She Wore Red Trainers (23 page)

***

After talking with the girls I had gone to see Auntie Azra and tell her about my mixed feelings about Hassan's proposal.

‘Do you want to marry the brother, Amirah?,' she had asked me. ‘There's no shame if you do, I mean, he seems like a very suitable young man. But you have always shared your hopes and dreams with me – and you were planning to try a different university course, weren't you? Is marriage what you want at the moment?

‘No, it isn't. But I don't think I can fight anymore. I love to draw. I love art. But things have become uncomfortable at home again…' I bit my lip, careful not to say too much about my mother's marriage situation. ‘It's another way out of the house, I guess…'

‘A way out?' Then Auntie Azra's face had showed her disapproval. ‘Amirah, you're not going to be one of those girls who sees getting married as a way out, are you? Too many young girls in this community are dying to get married to get away from their problems at home, or to get a bit of freedom. But let me tell you something: if you rush into marriage to escape your problems, you may find that they follow you anyway.'

She had come to sit on the floor cushion next to mine and took my hand. ‘Get married whole, Amirah, that's what I tell my girls. Don't get married weak and needy, looking to your husband to make your world the one you dream of. What a
burden for him! What high expectations. How on earth will he ever be able to fulfil all your needs? He's still learning, himself. And what happens when he fails this huge task you've set him without his knowledge? You become bitter and disappointed. And that's no way to be, trust me.' She caressed my cheek. ‘Mashallah, you're a lovely girl, Amirah. You are strong and loving, brave and determined. You have much to offer the world – and your future husband. Don't ever believe that you are anything less than gold. OK?'

And that had been Auntie Azra's take on it.

But once I went home, it was a different story. There, I couldn't help feeling that it would be easier, more sensible, more befitting to settle for what was right in front of me, what was realistic.

Hassan was a good brother, I knew that. And he was nice-looking, considerate. He was educated, solvent, had a plan in life. And, most importantly, he wanted to marry me. How many girls would turn down such a catch? Not many.

I would be crazy to let him go, I knew that.

I knew all that.

And yet, a tiny part of me was holding out, hoping against hope for a better alternative, one that would bring my heart ease.

And make me happy,
deen
-wise and as Amirah.

Bottom line: I wanted it all,
deen
and
dunyah
.

43

Everything seemed to be winding down, now that the summer was fading. Summer school would be over next week and I was glad – I didn't think I could bear to see Zayd, all smiles about his sister getting married – but saying goodbye to Abdullah was going to be hard. We'd grown attached to each other over the past few months.

‘Maybe I can help you practise when summer school is over,' Abdullah signed at the end of the day. ‘You could come to my house.'

I smiled sadly. ‘Don't think so, my friend. You'll be going back to school soon and I'll be going to Mexico to practise all the great sign language you've taught me, mashallah.'

Abdullah frowned. ‘You mean I won't see you anymore?'

I bit my lip then tried to smile at him. ‘Well, maybe one day we'll meet again. You can come out to Mexico to visit me! Wouldn't that be amazing?'

Abdullah frowned and chewed his bottom lip. ‘Is it far, Ali? Can I catch a train there?'

I chuckled and knelt down beside him and opened up Google Earth on my phone to show him where Mexico was on the map. When he saw it and worked out how long it would take to get there, he turned to me, blinking away tears.
‘I'll never see you again, Brother Ali,' he signed. ‘
As-salamu ‘alaykum
.' And he turned and ran back inside, leaving me feeling awful.

A couple of nights before, I had finally managed to pluck up enough courage to speak to Dad about what had been on my mind for the past few weeks: my immediate future. I knew now that I really did not want to study Law and that I wanted to take a year out to work in Mexico. Amazingly, after quizzing me for what felt like hours, Dad agreed!

