Chapter Thirty-One
The following morning I woke up to a text and, in my sleepy state, I opened it, hoping it was from Noah:
ZAKARIYA: Hope your ‘kinda date’ went well.
Confused, I yawned and then rubbed my eyes before reading it again. It was from Zakariya, not Noah.
My eyes flew open, all traces of sleep gone.
I had had such a good time with Noah that I hadn’t spared a thought for Zak at all. His weird text had disappeared from my mind altogether. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that I was going on a date? Maybe I should have lied to him? Did I owe him the truth? I had no idea, but I still felt guilty.
It was OK, thanks for checking in, I typed out, trying my best to sound nonchalant yet friendly. Were all male–female friendships this exhausting? I posed the question to both Dina and Lucy via voice-notes as I got ready for work. Dina replied with a simple ‘shrug’ emoji and Lucy’s voice-note came back as I was walking downstairs, about to leave for work.
‘Babes, male–female friendships are rarely simple, especially if one party has ever expressed romantic interest in the other,’ her voice rang out from my phone as I entered the kitchen. ‘In fact, all men are just a waste of time.’
I had cut it too close to have breakfast so was planning to grab a banana and make a dash for it, but the sight of my brother standing there scowling, still in his flannel PJs, made me stop for a moment.
‘Everything OK?’ I asked warily, stuffing my phone into my pocket.
Malik grunted and turned to look at me. He had dark circles under his eyes and his beard had gone from a perfectly manicured lawn to an overgrown forest. He looked rough.
‘Yeah, fine,’ he muttered as he opened cupboard after cupboard.
‘What are you looking for?’
‘Coffee, where the hell is it?’
‘Err, right in front of you. Where it’s been for the last decade or so.’ I pushed the coffee and sugar canisters that were kept on the counter towards him.
‘You always have to add something extra, don’t you? Why couldn’t you pass it to me without adding a snarky remark?’
My hand froze by the fruit bowl. Making snarky remarks was our thing. It was what brothers and sisters did. It wasn’t just a global tradition, it was a rite of passage. Why was he crying about it now?
‘Because it’s pretty ridiculous that a grown-arse twenty-five-year-old who has lived in the same house his whole life is so pampered that he doesn’t know where the coffee’s kept!’ I replied, grabbing my banana and turning to leave the kitchen. Honestly, I didn’t know why I bothered with him half the time.
‘More ridiculous than a twenty-seven-year-old spinster who doesn’t pay for a single thing at home deciding on a whim to go back into education so she can carry on burdening everyone?’
The words came at me like bullets from a machine gun, lodging themselves into my flesh and I stopped mid-stride, too stricken to move. Was that what he really thought of me? Was that what everyone thought? I opened my mouth to respond, but I didn’t know what to say. So I closed it and without a word, I continued my way out of the house. It was only when I got to the station that I realised the banana in my hand had been squashed to a pulp.
‘Your brother said that?’ Lucy asked in disbelief when I relayed the morning’s encounter to her.
‘Welcome to my world,’ I responded flatly. ‘Where my brother reigns supreme and I am but a lowly, unworthy scullery maid.’
‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it, babe,’ Lucy looked at me sympathetically, the pity on her face making me feel worse. ‘Maybe he’s stressed about something else and took it out on you?’
‘Maybe,’ I shrugged. ‘But the truth usually comes out when people are stressed. He’s right. I am a burden.’
‘You’re not! Are you telling me that your parents would rather you moved out?’
I couldn’t help but snort at that. Moving out of my parents’ perfectly adequate London house, when I worked in London, would mean only one thing to my extended family and community: I was up to no good.
‘Fair point,’ I conceded. ‘Anyway, let me tell you about my date with Noah before Sheila gets back from her meeting.’
As Lucy, Arjun and I sipped on our masala tea, I gave them a rundown of the date.
‘It couldn’t have gone better,’ I concluded. ‘We were on the same page about everything. It was like we were made for each other and I could tell he was thinking the same thing.’
Arjun and Lucy exchanged glances.
‘What is it?’ I asked, looking at one and then the other as they sat there, both the epitome of a perfect poker face.
Lucy remained stoically silent, so Arjun piped up. ‘Well,’ he began in his Essex drawl, ‘maybe it felt like you were made for each other because you’re doing all the things on his list, so now he thinks that you’re kindred spirits .?.?. but you’re not.’
Ouch.
‘I see what you’re saying,’ I began slowly, heat flooding my cheeks. ‘But the fact is, I am doing those things. It’s me doing them, so what if his list inspired me? It’s not like I’m lying. This is the new me.’
‘Did you tell him that you hated Ulysses so much that you fantasised tearing out the pages one by one, but the only reason you didn’t is because you like the prestige of it sitting on your bookshelf for potential suitors to spot?’
