DISHONOUR

Freddie looked up. Eyeballing the prison officer with as much contempt as he could muster, he snapped, ‘Ain’t you heard of knocking? Don’t walk into my cell again without a tap. Anyway, what phone call?’

Without thinking the prison warder snapped. ‘How do I know, Thompson? I’m not a mind reader.’

Freddie Thompson stood up. He stepped towards the officer, purposely standing within an inch of him, watching as the screw gulped and the colour drained away from his face.

‘I may be in here, but that don’t stop me getting to you out there. One nod from me and my men will come looking. And it won’t take five minutes to find you. How do you fancy being woken up in the morning with a fucking axe in your head, Officer Davies?’

‘All … all I meant to say is, I don’t exactly know what the call is about. But I think it might be about your son. I think there’s been an accident.’

5

‘You must think me awfully rude. I’ve spent all this time with you and I haven’t even told you my proper name. It’s Arnold, but my friends call me Arnie. It means powerful eagle you know, derived from a Germanic name.’

Arnold beamed, whilst thinking how much smaller than usual she looked as she lay naked, curled up shivering in a foetal position on the single bed, her hands tied.

He couldn’t understand why she was still shivering. He’d turned the radiator up to full blast even though he knew it would cost him an absolute fortune. But still, he didn’t want to be selfish.

A horrifying thought came to Arnold’s mind as he gazed at her. A fleeting, disturbing thought passed through his mind. Perhaps she was unhappy; perhaps she wanted to go home, instead of being with him?

Dismayed, he caught a reflection of himself in the mirror which was placed above the small white bookcase. He saw the worry lines etched into his forehead and he saw the anxiety in his eyes. He had to stop this. He had to stop torturing himself thinking she didn’t want to be with him. Why wouldn’t she? He wasn’t going to let himself start thinking negatively, especially not today of all days.

‘Are you still cold Izzy?’

‘My name’s not Izzy.’ She spoke and it shocked him. He wasn’t sure if it was the Scottish accent which he didn’t remember her having when they’d first met, or the obvious hostility in her voice. It made her sound coarse. But what shocked him the most was her denying her name was Izzy.

The other girl had said the same thing. Telling him over and over again her name wasn’t Izzy and he’d got the wrong person. Though eventually he’d seen she’d been telling the truth. He’d got the wrong person. He’d made a mistake and he didn’t mind admitting it. How he’d thought she was Izzy, he didn’t know. He’d been wrong. So very wrong. She’d been nothing like her.

The girl spat her words. ‘You’re fucking sick, you know that? My name’s Lucy, fucking Lucy, you sick fuck.’

Arnold scowled. Not wanting to listen to any more abuse, he placed her gag back on, watching as she squirmed and made grunting sounds until she’d exhausted herself. Touching her gently, Arnold stroked her head as he talked. ‘That’s my girl. Nice and calm now. You really shouldn’t get so angry Izzy. It’s really not good for you. My silly little Izzy; my Isabel. It means God’s promise you know.’ Arnold sat looking at her warmly, before feeling overwhelmed with emotion and having to brush away tears.

The knife he’d bought had cost a small fortune. It was over two hundred pounds, but looking at it, Arnold had to admit, the craftsmanship was beautiful. A Gerber Harsey silver trident made with a double-edge fixed blade, a thick rubber handle for a better grip and according to the man in the shop, made to US military standards.

He had everything ready. He placed the knife back down on the table, trying to remember the rhyme he used to sing. For the life of him he couldn’t remember it, but hopefully it’d come to him later. ‘Now then Izzy, it’s time. Are you excited?’

Arnold stood in front of the bed completely still for a moment, then he seized hold of her legs in a swift movement, dragging her off the bed; making her face smash onto the floor, oozing blood all over the cream lino. ‘Whoops-a-daisy, silly me. I’ll have to clean that up later. Not to worry Izzy, not to worry.’

The knife did what it said on the box; it cut. Deeply and precisely. It was so much better than the other one he’d struggled with last time. He whistled, enjoying his work. She was still moving, still wanting to show him she was boss. He chuckled warmly; that was Izzy alright. Always wanting to be in charge. Always wanting to get her own way.

