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.