‘I didn’t hate it!’ I protested weakly. ‘Look, guys, Noah and I are obviously hitting it off and yes, he met the new me, but if you remember, he met the old me on the Tube and he liked that version as well!’
‘Did you tell him about your Tube encounter and having his notebook?’ Lucy finally asked, when I was beginning to wonder if her larynx had had a seizure.
‘No,’ I admitted. ‘How can I? He’ll think I’m crazy!’
The two of them looked down at their desks in a way that made me feel like they definitely thought I was crazy. Well, the pair of them could get lost. They were supposed to be happy for me, but instead they were ruining it all. First my brother and now my friends.
Later that afternoon, Sheila finally responded to my email:
To: Maya Rahman
From: Sheila Steadman
Subject: Re: Hours
Dear Maya,
Thank you for your email. Unfortunately, it will not be possible to offer you part-time hours, as your role is one which requires full-time hours. Please find your contract attached.
Do let me know how you would like to proceed.
Regards,
Sheila
This day had delivered one emotional blow after another. Tears threatening to flow, I grabbed my jacket and bag and left the office, despite it being only 4.45. Bursting out into the warm evening outside, I began walking in the opposite direction to the station. And then I began to run like I was on one of my morning jogs, not wearing loafers and chinos and carrying a cumbersome tote. I ran past the shops and office buildings, my feet pounding on the hard concrete beneath me. I ran until I was on a wide, leafy residential road with huge, terraced houses glued to each other like Lego pieces.
Why did Malik turn my banter into something darker? Why did Sheila use her power to try and quash my dreams instead of uplifting them? Why did my friends think that Noah didn’t like me for me?
Maybe , a voice inside me whispered, no one liked me for me . I simply wasn’t good enough and it was only through the process of the list that I had become palatable. There was a reason why I had never had a relationship before, halal or otherwise. Even Zakariya, who seemed to like me, only really knew the new me – the one who took Arabic classes and trekked mountains like him. He wouldn’t have given the old me the time of day.
Heart thumping, knees aching, feet blistered, I came to an abrupt stop. As I gasped for breath, tears streaming down my face, I felt a hand on my arm. I spun round, half expecting to be attacked – because what woman doesn’t fear for her life when she’s out on her own? – but then I saw that it was Fareena, my therapist. My eyes darting wildly around the road, I realised I was a street or two away from her home office.
‘Maya? Are you OK?’ she asked me, her face lined with concern. When I couldn’t answer through all the gasps, she placed both hands on my arms and instructed me to breathe slowly, in through my nose, hold it and then out through my mouth. When I finally managed to nod, she gently took my arm and led me to a nearby coffee shop. Ushering me inside to an empty table, she disappeared to the counter and then returned with two herbal teas. Through the haze, the sensible part of me wondered if she was going to bill me for this. Surely, she was going against standard therapist–patient protocols by acknowledging me in public?
‘Do you want to talk about what happened?’ she asked after a few minutes of the two of us sitting in silence drinking our tea. I shrugged unhelpfully and stared out of the window, too emotionally and physically wrecked to attempt to pretend to be OK.
‘I don’t know,’ I said when the silence stopped being comforting and started becoming embarrassing. ‘I’m so sorry you saw me like that. How much do I owe you for the tea?’ I started rummaging through my bag for my wallet and Fareena stopped me.
‘Don’t apologise for your feelings,’ she said, more firmly than I had heard her speak before. ‘Whatever is going on, how you feel is completely valid. I’m here if you want to talk but I won’t push you if you don’t.’
‘I really don’t know,’ I said again, feeling stupid. ‘I don’t know why I’m crying like this. It’s ridiculous. I’m lucky, I know I’m lucky, to have a good life, good health, good friends. My problems are insignificant in the grand scheme of things.’
‘But we’re not living in the grand scheme of things, we’re also living our own lives, in the micro scheme of things. And in this micro scheme, it’s OK to feel upset, or angry, or let down, or whatever you’re feeling. You don’t have to compare yourself to anyone better or worse off. This is your life, your space and your problems and feelings,’ she told me.
So I began to talk and Fareena listened, asking me questions every so often, but mostly letting me talk.
‘Have you ever told your parents or your brother about how you feel like you’ve been ignored and sidelined most of your life?’ she asked me after I told her about Malik’s comment and how, in the past, whenever I went to my parents with any issues I had with him, they always belittled me and essentially gaslit me.
‘No, never. It’s easier to keep the peace, you know?’
‘I do know,’ she said after a moment. And then, looking me straight in the eye, she added, ‘I get why you want to keep the peace around you, but what about the peace inside you?’
I was exhausted when I made my way to the nearest Tube station. Although all I wanted to do was climb into my bed, I wasn’t ready to go home yet, so instead of getting off at Turnpike Lane, I continued all the way to Oakwood and to Dina’s house without calling or texting to let her know I was coming.
