She Wore Red Trainers (18 page)

But obviously a summer-long sleep was not going to happen. I was going to have to get over this heartbreak the old fashioned way: with time, tears and lots of chocolate.

I was actually looking forward to getting home. My eyes were dry now and I had rehearsed my lines for when anyone asked me about the event. I even had a special smile in store for Taymeeyah, just in case she had waited up for me.

‘Next year,' I thought to myself as I walked quickly up the drive, ‘I'll take her with me. She'll love it.' As I turned my key in the door, I smiled, thinking of my little sister's starry eyes
and lisping compliments.

But the smile froze on my face when I stepped in the front door and came face to face with the last person in the world I wanted to see, standing in the kitchen as if he owned the place.

‘Hey, beautiful,' he smiled in that wolfish way of his, as if he had every right to be there. ‘You're a bit late, aren't you?'

‘What are you doing here?' I hissed, ignoring his smile and the way his eyes flickered downwards from my face to take in the rest of me.

His smile widened and I was suddenly afraid, so afraid that I could hardly breath. ‘Ah, mashallah, your mum and I made up, innit? So we're one big, happy family again, right?'

He stepped towards me and I stepped back, my bag bumping into the front door that had closed behind me. ‘Where's Mum now?' I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

His eyes flicked upwards, and he jerked his head towards the stairs. ‘Sleeping.'

‘Zayd?' I clutched the bag in front of me, peering down the darkened corridor, hoping that I would see the sliver of light from under his door, that, at any moment, he would push his door open and come and rescue me. But the corridor was dark and Abu Malik was closer now, so close I could smell the perfumed oil he loved: Egyptian musk. I felt a rush of nausea as he reached out to touch my arm. I jerked away and he stepped back, chuckling.

‘Wow, you're uptight, innit? Aren't you pleased to see your old Amu back in the house? I thought we could spend some time catching up…'

I shoved my bag towards him before yanking the front
door open while he stood there, laughing at me.

I heard the rain before I felt it but I didn't care about getting wet anymore. I just wanted to get away from there. I walked through the rain, hunched over, my arms crossed in front of my chest, hands in my armpits. It was the only way I could keep myself from shivering uncontrollably. I didn't care about the water that had soaked into my hijab and the slosh-sloshing of my
abaya
against my shoes. I knew I looked like a tramp but, what made it worse was that I felt like a tramp. A dirty little tramp with loads of dirty little secrets hidden in her dirty
abaya
.

Later that night, after sneaking into the house and up to my bedroom, I pulled the chest of drawers up against the door and took off my soaking clothes.

On my bed, rolled up under the covers, I used my fists to muffle the sound of my crying.

33

For the rest of the weekend, after Umar had gone, I bristled with nervous energy. I kept finding excuses to go out of the house, to walk down the drive, all the time hoping I would ‘bump into' Amirah. The sparks from our meeting at the charity event kept me buzzing: there was
definitely
something there.

But every time I left the house, I saw every neighbour but her. It was as if she had disappeared.

Until Sunday night.

I had popped into the local express supermarket to grab some things for Jamal's lunch the next day when I heard a familiar voice in the aisle behind me. I would have recognised it anywhere.

She was with her little sister and Abdullah and they seemed to be arguing about something. Stuck in the middle of the disagreement between her siblings, Amirah's head was down, her long eyelashes sweeping her cheeks, a hint of a smile touching her lips.

I was torn between keeping quiet and simply listening to her voice, and letting her know I was there.

The part of me that wanted her to look up and see me, that wanted to see that smile of hers widen when she saw me,
that wanted to get just one more look at that cute dimple, won over.

I cleared my throat. ‘Amirah?'

Her head jerked up when she heard my voice and her eyes widened but, to my surprise, a smile didn't light up her face; instead, her face seemed to close, to darken somehow.

‘Oh. It's you.'

