She Wore Red Trainers (19 page)

‘
Allahu akbar
!' I cried, flinging myself out of my chair. ‘I'm going to my room, Mum. Call me when they get here, please.'

Once in my room, I picked up my Qur'an and started to read. It seemed like the right thing to do to get my nerves under control and get some perspective.

Just as I finished reading the first
juz'
, I heard Zayd's voice downstairs, followed by another, much deeper one. My mouth immediately went dry.

He was here. In my house. Downstairs. Waiting to meet me.

O Allah, bless and protect me. Guide me to make the right decisions.

I stood up to put on the niqab that Zayd had bought me a few months before. It had never been worn and a fine crease ran down the middle of the black chiffon. I adjusted it
to make sure no fabric touched my eyes, tugging it down until it felt comfortable. I looked at my reflection one last time: I was a figure dressed in black from head to toe. Obscured. Nothing to distinguish me from any other sister.

I took a deep breath – and went downstairs to where Zayd and Hassan were waiting.

35

She was probably in the meeting with him already. Talking about getting married – to him. While I'm left feeling wretched, angry, jealous. I thought there was something there, a spark, something. Was it all just wishful thinking? Was she just messing with my head?

Wild, reckless thoughts danced around inside my head: I should go there, right now, and demand to speak to her, tell her to forget this Hassan guy, that I'm the one for her.

But what business is it of mine? It's not like I've even said anything to her. It's not like I have anything to offer her. I don't even know what I'm doing with my life anymore. All I can see in front of me is a load of questions, unanswered questions at that. I ached for Mum. I wondered what her advice would have been. What would she have told me to do?

But of course, I knew. She would tell me search my heart, be true to myself.

Thoughts of Mum and Amirah gave me the strength to ask Dad about marriage. Knowing Amirah would consider Hassan meant she might consider me.

‘Dad, you don't still think that early marriage is a bad idea, do you? I mean, I remember hearing you rant about it to Mum once.'

Dad shook his head, smiling. ‘Oh yes, your mother was always talking about marrying you boys off, the earlier, the better. Not on my tab I used to tell her.' He laughed, as he often did when he remembered Mum these days.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. ‘But you don't still feel that way about it, do you, Dad?'

Dad looked at me seriously. ‘Your job right now is to put all thoughts of girls to the side and concentrate on your education. You're off to university next month, son. You don't have time to think about any desires you might be having.'

I stared at him. ‘You think the only reason I might want to get married is because I can't control myself?'

‘Well, what else would it be, Ali?'

I was starting to get agitated. ‘So you're telling me that, if I met someone, and I genuinely thought she was special, and that I wanted to be with her in a halal way, you wouldn't support me? Is that what you're saying?'

‘Oh, Ali, what rubbish! Trust me, you may think a girl is special, but you will meet plenty more like her when the time is right. And the time is not right, Ali, that's for sure.'

‘Is that what your dad told you when you insisted on marrying Mum, even though you were still at university? Or is that what Nanni told Mum?' I shook my head. ‘Isn't it amazing how quickly adults forget what it was like to be young?'

Dad swallowed hard. ‘That was different, Ali…'

I laughed bitterly. ‘What made me think I could expect support from my father to do something pleasing to Allah?'

‘Ali! That is out of order!'

But I was already walking away, asking Allah for guidance:

Allah, show me the way forward. I thought my life was perfect when Mum was alive. But You knew better. You took her back to teach me the reality of this life. To guide me back to the Straight Way. It was a price I didn't want to pay – an almost unbearably high price – but we don't get to choose our tests. Everything is encompassed by Your Wisdom. You alone know the reason for everything.

When I was at my lowest point, your Word brought me comfort. Your Word guided me. Guide me once more.

Guide me.

36

How weird is it to walk into a room where your future husband
may
be sitting, waiting for you to come in? Too weird. No one can really prepare you for that moment, no matter how many checklists they give you, no matter how many talks you've heard on the ins and outs of this strict, Islamic way of finding a spouse.

Where do you look? What do you say? No one had coached me, explained the finer details of the ‘sit-down' – that first meeting with a potential suitor – to me. I didn't want to come across as too forward, but then I didn't fancy playing the timid virgin role either, if you get what I mean.

