The Family Tree

When Abbu had put the phone down to Uncle Harun, Saahil only made matters worse.

‘Chill out, Abbu,’ he’d said.

‘Chill?’ Abbu’s voice grew high-pitched.

‘Yeah. They set the car on fire. Not the head teacher.’

Unfortunately, these words provided little consolation to Abbu. Saahil couldn’t understand why. He realised it was best to avoid the conversation at all costs. But Abbu wasn’t going to forget this in a hurry. And neither was the school.

Three lads from Year Eleven were eventually caught and expelled. The police were also involved, but it was far from over. Saahil’s teachers wore permanent frowns throughout the rest of the week. Ofsted was being mentioned in worried undertones. For the first time ever, even the senior students were hesitant to put a toe out of line.

This morning, though, something was different. Saahil noticed that the teachers were standing in corridors and leaving their lessons unsupervised. They talked away in urgent whispers. Saahil and Ehsan walked past their young English teacher, who was sobbing outside her classroom door and being comforted by others.

‘Who died?’ Saahil asked Ehsan, who snorted in response.

The boys entered their Maths class and sat down in their seats. Ehsan swivelled around again to face him as Mr Ali called his wife. He was covering his mouth and talking in a low voice. Saahil guessed that this time, the topic of conversation wasn’t daal. He nudged Adam, the lad sitting next to him.

‘What’s going on?’ Saahil asked. ‘Everyone looks really worried.’

‘Haven’t you heard?’

‘Heard what?’

‘We’re stuffed, that’s what,’ Adam replied.

‘Why?’

‘Well, put it this way, Mr Dixon isn’t going to be turning our school around any time soon… He resigned this morning.’

Six

February 1996

Amjad should have known that it was his brother ringing him at eight o’clock in the morning. The ringtone felt sharper, louder and even more headache-inducing than normal. Not unlike Javid himself. Amjad narrowed his eyes as he went to pick it up, gearing up to give the caller a telling off for ringing so early. He never got the chance as Javid’s booming voice filled his ears.

‘It’s a bit early—’ Amjad began, but as usual, Javid talked over him.

‘So, you’re coming over to ours for Eid then, yeah?’

Amjad wasn’t trying to be awkward, but that did not sound like much of an invitation. He quickly glanced at this year’s fasting schedule. There were only a couple of days left to Ramadan.

‘Well, are you inviting me? I’m not just going to turn up, am I?’

Javid let out an exaggerated laugh. Amjad held the phone an inch away from his ear so not to burst his eardrums.

‘Of course I’m inviting you,’ Javid said. ‘Who else is going to drive Ammi down?’

Amjad bit his tongue and decided not to respond. He hadn’t spoken to his brother in over a month. He didn’t want to be the one to start an argument, no matter how much Javid rattled him.

‘I mean, we’d come over to your house,’ Javid continued. ‘But there’s barely any space for us all to fit.’

‘Well, you shouldn’t have had so many kids then,’ Amjad retorted, thinking of the five spoilt brats Javid and his wife had produced.

Javid roared with laughter again. Amjad could almost feel the spit flying from his brother’s mouth and spraying all over him.

As soon as he’d put the phone down, Amjad began plotting ways to get out of it. Spending Eid with his brother was his worst nightmare. Eid in the gloomy month of February would be a miserable affair anyway, but this Eid marked the end of Ramadan, which did deserve a bit of a celebration. He would have to put up with Javid flouncing around in his fancy new four-bedroomed detached. The last thing Amjad wanted to do was listen to his brother bragging about his kids and his wife and the council job he’d only managed to get because he had a friend on the inside.

After he’d finished the school run and returned home, Amjad rang Ammi to see if he could talk her out of going.

‘Javid invited us over for Eid,’ he mentioned, as casually as he could.

‘Yes, lovely,’ Ammi replied.

Amjad let out a silent groan. He could almost hear the beam on her face. She had a much more favourable opinion of Javid than he did, but that was largely because she’d given birth to him and was programmed to love him regardless. Still, Amjad thought he’d give it his best shot.

‘I thought we were going to have a quiet Eid,’ he began, feeling incredibly stupid for even saying that. Eid was never quiet. ‘And your knee has been playing up, it’ll get really stiff if we’re driving all the way to Birmingham. It’s a two and a half hour drive.’

‘You don’t want to go, do you?’ Ammi said, in her quiet, lethal voice.

‘No… I never said that. I’m just thinking of you.’

‘Well, whether you want to go or not, you’re not getting out of it this time.’