Dina opened the door, baby Sama attached to her in a sling. If she was surprised to see me, she didn’t show it. Instead, she welcomed me into the house as though she had been expecting me and little Sami came running over and hugged my legs. That nearly set me off again, but I controlled myself. I had cried enough for one day.
Later, after Sami was in bed, Mohammed gracefully excused himself under the guise of wanting to get some reading done and left Dina and me to catch up. Dina made us both fancy hot chocolate with her Velvetiser while I held the baby and told her what had been going on.
‘That was really harsh of Malik,’ she sympathised, bringing her fancy porcelain mug to her mouth. The baby began to cry and root for milk and with an exhausted sigh, Dina took her from me to feed her.
‘I don’t know how you do it all,’ I told her as she latched the baby onto her breast and closed her eyes. ‘How are you coping? What can I do to help you?’
‘I’m OK, hun,’ Dina replied quietly. ‘Just tired. I didn’t breastfeed Sami so I really wanted to give it a proper go with Sama, but it’s bloody hard. She’s glued to me 24/7, no one else can feed her but me. She won’t take a bottle so I can’t express. I’m desperate to sleep.’
‘And here I am keeping you up.’ I hung my head in shame.
‘No, I’m glad you’re here. It’s a nice distraction from all this.’ She gestured to the living room, which was littered with toys. I had never seen Dina’s house so messy. Cluttered, yes, but never like this. There were Mega Blocks scattered all over the floor, toy cars, trains, dinosaurs, balls, those fruit and vegetables that were joined with Velcro .?.?. everything was everywhere.
Downing my hot chocolate in one go, I got down on my hands and knees and began tidying away the toys into the correct boxes. Dina protested weakly but I ignored her and got on with it in silence. My throat was sore from all the crying and talking with Fareena and it felt good to quietly get on with something easy and methodical.
‘By the way,’ Dina began after all the toys had been tidied up and I was putting away the arts and crafts supplies, ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you; I saw Malik with a woman a few weeks ago and they were definitely more than just friends. Maybe that’s why he’s been acting off?’
‘What were they doing? Or is it better I don’t know?’
‘Nah, it wasn’t anything crazy. They were in Morrisons in Palmer’s Green shopping for groceries, holding hands. It was cute but I didn’t go up to them in case he got embarrassed.’
‘What did she look like?’
‘Pretty. Really pretty, in that traditional English girl-next-door kind of way. Long blonde hair, blue eyes, banging figure. I wish I had taken a picture to show you. You could have searched her picture on Google and figured out who she was.’
‘She must live around there then,’ I mused, half to myself, putting my detective hat on. ‘Why else would anyone be in Palmer’s unless they lived there?’
‘True,’ Dina said. ‘Do you know anyone who lives there?’
For the fifth time that day, I felt my blood turn cold. I did know someone who lived in Palmer’s Green. My hands beginning to tremble, I took out my phone, opened up Instagram and scrolled through my followers until I had the page I was looking for, all the while praying I was wrong. Because if I was right, it meant that two of the people closest to me had been lying to my face for months. I handed my phone to Dina and she squealed in delight.
‘Yes! That’s her. Oh, wait. Is that Lucy as in .?.?.’
‘Yes. My work colleague and friend.’
‘Damn. And she never told you?’
‘Nope.’
Dina and I both stared at Lucy’s page, at the carefully curated snapshots of the version of her life that she shared with the world. There wasn’t a single hint of her dating someone, let alone my brother.
I didn’t bother going home that night. I sent my mum a text telling her I was staying over at Dina’s house and spent the night tossing and turning next to Sami’s warm little body. His arms and legs were all over the place and all night he alternated between flinging his body across mine, thumping me in the face and kicking me in the ribs. He could have been as still as a statue, but I still wouldn’t have slept. I couldn’t. There was too much going on. My head was so messed up that I hadn’t even been able to bring myself to text Noah back. He had messaged at some point, asking me if I was free to meet up over the weekend. I was free, but after Arjun and Lucy’s comments about him only liking me because he thought we were similar, I was left with a bitter taste about the whole thing.
I tried to remember what Malik had told me about Lucy but the details were blurry. It was something about her not being suitable enough to have a future with. How he thought she was into her career more than having a family. Of all the women in London, why did he pick her? My colleague? My friend?
What felt worse than his lies, though, were hers. It all made sense now, why she was so happy to help me with my stupid list. I wasn’t simply Maya, her work colleague. I was Maya, her potential future sister-in-law.
Then there was Sheila. What was my future going to look like if I packed in my job?
Looking around Sami’s bedroom at three in the morning, at the sage green walls with a mural of a whale painted over the fireplace and all the toys neatly organised in wicker baskets, I wondered if I would ever get all this for myself: a pretty house in the suburbs, an adorable baby and toddler, bougie hot chocolate in a fancy mug. The strange thing was, I didn’t know how badly I wanted it all, until now.