4
L eila
I’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness, as much the result of the drugs as genuine exhaustion. The woman doctor is checking on me all the time, but apart from that man, Zayn, no one else has been near.
I’m glad. Relieved. I need to think.
I’m in some sort of hospital, I can see that. I’m surrounded by medical equipment, screens, flashing lights, constant beeping. But I’m not ill. Am I?
That man said my uncle threw me off the boat. It must have been a mistake. He would never do that. Not on purpose. My father would never let him do such a thing. Uncle Abdul wanted to scare me, that was all. Force me to agree to his…his…plans.
That’s not happening. I’ll die first.
I let out a sob. I came close to doing exactly that. I remember being in the water. It was cold, so very, very cold. I was swimming. I’m a good swimmer, usually, but I just couldn’t. It was so cold…
Then, it’s all a blur. A blank, really. It was dark, I was sinking, then…nothing until I came to and I was here. The doctor was kind, I’m warm and dry. She says I’m safe here, and Zayn said the same, but I don’t see how.
I want to go home to my sisters. But I’m too scared. Everyone is so angry with me. All the shouting, my mother’s wailing and weeping, my father’s sad silence. They’re all disappointed, I brought trouble to our house. I brought shame.
I’m a bad daughter. A disobedient, ungrateful daughter. My family would be better off without me, everyone is saying that. My aunties and uncles, my cousins, too. They come to our house all the time, with their shouting, their pleading, their threats.
Why won’t I listen? Why won’t I just do as I’m told, like a good Muslim daughter? Why don’t I want to please my family? Why won’t I just do what’s right?
“Leila? Are you hungry?” Megan enters with a tray of food. “Mrs McRae sent this over for you. A nice vegetable curry, with naan and rice.”
I sit up in the bed. The food smells good. Not as good as my dadi aman makes. My grandmother’s tandoori rotis are as light as feathers, but I am hungry. I haven’t eaten since…since when? Yesterday or maybe the day before.
“ Shkaria ,” I murmur.
“You’re welcome.” She sets the tray down. “When you’ve eaten, Zayn is keen to talk to you again. Do you feel up to it?”
Do I? No, not really. But my instincts tell me he won’t be backing off. And what choice do I have, really?
“Yes,” I whisper. “If I must.”
I take my time over the meal, but I can’t put it off forever. Eventually, I set my fork aside. And place my more or less empty plate on the little bedside table. Moments later, Megan is back.
“Ah, you’ve finished, then? How was that?”
“It was good. Thank you.” I must try to remember to use English not Urdu. “Please thank Mrs…”
“Mrs McRae. She’s our cook. I’ll tell her. Now, Zayn is outside.”
“Very well.” I sit up further in the bed. “Please ask him to come in.”
Megan leaves, taking my empty plate with her.
The man who enters is pleasant enough on the eye, just as I remembered, though I wasn’t quite certain yesterday. Everything was so…so confused. I’d guess he’s around his mid-twenties, and Asian like me. Zayn is a Muslim name, so I suppose…
“Do you remember me, Leila? I was here yesterday.” He remains by the door, waiting for me to invite him in.
“I remember you.”
“You seem better today. How are you feeling now?”
“I…I’m fine.” Not entirely true…
“May I sit down?”
He’s very polite. It’s not as though I could actually stop him. “Please do,” I reply.
He enters, closes the door behind him, pulls a chair close and settles himself on it. He’s less intimidating now. I saw that he was tall, and seriously well-muscled when he was standing over me.
His sharply planed features soften into a smile. “I’m glad to see you looking better, Miss Mansour. And eating, too.”
“I’ve been well cared for,” I reply. “The doctor is very kind.”
“She tells me you appear to have no lingering ill effects from being in the water, but you do have a mild concussion.”
I reach for my temple, finger it experimentally. “Concussion? Did I hit my head?”
“How much do you remember, Miss Mansour?”
