She Wore Red Trainers (12 page)

‘So what happened with the studies, man? Did you graduate?'

A cloud passed over his face then and the seriousness returned. ‘No. Family stuff,' he said shortly, getting up and dusting off his jeans. ‘Had some family stuff to sort out. Yo, catch you later, inshallah. I'm going to make sure the bus is here.'

I could have kicked myself. He'd just started to relax with me and I had to go and mess it up with my questions. Zayd was a private guy, I could tell that. And hadn't Usamah already told me that he didn't like people talking about his family?

I should have listened to him.

But, to be honest, I couldn't help it. I thought about his sister – Amirah – all the time. Almost subconsciously, I looked out for her every morning. Every day, I expected to see her coming in from the car park, holding Taymeeyah and Malik's hands, signing ‘
salam
' to Abdullah. But she didn't come. Instead, Zayd brought them when he came in to work and, without knowing it, he kept me in check. I felt shy to think about her while he was around – which seems crazy.

Maybe it was Allah's way of keeping me sane. I don't think I could have dealt with seeing her every day and keeping up my guard. Something about her tugged at me in a way I couldn't explain.

It wasn't a physical thing, not really. Well, there was that, but there was more than that. She intrigued me. I just wanted to get to know her better, wished I could find out what made her tick, how to get her to laugh.

But I was good. I kept myself in check. I resisted the urge to get her number from the forms and call her or text her. It was the least I could do, especially when she probably never gave me a second thought.

No, for sure, it was better that way.

22

‘
As-salamu ‘alaykum
, baby girl!'

Rania's chirpy voice invaded my ear space. A phone call. At 8 a.m. It could only have been her, on one of her spontaneous drives through the neighbourhood.

‘
Wa'alaykum as-salam
,' I groaned, throwing the duvet back. It had been a hot night and my neck and pillow were damp with sweat. A shower was in order.

‘Let's roll!' There she was, still harassing me.

‘Leave me, man, Rani!' I scowled. ‘You know I haven't even left my bed!'

‘Well, you'd better get your backside up because I'm outside!'

‘Huh?' I ran to the window and peered out. She wasn't lying. There was Auntie Azra's car, right outside my house. Rania waved at me from the driver's seat, a stupid big grin all over her face. She knew I would have to come out now.

With a groan, I grabbed a scarf and wrapped it around my head, pulling Mum's prayer garment off the coat hook. I was just stepping outside; no need to go to all the trouble of putting on an
abaya
. Let alone having a shower.

As I opened the door, Mum called out, ‘Is that you, Ams? Where are you going?'

‘Rania's here, Mum,' I said, biting my lip. The silence was deafening but I took it as her consent anyway. A few years ago, she would have told me that I wasn't allowed to see her, that she shouldn't come round. But I was 18 now, and she had given up on trying to keep Rania and I apart.

Mum isn't one of those mothers who hates all her kids' friends. It was just Auntie Azra's family she had a problem with, something to do with stuff that happened between them way back, when we lived in Stockwell. All I remember is, one minute, Mum and Auntie Azra were best friends and, the next, they were barely speaking to each other, even at the
masjid
.

I think it may have had something to do with Malik's dad. When they got back together after the first divorce, he'd said, ‘That sister is
fitnah
. I don't want to see her around here anymore.'

And, with that, a 12 year friendship was changed forever. Auntie Azra never set foot in our house again.

I stepped outside and, for a moment, I was dazzled by the strong sunlight. I shaded my eyes and turned to the car. The window was open now and there was Rania, her sunglasses perched on top of her scarf, two lollipops in her hand.

‘One for me, one for you,' she grinned as she opened the car door.

And that was when I saw him coming around the corner.

My heart stopped beating and everything around us seemed to freeze. I couldn't hear what Rania was saying, just a rushing in my ears and a sudden panic rising in my throat. I hadn't seen him in weeks – and I had been quite happy that way. Now, here he was, strolling down our street, looking as good as good could be, bouncing his basketball, making me weak at the knees without even trying.

The rushing in my ears stopped in time for me to hear Rania say my name. ‘Ams?' She was looking at me, mystified. Then, she followed my gaze.