He walked round to her front, warmed by her show of defiance. He carefully took the blade and placed the sharp point at the top of her pubic bone. ‘Fiddle sticks! Well I’ll be blown; look at that, my hands are shaking Izzy. I didn’t know I was so nervous. I better be careful.’

Arnold smiled as he took off her gag, wondering why a shrill piercing scream came out of her mouth.

It was way past his bedtime now and Arnold could feel his eyes burning. The rhyme which had escaped him before suddenly came flooding back into his memory. He started to sing as he sat in the corner of the room. ‘Izzy shall have a new bonnet, and Izzy shall go to the fair, and Izzy shall have a new ribbon to tie up her bonny brown hair.’

He laughed out loud, pleased at how the words came flooding back to him. ‘And why may I not love Izzy, and why may not Izzy love me?’ He stopped and paused for a moment as he got to near the end; frowning, he spoke the last lines very quietly. ‘Because she’s got a kiss for Daddy; a kiss for Daddy, not me.’ Bending down, Arnold smiled sadly before kissing the severed head.

6

It was late by the time Laila found the courage to knock on her mother’s bedroom. Tentatively she tapped, hoping her uncle wouldn’t return home now. He’d forbidden Laila to speak to her mother on her own, telling her she would find no comfort in her arms. So instead she’d lain in bed with her face sore and swollen, waiting to hear the familiar sound of her uncle’s car coming down the drive, willing to hear the sound of the tyres on the gravel, but it hadn’t come. The terror Laila felt inside her, knowing her uncle had gone to see Ray-Ray and hadn’t returned, filled her with so much dread that it overrode the fear of making her uncle angrier by disobeying him.

The bedroom door was opened by her sleepy mother. ‘Laila! What are you doing here, you know what your uncle said. Go back to bed.’

‘I need to talk to you.’

Laila’s mother looked up and down the corridor nervously. ‘Please Laila; just go back to bed, we can talk in the morning when uncle’s here.’

Seeing her daughter trembling, Laila’s mother’s voice became softer as she took hold of her hand. ‘If uncle catches you up at this time, you know there’ll be trouble. Please, try not to be so headstrong Laila. You must learn to quell your spirit, child. No good will come of it. Women have no place to question men, no matter how great a test it may seem.’

Laila scanned her mother’s face, not truly recognising the person in front of her. Before her father had died her mother had been open, warm and loving. Now she was closed, distant and worse still, afraid.

‘Mum, please. I need you to help me.’ Laila’s eyes filled with tears as she watched her mother wrap her shawl tightly round her shoulders. Her mother’s voice was hesitant when she spoke. ‘Laila, what do you want me to do?’

‘Speak to uncle. Explain I haven’t done anything. He might listen to you. Tell him I don’t want to get married.’

Laila’s mother slowly shook her head, pain for her child in her eyes. ‘Things have changed now. You don’t have a choice and your insistence in having one has caused all the problems. Did you really think hanging around with the English boy would’ve been acceptable to your uncle? Didn’t you know you’d cause trouble?’

‘Trouble? There’s that word again. We didn’t do anything.’

‘Laila, why do you always have to argue? Why can’t you just accept this?’

In frustration Laila raised her voice at her mother, tears streaming down her face as she spoke. ‘How can you say that to me Mum? You always taught me to think for myself; you told me I never had to accept anything I didn’t want to. You know we talked about me going to university. You told me you wanted me to do the things you’d never done.’

‘Shhh Laila, stop talking like that. You know all girls must get married eventually. It’s either now or later, so what’s the difference?’

Laila’s face was full of bewilderment. ‘There is a difference; you know there is a difference. Daddy would never have allowed this, he wouldn’t have wanted you to allow it.’

Her mother put her head down as she talked, fidgeting with the sash edge on her cream shawl. When she spoke, her voice was laced with warmth. ‘Laila, I know it’s been hard for you since your father passed away and today we buried one of your aunts. But doesn’t that show you Laila that life changes? We take things for granted when we shouldn’t do. Life moves in ways we sometimes don’t want it to move in. No matter how in control we think we are, we have no real power and we have to accept our destiny. And yours is to get married. Laila, you have to do this, not only for yourself, but for all of us.’

