Dear Infidel (15 page)

‘Let me see, let me see!’ beseeched Taimur, as he ran up to his Aunty.

‘Patience, child,’ she said, pressing his head to her body. Patience, though, was not a child’s virtue and he tugged at her forearm, leading her back into the breakfast room. Pulling out a chair, he popped onto it, buttocks on heels. Everyone gathered round, rejoicing in children opening presents on Eid day. Nazneen knelt down besides Taimur, holding up a rectangular box.

‘Can you guess what it is?’ she asked the boy teasingly but with encouragement. She was hoping he’d take it and give it a rattle but he was having none of it. He began picking at the wrapping, not wanting to engage in the little game she’d set up.

‘Be patient,’ scolded Kahina but Taimur was getting frustrated and, not wanting to spoil the moment, Nazneen handed him the box.

‘
Eid Mubarak
,
Beta,
’ she said, and hugged and kissed him. Without replying he tore into the wrapping to reveal a toy gun. Taimur squealed, overjoyed. Salman winced.

‘Thank you, Aunty!’ He smiled and hugged Nazneen shyly before freeing the gun from its packaging. Aaliyah picked up the discarded box and began waving the cardboard absent-mindedly.

‘I, too, have some presents,’ announced Pasha by the kitchen door, all of a sudden laden with goodies. Everyone turned with surprise, having missed him discretely slipping out. He marched towards the breakfast table, revelling under the spotlight before handing a parcel to a speculative Aaliyah. She held the box out for her mummy to take without removing her eyes from the strange man.

‘Thanks, Pasha,’ said Kahina warmly, and he twisted his head to gesture
no problem
. Meanwhile, Taimur was frozen: the second box that the uncle held was huge and it
must
be for him. The uncle placed it down right in front.
It is for him!
Uncle patted him gently
and said something, making the grown ups laugh, but Taimur wasn’t listening. Rather he knelt to get an aerial view, just trying to take in its sheer size.

‘Come on, son,’ encouraged Pasha and he made to un-wrap the paper.

‘
I
want to do it,’ the boy immediately protested and he began unpeeling his gift.

‘
I wonder what it is! Isn’t it big? Aren’t you a lucky boy?
’ came random comments from around the table. And then there it was: the wrapping was lying in strips all around and Taimur was the proud owner of a brand new
Scalextric
set.

‘You know, son, you always wanted one of these,’ remarked Arwa.

‘Too right, and you went and got me a bloody train set instead!’ Everyone laughed aloud – except Salman.

‘Really?
Now
you tell me!’ said Zakir. ‘Your mother assured me you wanted that train set. But you played with it for so long.’

‘Yes, yes I did,’ remembered Pasha. ‘But I really wanted one of these.’ He tapped the box and laughter again rang round. Pasha smiled without restraint and at last looked like he was home. Salman thought this must be the most excited his son had ever been, but he also knew he’d played no part in it. Too many emotions competed to grip him – none were positive, none settled.

‘Mummy, Mummy look!’ the young boy said, finally finding his voice.

‘You’ve got one more present left to receive, son,’ announced Salman, clearing his throat. The boy threw a beaming smile to his daddy. Young Taimur placed his gun on top of his
Scalextric
set before propping himself back up on his heels.
Daddy’s present will be the best of all!
Kahina braced herself.

‘Now, son, Ramazan is Allah’s month and when you become a man you will fast just like Daddy. You understand?’

‘Yes, Daddy,’ came the chirrupy response.

‘Good boy.
Eid Mubarak
, my dear Son,’ and he kissed his firstborn tenderly and handed him his present. It was small but heavy, and without further ado, Taimur began tearing into the last wrapping of the day. It was a book, one with an exquisitely embroidered and padded hardcover. There was calligraphic writing on the front in a language which Taimur couldn’t read, but nevertheless recognised. For Salman this was a key moment in his young boy’s life – the day he was gifted
his very own Qur’an. It signified the first step of his journey, his life’s journey. Soon his father would begin overseeing his religious education, and then he’d be able to understand God’s instruction for him. But Taimur didn’t see it that way: he knew what to do with the gun and he knew how to play with the
Scalextric
, but what fun was he meant to get from the Holy Book? His father, knelt down beside him, was watching his response. He’d seen his son jump for joy over his other presents and he desperately wanted to see happiness on his face now. After all, he’d spent so long choosing it, selecting just the right one. Taimur started to cry. Utterly shocked, Salman was unable to compute the reaction. He looked up at his wife, dad and brother, but they too looked frozen and offered no clue. Then he looked at Pasha.
Is he smiling?
Salman slapped his son on the face. The boy started bawling and with burning eyes he turned to his mother. Kahina shot her husband a look and lead Taimur out of the kitchen. Awkwardness descended like a pall.

