This day had delivered one emotional blow after another. Tears threatening to flow, I grabbed my jacket and bag and left the office, despite it being only 4.45. Bursting out into the warm evening outside, I began walking in the opposite direction to the station. And then I began to run like I was on one of my morning jogs, not wearing loafers and chinos and carrying a cumbersome tote. I ran past the shops and office buildings, my feet pounding on the hard concrete beneath me. I ran until I was on a wide, leafy residential road with huge, terraced houses glued to each other like Lego pieces.
Why did Malik turn my banter into something darker? Why did Sheila use her power to try and quash my dreams instead of uplifting them? Why did my friends think that Noah didn’t like me for me?
Maybe, a voice inside me whispered, no one liked me for me. I simply wasn’t good enough and it was only through the process of the list that I had become palatable. There was a reason why I had never had a relationship before, halal or otherwise. Even Zakariya, who seemed to like me, only really knew the new me – the one who took Arabic classes and trekked mountains like him. He wouldn’t have given the old me the time of day.
Heart thumping, knees aching, feet blistered, I came to an abrupt stop. As I gasped for breath, tears streaming down my face, I felt a hand on my arm. I spun round, half expecting to be attacked – because what woman doesn’t fear for her life when she’s out on her own? – but then I saw that it was Fareena, my therapist. My eyes darting wildly around the road, I realised I was a street or two away from her home office.
‘Maya? Are you OK?’ she asked me, her face lined with concern. When I couldn’t answer through all the gasps, she placed both hands on my arms and instructed me to breathe slowly, in through my nose, hold it and then out through my mouth. When I finally managed to nod, she gently took my arm and led me to a nearby coffee shop. Ushering me inside to an empty table, she disappeared to the counter and then returned with two herbal teas. Through the haze, the sensible part of me wondered if she was going to bill me for this. Surely, she was going against standard therapist–patient protocols by acknowledging me in public?
‘Do you want to talk about what happened?’ she asked after a few minutes of the two of us sitting in silence drinking our tea. I shrugged unhelpfully and stared out of the window, too emotionally and physically wrecked to attempt to pretend to be OK.
‘I don’t know,’ I said when the silence stopped being comforting and started becoming embarrassing. ‘I’m so sorry you saw me like that. How much do I owe you for the tea?’ I started rummaging through my bag for my wallet and Fareena stopped me.
‘Don’t apologise for your feelings,’ she said, more firmly than I had heard her speak before. ‘Whatever is going on, how you feel is completely valid. I’m here if you want to talk but I won’t push you if you don’t.’
‘I really don’t know,’ I said again, feeling stupid. ‘I don’t know why I’m crying like this. It’s ridiculous. I’m lucky, I know I’m lucky, to have a good life, good health, good friends. My problems are insignificant in the grand scheme of things.’
‘But we’re not living in the grand scheme of things, we’re also living our own lives, in the micro scheme of things. And in this micro scheme, it’s OK to feel upset, or angry, or let down, or whatever you’re feeling. You don’t have to compare yourself to anyone better or worse off. This is your life, your space and your problems and feelings,’ she told me.
So I began to talk and Fareena listened, asking me questions every so often, but mostly letting me talk.
‘Have you ever told your parents or your brother about how you feel like you’ve been ignored and sidelined most of your life?’ she asked me after I told her about Malik’s comment and how, in the past, whenever I went to my parents with any issues I had with him, they always belittled me and essentially gaslit me.
‘No, never. It’s easier to keep the peace, you know?’
‘I do know,’ she said after a moment. And then, looking me straight in the eye, she added, ‘I get why you want to keep the peace around you, but what about the peace inside you?’
I was exhausted when I made my way to the nearest Tube station. Although all I wanted to do was climb into my bed, I wasn’t ready to go home yet, so instead of getting off at Turnpike Lane, I continued all the way to Oakwood and to Dina’s house without calling or texting to let her know I was coming.
