She Wore Red Trainers (17 page)

Where would we all be in a year's time? Who would be at college? Who would have gone to uni? Who would be married? As I looked around at all my friends – smiling, laughing, looking gorgeous, happy – I wanted to hold that moment and never let it go.

One of the girls held up a delicate vol-au-vent. ‘Bet you'll be doing the catering next year, Yasmin!'

Yasmin ducked her head. ‘Oh, I could never pull off something like this…'

‘You never give yourself enough credit, Yaz,' I said to her, quietly so that the others wouldn't hear. ‘You need to believe in yourself, babe, like we all do.'

‘You think so?'

‘I know so,' I smiled, thinking that I would start to make more of an effort with Yasmin, help her to see her potential, maybe even put in a good word for her with Zayd…

But I should have kept my arrogance in check.

The next few minutes rushed by in a blur.

First, Auntie Azra came to our table, holding the flowers, my flowers. I stood up and reached out to take them from her, but she turned away from me and towards Yasmin, sitting small and quiet in her chair.

‘Mashallah, Yasmin,' she beamed. ‘These are for you!' She was waving the little card that had been taped to the cellophane wrapped around the bouquet.

The card that I had foolishly neglected to open.

My mouth went dry and I sat down abruptly.

I glanced up and saw that everyone was admiring the flowers. Everyone but Rania who was looking right at me, confused.

‘I swear, when I get married, I want my husband to bring me flowers like this every single day!' one of the girls was saying.

Yasmin blushed and a little smile came to her lips. ‘It's nothing, girls, really. Just my brother getting ahead of himself.'

‘What's all this about then, Yaz?' Rania tried to sound normal.

‘Nothing, nothing.' Yasmin's trademark modesty. ‘Yusuf's just been telling me about this brother that he's become quite close to through his Deen Riders club. Said he's really nice, mashallah; different.'

‘Really?' Samia's eyes were wide. ‘So, who is the mystery brother? Come on, tell us! You can't leave us in suspense like this!'

Yasmin frowned for a moment, thinking, then her face lit up and she looked over at me. ‘I think he lives near you, Ams. Umm, I think his name's Ali? Yes, that's right: Ali Jordan.'

I could have died, right there.

31

When I got home, I was still grinning. Amirah had looked so beautiful, I could only imagine how stunning she would have been after taking off her hijab and
abaya
in that all female hall.

Thoughts it wasn't healthy to entertain but thoughts I was having nonetheless.

That had to be one of the best things about being married: the laws of hijab no longer applied. You could check out your wife 24 hours a day if you wanted to, no problem.

I was still thinking about Amirah when I opened the front door – to find Dad standing there, his face tense and drawn.

‘
As-salamu ‘alaykum
, Dad,' I said, stepping inside. ‘What's the matter?'

‘It's your brother, Ali.'

‘Who, Umar? Jamal?'

‘Umar. He's not home yet. He's not answering his phone. I've got a bad feeling…'

‘I'm going to look for him,' I said, turning to walk out of the door again. Dad grabbed my arm.

‘Wait, Ali. We've no idea where he went, or when. Where will you look for him?'

‘Everywhere,' I said simply, and began to walk away. Dad
could stay home to wait for him, just in case he came back while I was out looking for him. Jamal needed him at home as well.

‘Just call me if he turns up, ok, Dad?'

As I walked down towards the entrance gate, I racked my brain, trying to think where Umar could be. Who did he know in South London? Where had he been? It occurred to me that I didn't even know who he had been spending his days with. I mentally kicked myself. Umar was my responsibility. I had promised Mum I would look after him – and now look what had happened.

Instinctively, my footsteps took me towards number 7, where Zayd and Amirah lived. I rang the bell and waited. After what seemed like forever, Amirah's little brother, Abdullah, opened the door. I had grown to love that little guy; out of all the summer school boys, he was definitely my favourite.

I signed a greeting. ‘How are you, Abdullah? Is your brother at home?'

Abdullah nodded vigorously and dashed off to call Zayd who appeared a few moments later. ‘
As-salamu ‘alaykum
, bro, what's up? Everything OK?'

‘No, not really,' I replied. ‘Have you seen my brother at all? The middle one, Umar?'