“A bit. Most of it, I think. I was on a boat with my father and my uncle. I think my cousins were there, too. Mehrban and Iftikar. Yes, Ifty was at the controls. It was his boat. I…I must have fallen overboard. Maybe I hit my head then.”
He regards me for several moments, then, “Is that all you can remember?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Do you recall arguing with your uncle?”
“Arguing? What about?”
“I was hoping you might tell me that.”
I remember very clearly what we argued about, but my instinct is to play it down. Our ‘disagreement’ was a family matter, not for discussion with outsiders. “He…he gets angry. He likes to have his own way,” I murmur. “I’m not always very obedient, and he does become…upset.”
“We couldn’t hear what was said, but we all had the distinct impression he was threatening you.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think he…”
“That’s how it looked.”
“He gets exasperated, that’s all. He wants us all to do the right thing, to not bring shame on the family. The community is, well, there are expectations.”
“Yes, I can imagine. He hit you, Leila. Twice. That’s how you got your concussion.”
I shake my head, as though refusing to admit it will make the unthinkable go away. “That’s impossible.”
“It happened. We have it on video.”
“No. I…I don’t believe you. I need you to leave now. I’m tired.”
“I’ll leave if you want, but I will be back. This isn’t going away. We need to work out what to do now, if it isn’t safe for you to go home.”
“Not safe? It is, I know it is. My uncle will calm down, and?—”
“Leila, would you like to see the video for yourself? Then you can decide what you want to do.”
I level my gaze at him. He’s not backing off, and neither will I. I have no option but to go along with his suggestion; maybe I can still explain it all away. “Very well. Show me.”
He pulls his phone from his pocket and taps a few keys before handing it to me. “The first forty seconds or so are where most of the action is.”
I watch in silence as the drama unfolds. My uncle, my father, my cousins. Uncle Abdul is yelling at me, I can hear him again, accusing me of being a whore, a disgrace, a blight on my family. They would be better off without me, bringing shame down on them. The community is disgusted, outraged, but not just with me. With him, also, as head of the family, for allowing this to happen. And he cannot permit that.
I do try to protest, to explain, yet again, that I cannot marry Arif. Apart from the fact that he is over twice my age and lives in Islamabad, he’s my uncle. Abdul’s brother. It would not work. My life is here, in the UK. I don’t want to move to Pakistan where I know no one. I’m planning to study, medicine, I hope. I want to have a good job, not be a housewife and produce endless children. I don’t care if Arif is wealthy, a respected man of business. I cannot bear it, and I won’t do it. It’s impossible.
I’ve explained this countless times over the last six months, since my uncle first raised this ridiculous notion. He doesn’t listen. He never listens, not to me, nor to my father who is as opposed as I am, but Papa is a weak man. My mother, Abdul’s sister, is in agreement with the proposed match. A good union, as she sees it. It will make sure our wealth stays with our family. We will have the respect of the community, and nothing matters more than that. She is convinced I can learn to be happy, content, at least. Love may come later, it often does.
The opening sequence on the small screen concludes with my uncle lifting me bodily and hurling me over the rail. I can be seen struggling in the churning water while they all gaze down at me. No one so much as attempts to rescue me. The boat swerves away and disappears in moments, leaving me behind.
I drop the device onto the coverlet.
The man, Zayn, picks it up and pockets it again. “Did that look like an accident to you, Leila?”
My throat seizes up. I can’t answer. I have no need to.
He reaches for my hand. “So, you see now why I’m worried about simply sending you home? That was an honour killing, wasn’t it? Or, more accurately, a botched attempt at one.”
“I don’t… I never thought…”
“I get that. But it happened. And it will happen again. If for no better reason than they need to keep you quiet. You can’t go home, Leila.”
“No. I know that.” If I’m honest with myself, I think I’ve always known that. “But…where else can I go?”
“We’ll work something out. First, though, can you tell me what that was all about? What happened to get your family so worked up?”
“Does it matter? They had no right to…to do that.”
“I agree, but it might help us to work out what to do next.”
