The Family Tree

Ammi spent more time at their house. She dabbed her eyes whenever the news showed footage of Diana gliding around in her different gowns. Ethereal and otherworldly she was now. Ammi insisted on pulling out an unused ‘Charles and Diana’ tea set. It was, of course, another romantic gift from Amjad’s father. The photo printed on each piece of china was of the seemingly happy couple back in 1982. TO COMMEMORATE THE BIRTH OF THEIR FIRST CHILD, read the saucers. It even had a pair of cherubs on it.

When pictures emerged of the mangled black car found in the Paris tunnel, Ammi rushed off to pray. She began admonishing Amjad every time he put his foot down in the car for the rest of the week.

‘Drive carefully,’ she snapped. ‘Look what happened to poor Diana.’

The night before Zahra started school on Wednesday, Amjad recalled a thought he’d been having throughout the summer holidays. When he took Zahra to her first day at school, would she be the only kid there not to have a mother? The events of the weekend seemed to retune his brain. After all, if it could even happen to princes.

They’d already tackled nursery, so there was no crying on the Wednesday morning when Amjad dropped Zahra off. He felt a pang in his heart when she was all ready in her uniform, smart coat and school bag. He grabbed the camera from the cupboard and took two snaps of her. When they arrived, all the parents gathered around at the entrance of the brightly decorated classroom. They appeared strong on the surface, but Amjad sensed that some would probably cry in the car on the way home. Zahra stood and waved at Amjad before rushing off, eager to get started. He felt lighter as he drove home. That was until he switched on the telly and was met with more mournful news coverage of the death of the princess.

Amjad was most surprised at Saahil’s reaction to Diana’s passing. He had delivered the news gently to his son, not thinking there would be much to it. Saahil would express sorrow and move on quickly. On the Sunday morning when the news first broke, Saahil nipped out to buy sweets for Zahra. He’d returned with a couple of tabloids bearing the headline: DIANA DEAD. Amjad had reacted badly. He hated the bluntness of the words. The insensitivity. Saahil shrugged and hid them out of view. But over the next few days, he seemed to withdraw into himself. He was the first to switch on the TV in a morning, listening intently to details of the country’s grief. He asked questions about William and Harry. Why were people bickering over the silence of the Queen? What was all the fuss about the flag that flew over Buckingham Palace? The night before the funeral, Saahil brought home another newspaper. The front page displayed images of the young princes reading floral tributes to their mother outside Kensington Palace. Saahil stared at the photos. Ammi always liked to point out how he was the same age as Prince William. Amjad often joked how that was as far as their similarities went.

‘Well, I suppose we have something else in common now,’ said Saahil, not taking his eyes off the pictures. ‘Both our mums are dead,’ he finished abruptly.

Amjad frowned. ‘I’ve told you not to talk like tha—’

‘What? You want me to put it nicely?’ He glared at Amjad, who had never seen him like this before. ‘I’m going to sleep in tomorrow,’ he said. ‘You watch the funeral if you want.’

Saahil didn’t come downstairs all morning. Ammi used up an entire box of tissues as the world tuned in for the final farewell. She gasped when she saw the two boys appear and walk behind the funeral cortege.

‘They’re too young for this,’ Amjad kept saying. Prince Harry looked so small.

In the afternoon, Saahil’s voice travelled down from the top of the stairs. ‘Is it over?’

‘Yes, you can come down now,’ Ammi replied.

Whilst he was eating a late breakfast, Amjad stroked Saahil’s hair.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

Saahil nodded and avoided eye contact. Amjad didn’t know what to say. He knew that ‘deep talk’ was the last thing that Saahil wanted. It would make him feel even more uncomfortable than he already was. But that didn’t stop Amjad from feeling completely incompetent as a father. They spent the rest of the day keeping out of each other’s way.

That night, Amjad tucked Zahra into bed and turned out her lights. As he inched out of the room, he saw Saahil hovering by the door.

‘I’m just going to finish this homework in my room,’ he said. ‘And then I’ll go to sleep.’

‘Okay.’

They stood awkwardly for a few seconds. Amjad thought about saying something, but Saahil’s body was already turned in towards the direction of his bedroom, perhaps in the hope of a quick exit.

‘Goodnight then,’ Amjad said, deciding against it. He began making his way towards the stairs. But before he knew it, Saahil was hugging him. They had stopped doing ‘goodnight hugs’ a while ago, what with Saahil now being a super-cool teen. Amjad was completely taken aback. They both giggled nervously and Saahil quickly retreated into his room in a flash.