Not the reaction I had been hoping for. She seemed almost embarrassed as she muttered
salam
then quickly looked away from me towards her sister who was tugging at her
abaya
, pulling her towards something on the other end of the aisle. Only Abdullah acknowledged me with his amazing smile and a warm hug. I hugged him back, baffled by Amirah's behaviour. We had shared a moment just a few days before, I had been dying to see her all weekend and here she was, pretending I didn't even exist. I mean, she totally blanked me! And now she was about to go to the checkout without saying a word to me.

I tried calling out to her again, a little less sure of myself this time. OK, a lot less sure of myself.

She glanced back at me, a troubled look on her face. ‘You could have told me, you know.'

‘I'm sorry… told you what?'

‘That the flowers you brought were for Yasmin. I'm just saying… it would have made things a lot clearer.' Then she turned away. Taymeeyah pulled at her hand.

‘Come on Ams,' she said in a loud whisper, ‘let's go. Ummi said we shouldn't talk to boys.'

Before I could explain why I was there with the flowers for Yasmin, she was gone, leaving me standing there in the middle of the supermarket, utterly confused.

I couldn't even remember what I had come in for in the first place.

***

I had to wait until the following Friday before I heard about Amirah again. I was on my way out to get some jerk chicken from the food trailer that parked outside after the
jum'ah
prayer, when Zayd called out to me. ‘Hey, Ali, there's someone I'd like you to meet. This is my best buddy, Hassan. We studied together at the university in Saudi. Hassan, this is my neighbour, Ali.'

When we shook hands, Hassan's grip was firm and confident. He flashed a smile at me.

‘Good to meet you, akhi,' he said in a deep voice. ‘
Barakallahu feek
.' His Arabic accent was pitch perfect, too.

After they walked away Usamah came over and dropped the bombshell.

‘You see that brother, Hassan? Word on the street is that he's looking to marry Zayd's sister…'

The world stopped turning.

‘Zayd's sister?' I heard myself say. ‘Amirah?'

‘Yup,' said Usamah, looking at me sideways. ‘And, from what I hear, Zayd's all for it.'

So that explained her sudden coldness: she was interested in someone else.

And, with that realisation, all my hopes and carefully crafted dreams began to crumble, one piece of wishful thinking at a time.

34

It didn't take me long to succumb to the pressure from all sides and agree to at least meet Hassan, Zayd's friend. After my majorly embarrassing misreading of the situation with Ali on the night of the Urban Muslim Princess show, I decided it was time to stop dreaming and forget about Mr Light Eyes.

The girls had managed to convince me that I had nothing to lose by meeting Hassan and, to tell the truth, I was more than a little curious about him after all this time. And what he would make of me.

But it all happened so fast. One minute, I was reluctantly agreeing to give Hassan a chance, to meet him, and the next, Zayd was getting ready to go and pick him up.

Friday soon came around: the day of the meeting. Mum was so excited she could hardly function. She kept breaking into giggles and squeezing my arm, all while trying to keep an eye on her roast lamb. Abu Malik had gone to the
masjid
. I had made it quite clear to everyone that I wanted Zayd to act as my
wali
. I had started keeping my prayer garment on while Abu Malik was around and would never be alone in a room with him. Mum commented on my ‘full-time hijab', but didn't ask why. She could never see anything she didn't want to see. But as for me, I would be vigilant, and keep him at arm's length.

I got to speak to Mum about the situation the morning after the show, when I realised that Abu Malik was back in the house and that their divorce was now invalid.

Trying to keep my voice steady, I asked her, ‘How long will he be here for this time?'

She shot me a look. ‘What kind of question is that, Amirah? I don't know, do I? We're trying to work things out… for you kids. I don't want to go through another divorce, really I don't. I will do whatever I can to make this marriage work, inshallah. Just make
du'a
for us, ok?' Her voice was jangling with that fake kind of cheerfulness that jarred my nerves.

I looked at her as she fiddled with a bottle of nail polish. I felt a surge of pity well up inside me. ‘Mum,' I said, ‘why do you always let them come back?'

She blinked at me a few times, smiled, then frowned. After a few moments, she looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘Because I don't want to be alone, Amirah.'

Then it was my turn to frown. ‘You've never been alone, Mum. We've always been right here with you.'