‘Son, I sincerely hope that you will not get blown off track when you're on your gap year. You have to keep your eyes on the prize and, while that may not be a Law degree, you will have to get a good degree to be able to compete in the job market. I don't need to tell you how tough it is out there. Law is a sure thing, which is why I was so happy when you chose it. If you lose focus…'

‘I know, Dad,' I replied, ‘But I really feel that this is the right thing for me right now. I definitely intend to go to university, inshallah, but I want to make sure that I know what I'm doing and not just studying for the sake of a piece of paper. That would waste my time and your money. I want a degree that will pave the way for a solid future doing something I'm passionate about… does that sound totally naive and foolish?'

Dad patted me on the back and smiled. ‘No, son, you sound just like I did when I was your age.'

‘And, now that you've got that new job in Bedord and Jamal is sorted as far as school is concerned, I don't feel that bad about leaving you guys.' Although I was still waiting for confirmation from the deaf school in Mexico regarding my volunteering to work for a year, I was pretty confident that it would come through. ‘And it will look great on my CV, too,'
I smiled.

Dad grunted. ‘Intentions, Ali. Remember to purify your intentions…'

***

But Zayd managed to put an end to my winning streak. He had been distant with me ever since the night he saw me with Amy and I had never had an opportunity to explain myself.

Finally, after days of trying to catch him alone and waiting for him to initiate a conversation, I decided to take matters into my own hands. ‘Zayd, bro!' I called out to him while he was on his break at the summer school. He looked around, making sure I was talking to him. Then he looked at me, unsmiling, and said, ‘What's up?'

‘I need to talk to you, man.'

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? What about?'

I took a deep breath. ‘I want to talk to you about your sister, Amirah.' I forced myself to keep talking even though I could see from the way his nostrils flared that he was getting annoyed with me. ‘Look, I know that your friend is interested in Amirah and that's great. But I have been wanting to approach you for a long time about her. I want to have a meeting with her. For marriage.' There, I'd said it. I looked into Zayd's face then, defiant, expecting him to be glaring at me. Instead, I read amusement in his eyes.

I faltered, his expression catching me off guard. ‘I… I have reason to believe that she has feelings for me.' I gulped as his face darkened, but I rambled on, ‘And I've done my research and want to meet to see if there is any way of taking this
forward.'

‘Bro,' he said at last, his voice dripping with condescension. ‘Don't get me wrong: you're a nice brother. A bit weak, but nice, still. But what on earth do you think you have to say to my sister –
my sister
– about marriage?'

‘Like I said,' I said quietly, carefully, marshalling my thoughts, ‘I think that she may already have feelings for me. And I want to look into a halal relationship – I'm not interested in doing haram.'

‘It's not gonna happen, bro. No way.' His certainty shocked me.

‘Why's that, Zayd? Has she said something to you? Has she agreed to marry this Hassan guy?'

‘It doesn't matter what she says,' he said, shaking his head. ‘I'm her guardian and I have to look out for her best interests. She may have feelings for you until Judgement Day but there is no way I am letting my sister marry some
da'eef
, tattoo-wearing brother who… who… Let's just say that he doesn't always keep the best company, yeah?'

Something inside me flipped. I was seething. ‘You are way out of line. How dare you stand there and judge me? I saw you that evening, you know? And I've been waiting for you to come and ask me about it but no, you just went and made assumptions, completely forgetting that you are supposed to assume the best about your brother, not the worst. And the seventy excuses, Zayd, what happened to those? I'll have you know, that girl you saw me talking to knew me before I was practicing and there is absolutely nothing going on between us. And you know what makes it worse? You don't even know me! You haven't even tried to get to know me and you have the nerve to tell me I'm not good enough for your sister?'

‘Well, you're not.'

‘I think she should be the judge of that, don't you?'

‘No, I
don't
. My job is to keep her safe from players like you. My job is to make sure that she marries a pious brother who will do right by her and give her her rights. That's my job and that's what I'm trying to do. So, if you'll excuse me,' he brushed past me, ‘break time is over.'

I was shaking by the time I turned around and saw Usamah stop Zayd and pull him aside. What a piece of work: arrogant, judgemental, controlling. He could go jump off a cliff for all I cared.

The worst thing was that I didn't even know who to be angry with: Hassan, for wanting to marry the girl I had been dreaming about, the girl who I was sure was – or had been – thinking of me? Zayd, for shutting me down at every opportunity? Dad, for putting me in this situation in the first place?