As Amjad drank his decaf tea alone in front of the telly that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about the hug. When he woke up in the morning, his mind settled on it once again. It was only a silly hug. But by noon the next day, Amjad knew what was bothering him about the embrace.

It was the tightness of it.

Eight

May 2003

Three empty plastic bottles were lined up on the dining table. The fourth had toppled over and rolled on to the floor near the doorway. If Zahra bounded towards it without looking, she would trip over and fall, but Saahil couldn’t muster the energy to go and pick the bottle up. He was sitting at the dining table poring over huge textbooks, stopping for frequent swigs of Red Bull and Lucozade and wondering whether they were beginning to lose their effectiveness. He’d have to switch back to coffee and try not to spill any over his books. There were already a few noticeable stains on some of the pages. The last time, he had completely missed his mouth as he’d brought the cup to his lips.

Saahil lowered his head and let the cold page touch his cheek. He envied those losers at school, the ones he and Ehsan used to laugh at. They were probably sitting at supermarket checkouts right now, sliding loaves of bread down those slopey things and arranging groceries into plastic bags. Saahil would gladly swap lives with them. Here, he’d say, take the bloody Engineering degree and let me have a go on the till.

Not that he’d be saying that tomorrow after his final exam. But that was twenty-four hours away and Saahil was exhausted. He had almost dozed off when Zahra jumped on top of him from behind. He jerked awake as her skinny arms wrapped around his shoulders.

‘Zee, why did you do that?’ he asked, wearily. She appeared at his side, chewing gum loudly and still wearing her school uniform. She grimaced and pinched her nose.

‘You stink, Bhaijaan,’ she said.

‘Oh, thanks.’

‘When did you last have a shower?’ she demanded. ‘And don’t tell me you don’t have time. I have loads of homework too, but I still have a bath when I need to.’

Zahra’s eyes travelled over the pile of open books on the table. She squinted at the tiny writing, the technical graphs and complicated Maths symbols.

‘Your homework looks well boring,’ she added.

‘Well, it doesn’t matter if it’s boring,’ said Saahil, tugging her plait lightly. ‘It’s gonna get me a wicked job and then I’ll have loads of money to spend… on myself!’

Zahra’s smile evaporated.

‘Anyway, where’s Libby?’ Saahil asked, clearly hoping her little school friend would arrive at any moment to distract her and let him continue with his work.

‘She might not be coming today.’

‘That’s a first,’ said Saahil. Libby was always at the house within an hour of them both finishing the school day.

The doorbell rang.

‘Oh, that may be her,’ Zahra said, eyes lighting up.

‘No, it’s probably Abbu,’ Saahil replied, checking his watch.

Zahra giggled her way to Amjad as he appeared at the door. He responded with equal enthusiasm prompting Saahil to smile and roll his eyes. He stood up, stretching and yawning.

‘Pull your pants up!’

Saahil winced.

‘Nice to see you too, Abbu.’

Amjad kicked off his shoes and Saahil heard him mutter ‘stupid fashion’ and ‘bum hanging out’ under his breath. Saahil went off into the kitchen and put the kettle on. He came back with a solitary cup of tea.

‘No biscuits, Abbu. You’re getting a bit podgy around the middle. I don’t like it.’

Amjad scowled at his son, but not for long as Zahra had already sneaked a packet of Rich Teas to him under the table.

‘How’s it going?’ Amjad asked, motioning toward Saahil’s work. He got a groan in response. Before they could continue, Ammi came down the stairs thumbing her prayer beads in one hand. She waddled past them wrapped in layers of scarf and took a seat on the sofa. Amjad eyed her nervously.

‘Are you still angry with me about the can of chickpeas?’ he asked. There’d been a commotion the previous night when Ammi had sent him out shopping and he’d not listened properly to her instructions.

‘You were supposed to get me two tins,’ she snapped back, her beak suddenly in Amjad’s face. ‘And you only got one. Now I can’t make samosa chaat.’

‘Saahil will run out and get you one.’

‘No, he won’t. He’s busy studying. I asked you to get me them.’

Amjad rubbed his temples and closed his eyes.

‘Bad quality chickpeas too,’ Ammi added.

‘Bad quality?’ Amjad said. ‘Chickpeas are chickpeas. What’s the big deal?’

Saahil decided to intervene. ‘I’ll go and get you them, Ammi. Just chill.’

