Nightingale

by Andrea Bramhall

  But was that enough to make it work? Could it be enough after all they had been through, all they had suffered with each other, for each other, to find each other again? Could they do anything less than try to make it work? Don’t I owe it to myself to at least try?

  “You hurt me.”

  “I know.” Hazaar’s voice cracked again. “I wish with all my heart I could take that back. I wish I could undo it, but I can’t.”

  “You made me so angry. But I still love you. I always have.”

  “And I love you. With everything there is in me.” She swallowed hard. “I guess all that’s left is whether you can forgive me?”

  Afia stirred in Hazaar’s arms, turned over, and startled herself awake. She cried at the sudden shock and sat up in the bed, a movement that caused Hazaar obvious pain. Charlie stood and used her good arm to scoop Afia away and cuddled her close to her body. She rocked and cooed until she settled in her embrace and started to look around. She waved a chubby hand at Hazaar and stared at Charlie, her dark eyes wide, her little mouth hanging open, and her tears drying on her cheeks. She felt the little hands grab a fistful of her hair and examine it with gusto. She rubbed Charlie’s cheeks and squished them together until Charlie’s lips pursed. She looked back at Hazaar frequently, checking she was okay, and Hazaar smiled and laughed gently through her tears.

  “Afia, this is Charlie.”

  “Charlie.” Afia repeated and giggled as she pressed on Charlie’s cheeks again.

  “Without him, I wouldn’t have her. And she is a miracle, Charlie. Please forgive me. Let me make it up to you and prove to you that we can be happy together. That we can be a family, and that we can make this work. Please?”

  One last time, can I take that chance? Can I risk it all again? Charlie stooped to deposit Afia on the bed, then leaned over and kissed Hazaar’s forehead. “Yes. Always, yes.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The North of England, today

  Hazaar carefully applied cream to the right side of her neck, shoulder, and upper arm. The skin had healed well from the burns, and only a small amount of scarring was visible now. The pigmentation of the skin was lighter than the surrounding flesh, but that was all. Her hair had grown enough for her to have a stylish cut fashioned for the day. Charlie kept telling her she looked like Halle Berry with the new style, and she had to admit that it did look good, but she missed her long hair and couldn’t wait for it to grow out.

  “No regrets,” she said, “not today.” She capped the cream and started to apply her makeup.

  “Mama?”

  “Yes, sweetie?”

  “Pretty dress.” Afia pointed at her own pink dress and gave her best ballet turn to show it off.

  “It is a very pretty dress, baby girl. You look beautiful.” She bent over and kissed the top of her head. “Will you go and tell Charlie I’m nearly ready?”

  Afia nodded and ran out of the bedroom. Hazaar picked up her necklace and tried to work the clasp, but her fingers still didn’t work properly. The nerve damage to her ring and pinkie finger in her left hand had been irreparable, and even though she was making steady improvement, it was clear she would never be able to play the piano again in the way she had in the past. No. Not today. She pushed the maudlin thoughts away. Today was the start of a brand-new life for them all.

  “Can I help with that?” Charlie stood in the doorway.

  “You aren’t supposed to see me.”

  Charlie laughed. “Baby, we woke up together this morning. I think we’ve destroyed all the typical wedding traditions.”

  “You’re probably right.” She handed the pendant to Charlie, and the light glinted off the polished silver nightingale. Charlie deftly fastened the clasp and let it fall against Hazaar’s chest.

  “You’re so beautiful.” She kissed Hazaar’s neck, just under her ear, and Hazaar still had to fight with herself not to reject the compliment. The burns had left her with more than just sensitive skin. They had left her self-confidence smouldering in the back of the burnt-out van. But slowly, Charlie’s genuine love and desire were proving to her that she was more loved and wanted than she had ever been. “Are you nervous?”

  Hazaar laughed softly. “No.” She reached above her head and stroked Charlie’s cheek. “I’m sure about you and this wedding, baby.”

  “I meant about seeing your dad.” Charlie wrapped her arms around her waist and rested her chin on Hazaar’s shoulder. “It’s been a long time.”

  “I never thought he’d be able to do something like this.”

  “It is pretty incredible. But I happen to think he’s a pretty incredible guy. I mean, just look what he did to your mum for everything she did to you.”

  “I still can’t believe he sent her to Pakistan.” She shook her head. “Do you know what it’ll be like for her, living with my father’s brother?”