And what about Amirah? Wasn't I angry with her as well? I mean, what did she mean by giving me all these subtle hints, these moments of connection, and then going off and marrying some random guy? Did she really have no feelings for me at all?

But, of course, after the anger and jealousy had been sweated out, I would come back down to earth. The cards were stacked against me. I had nothing to offer Amirah: no job, no education, no home, no family support, no plan. Just a lot of unanswered questions.

And I couldn't be angry with her. She had no idea how strong my feelings were for her.

My guess was that, in the big scheme of things, she was better off with that brother Hassan who could actually get his
affairs in order and look after her properly.

But that cold, calm realisation didn't stop me from wishing that things were different, that they could be different.

It felt like the end of an era. Sure, I had a year in Mexico to look forward to but, I'd be going alone. It felt like I was settling for second best.

44

I was in the garden, painting with Abdullah, when Zayd told me the news.

My little brother and I were working on a piece together: he was painting one half of the canvas in his neat, methodical way, and I was giving the other half my trademark, Picasso-style treatment.

‘
As-salamu ‘alaykum
, Ams,' Zayd called me from the patio door.

‘Hey,
wa'alaykum as-salam
, Zee!' I called out, full of enthusiasm as I ran up to him. ‘Have a look at Abdullah's work. He's got real talent, mashallah, seriously.'

Zayd flashed a small smile at Abdullah then looked back at me. Immediately, a shiver ran through me and the hairs on my arms stood up.

His eyes.

He'd been
crying
.

I reached out to him. ‘What is it, Zee?' I asked, although I already knew, really. ‘What's happened?'

‘Abu Malik already spoke to Hassan,' he said at last.

‘And…?'

He looked away and shook his head. ‘It's off, Ams. He doesn't want to go ahead with the marriage. I'm sorry, Ams,
really, I am.' And then he started crying for real.

I just stood there, numb with shock.

Off? Just like that? There had to be an explanation.

‘What exactly did he say, Zayd?'

‘Well, I caught up with Hassan after the
salah
and told him that I wanted to give him a bit of background, tell him a bit more about your journey. That's when he told me that he had already spoken to our stepfather and that he had told him some pretty disturbing things. To be honest, I was pretty upset that he didn't get in touch with me straight away to confirm what he had heard…'

My head started to hurt. ‘What did you tell him?'

‘I told him that you weren't always practising… and that things had been tough for you at home with Mum not well and me away in Saudi…'

‘Yes, and..?'

‘And that you ran away for a while… He asked me what happened when you went missing. Where you were. Whether you're still…' He looked away and I could see that he was too embarrassed to say it.

‘Whether I'm still a virgin?' I said, my voice flat.

Zayd's face was pained and he couldn't look at me.

I looked away then, my face hard. ‘And what did you tell him?' My voice was like ice.

Only then did he look at me and the fierce pride that I saw on his face took my breath away. ‘I told him that I had never asked you. And that I never would.'

Then it was my turn to start crying.

Zayd, oh, Zayd, who had stood by me through everything, who had never given up on me. How would I ever be able to pay him back?

I never would.

I put my arms around him and hugged him hard, for a long time.

Abdullah came up to us, his head on one side. ‘Are you sad, Amirah?' he signed, pulling a face.

‘No,' I signed back. ‘I'm not sad at all, alhamdulillah. Come here, come and join us.'

And he did.

***

I had first tasted the Darkness when I was a tortured 15-year-old wannabe Goth girl who was angry with the world.

Zayd and I had always dealt with the ups and downs of Mum's moods and marital issues together, supporting each other, exchanging knowing glances, covering for each other. Then he had had to go and accept that offer to study at a university in Saudi Arabia and leave me to cope with Mum all on my own. That was when things became really hard for me. Of course, I didn't say anything to him – he was so happy, couldn't believe how lucky he was to have been given such an amazing opportunity. But as soon as he got on that plane to Jeddah, all the responsibility of looking after Mum and keeping the family going fell on me.