“I don’t see how, but if you must know it was the usual story. They want me to marry a man I don’t want. He’s over forty, I’m eighteen. He lives in Pakistan, and I’d have to move there and live with his family. I want to stay here. He’s my uncle, my other uncle, I mean. I’ve only ever met him twice.”
He remains silent for a few seconds, then, “Shit. I don’t blame you. Slimy old pervert.”
I allow myself a wry smile. “Which one?”
“Both of them. All of them. I assume you told them you didn’t fancy the idea?”
“Of course. Lots of times. And you saw how that worked out.” I’m feeling more confident now. Zayn seems to be on my side.
“Okay. So, what did you want to do? What were your plans? You’re eighteen, did you say? Do you have a job? College?”
I shake my head, biting back tears. “I wanted to go to university.”
He nods. “A good plan. Not my idea of fun, but each to their own. You could still do that.”
“How can I? I can’t afford it on my own.”
“Do your family have the cash to fund you?”
“Oh, yes. My father owns a jeweller’s shop. He’d been setting aside college funds for me and my sisters since we were tiny, but my uncle told him to donate mine to the mosque, by way of atonement for my failings.”
“Your father sounds like a fucking idiot to go along with that. Are you sure the money didn’t go straight to Uncle Abdul?”
“Well, yes. Initially. He was going to pass it on…”
“I see.”
And, suddenly, so do I. “He kept it, didn’t he? Straight in his own pocket.”
“That would be my guess. And it explains why he’s so keen to see you packed off to Pakistan, or failing that, at the bottom of the North Sea.”
“ Ayreh feek. I’ve been such a fool. An idiot.” I would never normally swear, and certainly not so obscenely. But the occasion seems to call for it.
Zayn’s gentle smile widens into a broad grin. “That’s the spirit, kid. My thoughts exactly. It seems to me, once we’ve found you somewhere safe to live, that we need to get your college fund back.”
I just stare at him. Is he mad? “That’s impossible. He’ll never agree to part with it.”
“He’ll have no choice, Leila.”
I shake my head. “Even if you can think of a way, it’s no use. I can’t go to uni now.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t even know if I got a place. I applied, but…”
“But what?”
“My uncle confiscated my phone and laptop and cancelled my email account. Social media, too. He wanted to isolate me; it was part of his plan to get me to do as he said.”
“What a charmer. You could open new accounts.”
“No point. I applied to Edinburgh, St Andrews, and Glasgow. Once the A level results come out, the universities get notified first and they confirm their offers based on what the scores are. They let students know by email. They all have my old email address, so there’s no point starting a new one. I still wouldn’t get the email.”
“When do the results come out?”
“Last week.”
“I see. And you don’t know how you did?”
I shake my head. “I studied so hard. I thought, maybe…”
“We could phone them.”
“They’d want proof of ID before they’d talk to me. I have nothing. Really, I need those emails, but there’s no way now.”
He regards me thoughtfully. “There might be. Are you able to walk?”
“I think so. Why?”
“We need to go and talk to someone.”
“But I can’t. I don’t even have anything to wear.” I tug at the hospital gown. “I’m not even sure where my own things are.”
He gets to his feet and goes to the door. “Megan? Do you have a minute?”
The doctor appears and glances over at me. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine. I just?—”
“Is Leila well enough to come with me for an hour or two?” Zayn asks.
“Where to?” the doctor replies. “She still has a concussion.”
“To see Frankie. We have an IT issue he may be able to help with. It’s important.”
“Just up to the castle, then? And straight back?”
“We promise. Scout’s honour.”
Her lips flatten in indecision, then, “Well, okay. But two hours max, and you stay with her the whole time. She can’t be left on her own until the concussion is completely cleared. And you see her safe back here when you’ve finished whatever this urgent business is.”
“It’s a deal. And Leila needs her clothes, or something else to wear.”
“Well, she certainly can’t wander around the island like that. I’ll see what I can find. Give us fifteen minutes or so.”
“I’ll be back.” He gives me a cheery wave as he leaves. And…was that an actual wink?