rude to ask something like that.”

  “No, it’s okay. You’re right. I don’t want to marry a man. It wouldn’t be my choice.” Hazaar slowly put her fork down on her plate and smiled at Charlie’s mother. “This was wonderful. Thank you for going to so much trouble for me.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” Charlie’s mother said, easily picking up the change of subject. “Would anyone like some coffee?” Nods around the table followed quickly as Charlie’s parents grabbed some plates. Her mother tugged Beth’s collar and pushed her gently toward the kitchen.

  “But I don’t want coffee,” Beth said.

  “Shush. Get in there.”

  Charlie watched the door swing shut behind them and took a few moments to collect her thoughts before she spoke. “Are you okay?”

  Hazaar nodded. “Are you?”

  Charlie tried to smile. “Of course. You’d told me that you were expecting your parents to arrange a marriage for you. It makes sense that they’d done so for your other siblings.”

  “And do you think it’s as barbaric as your sister does?”

  She shrugged. “It would be for me, and I don’t like the thought of someone being forced to marry against their will, but I don’t think your siblings feel the same way about it as you do. I may find the idea of marrying someone I don’t know hard to cope with, but you all grew up expecting that, didn’t you?”

  Hazaar fiddled with a spoon, avoiding Charlie’s eyes. “Yes.”

  “So I guess it comes down to expectations. Flipper and I both expect to grow up and make our own choices about the person we’ll spend our lives with. The idea of having that choice taken away is terrifying to us. Things that scare us make us wary, sometimes angry. If I was put in that situation with the mindset that I have, yes, it would be unacceptable for me. In your situation, though?” Charlie wiped her hand across her face, searching for the right thing to say without sounding judgmental, which she’d promised not to be. “I don’t really know how I’d feel because I can’t be inside your head. I guess the only thing I can be sure of is that I’d feel confused. The desire to conform and rebel would be equally strong, and not knowing from one day to the next which one would win out would be exhausting.”

  “And how does that make you feel about being with me?”

  “Honestly?”

  Hazaar nodded and held her breath.

  “Scared. Frustrated. Confused. I don’t know what’s going to happen down the road. But in many ways that’s just like every other relationship I know of. With you, at least we know where the trouble is likely to come from, and what we’re expecting it to be.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t continue to see each other.”

  Charlie stared at her, unable to comprehend what she was hearing. After everything she had told Hazaar, trusted her with, she couldn’t believe that Hazaar had even uttered the words. “Is that what you want?” She watched Hazaar swallow hard. “Is it?”

  “No.” Her voice sounded thick, heavy.

  “Then why say it?”

  “I don’t want you to be scared when you’re with me. I don’t want to hurt you or let you down. I don’t want you to be frustrated with me, either.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m not. Only when I think about the uncertainty of the future, and some of that fear comes from my own past experiences with Gail. When we’re together, when we talk, and laugh, it’s everything it should be. Two people getting to know each other. Maybe even—I don’t know—maybe even starting to fall in love.”

  Hazaar took hold of Charlie’s hand again and brought it to her lips, joy clear in her eyes.

  “I know it’s really quick—”

  Hazaar silenced her with her mouth. “I think I am too.”

  Charlie pushed her fingers into her hair and pulled her hard against her lips, the kiss bruising in its intensity. Their tongues battled as Charlie tried to convey the depth of her growing feelings.

  “They aren’t upset, Mum; they’re kissing.” The popping sound as they broke apart was audible.

  “Oh, God,” Charlie said.

  Hazaar stroked her cheek lightly. “No, it was definitely your sister.”

  “I’m going to kill her.” She started to stand but was halted by her mother’s hand on her shoulder.

  “Not while we’ve got company, darling. I’ll help you clear up the mess when we get her later.”

  She sat back down and they spent the rest of the evening laughing and teasing one another. Charlie enjoyed all of it, but deep down a kernel of fear had taken root. Hazaar saying they shouldn’t date made her wonder if, at some point, she might run from the situation before there was a real decision to be made. She tightened her grip on Hazaar’s hand, wondering when it would slip from her grasp.

  Chapter Eleven

  Pakistan, today

  Charlie twisted the cap off her water bottle and swallowed half before she sat at her desk. She opened the file in front of her and studied the pages, poring over the details of yet another case. The sharp sound of knuckles rapping against the doorframe to her office caught her attention. She looked up to see Kenzie smiling at her.

  “Liam said you wanted to see me.”

  “Come in.” Charlie pointed at the chair on the opposite side of the desk. “Take a seat.”

  “Thanks.” Kenzie sat down and crossed her legs. She appeared relaxed, confident, and seemingly ready for anything.

  “I thought it might be a good idea to know a little bit more about your background before we get started. So I have a better idea of why you’re here and what your skill set is.”

  “You have my file, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Charlie nodded at the file on the edge of the desk. “And very impressive it is too. Graduated top of your class, fast-tracked through the ranks. I’m guessing Abu Ghraib was their first test for you. After that, they really started to specialise your services. There’s an extensive profiling background in there. They used you to profile their most wanted terror suspects. Correct?”

  Kenzie nodded but otherwise didn’t move. Charlie wondered for a brief moment if she was really as hard as she seemed.

  “Were you in the office only, or out in the field?”

  “Ma’am, I’m not sure—”

  “Charlie, C, Maverick, whatever. But don’t call me ma’am. And one thing you can be certain of is that my security clearance is higher than yours. There’s nothing you can’t tell me.” She stared at her across the table. “Understood?”

  A flicker of a smile twitched at the corner of Kenzie’s mouth. “Understood.”

  “So?”

  “I was out in the field. I’d profile the suspects, then join the recovery team to reanalyze intel as it came in and then adjust if need be.”

  “Were you part of recovery teams?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know that isn’t part of the brief here?”

  “I do.” She sw
itched her legs. “This is a negotiation task force, not a forceful recovery team.”

  “Good.”

  “I aim to please.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Charlie chuckled. “So, all that being said.” She picked up the file. “What isn’t in here that I should know about?”

  “Ma’am—”

  “Do you have cotton between your ears, soldier?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Don’t call me ma’am.”

  “I’m sorry. Charlie, I don’t understand the question.”

  “Well, it’s pretty simple. What do I need to know about you that isn’t in here?” She waved the file.

  “I’m sure the file is complete.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t.”

  “Are you making an accusation?”

  “Nope. But I know that something happened to derail you from this path,” she dropped the file back onto her desk, “and put you smack bang in the middle of mine. I’d like to know what that is before we head out there and it comes back to bite us both in the arse.”

  “I was tracking a Taliban general. Nasty piece of fucking work. Oh, sorry—”

  “I’ve heard the term before, Kenzie.”

  “Anyway, I profiled this guy, knew he had certain…tastes…that would help us to locate him.”

  “Tastes?” Charlie felt a little queasy. Kenzie’s recalcitrance in stating what she was talking about was only leading her to think the worst.

  “Yes.”

  “Children?”

  “Yes. We staked out an orphanage in Mehtar Lam, just the other side of the Khyber Pass in Afghanistan. He had to be getting them from somewhere. Turned out he was actually buying them from the guy who ran the orphanage. He used the money to buy food and clothes for the other kids. He figured the needs of the many outweighed the one or two that were sacrificed.”

  Charlie understood the rationale, but the necessity of it enraged her. Poverty and disease were a way of life in such war-ravaged areas, and people did what they had to do in order to survive.

  “When we found him there we followed him back to his compound. We believed he had weapons in his charge that were worth confiscating.”