‘You mean the angry one?'

‘Yeah, I suppose you could call him that. It's just that he's not home yet – and that's not like him at all. He doesn't even know anyone around here. I want to look for him but I just don't know where to start…'

Before I could finish my sentence, Zayd was shrugging on a tracksuit top. ‘I'll come and help you look. Come on, let's go.' He turned and called into the house, ‘Mum! I'm off to
help the brother, Ali, from next door, yeah? Don't know what time I'll be back – hopefully not too late…'

He turned to me. ‘Let's go.'

I tried to hide my surprise at his willingness to help me, no questions asked.

As we strode towards the entrance gates, Zayd took out his phone and called a few people, asking if they had seen Umar – ‘Fourteen years old, skinny, green eyes, screw-face'. Nobody had. ‘We should try the stations in the area first,' he said shortly.

I simply followed his lead, making
du'a
the whole time, scanning the streets for any sign of him – bus shelters, shops, under the bridge. No sign of an angry 14-year-old anywhere.

We got to the station. Zayd went to the ticket officer behind the thick glass screen. ‘My friend's looking for his little brother. Tall, skinny, mixed-race boy. Green eyes. Did he come through this station?'

The man gave him a blank stare.

‘Look, this ain't no joke, yeah. We think he may have run away from home…'

‘Do I look like a human CCTV camera to you, son?' was the ticket officer's response. ‘I have hundreds of people coming through this station every day. Do you really expect me to remember every one of them?'

I could see that Zayd was beginning to get frustrated so I stepped to the glass window to try some good old private school charm. ‘Please, sir, try to think. It's really important.'

But the officer took no notice. He was already turning to do something else. ‘Go to the police, fellas. They'll know what to do.'

‘Come on,' barked Zayd, jerking his head towards
the street outside. ‘We're wasting our time here. Let's keep moving.'

We walked back up the road to the High Street, checking inside shops, asking shopkeepers. No one knew anything.

I began shivering.

This was my fault. I hadn't kept a close enough eye on him. I hadn't been there for him. Now, he could be anywhere: shacked up in some flat, sleeping rough in the park, lying bleeding in a gutter, at the bottom of the Thames. My imagination began to go into overdrive, thinking of all the terrible things that could happen to a young man out on his own at night in a big city like London.

We sat down in a bus shelter and I called home. Still no word.

I couldn't speak to Zayd, couldn't tell him how worried I was. If Usamah had been with me, I know I would have been more open, but I was still wary of Zayd's moods.

Yet, to my surprise, he was the one who started speaking and, when he did, his voice was full of feeling. ‘Don't worry, bro. I know you're killing yourself, imagining all the things that could have happened to him but don't. He'll be all right, inshallah. Just keep making
du'a
. You have to believe that Allah will take care of them.'

‘You sound like you've been through this before,' I said, forgetting all about respecting his privacy and all that.

‘I have,' he said in a low voice. ‘I have. And I know how it feels: like your whole world is upside down and nothing makes sense and it's all your fault.' He looked out into the street and was silent as a bus stopped in front of us, creaking and shuddering. As the bus pulled away again, he looked over at me and, for what felt like the first time, I met his gaze. I'd
always been too intimidated before; intimidated and guilty. But I had nothing to feel guilty about now, nothing to be ashamed of.

You'd be surprised by how much you can tell about a person by looking into his or her eyes. When I looked into Zayd's, I didn't see the hard, prickly character I had experienced before. I saw worry, a sincere concern for me and my predicament. And I saw something else, something I couldn't put my finger on.

Then he looked down. ‘I know what it's like, bro, trust me. I know what it's like to have such an important person in your life disappear. You blame yourself. You think you'll never forgive yourself if something happens to them. But you can't lose sight of the fact that Allah is All Mighty, All Powerful. The Best of Planners. You have to hold on to that and trust that He will bring you through, no matter what. His promise is true, Ali, remember that.'

Zayd obviously had no idea of the effect his words were having on me. So much of what he said applied to me, to our family, to losing Mum, to having to give up our old lives. And it was true: He
had
brought us through. We were still standing.