  “You mean it isn’t a holiday?” Charlie caught her eye in the mirror and winked.

  “I’m being serious.”

  Charlie kissed her cheek again. “I know, baby. I also know that she’s probably being treated little better than a servant by your uncle and his wife. And I think your dad is a very clever man.”

  Hazaar had to agree. Exiling her mother from her home, her friends, her family, and sending her to Pakistan had been a stroke of genius. While he couldn’t stand to have Nisrin around him, he couldn’t bring himself to harm her either. Yet setting her free to attempt to rebuild another life for herself didn’t seem fair either, after the destruction her treachery had caused. Instead, he had carefully crafted an understandable reason for her exile, under the guise of helping his brother care for his sick wife in Karachi.

  Hazaar knew that her mother and aunt had always hated each other, and that her aunt had taken a singular pleasure in irritating Nisrin in every way possible. When she had read the details in the letter her father had sent her while still in the hospital, it had provided Hazaar with a sense of satisfaction and a true understanding of the phrase “what goes around comes around.” She had no doubt that her aunt was driving her mother mad. And she loved her father all the more for it. She had believed her mother had loved her, but in the end, she had put tradition and image before Hazaar’s safety and happiness, and that was something she could never forgive.

  “So back to my original question, and don’t think I didn’t notice the change of topic—”

  “You changed the topic.”

  “Are you nervous about seeing your dad?”

  “He’s coming to my lesbian wedding.” Charlie raised her eyebrow and waited. “He hasn’t seen my scars, my daughter—his granddaughter—and I haven’t seen him since I told him I was going to leave, knowing full well he would likely be killed as a result of that decision.” Hazaar closed her eyes. “I’m terrified.”

  “Don’t be, Jugnu.”

  Hazaar turned toward the doorway, gripping Charlie’s arms that were still clasped about her waist. “Baba.”

  “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be up here, but I couldn’t wait any longer.” Her father held his hands out, ready to cup her face. Tears ran down his cheeks. “I am so sorry, Beti. I didn’t know.”

  “Baba, it’s okay. I’m sorry too.”

  He touched her cheek gently. She expected him to stare at the scars on her neck, but his eyes locked onto hers and he didn’t look away. “Every pain you’ve suffered, I would gladly have suffered in your place. Every wound, scar, and hardship, I would take from you if I could.”

  “There’s no need to do this, Baba.”

  “There is every need. As your father, all I’ve done is fail you.”

  “No, you haven’t. You’re here today, and that means more to me than I could ever tell you.”

  “I would never have been anywhere but by your side on your wedding day, Jugnu.” He glanced at Charlie then back to Hazaar. “No matter who you were marrying.”

  “I’m going to ruin my makeup.” Tears ran down her face, leaving an inky path in their wa
ke. There was so much still to say, so many questions still to answer, but now they had time.

  “Mascara washes off, Beti.” Her father enveloped her in his trembling arms and held her tight against him. “I must ask you one question.”

  “What?” Her voice was muffled against his chest.

  “How did you convince Yasar to divorce? Are you in more danger, Hazaar?”

  “No.” She chuckled and pulled out of his embrace. “No, I’m not.”

  “It’s a police matter, national security, all that kind of stuff, Mr. Alim. We really aren’t allowed to tell you.” Charlie grinned. “Hazaar even had to sign the Official Secrets Act because of all this stuff.”

  “Oh my.” His eye opened wide and Hazaar laughed.

  “She makes it sound far more exciting and interesting than it really is, Baba.” The doorbell rang, and Afia shouted up the stairs.

  “Mama, door.”

  “Okay, baby. Charlie’s coming to get it.”

  “Would you like to meet your granddaughter, Mr. Alim?”

  His eyes welled with tears again. “It would be my honour.”

  Charlie squeezed Hazaar’s hand. “Don’t be long. This is probably the registrar.”

  “Okay.”

  Charlie led her father to the stairs. “Did you come alone, Mr. Alim?”

  “No, Fatima accompanied me. She is waiting for me outside. The girl has been wonderful.”

  “Fatima?”

  “Hatim’s widow.”

  “Of course. I’m very sorry to hear about your son.”

  He waved her off and followed her down the stairs. “The boy was far too like his mother, and we’re all better off without them for company.”