‘You chill,’ she shot back.

Saahil laughed and put his arms around her. She resisted a little but a slow smile spread across her face. Ammi could never be angry with him for more than ten seconds. She often said that when he walked into a room, she would notice no one except her own handsome grandson. Saahil shrugged this off on many occasions, feigning embarrassment. This, however, was not just ‘grandmother talk’. The old woman was spot on. Saahil was pretty, and he knew it.

He stood a few inches taller than Amjad and walked with a slight swagger that was neither intentional nor overdone. His thick raven hair was pushed back with no desire to be neat, though the messier it got the more attractive Saahil became. His heavy-lidded eyes always found girls. They waited with bated breath to be on the receiving end of one of his smiles. Saahil was happy to oblige, but only with a slight upturn of his lips. He didn’t want to lose the cool, laidback air that surrounded him with too much enthusiasm.

As Saahil scribbled complicated symbols on sheets of paper, he wore a look of steely concentration in his eyes, his pencil scritch-scratching as it travelled across the page. Saahil spoke of success as though it was waiting around for him like a faithful pet dog. It would come rushing to him as soon as he whistled. He’d worked hard enough for it and more importantly, Saahil wanted it badly enough. He’d delivered his pizzas and mopped his shop floors to earn extra cash alongside his studies. His dark eyes gazed out at the world with a bored indifference. There wasn’t much to get excited about after all. The dull, northern city he’d grown up in consisted of rows of terraced houses and the odd chimney of some derelict factory piercing a crappy skyline of nothingness. It wasn’t for him. Saahil would do one out of there at the first opportunity.

Of course, he was going nowhere alone. Oh no, he wasn’t going to be one of those people who just buggered off and left their families to it. They were all part of his ambitions. As Ammi and Amjad bickered over chickpeas, Saahil felt a rush of affection. Zahra, who was stood by the kitchen door, gave him a look from across the room to suggest ‘here we go again’. She was quite sharp-witted for a little one. Saahil caught sight of their childhood growth chart which had climbed up the wall in spectacular fashion. Saahil was last marked in the millennium year.

Saahil, 18 yrs, 14/09/00

Ehsan, 18 yrs, 01/12/00

‘You won’t grow any taller now,’ Abbu had told him.

A laugh escaped Saahil’s lips.

‘Neither will this guy,’ he’d said, pointing to his best friend. Ehsan had gracefully accepted a three-inch defeat.

All seventy inches of Saahil liked to take some of the credit when it came to his sister’s upbringing. She was catching up on the other side of the door. The most recent marking taken a few months ago recorded her at fifty-six inches:

Zahra, 10 yrs, 20/02/2003

Saahil remembered his dad’s friends watching him fondly as he scurried around after her as a kid.

‘You know what they say, Amjad. Older siblings are like parents. And especially when there is such an age gap. He’ll always be there for her.’

They spoke the truth. It was Saahil who took over when Amjad could not be in two places at once. The other day he had accompanied Zahra to her school’s parents’ evening like the mature, responsible older brother he was supposed to be. When they arrived home, Saahil gave Zahra her first self-defence lesson to prepare her for secondary school. Amjad shook his head in disapproval as he watched the pair of them wrestling in the middle of the room like idiots.

‘Be careful, Saahil! You might hurt her.’

‘No, I won’t. I let her win, didn’t I? And anyway, she needs toughening up.’

Naturally, they didn’t always see eye to eye. Saahil constantly undid Amjad’s fragile attempts at discipline. Zahra would bury her face in his chest when she was being told off for causing mischief. Saahil would hold her, his chin resting on her head, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to maintain an adult sternness.

‘Leave her alone, Abbu,’ he would protest. ‘She’s only little.’

It was always funny when Abbu got in a huffy mood. According to Saahil, it just made him even more lovable. He wasn’t as slick or sophisticated as Saahil hoped to still be at forty-five. He wasn’t even cool. He was just Abbu. Quite unremarkable to an outsider, with his glasses, bald patch and beginnings of a paunch. What does he want? Saahil often wondered, as he watched his dad plodding around the house. What would make him really happy? Surely it wasn’t just the fork-lift driver promotion Abbu talked about.

At twenty-one, Saahil already felt like he had everything figured out. He knew what he wanted to do, and who he wanted to be. But things hadn’t been so easy for his Abbu. Saahil sometimes wondered what it must have been like for him, newly widowed with two small children to look after. He had told grief to stay put in one corner and had got on with it.