Amjad sighed. How could his mother see right through him? It was decided then, or rather, decided for him. Eid would be at Javid’s house, and Amjad could hardly wait.

He sat down with a cuppa and thought about how Eid used to be with Neelam. The preparation would start weeks before with her choosing outfits for them all. She would show the new clothes excitedly to Amjad. Three sets of salwar kameez: a boring white/grey/brown one for him, a small one for Saahil with fancy buttons and collars. And, the most important of all, a sparkly, colourful one for her that was bang on trend for ladies’ fashion. Amjad would always feign interest and nod along encouragingly, before going back to reading his newspaper.

On the day, Amjad would wake up early whilst Neelam and Saahil slept. His salwar kameez was always ironed and laid out on the bed. So was his leather waistcoat, which only made ‘special occasion’ trips out of the wardrobe. His wife would have everything ready for him when he woke up for Eid prayers.

His return from the mosque was always his favourite part of the day. He’d walk in through the door and be greeted by Saahil, who’d come bounding into his arms. His little boy would be ready with his new clothes and slicked back hair. Neelam would already be cooking in the kitchen. Kebabs, samosas, lamb biryani. There would be mouth-watering smells of cumin, coriander, ginger and garlic and the sounds of bubbling and frying. The heat would be intense. Neelam would still be wearing her old clothes for now, a plain salwar kameez with the scarf draped over her body like a sash and tied in a knot near her hip. Amjad would embrace his wife and greet her.

‘Eid Mubarak,’ she’d whisper back in his ear.

Since her death, Amjad had lost interest in Eid. But the clothes shopping was now his responsibility. He would usually make one stop at the first kids’ store he set eyes on. He would pick a frock for Zahra without putting too much thought into it. She was a beautiful little girl, no matter what she wore, and a healthy thirty-seven inches. The growth chart inked into the kitchen door was coming on nicely. They’d made a new marking only a couple of days ago on her birthday:

Zahra, 3 yrs, 20/02/96

At a solid sixty-one inches, Saahil was old enough to choose what he wanted to wear. New jeans, new shirt. Amjad paid for whatever he wanted, within reason. His and Ehsan’s measurements were also creeping higher on the growth chart; last year’s markings were noted with a brand-new blue felt-tip pen:

Saahil, 13 yrs, 14/09/95

Ehsan, 13 yrs, 01/12/95

Much to his disgust, Ehsan was lagging behind at an unsatisfactory fifty-nine inches.

Amjad hadn’t bought a new outfit for himself since Neelam died but if he was to spend it with Javid this time, he would have no choice but to make an effort. He could feel his stress levels rising as the shopping trip drew nearer.

Saahil looked bemused when Amjad told him that they wouldn’t be going into town, but were heading for the big shopping centre in Leeds.

‘Pushing the boat out, Abbu,’ Saahil mocked.

‘Well, I don’t want you looking less polished than your cousins,’ Amjad replied.

They arrived in Leeds after a twenty-minute drive and parked in the shopping centre car park. Saahil began tugging at Amjad’s sleeve as soon as they walked out of the lift and into the mall. ‘There are these new trainers—’

‘Nope, you’re wearing smart shoes this time.’

‘Smart? Why?’

‘I want you to buy a suit,’ Amjad said.

‘A what?!’

‘Come along.’

They ventured into a department store. It wasn’t exactly Amjad’s usual shopping spot.

‘Don’t knock anything over, Saahil,’ Amjad said as they hurried past the perfume and make-up stands. There were women everywhere testing lipsticks and pouting in mirrors and sniffing perfume samples. Amjad searched for the escalator.

Once they got to the kids’ section, Amjad decided to tackle Saahil first.

He refused point-blank to wear a suit jacket.

‘Why don’t I just wear my bloody school uniform instead?’ he sulked as he trailed behind Amjad towards the ‘Boys 11 to 16’ division.

‘I bet Zakariya will be wearing a suit,’ Amjad said, referring to Javid’s eldest child. He was thirteen, the same age as Saahil.

‘Yeah, well Zakariya is a geek.’

After some more bickering, they opted for a navy three-piece set: shirt, waistcoat and a little bow tie.

‘It’s quite expensive, Abbu,’ said Saahil, twirling the price tag in his hands.

‘It doesn’t matter, it’s a one-off,’ Amjad said, settling Zahra down on the cushioned seating area. ‘Now, watch Zee whilst I go and find a frilly dress.’

