Desh Read Free

first thing Saturday morning, head for the bridge and walk by the river, just the two of them. She’d wear her best shalwar kameez and the high-heeled shoes he’d bought for her, to please him, because in those days Aila was his princess and he said one day she’d have the elegant feet of a proper woman if she got used to wearing high heels. So she persisted and over the years calcified scars formed where her toes rubbed against the leather.
    The bedroom door opened. “Aila? Your father needs you to go to the cash ’n’ carry.”
    â€œOkay. Ma. Tell him to do a list.” She swung both feet out of bed and kicked at the heap of clothes on the floor. Musty trousers and any old top would do.
    Downstairs Sadhan lay sprawled on the sofa with his unruly black hair nestled in one corner while the television blared in front of him. She stood behind the sofa and barked “Right. So, Dad, the list,” to startle him and when he turned to face her she jiggled the trackie bottoms in a way calculated to enrage him – like the white girls on the estate, the other pig’s children.
    He scowled and gave her the list. “Bring everything to the restaurant by one o’clock. I have some cheques you need to sign and cover your head before you go out.”
    She zipped the logoed hoodie with as much noise as possible and stomped into the hall, where scarves were slung over the stair rail. “For sure,” she said,” Because hijabs are good at hiding bruises aren’t they?” and slammed the porch door behind her.
    Safe inside the Peugeot, she sat motionless until the thumping in her chest subsided. How does he know but not know? Like he can smell something, but doesn’t know what it is. He can’t possibly have known or he’d have killed her. Would he?
    She thought back to a time at school. It was her GSCE year and rumours about her had been spread. As the only hijabi in high heels she expected crap, but this had reached her father via the estate and he summoned her to ask if what he’d heard was true. Had she been sleeping around?
    Aila saw such black hate in his eyes she knew in that instant he would have killed her if he could have proved it. She met his eyes and told the truth. He believed her and the threat passed. “But if you ever sleep with anyone I will know, by the look on your face,” he said. Well, she hadn’t fallen yet, technically . The red and gold Sura charm dangled behind the mirror so that its Arab script faced her. Its incantation to ward off harm had worked so far.
    Aila didn’t get to the restaurant until three that afternoon, when the lunchtime shift was nearly done. Dog-tired waiters stood sentinel along the wall and heads nodded as the owner’s daughter walked down the centre aisle to her usual table, the one behind the fish tank and closest to the kitchen. She passed the bags over to eager hands and waited.
    Through the doorway she watched her father standing at the tandoor oven. His skin had been roasted over the years and the pores enlarged like craters. Even after he left the kitchen, the heat continued to emanate. He sat opposite and opened a cheque book. “You took your time. Here, sign these and deposit them at the bank by Monday morning.”
    She thumbed through the cheque book. “If you’d listen when I tell you things are due, it’d make life so much easier. Or get yourself a proper accountant.”
    â€œLower your voice,” he said. Their eyes met. Lift your game, she thought. It was her name on the company paperwork, something Sadhan had decided when she’d turned eighteen. At the time she’d felt honoured; not now, though.
    He pushed more pages across the table. “I need you to sign these, too,” and he tracked her face as she read.
    â€œThis is a loan application. For what?”
    â€œRenovation for the restaurant.”
    â€œWell, it certainly needs doing, but