Dina opened the door, baby Sama attached to her in a sling. If she was surprised to see me, she didn’t show it. Instead, she welcomed me into the house as though she had been expecting me and little Sami came running over and hugged my legs. That nearly set me off again, but I controlled myself. I had cried enough for one day.
Later, after Sami was in bed, Mohammed gracefully excused himself under the guise of wanting to get some reading done and left Dina and me to catch up. Dina made us both fancy hot chocolate with her Velvetiser while I held the baby and told her what had been going on.
‘That was really harsh of Malik,’ she sympathised, bringing her fancy porcelain mug to her mouth. The baby began to cry and root for milk and with an exhausted sigh, Dina took her from me to feed her.
‘I don’t know how you do it all,’ I told her as she latched the baby onto her breast and closed her eyes. ‘How are you coping? What can I do to help you?’
‘I’m OK, hun,’ Dina replied quietly. ‘Just tired. I didn’t breastfeed Sami so I really wanted to give it a proper go with Sama, but it’s bloody hard. She’s glued to me 24/7, no one else can feed her but me. She won’t take a bottle so I can’t express. I’m desperate to sleep.’
‘And here I am keeping you up.’ I hung my head in shame.
‘No, I’m glad you’re here. It’s a nice distraction from all this.’ She gestured to the living room, which was littered with toys. I had never seen Dina’s house so messy. Cluttered, yes, but never like this. There were Mega Blocks scattered all over the floor, toy cars, trains, dinosaurs, balls, those fruit and vegetables that were joined with Velcro . . . everything was everywhere.
Downing my hot chocolate in one go, I got down on my hands and knees and began tidying away the toys into the correct boxes. Dina protested weakly but I ignored her and got on with it in silence. My throat was sore from all the crying and talking with Fareena and it felt good to quietly get on with something easy and methodical.
‘By the way,’ Dina began after all the toys had been tidied up and I was putting away the arts and crafts supplies, ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you; I saw Malik with a woman a few weeks ago and they were definitely more than just friends. Maybe that’s why he’s been acting off?’
‘What were they doing? Or is it better I don’t know?’
‘Nah, it wasn’t anything crazy. They were in Morrisons in Palmer’s Green shopping for groceries, holding hands. It was cute but I didn’t go up to them in case he got embarrassed.’
‘What did she look like?’
‘Pretty. Really pretty, in that traditional English girl-next-door kind of way. Long blonde hair, blue eyes, banging figure. I wish I had taken a picture to show you. You could have searched her picture on Google and figured out who she was.’
‘She must live around there then,’ I mused, half to myself, putting my detective hat on. ‘Why else would anyone be in Palmer’s unless they lived there?’
‘True,’ Dina said. ‘Do you know anyone who lives there?’
For the fifth time that day, I felt my blood turn cold. I did know someone who lived in Palmer’s Green. My hands beginning to tremble, I took out my phone, opened up Instagram and scrolled through my followers until I had the page I was looking for, all the while praying I was wrong. Because if I was right, it meant that two of the people closest to me had been lying to my face for months. I handed my phone to Dina and she squealed in delight.
‘Yes! That’s her. Oh, wait. Is that Lucy as in . . .’
‘Yes. My work colleague and friend.’
‘Damn. And she never told you?’
‘Nope.’
Dina and I both stared at Lucy’s page, at the carefully curated snapshots of the version of her life that she shared with the world. There wasn’t a single hint of her dating someone, let alone my brother.
I didn’t bother going home that night. I sent my mum a text telling her I was staying over at Dina’s house and spent the night tossing and turning next to Sami’s warm little body. His arms and legs were all over the place and all night he alternated between flinging his body across mine, thumping me in the face and kicking me in the ribs. He could have been as still as a statue, but I still wouldn’t have slept. I couldn’t. There was too much going on. My head was so messed up that I hadn’t even been able to bring myself to text Noah back. He had messaged at some point, asking me if I was free to meet up over the weekend. I was free, but after Arjun and Lucy’s comments about him only liking me because he thought we were similar, I was left with a bitter taste about the whole thing.