Saahil suppressed a grin as Amjad stomped off towards the ‘Girls 2 to 4’ section. He was the only man in the sea of women. They looked relaxed and leisurely. Amjad looked focused and a little bit grumpy. He came back with a handful of items, puffing and out of breath.

‘Which one?’ he asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

‘This one.’ Saahil pointed at a blue dress decorated with golden stars.

‘No, I want something more… princessy,’ Amjad said, not quite believing he had just uttered those words. An elegant mother wheeling a pram past gave him a funny look.

‘What about this puffball thingy?’ whispered Saahil.

‘What puffball?’

‘This skirt thing that’s sticking out.’

‘Nah, don’t like it.’

‘Are we going for pink?’ Saahil asked, in a business-like fashion.

‘Yep,’ Amjad replied. ‘Pink, glitter, that sort of thing.’

Saahil turned to Zahra, who was looking at them both, bewildered.

‘Zee, which one do you like?’

She shuffled forward on the seat, Nelly the Elephant tucked under her armpit. Amjad showed her each frock in turn, but nothing elicited a response from her. He shuffled from one foot to the other.

‘Gosh, this is hard work,’ he sighed.

‘Pick one, Zahra,’ Saahil groaned.

Her little fingers reached out and pointed to a silvery lilac dress that was embellished with sequins, a sparkly waist belt and a beautiful mesh skirt. Amjad swivelled it around to face him. He had a good look.

‘This is perfect,’ he said, smiling. ‘Well done, Zee. We need matching shoes now.’

Saahil returned with a few suitable pairs for Zahra to try on. Amjad sat down on the seat beside her and held up her leg, his big fist almost completely covering it.

‘Maybe a lovely headband too,’ suggested Saahil, holding up a series of sequined bows, ribbons and flowered accessories. He placed them next to Amjad and zoomed off again around the shop floor. Zahra began fidgeting as Amjad tried to put the shoe on her.

‘No, Zee. Be a good girl.’

He adjusted in his seat and heard something pop. A sharp object pierced his bottom.

‘Ouch!’ Amjad jumped up to find that he had snapped one of the headbands in half. Zahra jumped off the seat giggling and ran off around the corner barefoot. She disappeared behind a rack of babygros.

‘Abbu, what have you done?’ Saahil asked, as he inspected the broken headband.

‘Go and get your sister and let’s get out of here,’ Amjad sighed. ‘I think that’s enough shopping for one day.’

Saahil did as he was told. Amjad scooped up the sparkly shoes and gathered together the unwanted dresses. He didn’t want the shop assistants to think that they were messy buggers. In the distance, he heard Zahra starting to wail.

‘Abbu, help!’ Saahil shouted. ‘She’s having a tantrum.’

Amjad peered around the corner and saw Zahra lying on her back, kicking her arms and legs. He hurried over to assist his children, wishing Eid would hurry up and be over with.

When Saahil woke up on Eid morning, he grudgingly put on his waistcoat and silly bow tie. He resented having to wear stupid clothes and drive down to Birmingham to see cousins he didn’t really like. But when he spotted Abbu’s face at the breakfast table, he immediately forgot about his own little demonstration. He couldn’t decide who looked more miserable and realised he had to be on his best behaviour.

They attended Eid prayers together. Saahil spotted Ehsan and Uncle Harun briefly at the mosque and ran over to them.

‘We’re rushing Harun, sorry,’ Abbu said. ‘Have to set off for my brother’s as soon as we get back.’

‘Wish me luck,’ Saahil said to Ehsan as he was dragged away from his best friend.

Zahra began wailing almost as soon as they set off down the road. She scrunched up the mesh skirt of her dress and pulled at the neckline of her glittered bodice.

‘Where’s her blanket?’ Abbu roared. ‘You were holding it last, Ammi.’

‘Excuse me, I gave it to Saahil.’

‘No, you didn’t, Ammi.’

Everyone continued bickering about the so-called ‘blanket’, which was actually the yellow pashmina. In recent years, Zahra had now christened it ‘birdie blanket,’ which annoyed Saahil a little. It was his mum’s shawl, not a bloody bed sheet.

‘Great,’ Abbu sighed. ‘She’ll never settle now.’

He glanced back at Saahil. ‘I don’t understand, she picked that dress herself,’ he added, as though Zahra was a twenty-year-old woman, not a three-year-old toddler.

‘Maybe it’s itching her,’ Ammi said, sitting grandly in the front seat.

Saahil tried to attend to his little sister. She pulled off the flowery headband she was wearing and threw it on the floor.