At that moment, our eyes met and I saw his face light up with that gorgeous smile of his. He stopped short.

‘Hey… umm… Amirah,
as-salamu ‘alaykum
…' he said. Then he did this blushing thing, looking all confused, and I realised that he was embarrassed. And then it was my turn to be embarrassed, standing there in my mum's prayer garment and a gypsy scarf around my face. Shame!

‘Oh, hey,
wa'alaykum as-salam
,' I replied, my mind working furiously: how on earth did he know my name anyway? ‘Rani? This is Ali…'

Rania shot me a look and gave
salam
to Ali, trying not to stare.

‘How have you been?'

‘Alhamdulillah, good. Ummm, I wanted to thank you for taking care of Abdullah at the summer programme. He's really been enjoying it, mashallah…'

‘Aww, that's great. He's a great kid, he really is.' His eyes darted nervously towards our front door, the upstairs windows. I knew just who he was looking out for. It would have been cruel to keep him there and risk getting caught by Zayd. ‘Umm, OK, see you around. Got a basketball game…'

‘OK, inshallah,' I said. ‘Take care.' And I said the last bit in sign language.

He grinned in appreciation, signing ‘You too.'

Then he was gone. I willed myself not to look at him as he loped down the drive. That really was the word for it: loping. Like a wild cat, maybe a leopard or a cheetah, strong and elegant.

‘Wowee,' Rania breathed next to me. ‘Where did
that
piece of fineness come from?' And then she caught herself, ‘I mean, mashallah, is that your new neighbour?'

We looked at each other then and, at exactly the same time, we started giggling uncontrollably. I had to drag Rania into the back garden, near the kitchen, just in case he heard us and thought we were a pair of complete nutters.

‘So?' Rania demanded, as soon as she got her breath back. ‘Who is he and why haven't you told us about him?'

I tried to act like I wasn't fussed. ‘No reason, Rani. I mean, he's just a guy, a guy who happens to live down my road, OK?'

‘Wrong!' she crowed, rolling her eyes. ‘Duh! That is one fine-looking Muslim brother right there – a real Mottie! And he looks like he's got it going on. Come on, spill, what are the stats? Age? Education? Marital status?'

‘I don't know, Rani, seriously! And I don't even care, you know that…'

‘SPILL!'

‘OK,
OK
! Look, I've only met him, like, once! He seems nice, polite, a bit posh though. Sounds like he went to a private school or something…'

‘So, when did you get to speak to him?'

‘He volunteers at the summer school – he's Abdullah's group leader.'

Rania's eyes grew wide and she touched her heart, a look of reverence on her face. ‘Ohh…' she breathed. ‘Mashallah – he volunteers?' That was enough to convince her of his worth, without a doubt. ‘That's amazing… So, what do you think of him, huh? Is he a potential candidate, huh? Does he qualify? Huh? Huh?'

I swatted her with my
abaya
. ‘Get a hold of yourself, woman!' I huffed. ‘I've hardly said five words to the guy!' But I could feel heat rising to my face again and a smile tugged at my lips when I thought of the painting I was working on upstairs, alone, where no one but Allah could see me. But Rania's eyes were too sharp. She had me sussed.

‘Wait a minute,' she said, narrowing her eyes. ‘Let me just get this straight: so you have a total Mottie living on your road. You've
spoken
to him. You've left
Abdullah
with him. And you've not told us anything about him? For sure, there's something there!
For sure
!'

I gave her my haughtiest look. ‘Not at all, Sherlock. For once, you have it completely wrong. For a start, he plays basketball with Zayd; he's one of his friends! And you know what that means, don't you…'

‘Oh, oh, oh!' Rania gasped, fanning herself. ‘I do believe Miss Ice Maiden has a crush on her brother's friend! OMG, wait until I tell the girls about this!'

‘Don't you dare breathe a word,' I gasped. ‘Not one word!'

‘Uh-uh, sisters' honour! You can't keep stuff like this from us!' And she whipped out her phone to text the girls.

Just then, I heard someone clear his throat inside the kitchen.

Zayd.

I looked up and saw, to my horror, that the kitchen window had been open the whole time while we were talking all our foolishness. And, of all the people that had to be standing in the kitchen, it just had to be Zayd.