In the end, I said the only thing that made sense, under the circumstances: ‘
As-salamu ‘alaykum
…'

Both Zayd and Hassan responded, Hassan flashing a big smile. I saw that he had perfect teeth and a mole on his left cheek. His beard was full but not too long – the beard of Zayd's dreams, no doubt. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and his clothes were pristine.

I tried hard to fault his appearance. Skin problems. Dirt under his nails. Smudges on his white
thobe
. But the only thing I could legitimately take issue with was his black ankle socks with dress shoes. No trainers or Timberlands for him, clearly.

I had to stop myself from staring. He was attractive, no doubt about that, much better-looking than I had expected.

I told my heart to be still.

I sat down on the sofa closest to the door. Mum came in with a tray of drinks and Hassan thanked her and told her that his mother sent her
salam
s and a gift. He took a blue velvet box out of his bag and passed it to Zayd to hand it to Mum. Her face shone as she opened it and lifted out the Arabic perfume oil inside.

‘Oh, mashallah!' she beamed. ‘Your mother is too kind,
Allahumma baarik
.'

Hassan flashed a megawatt smile my way. ‘She sent one for you, too, Amirah…'

Zayd looked over at me as if to say, ‘I
told
you.'

I smiled under my niqab, tugging it down slightly. ‘
Jazakallah khayran
,' I said, clearing my throat. ‘That was really thoughtful of her.'

‘I've told her a lot about you, mashallah… from what Zayd has told me, of course.'

He smiled again and I felt my heart flip, ever so slightly. Now I couldn't deny it: I was intrigued. I wanted to be right in the middle of our conversation, past all the awkward small talk, after the others had given us a bit of privacy. I wanted to see how he played this game. Was he a talker? A listener? Would he have a sense of humour or be super-serious? Would he be keen to hear what I was looking for in a husband, what I wanted out of life? What were his hopes and dreams? What were the deal-breakers for him?

I felt my thumb begin to twitch and realised that I had been sitting on the end of my seat, my hands pressed tightly together, my shoulders hunched. The conversation had moved
on. Hassan was telling Zayd about his father's business, some new contracts they were here to sign, what had happened to all of their university friends.

I shifted in my seat and coughed lightly. Had he forgotten that I was still in the room? They both turned my way and Hassan smiled apologetically.

‘I'm so sorry, sister, it's just that I haven't seen your brother in years. We've missed him in Saudi, subhanallah…'

So he didn't really want to speak to me.

Fine.

Absolutely fine by me.

I inclined my head. ‘Please, don't let me get in the way of your catching up session. I need to help Mum with the dinner anyway.' I got up. ‘Brother Hassan, it was nice to meet you.
Jazakallah khayran
for the gifts…'

I left the room without waiting for a response. As soon as the door closed behind me, I ripped the niqab up off my face. I heard a tearing sound but I ignored it.

Mum appeared in front of me. ‘Well, he's lovely, isn't he, mashallah? What I always imagined a student of knowledge would be like.' Her eyes grew soft as she put her hand on my arm. ‘I think you two would make a lovely couple, inshallah.'

I forced myself to smile up at her. If she wanted to see this as a fulfilment of all her wishes for me, who was I to burst her bubble? ‘Let me help you get the dinner served, yeah?'

And I did. I cut up vegetables for the salad, dressing it with vinaigrette. I cut up Mum's spicy roast lamb, dished up the macaroni cheese and sent it through with the peas and carrots. But I didn't go back into that room.

I'd tried: I'd shown up, been polite, had actually allowed myself to get a bit excited. But there had been no need. He
had obviously been put off by something. Why else would he have practically ignored me and spent the whole time talking to Zayd?

I hadn't wanted him. Not at all. But somewhere, deep inside, a little hope had flickered. I had hoped that maybe, just maybe, he would have wanted to find out more, to get to know me a little bit, maybe take things further, even if that wasn't what I wanted.

Stupid, I know. But that's girls for you.