Laila could hear the hysteria in her own voice as she threw herself at her mother, wrapping her arms round her as if she were a child. ‘I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do it. Please Mum, help me! I don’t want to do this, I’m scared. I promise I’ll behave in the way uncle wants me to. I won’t complain again. Please tell him I’ll behave … tell him.’

‘The decision has already been made.’

‘Mum …’

‘Laila, if I could, I would help you, but there’s nothing I can do.’

‘But you’re my mother. You must be able to help me.’

Laila’s sobbing echoed around the upstairs landing and it became louder as she felt her mother stroke her hair in the darkness. ‘Laila, my beautiful, beautiful child, I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.’

‘Laila? Laila? … Wake up.’ Mahmood Khan lent over his niece. He could see her face was swollen but chose to ignore it as he shook her awake. Bruises faded, swollen lips went down but defiance had to be tamed. It was as simple as that.

It was still dark outside, though the beginning of the crimson morning sky was just appearing over the chimney pots of the rows of terraced houses. Mahmood paused for a moment, deep in thought. They had a lot to do today and he hoped his niece would understand there was no room for hysterics.

Mahmood sniffed, realising the smell of last night was still lingering on his clothes. Last night had gone well; better than expected. He was proud of what he’d done. Taking control. Being fearless. Being driven by honour. Protecting their family from the shame Laila had brought or was about to bring onto them. And Tariq? He’d let him down; hesitated and had been unable to do what he was supposed to. But perhaps that was only to be expected from his brother’s son.

Sighing, Mahmood turned to face his niece. He scowled as he saw her roll over. ‘Laila. It’s time you got up.’

Laila groaned. Her face was hurting and she’d spent most of the night spitting blood out of her mouth. She was exhausted, but most of all, her overriding sense was fear. A thought flashed through her mind. Ray-Ray. She span round, feeling the twinge in her ribs. She’d only discovered her bruised swollen side in the middle of the night after she’d spoken to her mother. Laila guessed that when she’d been knocked unconscious her uncle had kicked her.

‘Ray-Ray? What happened to him … what did you do?’

The tears ran down her face, making the scowl on her uncle’s face deepen.

‘Please uncle; please tell me he’s all right.’

‘Have you no shame?’

‘Please.’

Mahmood looked at Laila. The thought that she’d be someone else’s problem soon made his heart soften slightly. ‘You don’t have to worry about him anymore. That life is over. You have a new one Laila. Today, we’ll be taking a trip.’

‘A trip?’

Mahmood bristled. He hated when she questioned him and challenged his authority. It was for this reason the whole marriage had to be arranged so quickly.

‘Yes, Laila. A trip. A trip to Pakistan.’

The scream which left Laila’s lips was heard all the way up the street.

Leeds Bradford International Airport heaved with the rush of excited laughing outbound holidaymakers and inbound sullen tired ones. Businessmen and women distanced themselves from the crowd, sitting with laptops precariously near their over-frothed cappuccinos. Honeymooning couples, families and security guards filed past, wrapped up in their own world, blind to Laila and her agony as she sat in her full burka, her face covered, with only her almond eyes showing.

The airport was overly hot as signs dotted around the airport apologised for the breakdown of its air conditioning. Laila could feel the sweat running down her back, changing from hot to cold as the heat of the July day mingled with the chill of her fear.

Her head was pounding and she felt ill, though no one could tell. No one could see her light brown skin become pallid and ashen, nor could they see the strain and bruises which were both imprinted on her face. All they could see was a person head to toe in black.

Laila’s eyes darted to the right, but her view was blocked. She looked the other way but that too was blocked. Both ways blocked by the sides of her burka, making her think of the horses she saw on match day wearing their blinkers, stopping them from seeing what was really going on around them.

A sense of panic started to creep over Laila; starting from her feet and slowly wrapping its way around her body, tightening her breathing and her chest. A cloying, nauseating feeling stuck at the back of her throat, causing her breath to rasp and making her feel as if she was being crushed by a heavy weight. She pulled at her burka but it was unrelenting; tight and unforgiving around her neck. The sense of claustrophobia was overwhelming.