Saahil slipped on his jacket as Ammi’s rant about chickpeas reached fever pitch.

‘Hurry,’ Abbu mouthed urgently, motioning him out of the door.

Saahil smiled as he walked down the street thinking about his Abbu. He realised once again that it was quite possible for people to go through life and never think about themselves. It was possible to live completely for others. He realised that Abbu didn’t actually want anything for himself. The thought had probably never even occurred to him. And that’s why Saahil wanted to give him everything.

Saahil and Ehsan waited for their friends to emerge from the exam room as the rest of the students piled out of the door. They walked outside and found a quiet corner to discuss their final assessment. Saahil leaned against the wall, leg cocked casually, preoccupied with his phone.

‘How did it go?’ Ehsan asked them all.

‘I’ve really messed up,’ Umar said before anybody else had a chance to speak. His double chins quivered as he looked to his friends for consolation. ‘I missed the last question out completely.’

‘Don’t worry about it now, mate,’ Ehsan replied. ‘It’s over. You’ll have done fine.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ he said, frantically. ‘I’m definitely gonna fail. Didn’t I tell you I would fail?’

‘Stop pissing your pants, Umar,’ snapped Kamran. ‘You always whimper like a bitch after every exam. Doing my head in.’

‘How about you stop having a go at him all the time?’ said Ehsan.

‘Yeah, leave him alone, twat,’ Saahil piped up. He didn’t bother looking up from his phone.

‘How did you do, Saahil?’ Umar asked.

‘Erm… well—’

‘Obviously he thinks he’s aced it,’ Kamran said, wearing his usual malicious grin, the one he reserved only for Saahil.

‘Yeah,’ Saahil replied coolly, knowing exactly what to say to piss him off. ‘I probably have.’

Kamran snorted and twisted his face, making the small red birthmark on his nose appear even uglier. He opened his mouth but Ehsan cut him off.

‘So, we’ll see you both tonight then, yeah?’

‘Why?’

‘We’re gonna celebrate with the rest of the lads.’

Kamran shrugged. ‘Fine.’

He slunk off after one last glare at Saahil, whose middle finger responded casually to the back of his head. Umar ran off behind Kamran, all flustered as he tried to catch up.

Ehsan looked at Saahil.

‘He’s a right weirdo, isn’t he?’

Saahil nodded in agreement. Ehsan’s face broke into a huge smile. ‘How you feeling?’

Saahil blinked a few times as reality set in. ‘I’m gonna sleep for a few days. And watch the football without feeling guilty.’

‘Are you joking? I’ve already quit my shitty job.’

They laughed and gave each other a high five.

‘’Ere, have you seen those girls?’ Ehsan said, motioning with his eyes to the left. ‘They’ve been looking at you for ages.’

There were two girls sitting on a bench across from them, whispering with their heads together. Saahil had already taken a good look at them, discreetly of course. When he finally honoured them with his gaze, his expression suggested he was bored out of his brains. After a few seconds, he turned away from them indifferently, and began texting on his phone. The girls giggled stupidly and hurried off. Ehsan shook his head at Saahil’s absurd reaction.

‘What the…’ he began. ‘I don’t blame Kamran. You are an arrogant—’

Saahil blocked his ears. He couldn’t hear the insults but could see Ehsan’s mouth moving.

‘Do you know them?’ he asked, gesturing towards the now empty bench. Saahil shrugged.

‘Whatever, I’m sure I’ve seen you hanging around in a corner with one of ’em. Maybe even both.’

‘Don’t remember.’

‘Don’t remember?’ Ehsan repeated slowly. ‘What do you mean “don’t remember”? Do you just get off with them and then forget who they are the next day?’

‘Oi, I don’t “get off” with anyone, all right,’ said Saahil, firmly.

‘Oh yeah, sorry I forgot. You’re a good Muslim, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah, I bloody am,’ he said, smirking. ‘Plus, you know my Abbu, he’d chapatti pan me over the head if he found out.’

‘Well, don’t forget,’ Ehsan said. ‘I’m his informer. He’s told me to keep an eye on you.’

‘I know,’ said Saahil, giving Ehsan a dirty look. ‘But maybe it’s me who should be keeping an eye on you.’

‘You what?’

‘Hi, Alisha,’ said Saahil.

Ehsan nearly choked on his own tongue. The pretty hijabi who had tried to sneak past them unseen stopped to face them.