  His voice faded away under Afia’s happy squeal. She imagined Charlie hoisting her up into the air and eliciting those wonderful sounds from her lips. Afia was lucky. Despite the life she had been born into, she had known nothing but love from her father, and now from Charlie. The nightmares she had been plagued with after the fire had dwindled, and it had been weeks since the last one. Hazaar hoped they were gone for good and that Afia would forget the memories of her broken body and the flames that had kissed them that night.

  She shuddered and turned back to the mirror, where she quickly fixed her makeup and grabbed hold of her cane. The doctors had worked wonders and managed to save her foot, but there were days when the pain was so bad she almost wished they hadn’t. Shoes were still far too painful for her to wear, and Charlie had arranged for the garden path to be carpeted so she could walk barefoot. She didn’t like the idea of being the only one at her wedding in bare feet, but there was nothing that could be done about that. She refused to be out of her head on pain medication today. She wanted to remember every detail. She hobbled slowly down the stairs.

  “Why didn’t you call for my help?” Amira stood at the bottom of the stairs with her hands on her hips. “I would have helped you.”

  “I know. But I wanted to try myself.” She stepped onto the bottom step. “And see? I can do it.”

  “Do you always have to be so stubborn, Hazaar?”

  “Yes.” She wrapped her arm around Amira’s shoulder and leaned heavily against the walking stick. “You should be used to that by now.”

  “I am. But I think you will always drive me to despair.”

  “It’s just one of the things you love about me, right?”

  Amira smiled. “If you insist.”

  Hazaar squeezed Amira tightly to her. Thanks to Charlie pulling some strings, Amira had applied for and been granted asylum, which meant she could stay with them in England until she decided what she wanted to do, now that the decision was hers to make.

  The sun shone brightly in the back garden, and trains of ivy and white and purple roses decorated the fence posts leading to the beautifully carved pergola at the centre of the garden. Friends and relatives were all seated around the centre piece in a circle, all dressed in their finery, all happy and smiling. Charlie’s parents sat at the front, clearly positioned so they would be able to see Charlie’s face. Beth leaned against the upright post next to the steps at the pergola and blew kisses to her boyfriend and smirked as he blushed and fidgeted in his seat next to her father. Hazaar smiled, immensely glad that some things never changed. JJ, Kenzie, Liam, Luke, Al, and Hillary sat just behind them. After what they’d all been through in Pakistan, they’d been sent home for a well-deserved break. Smiling broadly when they saw her standing in the doorway, Kenzie and Luke were the first to their feet, applauding as she slowly stepped out onto the rich, thick purple carpet, careful where she placed her cane; the last thing she wanted to do today was humiliate herself by falling over and landing on her face.

  She climbed the steps gingerly, too busy concentrating on her feet to notice anything else. When she finally stopped, she looked up and smiled at the registrar, then Charlie. She was grinning so widely that Hazaar couldn’t help but return the smile and wonder what it was that was amusing her so much. She held Afia in her arms, and she was smiling too. Charlie had insisted upon Afia being a part of the ceremony. As far as she was concerned, Hazaar and Afia came as a package, and she was marrying them both.

  Charlie rocked forward on the balls of her feet and winked.

  Hazaar frowned a little. Is she trying to tell me something?

  Afia kicked her feet against Charlie’s tummy and giggled, then kicked her bare little feet again. The little rascal. She looked down at Charlie’s feet and watched her wiggle her bare toes on the purple carpet.

  Hazaar tipped her head back and laughed. “Have I told you recently how much I love you?”

  Charlie leaned forward and kissed her. “Not nearly often enough.”

  “Damn. Guess I better marry you, then.”

  “Is that your way of saying you love me?”

  “Forever.” She smiled. “It’s my way of saying I love you forever.”

  About the Author

  Andrea lives in Norfolk with her partner, their two border collies, and two cats, running their campsite and hostel to pay the bills and writing down the stories she dreams up.

  Andrea is an avid reader and a keen musician, playing the saxophone and the guitar. She is also a recreational diver and takes any opportunity to head to warmer climes for a spot of diving.

  Andrea’s first novel, Ladyfish, received an Alice B. Lavender Certificate and was runner-up in the 2013 Rainbow Awards Debut Lesbian Novel and Lesbian Novel categories. Andrea’s second novel, Clean Slate, is a 2014 Lambda Literary Award Finalist in Lesbian Romance.

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