‘I hope she doesn’t cry all day,’ Abbu sighed. He turned to Saahil. ‘And you, don’t show me up in front of your uncle.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Give salaam properly to him and—’

‘Properly? How do you give salaam properly?’ Saahil mocked. ‘You just say this, “Salaam”.’

‘Don’t you get clever with me!’

‘Concentrate on the road,’ Ammi screeched.

Saahil felt slightly guilty for giving Abbu attitude. He watched as his father sulked and drove them towards the motorway. He looked smarter than Saahil had ever seen him. Instead of wearing a boring white salwar kameez, Abbu had opted for a dark grey. The leather waistcoat had taken another trip out of the wardrobe and Abbu had finished off the look with a black topi.

‘Too much?’ he’d asked Saahil when he’d tried it on in the morning. ‘It was one of my dad’s fancier hats.’

Saahil liked the way Abbu’s finger caressed the geometric patterns and small shards of mirror that had been intricately sown on to it. It was circular in shape apart from the arch-shaped cut-out which exposed the forehead.

‘It’s wicked, Abbu,’ said Saahil.

‘Good. And it will annoy Javid when he sees that I’m wearing one of our father’s hats.’

Ammi’s snores started piercing the air around halfway through the journey. Abbu tutted and turned off the radio. Saahil and Zahra giggled in the back but subsided after a stern look from Abbu. Slowly, a slumbering Ammi began slipping closer and closer to the edge of the seat. Abbu was too busy concentrating on the road to notice. Her head thumped against his shoulder making him jump and swerve. A car horn honked and Ammi jerked awake.

‘My knee,’ she complained instantly.

Saahil saw Abbu catch the words before they came tumbling out of his mouth. He cleared his throat and opted for a more polite way of putting it.

‘Well, this is why I was worrying about driving all the way down here. But you insisted we came.’

‘Not to worry,’ Ammi said, adjusting in her seat. ‘I can stretch.’

With incredible flexibility, Ammi stretched out her leg and placed her bare foot on the dashboard. She cracked her toes with satisfaction.

‘Ammi, no,’ pleaded Abbu. ‘Not on the dashboard. Everyone can see your foot. We’ll pull up next to people and they’ll—’

‘They’ll what?’ Ammi asked, without a care in the world. ‘Keep driving and stop moaning.’

Saahil craned his neck to catch sight of the offending foot, but Zahra threw Nelly the Elephant at his face. He threw it back and it landed on the floor. Zahra began crying.

‘Abbu,’ Saahil shouted over her. ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

All Saahil had heard about for the past couple of weeks was Uncle Javid and his new four-bedroom detached house. He was half expecting a palace to pop up when they turned around the corner and parked up in a vacant space. Saahil noticed that there was a driveway next to an immaculate patch of grass. Two cars were parked there. Saahil could imagine himself and Ehsan running around outside on the tarmac and Zahra sitting on the grass with all her toys. Maybe Abbu would lounge on a garden chair, reading a newspaper and drinking tea.

Uncle Javid must have heard their roaring engine. He walked out of the door and stood with his arms wide open.

‘Welcome!’ he shouted expansively.

Javid rushed forward to assist Ammi as she got out of the car seat. Saahil glanced at the doorway and saw Auntie Farhana. She was still wearing plain clothes with a pinny tied around her waist and huddled behind her were Saahil’s cousins, all five of them. Saahil felt a pang in his chest. He noted all the small hands gripping her legs and hips as Farhana reached down and picked up Aleena, who was the same age as Zahra. He turned to look at his own sister, who was sitting quietly and waiting for Abbu to unbuckle her from the booster seat.

‘Amjad!’ Uncle Javid boomed. It was more like a chest bump than a hug as both men squared up to each other. Saahil wasn’t being biased, but he definitely thought his Abbu looked way smarter. Uncle Javid looked bland in his black trousers and white shirt.

Once inside, everyone hugged, kissed and greeted each other ‘Eid Mubarak’. It was only when Saahil pulled back did he take into account the lavishly decorated living room. If he thought Auntie Meena had gone overboard with the contrasting patterns, she had nothing on Uncle Javid. At least Meena had stuck to one colour theme. Here, there were maroon frills, navy stripes and purple florals.

Uncle Javid beamed as he stood centre stage.

‘Masha’Allah, the house is lovely,’ Abbu said, though Saahil could sense a sarky undertone.

