No Sex in the City (33 page)

She gives me a firm nod. ‘I think he deserves a second chance. I understand why he didn’t tell me about his girlfriend. He tried to do the right thing and back off, but that night of the party, things were pretty hot between us. I could have held back, shown some self-control, but I didn’t. He told me the truth, and then broke it off with his girlfriend. So he made a mistake, but he’s fixed it, and I think that’s all we can ask of each other, don’t you?’

I drive. And I can’t explain how it happens but I find myself driving to my dad’s work. As I enter the car park I realise the time has come to take charge of my life, no matter the consequences. Mum and Dad will have to face up to selling the house and buying out west where it’s cheaper.

He’s delighted to see me, but then goes into panic mode. ‘Is everything okay? What’s wrong?’

He tells the other guy he’s working with to cover him for half an hour and we walk over the road to a park and sit down. He immediately lights a cigarette.

‘Tell me what’s wrong,’ he pleads.

‘I’m so sorry, Dad, but I’m going to quit my job.’

The colour drains from his face. ‘Quit? Do you have a new job?’

I shake my head. ‘No ... I’m looking and I have an interview soon.’

‘But, Esma, why would you quit without securing another job first? How, Esma? How can we pay the mortgage? We’ll default.’ His face contorts in pain and confusion. ‘I could manage one month, maybe. But not more than that. Without your contribution, the bank will sell ...’

‘Dad, listen to me.’

And I tell him all about Danny. It’s humiliating, but I can no longer be a plaster over a wound he has created.

He shrinks further and further into the bench as I talk, but he doesn’t interrupt. When I’m finished, there’s a long pause before he speaks. And then he says, ‘You’re right. We can no longer carry this alone, darling. It’s time I told her.’

On Friday night I sleep over at Senem’s to give my dad the space and privacy to speak to Mum. After dinner, Farouk retreats to the study and Senem and I are left alone in the family room, the latest inane reality TV programme flickering on the screen. I switch it off with the remote and turn to face Senem.

‘Hey,’ she says. ‘It was just getting tacky enough to enjoy.’

‘We need to talk.’

‘Are you going to tell Farouk?’ I ask her, breaking the silence that descends once I’ve told her the whole story. ‘Dad will understand.’

Senem shakes her head. ‘Do you all have such little faith in Farouk? Do you think he’ d go and blurt it out to his family? Try to score points against us?’

‘Actually, no, I don’t,’ I say curtly. ‘I never did, in fact. That’s been Dad’s fear, not mine.’

She picks at a loose thread on a cushion. ‘Sorry ... I didn’t mean to snap at you.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘I can say with absolute certainty that not only would Farouk not breathe a word of this to anybody, he’ll try his best to help Mum and Dad find a way through this.’

‘Do you think there will be a Mum and Dad after tonight? Once Dad’s confessed?’

‘Whatever they decide, we’ll be there for them.’ Senem moves so she’s sitting close beside me and looks me in the eye. ‘You’ve carried this with you for so long and I’ve been such a spoilt brat ... I can’t even begin to imagine the stress you’ve been under.’

She hugs me, and although we’re both crying, I can’t remember a time this year that I’ve felt so free.

Some families don’t speak about their grievances; their misery and hurt is hidden by silence or sly digs, so when you walk into their house the tension is palpable. But my family’s never been like that. Before the debt, we were the type of family to scream and shout and rant one minute, and forget and laugh and joke the next. We always let the poison out. No matter how much it hurt, we knew that keeping it in would eventually kill us.

That’s part of the reason why keeping Dad’s secret has been so unbearable. When I walk into the house with Senem beside me (we thought it best that Farouk stay home for our first visit after Dad’s confession), I trust that our capacity to vent will ultimately be what saves us.

When we open the door Senem and I can hear Mum yelling.

‘I woke up this morning and realised it wasn’t my imagination. It’s real. How could you, Mehmet? How could you sink so low? And with our security? All these years we’ve dedicated to our family, to the girls, to our home, and you threw it all away! Down a machine!’

My mum’s voice is shrill and hysterical. Senem and I rush to the kitchen where Mum is standing over the worktop, weeping.

My dad is standing at the other end of the worktop. ‘Please forgive me,’ he says, over and over again.