It was the feeling of claustrophobia and panic which made Laila get up and run, scraping back the metal chairs and turning heads. She didn’t know where she was going but she had to get out of there. She couldn’t just sit there waiting for the hand of fate to happen. Maybe if she could get to a phone, perhaps then she’d be all right. But who would she ring? She knew it would be impossible to call her friends; they’d be as frightened as she was. Terrified the same fate would fall to them.

As the thoughts passed through her mind, Laila kept on running, hearing the muffled voices of the disgruntled crowd as she pushed past them, frantic to get away. She looked up at the signs. Which way out? Her eyelashes caught her veil, making her flinch. She ran forward towards the throng of people, hoping it was the exit.

Laila hurried on, seeing the curious looks from the passersby. Couldn’t they see she needed help? Help from what was about to happen. But how could they? They could no more help her than she could help herself.

Tears started to spring into her eyes, disrupting her vision even more.

‘Hey! Hey lady, calm down. Anyone would think you were in a hurry.’

A large security guard blocked Laila’s way. His arms outstretched with a large kind grin on his face.

‘Excuse me; can you get out of my way?’

‘Pardon?’

The material deflected the sound of her voice causing Laila to speak louder. ‘Can you get out of my way?’

‘It’s fine, she’s with me. She’s a nervous flyer. She’s never been one for planes, have you Laila?’

Laila turned to see her uncle, out of breath, standing behind her. His eyes were cold as he looked down. He took her tightly by her hand, pulling her away from the gaze of the guard.

‘Going somewhere Laila?’

‘No … no, I just needed to get some air.’

‘I hope you weren’t thinking of running to that boyfriend of yours? Not sure if he’ll be fit to see you.’

Laila screamed. She started to sink to her knees, but was held up by Tariq who’d come up behind her as well. He pulled her gently back to the coffee shop. His words were a warning as well as his tone. ‘If you want some advice, please do yourself a favour Laila and make this easy on yourself. Don’t mess with uncle.’

A crash of luggage falling off a trolley distracted Tariq, causing him to loosen his grip on his sister’s arm. Knowing it might be her last chance of freedom, Laila bolted. Running, ignoring the cry of her name, she lifted up her burka, revealing a pair of jeans underneath as she ran up the stairwell in front of her. If she could just find the exit, at least then there was more chance of getting away.

At the top of the stairs, Laila was breathing hard and was still no closer to finding the exit of the overcrowded airport. She hadn’t noticed the way she’d come in. Even though she didn’t know which way she was going, Laila continued to run, sensing an ever-nearing threat behind her. She was too afraid to turn around, knowing it could cost her vital seconds.

In the distance she saw two police officers. She hesitated. Perhaps they could help? But then, what would she say? She didn’t want to get into trouble and she certainly didn’t want her family to be in trouble. Besides, she wasn’t entirely sure if she could trust them. She’d always been told the police weren’t sympathetic and wanted to keep out of these matters; worried they were too culturally sensitive to get involved.

Pressing on, Laila continued along the upper level of the airport.

‘Could Laila Khan please come to the check-in desk? Laila Khan to the check-in desk.’

The voice over the airport tannoy sounded loudly, making Laila feel exposed. She whirled around as if a thousand fingers were pointing at her, uncovering her whereabouts, but she only saw the milling crowd of travellers. As oblivious to who Laila was as they were to her fear.

Then through the crowds Laila saw what she hadn’t wanted to see. Something which made her recoil into herself making her stoop in panic as she stood frozen to the spot. She saw the jet-black head of hair, distinctive by the way it bobbed and flopped. She saw the camel-coloured suede shoes paired with the green linen trousers. It was her brother, with his gaze transfixed on her.

Laila span round to run, but less than a meter away stood her uncle, disdainful and angry. Terror took over and she took an involuntary step towards the glass railing overlooking the drop to the busy ground floor thirty feet below, where people milled about in shops and drank coffee in the overheated airport.

She pressed her body against the barrier, clinging onto it and standing on tiptoes as she did so. Could she do it? If she jumped it’d all be over. She wouldn’t have to go to Pakistan. Wouldn’t have to marry a man she didn’t know. All her fear would go away in one swift movement. Looking over the barrier, she urged herself to do it as she felt her legs trembling. Her uncle walked slowly towards her, speaking with quiet menace. ‘Don’t be silly Laila; just come here, no one wants to make a scene. Not here. Not now.’