‘You stupid boy!’ Bilqis thundered, breaking the silence. Salman was still kneeling by the now vacant chair. He walked right out, slamming the front door shut. The only movement was from Aadam who stepped towards his wife, placing an arm around her shoulders.

‘That stupid boy!’ Bilqis repeated, fury punctuating her words.

‘He didn’t mean it,
Bahen
, my sister. He must be feeling terrible right now,’ said Arwa, but Bilqis was having none of it.

‘Well he bloody well ought to be.’

Hearing his wife fume, Husnain rubbed his weary head, worry and shame competing to bring him down.

‘I’ll go and talk to him,’ said Pasha, and the sound of the front door closing again signalled the end of the drama.

‘Come, Husnain, let’s go into the living room,’ said Zakir, and reluctantly he followed him out to receive the balm of telly.

‘You know what everyone needs?’ suggested Nazneen.

‘What,
Beti
?’

‘Tea! A nice cup of tea.’

‘That’s a good idea,’ said Arwa with a sigh, and she turned with effort towards the kettle.

‘No, no, I mean
proper
tea. Spiced tea – cooked tea. Do you have any
chai masala
, Aunty?’

‘Actually I don’t, child. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t worry, I can make you up some.’

And with that Nazneen went to the cupboards, searching for the five or six whole spices that are essential to such a mixture. Arwa and Bilqis exchanged looks. Despite Nazneen entering the family two years ago they remained unconvinced by her, this fancy career girl. Bilqis could hear her son playing with Aaliyah in the corridor and felt it was time Aadam had a child of his own. Nazneen measured out different spices on a plate before tipping the lot into a blender. Individual seeds quickly merged into a powder, and pressing the plastic lid down she looked up at her mother-in-law, wearing a satisfied grin.
It’s OK, girl. I’m impressed
, Bilqis thought.
But what else do you know?
Oblivious to the sceptical eyes, Nazneen began making the tea.

Pasha looked down the thin, shared driveway of his parents’ house. The front garden was tiny – a small square lawn with a regular bush fencing two sides. There was an arrangement of flowering shrubs in the middle. Of course, there was no colourful display on this mid-November afternoon; only bare branches exposing barren earth.

There was no sign of Salman. He walked to the pavement and looked down the road and saw a big figure trying to look small in a beat-up car. His first thought was one of surprise; that Salman owned such a banger.
Didn’t he study accountancy at uni? Wasn’t his old man an accountant, too?
He approached the driver-side door cautiously. If Salman had seen him he hadn’t reacted – he remained perfectly still. His eyes were shut and his chest rose evenly and deeply. For all the world it looked like he was sleeping. But then Pasha noticed a tear roll down. His nose also ran and he wiped the back of his hand underneath. Pasha remembered the two of them kicking a ball about on this very street, and marvelled at how life could get so fucked up. Gently, he tapped the window.

Allah
, why did I hit him?
Why
? I didn’t want to come here today. Why couldn’t we have spent Eid at home, just us? Look at them, these ... he’s ruined my day, my special day. Does Eid mean anything to him? That
na-paak
. I should have put my foot down; said something. But Mum treats me like a damn child. She’d treat me with greater respect if I earned more. I have tried, though. I’ve always tried, but this damn country won’t let me win.
Allah
, I shouldn’t have hit him. K
nock knock
.

Oh God, what is he
... ‘I’ll be in in a minute, Pasha.’ I look up briefly and force a smile. ‘Please – go back inside.’

I’m looking dead ahead. I don’t want to see him again. He’s not saying anything but he’s not moving, either.
Go, you swine.

‘Please, Pasha. I just need a few minutes.’

‘Let me in, Salman. It’s bloody freezing out here!’

