Desh Read Free Page A

what do you have in mind and who’s going to do the work this time? If it’s one of your contacts, Dad, I’m not signing this.”
    â€œYou have to. The council came for an inspection. Shamim was here,” he added nodding towards the head waiter. “He knows all about it.”
    Aila glared back. “So when the council was here did they happen to mention the tribe of illegals you’ve got working here? No, I didn’t think so. What’s the money really for?”
    â€œI told you. Just sign the paperwork.”
    â€œI won’t put a loan for fifteen grand in my name.”
    â€œYou’re my daughter.”
    â€œTell me you’re not borrowing to cover the rent.”
    â€œJust sign it and take it to the manager at NatWest on Monday, when you deposit those cheques. Do it,” he hissed.
    â€œFine Dad. Whatever.” She had to back down. A daughter couldn’t be seen to argue in front of the staff. She kissed the top of his head and felt Shamim watch her every step as she walked out.
    The sun hit her eyes and the pavement was thronged with sandals, buggies and black Labradors. Away from the restaurant, the rest of the world appeared to be enjoying the holidays. She joined the tide of people walking over the bridge.
    Children hung over the side, dangling their fishing lines, and an image came to mind of she and Maz doing the same thing, from the same bridge. He was just a little guy, maybe eight or nine, and they’d fossick about all afternoon until Sadhan gathered them up to go home. Holidays then meant fishing lines and catering buckets, or trips home to Bangladesh, when they were older.
    On the high street she stopped to look at shorts and crop tops arranged in a shop window, tastefully decorated using a ‘less is more’ approach. She could not help noting the contrast with the crowded menu offered by the restaurant, which shouted for the food to be bought. There’d always been a wall of glass between Aila and the life everyone else seemed to lead.
    Further along she stopped at the perfume shop to enjoy smell of expensive for a while, until she saw the blue boxes of Angel displayed at full price on the back wall and suddenly window shopping lost its appeal. Perhaps a drive would do the trick. She felt comfortable when she was out driving and she could always visit her cousin in Stepney: it had been months since she last saw Maryam and the baby; or she could head into Kingston and see if any of the old crew still hung out at Nando’s.
    It wasn’t a difficult choice. Arriving at Nando’s, she saw the same faces at the table by the window. The manager waved from behind the counter when she walked in and Jay smiled as she sat beside him. “Hey, Begum, long time no see, what’s new?” The big news was Shafia and she talked about the wedding.
    â€œAnother one bites the dust. Not many of us left now, eh? Good times though, good times,” he said.
    â€œThe best. Won’t be the same without her.” She nudged him.” Now who’m I going to chill in Richmond Park with?”
    He laughed. “Chill? You mean get plastered. That was one hell of an afternoon. You girls were on one.”
    â€œYou weren’t so upright, Boy. Dancing round the car, shouting ‘old skool tune keep it coming’ at the radio.”
    â€œAnd you weren’t whining and twerking in broad daylight then? Like your ass was possessed. I still have a picture, Begum, up here,” he tapped his head. “You know, one day I’m gonna take you to a Nigerian wedding for some real dancing.” He touched the tip of her nose.
    â€œYeah, one day,” she said. They’d had this conversation before and still she saw their faces locked together and felt the sweat of their bodies, but then remembered the day in her final year that it had to end. She’d never have got a pass out for a Nigerian wedding, especially not her own.