And at once I was filled with a sense of hope and optimism. When I examined my heart, my gut, I did not believe that Umar had been harmed. Allah would keep him safe, I was sure of it.

Just then, my phone rang. It was Umar.

‘Umar!' I answered the phone immediately. ‘Where are you, man? We've been worried sick! Are you ok?' The questions tumbled over each other, not making sense.

Umar's voice was distant when he answered me. ‘I'm at
Nana's, Ali. I'll be staying here for a while, OK? Just tell Dad for me.'

‘Why'd you have to disappear like that, eh? Dad was about to lose his mind. You'd better call the house and explain yourself because…'

But he interrupted me. ‘No, Ali, I don't want to speak to Dad. I know just what he'll say and, to be honest, I don't want to hear it right now. Just let him know that I'm safe, OK? Take care, bro. Bye.'

‘
As-salamu ‘alaykum
…' My voice trailed away. I couldn't get over my mixed feelings as I told Zayd that Umar was safe with my grandmother. On the one hand, I was relieved that he was safe. I knew how much Umar had been dying to stay with Nana, and how much he had been missing home. It made complete sense. I mentally kicked myself again, for not figuring it out sooner. But he had sounded strange, distant. And what was all that about not coming back? I was sure that Dad would have something to say about it all.

And he did.

‘Umar is with your grandmother?' Dad repeated, a frown on his face. ‘This is disastrous. Really disastrous.' He must have sensed that I did not know what on earth he was talking about because he looked up at me and said, ‘Do you know what my mother said to me once? She said she could accept me becoming Muslim if that was what I had to do, but she would pray till her dying day that her grandchildren would return to Christianity. Umar running away to stay with her is just sending her the wrong message entirely.'

‘And what message is that?'

‘Come on, Ali, isn't it obvious? Your brother doesn't want Islam. That's why he is up in Hertfordshire with Nana
instead of here, with us.'

I was so shocked by Dad's lack of understanding of Umar and his situation, what he was struggling with, that I couldn't speak. I just couldn't.

At last, I looked up at him. ‘Dad,' I said hoarsely, ‘it would help if you just tried, for once, to listen. If you just tried to put your own ideas aside and really
listen
.' And, with that, I turned and left him standing in the middle of the hallway, a look of bewilderment on his face.

32

I couldn't get home fast enough. After Yasmin dropped her bombshell, I excused myself, saying that I need to go to the bathroom, powder my nose or something. But instead I slipped out into the car park, lugging my bag full of shoes, clothes, make-up and accessories behind me.

I had to get out of there. I had to get home.

How could I have been so stupid? So naive? What on earth had made me think that Mr Light Eyes saw me as anything other than his slightly crazy neighbour? What had made me even imagine that he kind of liked me, that there was something there? My mind ran through all the signs I had thought were so crystal clear: our conversations, that smile, his comment on my page, that time in the rain… Maybe he was just like too many other guys: a big fat flirt.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I started walking towards the main road, stumbling under the weight of the heavy bag, the hem of the
abayah
I was wearing catching on my heels. Ordinarily, I would never have taken a cab on my own but tonight it didn't seem like I had any other choice. Also, I had felt the first drops of rain as I left the hall and I wasn't keen on getting caught in a summer downpour. Thankfully, the cab office was around the corner
so I didn't have to walk far.

In the cab on the way home, I thought of the bright lights of the stage, everyone smiling, happy, the smell of those flowers and my reflection in the mirror, a beautiful princess in one of Rania's gorgeous outfits, and thought bitterly, That is why this world is an illusion: here today, gone tomorrow. And then the tears started.

My phone vibrated. A text. I knew it would be Rania, asking if I was OK. I wasn't in the mood to lie so I sent a message: ‘Gone home. Chat tomorrow.'

Almost immediately, the phone rang, as I expected it to. But I switched off the ringer and shoved the handset deep into the bottom of my bag. Being out on my own, I wasn't about to turn the phone off completely, but I certainly didn't want to hear the calls that were bound to come through. All I wanted was to get into bed and sleep for the rest of the summer, until it was time for our A level results to come out and my life could begin again. By then I would have forgotten all about this silly crush, Ali and Yasmin would probably be engaged or something, and I would be off to uni to live the life that was waiting for me.