‘Fancy a selfie?’ I asked him before we made our way inside the venue. ‘We’re sort of matching.’
Noah laughed at that and pulled me closer to him as I angled the phone and took a picture of us both. His body was warm, his muscles defined but not in an over-the-top, body-building kind of way and it felt good to be nestled against him.
We followed the hostess down to our private booth, a small, dark room with a leather bench along one wall, a TV screen and a couple of microphones. The hostess gave us a rundown of how to use the system and order food and drinks and then she was gone and it was Noah and me, in the dark.
Gulp.
‘What do you want to drink?’ Noah asked, his voice slicing through the silence, punctuated only by my heartbeat.
‘Red Bull, please,’ I said quickly. ‘Err, I don’t drink,’ I added hastily. ‘I’m Muslim.’
‘I thought so,’ he said easily. ‘I am too, so I’ll get us two Red Bulls. Anything else? I’m thinking of nachos and fries.’
‘Sounds good,’ I said calmly, maintaining a composure I certainly wasn’t feeling inside. Inside, I was laughing hysterically. HE WAS MUSLIM! What a relief!
The conflict I had been experiencing only moments before ended as though a white flag had been waved. This was no longer a pointless date; it could actually lead somewhere! I settled into the bench as we chose the list of songs. I said ‘we’ but it was more Noah who did the choosing; I sat back and let him take the lead. His enthusiasm was a welcome change from Zakariya’s cool indifference and he worked through the lists adding mostly R&B and hip-hop tracks.
‘You know, I’ve never done karaoke before,’ I told him as I watched him staring intently at the little computer, scrolling through the songs.
‘I’ve only done it once before,’ he replied and a stab of guilt pierced through me. I knew this already.
‘How was it?’ I croaked, taking a gulp from my drink.
‘Better than I thought it would be. I had a sort of irrational fear of it, but I got over it after that night. We had a lot of fun.’
‘Yeah, I’m a bit nervous,’ I admitted. ‘I don’t have the worst voice but it’s the thought of being up there with people watching me that stresses me out.’
‘Well, the only person here is me,’ he said, turning to smile reassuringly at me. ‘And we’ll sing together anyway. Here we go, I’m going to start the music. You ready, Ariana?’
‘Ariana?’ I squeaked. ‘Talk about setting the bar high.’
Noah shrugged. ‘You kinda look like her.’
I most certainly did not. Was he playing me?
The music started and I giggled when I recognised the opening notes to ‘Gangsta’s Paradise’, relieved that I wouldn’t have to actually sing.
‘You ready for this?’ Noah asked, moving his body to the music.
‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ I replied, standing up to join him, getting ready for the rap to start. ‘As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . .’
The next two hours sped by in a blur of music and food. Sometimes Noah sang and danced alone as I caught my breath, sometimes he watched me bop along like a fool to noughties pop, sometimes we sang duets, other times we didn’t bother singing, we just sat back and talked over the music. At the beginning, I was painfully self-conscious, thankful that the room was dark. By the end, I was sweating from all the jumping around, my throat ached from the shouting and singing (more often the former than the latter) and my belly hurt from all the laughter. My inhibitions became smaller and smaller as the night progressed and by the time it hit 10 p.m. and our two hours ran out, I no longer cared what I looked like with my wild hair and red face. We were having so much fun that it didn’t matter.
Emerging out into the cool night was a welcome relief from the heat and humidity of the booth. Noah tried to slip his hand into mine but I pulled it away, embarrassed.
‘Sorry, my palms are sweaty,’ I explained, rubbing them onto my jeans.
‘Are your knees weak and arms heavy, as well?’ he replied, a twinkle in his eye.
Laughing, I continued the lyrics and once again, the atmosphere was light and fun and we continued to sing the rest of the song together. When Noah grabbed my hand again, I didn’t stop him. Now that he was marriage material, surely a bit of hand-holding was OK?
‘Shall we get some proper food?’ he asked as we walked through the backstreets of Holborn towards Covent Garden, which was buzzing despite the hour. ‘I’m starving after all that dancing.’
‘Sure,’ I replied genially and allowed him to lead me to a restaurant in the centre of the plaza, still relishing the feeling of his hand in mine.
‘This place is halal,’ he said as we stood outside the restaurant and perused the menu. I didn’t care what or where we ate. I was happy to do anything that prolonged the night.
‘You know, I can’t shake this weird feeling I have,’ Noah said as we sat down and ordered our food: chicken bao buns for me and a steak sub for him.
‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know, I keep feeling like we’ve met before. Odd, right?’
‘Uh yeah, very odd,’ I agreed, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. ‘I’ve been feeling like that too, but, uh, I don’t know how we could have possibly met before.’ I was rambling, I knew I was and I wish I had admitted the truth to him there and then. I didn’t though. Something stopped me and when I had finished rationalising everything, I opened my mouth to suggest that we had perhaps met on the Tube – but he started speaking at the same time and the moment passed.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Over the next few weeks, Noah and I spent every free moment together, either in person or on the phone. We texted each other throughout the day and the messages went from friendly to flirty, making me wonder if we were officially a couple. I wanted to ask Lucy what she thought, but I couldn’t because I was avoiding her like Coronavirus. I had no desire to confide in someone who didn’t bother telling me that they were dating my brother.
‘Maya, you’re not going out today, are you?’ Ma asked as she burst into my room at eight on a Sunday morning. I didn’t get home until way past twelve after my cinema date with Noah and had barely slept the night before either. My head felt heavy, so I moaned and pulled my duvet over my head in protest.
‘Wake up,’ was Ma’s unsympathetic response as she stalked over to the window and yanked the curtains open. With the duvet still over my head, I didn’t see her do it, but I could hear her and I knew what was coming next.
Sure enough, a second later, the covers were pulled off my body.
‘Your Nani’s coming for lunch with your Aunt Lottie,’ Ma informed me. Despite my eyes being squeezed closed, a last-ditch attempt to stay in bed, I could envision her glowering at me from the foot of the bed, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed. ‘You’ve been out too much recently. Whatever plans you have today, cancel them and get up and clean the house and then help me in the kitchen.’
‘Ma, I’m tired,’ I groaned, refusing to open my eyes.