‘What will we do now? We’ll lose the house. Where will we go? Will you have us move in with our son-in-law and daughter? To think they were going to move in with us! They were going to depend on us for help, not the other way round!’

She starts to cry again and I walk over to her and put my arms around her. ‘Calm down, Mum. It’ll work itself out. Dad’s been trying so hard to make it up. Working two jobs. It’s all he’s thought about. You have to know how sorry he is. That’s why he couldn’t bear to tell you.’

‘He dragged you into this. He had no business! You hear, Mehmet! You had no business doing that. Let her have her own future, not have it snatched away by her own father!’

My mum’s words sting and my dad walks backwards, slumping into a chair at the dinner table. He sits silently, not responding to the torrent of words pouring out of Mum.

‘Mum,’ Senem says gently, ‘you’ll get through this. Forgive him.’

Mum doesn’t reply straight away. When the silence becomes too much to bear, I open my mouth to speak, but Mum beats me to it.

‘There is forgiveness. And then there is the matter of what is to be done. I’m going back to bed.’

‘It’ll take time,’ I tell Dad once Mum has left. ‘She’s trusted you all these years. The least she deserves is some space.’

Dad looks up at Senem and me. ‘Yes, but what if she decides she no longer wants me in that space?’

Later I call Lisa.

‘Have you spoken with Nirvana?’ I ask.

‘I called but she texted me to say she needed time to think things through. She said she was sorry for flipping out but she didn’t want to talk about it yet.’

‘She’s going through a lot.’

‘Esma, I know. You don’t need to tell me, I get it. But I won’t apologise for what I did. I’m only sorry she thinks I betrayed her, sorry that she’d have such a low opinion of me. She has to understand, my job is my life. I love what I do. I believe in it. I believe in trust and confidence and choice and freedom. Breaching somebody’s trust runs counter to everything I believe in. And I just hope that Nirvana gets that. Because what’s left between us if she doesn’t?’

Aydin calls me at eight-thirty on Saturday night. ‘I just got in from Melbourne. Do you want to go for a walk?’

‘What,
now
?’

He chuckles. ‘Yes.’

‘Are you kidding? It’s freezing outside.’

‘It’s okay, I’ll keep you warm,’ he says boldly.

‘Oh yes, I’m sure you will. But we both know that’s not going to happen.’

‘Okay, I’ll keep my hands to myself and you can wear a million layers. Come on, I’ll pick you up in half. I’m on my way back from the airport.’

I laugh. ‘Sure, I’ll just tell my dad I’m going for a romantic walk out in the park with you after dark. Although he’s come a long way since the Rule of Six, he’s never going to accept you arriving on our doorstep to take me out on a date.’

‘But he knows we’re getting to know each other, right?’

‘Yes. That is the official terminology.’ I chuckle. ‘Mum keeps him in the loop. He doesn’t talk about it directly with me, though. We’ve never had that kind of relationship.’

‘Really traditional, hey?’

‘Actually, really shy.’

‘Okay, so then meet me at the park round the corner from your place.’

‘Just drop everything to see you?’ I laugh again.

‘You’re killing me here, Esma. Come on,’ he pleads. ‘I want to see you.’

‘Okay,’ I say, pretending that I’m giving in reluctantly, although secretly I can’t wait to see him.

‘The other week you asked me about my brother. And I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.’

We’re sitting in Aydin’s car in the car park next to the park, looking out onto the oval where several games of football are taking place.

He gives me a half-smile. ‘I’m sensing you were annoyed about that.’

‘Annoyed?’ I give him a look of mock indignation. ‘Not at all. I was overjoyed when you pressed control–alt–delete right in the middle of our conversation.’

He laughs. ‘Okay, I get it.’

‘I’m only joking,’ I say. ‘To be honest, I was a little hurt at first. But you know what, Aydin? I don’t care about your past. If you don’t want to tell me about it, then I trust it’s for a good reason. Besides, I’ve got my own secrets.’

He smiles. ‘Okay. So confessions?’

I smile back. ‘Yes. Confessions. You first.’

‘My parents would be mortified if they knew I was telling you. I think they’d prefer that you knew much later on.’

‘I’m in exactly the same situation. If I can’t trust you won’t judge my family poorly, then there’s no point in continuing to get to know each other.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Our parents’ generation is all about saving face. But things have changed. People our age tolerate and accept a lot more.’

