The redhead began to draw with long, sweeping strokes. Eyeing her technique, I tried to copy her.
‘Now who’s judging?’ Mr Judgy quipped, picking up the conversation as though two minutes hadn’t passed and the matter hadn’t already been concluded.
‘Do you mind? I’m trying to focus here,’ I replied stiffly as I continued to scrawl randomly across the sheet.
‘Doesn’t look like you’re focusing,’ he said, assessing my ‘work’ dubiously. ‘It looks like a toddler’s scribbles.’
‘Speaking of focusing, why don’t you focus on your own work?’ With gritted teeth, I pointedly turned my back away from him and continued to draw without looking at the naked man under the spotlights in front of me.
‘I wonder what compelled a visibly Muslim woman like yourself to attend a class like this,’ he mused as if I had never spoken. ‘And don’t tell me it’s because you’re an artist. You’re obviously not.’
‘How am I visibly Muslim?’ I gaped at the man, flabbergasted by his audacity. Was he for real? ‘This scarf is around my neck, not my head! And even if it were, what’s it to you? Instead of trying to analyse me, a random woman who you will never see again, why don’t you look inside and ask yourself why a Muslim man like yourself felt compelled to attend this class?’
‘I’m supporting my friend,’ he admitted, looking abashed now as he began to draw what looked like a stick man on his paper.
‘Your friend is the model?’ I scoffed, my reflexes causing me to turn away and end up being treated to the model’s naked glory. I quickly looked down, anger bubbling closer to the surface. ‘So it’s fine for your friend to be naked, but not fine for me to be here? How does that make any sense? And anyway, I came here by accident if you must know.’
‘Now that’s what doesn’t make sense. I find it stupefying that you “accidentally” came to a life-drawing class.’
‘Did you just call me stupid?’
‘No! I said “stupefied”.’
‘What? Who talks like that? This isn’t Harry Potter.’
‘What’s Harry Potter got to do with anything?’
‘Stupefy? You know, the spell that . . .’ And just like that, I suddenly felt exhausted. Why was I arguing with a complete stranger? I bet Noah would have got the Potter reference. Bloody Noah and his blasted list. The predicament I was currently in was largely to do with him. ‘Oh, forget it.’
Nandini was walking around the room like Mary Berry on Bake Off, commenting on brush strokes and shading and shadows and both Mr Judgy and I stared at our respective disastrous drawings in dismay as she drew closer.
I needed to get out of here before I made a bigger fool of myself, but I didn’t want to come across as rude or incapable. And then I had a brainwave.
Picking up my phone, I put it to my ear and said ‘Hello?’ as though I was answering a call. ‘Oh no, what happened? Is she hurt? Oh gosh, yes, I’ll be there. I’ll meet you at the hospital.’ I put the phone away and started gathering up my belongings.
‘Is everything OK, dear?’ Nandini asked, hurrying over to me.
‘I’m afraid there’s been an emergency,’ I replied, trying to sound panicked as I went over to the coat rack where Nandini had hung up my coat. ‘I have to leave, I’m so sorry.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, dear. What happened?’
What did happen? I hadn’t expected her to actually ask me. ‘My . . . g-gran,’ I stammered, as I tried to remember what I had said during my fake phone call. ‘She had a fall.’
My gran, as far as I knew, was absolutely fine and in good health. She was probably at that very moment watching a Bollywood movie on Star Plus. Did they have Star Plus in Desh? I had no idea; I hadn’t been since I was seven years old. Astaghfirullah, forgive me, Allah, I beseeched God in my head. Please don’t let anything happen to Nani!
‘Oh my goodness! I hope she’s all right,’ Nandini exclaimed. ‘Is she here in London?’
Why was she asking me all these questions? It was an emergency! I had to leave! And yes, my grandmother did live in London, not too far from me in fact, but I didn’t want to admit it. She was on holiday in Bangladesh right now, but that was beside the point. I wanted the story to be about someone else, it felt less ominous that way, less like I was jinxing her.
‘No . . .’ I replied, wracking my brains. ‘She’s . . . back home. As in . . .’ My eyes fell to the keffiyeh I had wrapped about my neck, a gift from Dina from when last visited. ‘Palestine.’
‘Oh, poor thing. How is access to medical care over there? Is she in the West Bank?’
I tried to recall where Dina’s family was from, but couldn’t for the life of me remember. My eyes landed on the giant crucifix above the window. ‘Erm, she’s in Bethlehem,’ I guessed solemnly, picking up my bag and flinging it over my shoulder.
‘Terrible what’s happening,’ the redhead chose that moment to pipe up and acknowledge my existence. ‘What’s the situation on the ground like?’
‘Yes, would love to hear your thoughts on that,’ Mr Judgy joined in, his eyebrow raised mockingly at me. ‘I wouldn’t have pegged you as Palestinian.’
I looked in his eyes and I could instantly tell that he knew I was lying about my grandmother – and possibly about Palestine as well and I immediately regretted the lie. To be honest, he had really nice eyes. The same shape and colour as almonds. In fact, he would have been attractive if he wasn’t so annoying.
But forget that. I needed to get the hell out of that room and fast, before I was asked any more questions I didn’t know the answer to. ‘I’m half Palestinian,’ I lied. ‘And erm, the situation is awful,’ I replied vaguely. ‘I’m so sorry but I really have to leave. Bye!’
With that, I legged it out of the room, down the hall and back into the cold night. It was only when I was safely on the Tube that I remembered that during my phone call, I said that I would ‘meet them at the hospital’. How I was planning to go to a hospital in Palestine in one night, God knows. Dina hadn’t been in years because of how dangerous it was.
Shoulders sagging, I took out Noah’s notebook and under his review of item number six – ‘Fantastic night – Ally is bants’ – whatever that meant – I wrote ‘Never again’.
Chapter Nine
Sunday – aka doomsday – had arrived; the day a stranger was going to come to my house with his parents and siblings and based on a brief chat, decide whether or not he could see a future with me. I got to do the same back, only the stakes were higher for me of course. They always were for women.
Since my potential father-in-law was friends with my dad’s brother, also attending the meeting were my chacha, chachi and their twins, Pretty and Pinky. If Nani had been in London, she would have been there too. But maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t. She would have stressed everyone out more.
I didn’t know much about my suitor, only the basics that my uncle had told my dad. His name was Zakariya, he was twenty-nine and five feet, ten inches tall, grew up in Camden, had an older sister who was married and a younger sister who wasn’t, worked in finance and came from somewhere in Sylhet that was acceptable for my grandmother’s elitist mindset. Ma thought that he sounded perfect on paper. We were supposed to meet and talk to see if we were compatible off paper as well.
I googled him, of course, but all I found was a LinkedIn profile that had no picture – I didn’t want to click on it because then he would know that I had viewed it – and an Instagram account that was private, so I couldn’t see any of his posts.
It was three in the afternoon and they would arrive at any moment. The house was gleaming, without a speck of dust in sight. Ma and Chachi were in the kitchen frying samosas and handesh so they would be piping hot and fresh when they arrived and all I had to do was wait in my room with my cousins until I was summoned.