***

Later that night, after I'd cleaned up in the kitchen, I crept back into the living room. Mum and the kids had crashed. Zayd was on his way back from the station. It was hard to believe that, a few hours earlier, Hassan had been sitting in this very chair, giving Mum a gift. That I had allowed myself to hope that he might like me. I took a deep, shaky breath.

It's for the best, Ams. Remember the plan,
I sat thinking.
Next week, the A level results will be out and all this will be behind you. Once you're safely in uni, you'll be on your way and no one will be bugging you about sit-downs anymore.

Just then, I heard Zayd's key in the door. I turned towards the door. How had he felt about the disastrous meeting? He had pinned so many hopes on it going well; I almost felt sorrier for him than for myself.

‘Mashallah, Ams, that was great!'

‘Huh?'

‘You know? The meeting?'

I shook my head, confused. ‘What are you on about, Zee?
The meeting was terrible! He hardly even spoke to me!'

Zayd put his arm around me and laughed. ‘Nah, sis, that's just how mans roll, innit! He was well pleased with the meeting! Kept saying how he's going to talk to his mum, tell his dad and that.'

I frowned and turned to look into Zayd's face, convinced he was taking me for a ride. ‘Zayd, tell me the truth: what did he really say?'

‘He said you seem like a nice sister, a good sister. He got on really well with the kids, the family and that. And, of course, he's like my brother, innit? His family treated me like their own son. If it wasn't for them, I would have gone hungry more than once!'

I interrupted, ‘And if it wasn't for me, you would have graduated by now.' That old guilt, gnawing away at me.

He went all serious then. ‘Sis, you've got to put your trust in Allah. He wants what is best for you. When Mum told me that you had run away, I was ready to dash everything and come. But Hassan reminded me to pray
istikhara
first. And I did – and Allah brought me back to do what I needed to do here, OK? Don't ever think that I blame you for that, yeah? That was all part of Allah's plan. And, who knows, maybe you marrying Hassan is part of that plan, too.' He squeezed my shoulder. ‘He wants to have another meeting, next week. And he'd like to see your face this time.'

37

‘Ali, you know that you are always welcome here. And your father is, too, if he would stop being so stubborn and hardheaded.' Nana's voice was calm on the other end of the phone. I was calling her to ask if we could come up to see Umar. I had to go to my old school to pick up my A level results and I didn't want to come back to London without seeing my brother. I also wanted to speak to her about my options for the year ahead. I figured I could use some advice – and someone to back me up when it was time to talk to Dad about it.

After weeks of applications, Dad had finally heard back from a company in Bedford that was keen to work with him. But the prospect of leaving London and living closer to Nana hadn't softened his stance towards Umar. ‘I'm not going,' Dad said when I told him what I wanted to do. ‘When Umar is ready, he will call us.'

I pulled myself up and looked squarely at Dad. ‘Well, you can wait in the car then, if you think that's best. I want to see Umar and, if you don't want to take us, Jamal and I will get a coach.'

Dad rubbed his temples and closed his eyes for a long time. When at last he opened them, he looked at me. ‘You're right, son, we should go. I don't know what I was thinking.
We'll go first thing Friday morning, inshallah.'

I nodded and turned to leave. His voice calling my name made me stop and turn back. ‘Sometimes, Ali,' he murmured, a faraway look in his eyes, ‘I wonder how I would manage without you. May Allah bless you, son, you've definitely inherited your mother's strength.'

I felt a lump rise in my throat so I just nodded and turned to leave the kitchen before the tears could start falling.

***

Our visit to Nana's house was an unusually tense affair, mainly because Dad was being so hostile.

‘You are pushing him too hard, Andrew,' Nana said. ‘Expecting too much from him. You will end up pushing him away.'

‘We brought Umar up as a Muslim, Mum,' growled Dad. ‘It's not like this is all new to him.'

Nana's eyebrows were arched. ‘Isn't it? I have to say that I have seen a marked change in you since Anisah fell ill. You can't tell me that you haven't changed as a Muslim. You remind me of when you first converted – that zeal, that dogmatism. Except that now you're expecting your teenage son to follow you blindly, without putting up a fight. Come on, Andrew, even you must see how unrealistic that is.'