I close my eyes and wish ... wish I could wish things away. Like in that kids’ film. Click your heels together, three times. I look up and he’s smiling, smiling at me,
the swine
. And against my best efforts, I smile back. I’ve lost – again. I stretch and open the passenger-side door. Pasha hops round like he’s walking on hot coals before jumping in. I just can’t bear to look. I can hear the silence. I’m sat in my freezing car with my one-time cousin/brother/enemy, and now complete stranger. I want to go home.

Pasha rubs his hands together. ‘Put the heating on, Salman!’

I slowly turn to him. We study each other. He’s so familiar and yet a complete alien. It’s really uncomfortable.
Allah
... I remember us playing football together on this very street. We were kids, then – ten, maybe eleven. I bet he’s forgotten all that. I can’t believe this is the same person. They say Allah guides whom He wants to guide.

‘I can’t. The battery’s really weak. I don’t want to risk the car not starting when we leave.’

‘Well, then get a better car!’ Pasha punches me lightly on the arm. ‘I know how much you accountants earn!’

I really don’t know what to say. You know I’d always hoped that one day I’d get my revenge. Because he cut me loose when I really needed a friend, after he’d found his wings and I was still searching for my feet.

‘I’m a Passport Control Officer at Heathrow Airport,’ I say, matter-of-factly. I see Pasha bite his lower lip. Silence.

‘But you studied accountancy, right?’ He looks at me curiously but with concern.

‘Yeah.’ I don’t feel like elaborating. Pasha shifts in his seat.

‘You know I’ve been thinking about you constantly, these last few days.’

I raise my eyebrows but say nothing. He keeps looking at me, expectantly. He’s willing me to give him something, anything, but I’m no longer finding it difficult to ignore him. Eventually he sighs and shapes to get out but some reflex makes me turn. Instantly he stops.
I’m on a roller coaster: brotherhood, distance, love, repulsion. But above all, compulsion. I just can’t stop myself.

‘I’ve been thinking about you, too. Do you know how long it’s been?’

‘Too long,’ sighs Pasha, rubbing his temples. I feel his frustration, wishing things were different but knowing they never will be.

‘Are you married?’ Pasha stiffens at my question. I’ll take that as a
no
, then.

‘I have a girlfriend – a partner.’ He adds that last part quickly, almost like a correction.

‘Why don’t you just marry her?’

‘She’s English,’ he replies stiffly. He’s staring like he’s expecting some big reaction but I’m not sure if that’s meant to be surprise, awe or disappointment. In truth, all three emotions shoot through me, but I’ll not let on to any of that.

‘So what? Kahina’s Tunisian.’

‘Kahina’s Muslim, though – her nationality’s irrelevant.’

Again he braces himself for some reaction, but it’s too cold, he’s not worth it, it’s Eid and I just can’t be bothered.

‘I never entered accountancy in the end. I never got my foot in the door. I guess my face didn’t fit. I’m glad now, though. It’s not a clean living – usury, entertaining clients. Not clean. What do
you
do?’

‘Oh, I’m in software. Look, it’s not important.’

‘Oh but it is. You just made my son happier than I ever have. How do you think that makes me feel?’ I face him squarely and can see he’s stunned. I am, too. I can’t believe I just said that. But it is why we are both out here, in my freezing old car.

‘I had no idea. Salman, I’m sorry.’ And he looks it, he really does. But there’s no way I’m letting this guy in.

‘Don’t you think I’d have bought him something expensive if I could have?’

‘But it’s not about the cost, Salman. Taimur’s a kid. Don’t you remember being that young? Would you have appreciated receiving a Qur’an as an Eid present, when you were eight?’

He’s right.
NO
. He’s wrong.

‘It’s everything to do with the cost. Kids want so much now. I’m trying to give him some deeper values. The British only worship money. Money, drink and sex.’ I catch Pasha’s eye and he looks horrified. I guess it’s an uphill struggle for both of us, trying not to hate each other.

‘Salman, I’m sorry. I can only say it so many times. I bought the presents with good will. I’d never seen your children before.’ Again, sincerity. He’s not making it easy for me.

‘I should have been seeing
your
children today, too.’ Pasha looks down into his lap. He looks lost, almost apologetic. I’ve not seen that look in him before, ever – not as a boy, not as a teenager, and not as a young man. That was what marked him out – total self-confidence. Sitting this close to him, I notice some grey in his hair. I have grey in mine, too. More than him, but I don’t mind, not really. But I bet he does. I bet he minds a whole lot. Maybe my day of justice will still come.