He turns to look me in the eye. ‘Can you accept that I have a brother who will be in jail for another eight years for manslaughter?’

I take a moment to process what he’s said before answering. ‘It’s not for me to accept,’ I say, trying to contain my shock. I don’t want him to interpret my shock as judgement. I’m the last person to hold others to account for something they weren’t responsible for.

‘He was a drug addict.’ He sighs deeply. ‘He dropped out in Year Ten, promising my dad he’ d go into a trade. Dad got him a zillion jobs through friends – plumber, electrician, labourer. He’d stay for a week or two, get into a fight with somebody, then quit or get the sack. When he hit about twenty he started going to rave parties. He’d smoked pot up until then, but he started on the harder stuff. Mum and Dad bailed him out of trouble so many times. Ayshe and I did too. We covered for him, paid off debts, gave him money for all the times he’ d leave home to live with his friends, which we knew meant bumming it with other druggies. And then a couple of years ago he was off his face at a party and he got into a fight and punched some other guy. The guy fell and hit the pavement. Cracked his head open.’ My stomach turns. ‘Karem got ten years.’ Aydin lowers his head, staring at his lap.

‘Hey,’ I say. ‘There’s nothing to be ashamed about.’

He laughs bitterly. ‘Esma, I’m not ashamed. I’m furious with him. He’s put my family through so much and he’s not remorseful. He still insists the guy had it coming. Sure, he’s devastated that he died, but he still defends his actions. He’s cocky, walks around thinking the world owes him. He hasn’t learnt a thing. He’s in Silverwater, another eight years ahead of him. He picks fights all the time.’ He throws a glance my way. ‘You must think I’m an arsehole talking about my own brother like this.’

‘No, I don’t,’ I say. ‘I get it. I
really
do.’

He shakes his head. ‘No. You can’t get it, Esma, because even I don’t get it. I know blood is thicker than water, but there are times I hate my brother. I hate the burden of caring for such a son of a bitch.’ His voice falters then and he stops himself, opens the window and breathes in the crisp night air. ‘
That’s
why my ex broke up with me. She couldn’t handle the stigma.’

‘That’s awful.’

‘Well, not really.’ A smile spreads to his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t.’

I smile back shyly.

‘Family does count,’ he says. ‘And this is my family. Are you comfortable getting to know me with that scandal in my family? You don’t have to answer me now. And I totally understand if it’s a problem for you because—’

‘Aydin,’ I say gently, ‘I’m not like that. Your brother is his own person and he made his decisions. That shouldn’t be something you have to pay the price for.’

‘What about your parents, though? There’s no way they’d see it like that too.’

I shrug. ‘It shouldn’t matter. I don’t think it will.’

He puts his hands behind his head. ‘Well, that’s a weight off my shoulders. Your turn.’

I gulp, take a long calming breath and, in a low voice, tell him about Dad’s debt.

When I finish I look up. He’s smiling.

‘Why are you smiling?’

‘I’m smiling because you have nothing to be ashamed of either. Your dad’s situation isn’t unique. I know so many families going through similar problems. I would never expect the woman I’m with to turn her back on her parents, especially when they depend on her.’

He stops, because to continue means articulating something we both haven’t expressed yet. There’s silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. I’m just enjoying the feeling of weightlessness that confessions can bring. I turn to face him and can see desire in his eyes.

‘You’re really beautiful,’ he says softly.

I blush.

He shakes his head and grins. ‘It’s really hard to keep this kind of distance.’

‘Not used to self-control, hey?’ I tease.

‘You know something, Esma? ... Actually, I wonder if I should tell you. Nah. I better not.’

‘Nobody who starts a sentence like that gets away with nondisclosure. It’s plain cruel!’

‘So is sitting here with you in a car in the moonlight and having to think about tax bills and work to keep myself under control.’

I burst out laughing. ‘Sorry about that. Nothing I can do about it, though. This is who I am.’

‘We were talking about hypocrisy the other day.’

I nod and he continues.

‘I get the feeling you think I was some kind of player.’

‘I don’t know,’ I say with a shrug. ‘Were you?’

He folds his arms across his chest. ‘Well ... hmm ... how should I say this? I wasn’t as rebellious as you might think.’

I give him a quizzical look. ‘Meaning?’