‘Please uncle, just let me go home.’ Laila’s voice sounded childlike as she struggled to hold back the tears.

‘That’s exactly what you are doing. Going home.’

She turned to Tariq, desperate for him to help her, but seeing her uncle take another step towards her made Laila turn away, her attention back on her uncle, hoping she could appeal to him. ‘Just let me finish school, like Daddy wanted me to, and afterwards, I … I promise uncle, I’ll do anything you say.’

‘We’ve been over this Laila. The life you had is finished. Your new life will be with your husband. Duty. Honour. Now come away from the balcony Laila, you’ll have people staring.’

Laila didn’t move. From behind her uncle she saw two large security guards looking over, concerned puzzlement on their faces.

Tariq spoke to her now, his jaw clenched in tension, desperately wanting his sister to stop causing herself more trouble. ‘Laila, there’s nowhere for you to go. Please. The best thing you can do is to make it easy on yourself. In time you’ll get use to it. One day you will come to love him. So please come here. Please.’

Mahmood interjected, pushing Tariq out of the way, irritated by his soft tone. ‘We both know you’re not going to jump Laila, so stop this nonsense and come here now. As your uncle, I’m ordering you to.’

He put out his hand for Laila to take, but she only looked at it, unable to take it, knowing if she did it would only harm her rather than help her. She turned her head and looked down at the drop below again, her heart racing.

‘Is everything alright Miss?’

The security guard from earlier spoke as he walked towards Laila. From the expression on his face it was clear he didn’t know what to make of the scene. Her in her burka clinging onto the railing as if it were her life raft with her brother and uncle on either side, their arms stretched open, looking as if they were herding up a stray sheep.

Tariq spoke to the guard, not taking his eyes off Laila. ‘Everything’s fine.’

‘I was talking to the lady.’

‘Well I’m talking to you, and I’m telling you everything is fine.’

Laila watched the security guard. His shirt, at least a size too small clung to him, and perspiration sat like angry storm clouds around his armpits and across his protruding stomach. As he spoke, he wiped the sweat away from his top lip. ‘Are you all right love?’

Tariq quickly whipped round. ‘She’s not your love. She’s my sister.’

The security guard, slightly thrown but not put off, spoke again. ‘I need you to tell me everything’s all right.’

Laila stared at him. It was now or never. This was the moment she could get away. Be taken somewhere to work things out. She could finish school and go onto university as she’d hoped to do. Then she could travel. See the world, before settling down to someone who loved her and who she loved. Now was the time to say what her family planned to do with her. This was the last chance she’d have. But then wouldn’t it also mean getting her family in trouble? And then what’d happen to her mother? Her brother? Could she really do that to them? Could she really live with the fact she’d never be able to see them again?

With her big almond eyes darting between the security guard and Tariq, Laila opened her mouth and spoke as confidently as she could manage. ‘Yes, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.’ As the words came out of her mouth, Laila could almost feel something dying inside her.

7

Tasha sat and waited. She’d been waiting now for several hours, though it could’ve been days or even weeks, maybe even years. Each second she waited seemed like a lifetime. Waiting for the doctors to tell her if Ray-Ray, her son, her baby, was alive.

Had it really only been last night when she’d got the call from her next-door neighbour? Tasha had expected to hear there’d been a parcel delivered or the alarm of her house wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t have even minded a call telling her the kids from the local school had been trying to scale her large gated walled house. But this? To hear her house was on fire with her son inside? That call she’d never wanted to get.

With her head in her hands, Tasha sat on the uncomfortable red plastic seat in the long corridor, staring down at the floor. Hearing, but not seeing the hospital staff and visitors walking by. The strong smell of disinfectant, though overpowering, was slightly comforting. Sterile and sanitary. Completely opposite to how she felt.

What had she been doing when Ray-Ray was screaming for help? When he was trapped by the fire and overwhelmed by the smoke? She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut but it didn’t take away the images, it only stopped the tears pouring out onto the floor. Nothing could take away her guilt. Even if Ray-Ray pulled through, she would know what she had been doing. Simply put, she’d been in bed with another man.