Ammi was fussing over all her grandchildren. They practically stood in a line, from big to small, in front of her so she could inspect them. The two girls, Aleena and Humaira, were dressed like small Christmas trees, a green one and a red one. They wore bindis on their foreheads, and struggled to keep the flowing chiffon scarves in place, fidgeting on the spot and constantly readjusting. The outfits were adorned with sequins and embroidery that looked almost painful. Saahil imagined that if he passed his hands over the fabric, he would probably need a few plasters to cover up the cuts on his fingers.

The boys were not as bad. They wore traditional salwar kameez and sparkly waistcoats, leaving Saahil a new-found sense of appreciation for his checked shirt and bow tie.

After the initial niceties, everyone parted off into their own little groups. Aleena and Humaira zoned in on Zahra, who was clutching on to Nelly the Elephant and eyeing the two girls suspiciously. Saahil kept one eye on her and one on the two boys stood in front of him.

‘How’s it going, Zakariya?’ Saahil asked, leaning into his cousin.

Zakariya grimaced. ‘It’s Zak, actually,’ he replied in a posh accent.

It was going to be a long day.

Ammi had charged into the kitchen to inspect Auntie Farhana’s cooking. Saahil could see Ammi stirring a pot here and clanging a pan there. She tasted some curry and frowned. He could see Farhana waiting with bated breath. Ammi wore a disapproving expression and made a gesture with her hands.

‘More salt, it doesn’t taste of anything,’ she ordered.

Farhana looked deflated and hurried for the condiment drawer.

‘Why don’t you go and sit down?’ she said as she returned. ‘You’ll be tired…’

‘Where’s the rice? And have you started frying the kebabs yet?’

Ammi turned away to nosy at the worktops. Saahil watched as Auntie Farhana took a deep breath and followed her mother-in-law with resolve.

Abbu and Uncle Javid were still arguing about which route he took to get there. ‘You see, if you’d turned off at Junction 24—’ Javid said.

‘But that’s the long way around.’

‘No, no,’ Javid replied, wagging his finger. ‘There’s a shortcut—’

‘Well, I’m not familiar with those roads.’

‘If only you’d called me before you set off—’

‘Look, I got us here, didn’t I?’ Abbu said. ‘Now put a sock in it.’

An hour later, Abbu tapped his stomach. ‘Any chance of food, Farhana?’ he said, smiling. She was probably his favourite member of the family. Quiet, humble and the complete opposite to Javid.

‘Almost ready,’ she replied. ‘I probably would have been done half an hour ago but…’ She motioned towards Ammi with her eyes who was dicing cucumber and tomatoes into small pieces and mixing them into a large bowl of natural yoghurt.

‘Are you sure I can’t help with anything?’ Abbu said. ‘Ammi, why don’t I do that?’

‘No,’ she snapped. ‘You cut them up into clumsy-sized pieces.’

Abbu shrugged apologetically to Farhana, who nodded, grateful for his attempt.

Saahil was preoccupied with Zak, Bilal and five-year-old Hamid, who didn’t want to miss a thing. He kept jamming his head into tiny gaps to get a better look and grabbing and snatching at all the figurines Zak had laid out before him.

‘You can’t borrow any of these,’ Zak warned Saahil before he had even opened the box.

Small figures of every type of comic-book superhero and villain were now lined up meticulously in front of him. Batman. Joker. Superman. Catwoman. And Saahil’s favourite, Spiderman. He reached out to touch one.

‘They’re collectables, you see,’ Zak said, shooing Saahil’s hand away.

‘Right, put all this mess away,’ Uncle Javid boomed. ‘Dinner’s ready.’

Saahil turned away and saw Abbu give him ‘the look’ from across the room.

‘Auntie, can I help you bring the dishes to the table?’ Saahil asked in his politest voice possible. Farhana pulled his cheek with affection and gave him the drinking glasses and two bottles of Coke. Saahil carried out his task then watched as the rest of the dishes and bowls were brought to the table. His stomach grumbled with anticipation. The starters were lamb kebabs, vegetable pakoras and chicken spring rolls with mint sauce.

‘I always like to bring the food out in stages,’ Uncle Javid said, grandly. ‘Not like these other Pakistanis, who dump everything on the table in one go, even dessert. So uncultured, they are.’

Saahil could see Abbu racking his brains to see if he’d ever done that during an official Uncle Javid visit. He seated Zahra on his lap and offered her small bite-size pieces to nibble on. Saahil looked around to see his cousins piling the food on their plates. They were passing ketchup around instead of the mint sauce.