‘Hi,’ she said, rather confrontationally. Her grip tightened around the pile of books she was holding against her chest.

‘You on your own?’ Saahil asked.

‘Yes, I’m capable of walking down the street on my own.’

Ehsan laughed nervously. ‘Ignore him, he’s an idiot.’

Alisha’s posture seemed to relax. There was a slight upturn of her lips.

Saahil noticed and grinned. ‘If looks could kill I’d be dead on the floor. But if Ehsan manages to mumble a word or two to you then suddenly you don’t seem to mind.’

‘That’s not true,’ she spluttered, her cheeks reddening as she turned away in a huff and sped off towards the bus stop.

Ehsan glared at Saahil. ‘You’ve embarrassed her now.’

‘How long are you gonna play around for?’ Saahil asked. ‘You smile at her from across the room and act like as though you’ve made progress. Get an effin’ move on.’

‘Well, for your information—’ Ehsan began, but seemed to think better of it.

‘What?’

‘Nowt, forget it,’ he replied.

Saahil shook his head. ‘Anyway, your dad is at my house. Abbu just texted me.’

They headed off towards the bus stop together. A car sped past and honked at them. Two lads they recognised from their course sniggered through their tinted windows. Saahil opened his mouth to shout something but Ehsan grabbed his arm.

‘Leave it,’ he said.

Saahil kicked at a scrap on the floor and mumbled something about ‘getting his own car soon’. Ehsan smiled good-naturedly.

‘They’re showing off, taking the piss out of us,’ said Saahil.

‘So what?’ Ehsan replied.

Saahil looked at his best friend. ‘Why doesn’t stuff bother you?’

Ehsan shrugged.

‘Bloody pious prick,’ said Saahil, rolling his eyes.

When the boys arrived home, they found Amjad and Harun in their usual spot, drinking tea and watching cricket on the TV.

‘So you’re going out again tonight?’ Amjad asked as the boys settled down on the couch next to him.

‘Again? We haven’t been out in about a month,’ said Saahil.

‘Well, don’t get carried away, all right?’ Harun joined in. ‘I know you’re celebrating and everything but—’

‘Oh, Abbu,’ Ehsan said, cutting his father off. ‘Don’t give us another lecture.’

The dads gave each other a knowing look. Unfortunately, Harun had seen what silly students got up to on his late-night taxi rounds – half naked, drug-taking, alcohol-drinking fiends that they were. He’d seen them squaring up to the police before passing out on the streets in pools of their own vomit. They didn’t understand that neither Saahil nor Ehsan wanted to behave in that way.

‘How many times do we have to say it?’ Saahil said to the pair of them. ‘Why would we drink alcohol? It stinks.’

‘I know,’ Ehsan added. ‘I can’t breathe when I’m near it… Isn’t it yeast fermentation or summat?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Saahil. ‘It bloody pongs whatever it is.’

Amjad and Harun smiled at each other. They always enjoyed teasing them.

‘Well, I’m more concerned about drugs,’ Harun began. ‘Boys your age, they’re always getting into my taxi at night, stoned off their heads.’

‘Oh, come on, drugs aren’t as bad as alcohol,’ Saahil blurted out.

Amjad and Harun frowned. Saahil could tell that Ehsan was resisting the urge to punch him as he quickly jumped in.

‘He means alcohol is like really haram. Whereas drugs are, you know, not as… haram.’ Ehsan’s voice trailed off.

‘Anything that intoxicates you is haram,’ Harun said. ‘Anything that makes you lose control of what you’re doing.’

In which case, Saahil thought, the odd joint here and there when you were out with your mates was hardly a big deal. Not that the old boys needed to know that.

‘Well, what do you want us to do,’ laughed Saahil. ‘Become really religious and grow beards?’

Amjad and Harun’s faces hardened.

Ehsan rolled his eyes. ‘Nice one,’ he mouthed to Saahil. It was time for lecture number two, which went along the lines of ‘don’t get brainwashed and blow anything up’.

‘That’s not a laughing matter,’ Harun said.

‘Absolutely not,’ Amjad agreed.

Both of them glanced at each other looking uncomfortable.

‘I was only joking,’ Saahil quickly said.

‘Yeah, you don’t have to worry about us ramming a plane into Big Ben,’ Ehsan chimed in, though it was the wrong thing to say to two already anxious-looking dads. The atmosphere in the room changed.

‘Talk about a mood killer,’ Ehsan whispered to Saahil as their fathers talked in hushed, worried tones.