I could have died, right there on the spot.

23

‘D'you want to explain to me what that was all about just now?' Zayd's face wasn't angry, as I had expected it to be. More than anything, he appeared worried, anxious.

‘Zayd…I…' I knew I had to choose my words carefully. ‘I'm sorry. We were just kidding around, honest. You know what we're like sometimes…'

Zayd looked at me hard. ‘Ams, you know I only want the best for you, right? And that I've got your back, no matter what. But I need to know: is there anything going on between you and Ali Jordan?'

What a question. Was there anything going on between me and Ali – Jordan? Of course not. Like I told Rania, I'd barely spoken to him. And that was the way I wanted it to stay.

It was safer that way.

I shook my head. ‘No, Zayd, there's nothing going on.'

He looked like he was mulling that over. Then his eyebrow went up and he peered into my face. ‘OK, then, tell me this: do you have any feelings for the brother?'

‘
Zayd
!'

But he wasn't backing down. ‘Well?'

‘OK, Zee, look. I'll admit that he seems like a nice guy. And he's not so bad looking either.' Zayd's eyes started twitching and I laughed. ‘Yes, yes, I know I should be lowering my gaze but I took my one look, all right? Relax!'

Zayd gave a grudging smile. I was too smart for him now.

I continued. ‘But, listen, all joking aside, I know my limits.

And I haven't done anything wrong, nor am I intending to…'

‘But you admit that you've been checking him out?' Zayd's eyes were still bugging and I could tell he was trying to hold it down.

‘Zayd,' I laughed again, ‘please! D'you think it's only guys that check girls out and talk about which ones are fit and which ones aren't? Us girls notice too, trust me.' Then I looked at him slyly. ‘And I don't mind telling you that you don't do too badly in the Mottie ratings…'

‘
Astaghfirullah
, Amirah!' he cried, shocked. ‘I hope you haven't been allowing your friends to discuss me!'

I laughed again at his appalled expression. ‘Relax, bro, relax! We haven't shared our trademarked ‘Mottie Scale' on the Internet – yet!'

‘All right, all right, you can give it a rest now.' I had managed to soften him. ‘But don't think I haven't noticed that you haven't answered my question.'

My eyes were wide. ‘What question?'

‘Oh, forget it,' he huffed, waving his hand at me.

I let out a tiny sigh of relief. I had narrowly avoided a potentially embarrassing conversation – confession – and Zayd wasn't mad at me. Result!

I turned to leave.

‘Oh, Ams,' Zayd called after me. ‘My friend, Hassan, the one I told you about? He called me the other day…'

My heart sank. Why was he telling me this? ‘Yeah?' I squeaked. Sound normal, Amirah, I told myself. Sound normal.

‘Yeah, well, he's coming to London…'

‘Coming to London?'

‘He's got some work to do for his dad's company at their UK office so he asked me to help him out, show him around and that. I thought… I thought maybe you two could have a sit down, y'know, get to know each other a bit…'

I had no words, just anger that he could be so presumptuous, so dismissive of my feelings when I had already made them crystal clear. He must have seen the look on my face because he took my hand and said gently, ‘Ams, I know you. I know you're fighting this. Please, don't. Just be open. Remember the
hadith
: if someone comes to you with good
deen
and character…?'

I shook my head then, tears forming in my eyes. ‘No, Zayd,' I said, my voice shaking. ‘Don't go there. Don't try and use the
deen
to browbeat me. You of all people should know why I feel the way I do.'

He let go of my hand then, exasperated. ‘Come on, Ams,' he said, his voice rising slightly. ‘You can't keep doing this. Someone tries to give you some advice, tries to remind you about Allah, and you say he's ‘browbeating' you, ‘blackmailing' you, ‘guilt tripping' you. It ain't blackmail, sis, it's the truth from your Lord!'

Then I really started crying. The guilt. I couldn't stand it: knowing that I felt one way when Islam said I should feel another. Of course, I knew that marriage is
Sunnah
and that every Muslim should be striving for it, but I told him, ‘I'm sorry, Zayd, it's just too hard for me… I can't do it. You'll just
have to accept that.' And I ran out of the room, up the stairs, to bury my face in my pillow.