‘But you're my kids, Ams, it's not the same. Maybe you'll understand one day. I'm the kind of woman who needs a man around. That's who I am.'

‘Even if they treat you like dirt?'

Mum's face changed and she pulled away from me, straightening her back. ‘You haven't had to make the choices I have, Amirah. I pray that you never do. But if you do ever find yourself in my position, I hope that you won't judge yourself as harshly as you judge me.' And she swept out of the room.

I blinked, stung by her words, upset by the grain of truth that they contained.

***

The kids were super excited at the prospect of meeting Hassan. To them, he was a double hero: their big brother's friend from university and someone hoping to marry their sister. They dashed around the house, trying to make themselves useful, but just getting under everybody's feet. In the end, I chucked them all out into the garden.

‘I need to tidy up, you guys!' I said. ‘And you're not helping!'

‘Oh, Amirah, we'll help,' cried Taymeeyah. ‘Honest, we will.' She looked up at me with her best puppy dog expression and I stopped being angry and pinched her cheek.

‘No, sweetie,' I smiled. ‘I need you to look after Malik, OK? Keep him out of trouble. Make sure he stays in the garden and doesn't make his
thobe
dirty.'

Mum had insisted that they dress their
jum'ah
best for Brother Hassan's visit.

And that had been another issue with Zayd.

‘You're going to wear a niqab, right?' he had said that morning.

I'd stared at him, horrified. ‘Why would I want to do that, Zayd?' I asked, feeling unease creep up my skin like a rash. ‘I don't normally cover my face, do I? So, he should see me as I normally am.'

Zayd was trying hard to be patient with me, I could see that. ‘Because, my darling sister-who-has-to-question-everything, he's just come from Saudi. He won't be expecting to see your face in the first meeting. If you guys get along and he wants to take it further, then he may ask to see your face the next time. Wouldn't you prefer it that way?'

I sighed, knowing that there was no use arguing. ‘Fine, Zayd, fine. It just seems silly to hide my face from him in a
sit-down, when I show my face every time I step out of my freakin' front door!'

Zayd raised his eyebrow at me. ‘Well, maybe that's something you should reconsider, eh? The niqab would protect you from a lot of things, y'know, a lot of
fitnah
…'

I threw my hands up in mock horror. ‘Yes, Zayd, I know: the hordes of lecherous men out there, ready to jump me at any minute!' I shook my head and looked at his reflection in the mirror. The expression on his face was one of profound pity. I couldn't help it: I burst out laughing and, eventually, he did, too, shaking his head as he left the room.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and felt a little shiver. Excitement? Apprehension? Maybe a bit of both?

What if he liked me? I mean, really liked me, enough to want to get married? What would I do then? Would it make me feel how I'd always wanted to feel: special, loved, cherished, that someone wanted me for me? Did I dare to imagine?

A moment later, my eyes flew open and I gave myself a little slap. ‘Amirah!' I said sharply to the girl in the mirror with the stupid, dreamy expression and the head full of cotton wool. ‘Wake up! Let's get one thing straight: this is merely a formality, OK? Just something to do so that you can say you tried, and get Zayd off your case for a few more years. You've got your plan, remember? Stick to it.'

***

After Zayd left to meet Hassan at the underground station in Brixton, time seemed to slow down. Agonising minute after agonising minute crawled by, with both Mum and I checking
the wall clock constantly. They were at
jumu'ah
, said Zayd's text. They'd be here soon.

In the end, I couldn't take the ticking clock, Mum's pacing up and down and Taymeeyah's endless questions: ‘Does he have any sisters? Does he have any sisters my age? Will he bring his sisters? Can we go and see his sisters in Saudi?'

And, of course: ‘Are you going to marry him, Ams? What will you wear to the wedding? What will I wear to the wedding? Will we get to sing and play the duff? Can I invite my friends to the wedding?'

‘Enough, Tay! Mum, tell her please: I'm not marrying anyone…'

‘Yet,' said Mum, trying to soothe Taymeeyah. ‘Amirah hasn't even met him, Tay. You'll have to save your questions till after she meets him.'