Marrying Ameera Read Free

daughter.’
    I leaned over him and kissed his cheek. I loved the feel of Papa’s beard; it was starting to show wiry grey hairs amongst the black.
    ‘Did you have a good time at the Yusufs’ home?’ he asked, as if he thought it would be a difficult feat to manage. Anglo-Australians could be friends with anyone but Papa had certain ideals. Even though Mr Yusuf was a top orthodontist, they were Christian Pakistanis and I was sure Papa still thought in terms of caste. I always trod a careful path when I spoke of the Yusufs.
    ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘There were lots of girls from my class there.’
    Bad move. Papa’s hand paused over the butter. ‘What were they wearing?’
    Mum made a noise with her tongue. She was doing that a lot lately.
    ‘Covering shirts, Papa. Only girls were there.’
    I caught a glance pass between Mum and Papa. She was warning him but he didn’t take any notice.
    He buttered his toast, his knife scraping on the plate. ‘Did their brothers pick them up?’
    ‘I didn’t see who picked them up. They didn’t come in.’
    The right response and Papa relaxed. ‘So where is your brother?’
    ‘He must be still asleep.’ Don’t ask me about last night, please.
    It was Mum who saved me. ‘Hassan, can you pick up some things from the market?’ She put a list in front of him.
    Papa seemed to relish doing things like this for Mum. He’d told me that in some areas of Pakistan, the women never go outside the house. The men bring everything from the bazaar for them, even bolts of cloth and shoes to match. How awful would that be? I like choosing my own clothes. Poor Papa, if that was the way he’d grown up, he’d had a lot to get used to in Australia with Mum working three days a week teaching English.
    Just then my phone rang. It was Raniya. ‘Just checking you got home okay,’ she said.
    I left the table. I couldn’t tell her what had happened with Papa’s ears flapping. ‘Maryam and Tariq brought me home in the end.’
    There was a silence, then, ‘Her brother?’
    ‘Yes, it was fine.’
    ‘You want to be careful there. He’s not Muslim.’
    ‘Why should that matter?’ I felt like saying that Mum wasn’t Muslim either.
    She must have caught my tone. ‘All I meant was he mightn’t have the same code of behaviour as our boys.’
    ‘He was no different at all.’
    Was I telling the truth? Actually he was better than ‘our boys’. Look how my own brother had left me to find my way home alone.
    Raniya didn’t linger. We made arrangements for coffee the next day in the mall. ‘Let’s shop for shoes after, okay, Ameera?’
    ‘Sure.’ I made an effort at enthusiasm and her ‘bye’ sounded relieved.
    When I returned to the kitchen, Papa was at me again. ‘What will you do today, beti?’
    I stared at him. Would I have to account for every minute now that school had finished? ‘I’m not sure yet. Tomorrow I’m meeting Raniya.’
    I expected him to object but he didn’t. I shouldn’t have been surprised. He respected Raniya’s family: her father was friendly with the imam at the mosque.
    ‘You can come with me to the shop today and be useful,’ he said.
    ‘The shop?’
    Why not Riaz? But then Riaz didn’t share Papa’s passion for carpets, not like I did. What would I do though? Roll up the carpets after a customer had viewed them? Papa pulled out dozens at once and spent most of his day rolling them back up. His shop looked like an art gallery, with special pieces hanging on the wall and from the ceiling. Papa sat on carpet cushions while he talked to the customers, and he always rang for coffee and cake from the deli next door. It surprised people but he wasjust fulfilling his Pushtun duty of hospitality. One customer had said the shop looked like a harem. Papa laughed about that when he came home, but I guessed it would look exotic to someone who had never travelled.
    ‘It’s about time I showed you how to do the books,’ he told me. ‘You can help me right through