She Wore Red Trainers (20 page)

Dad huffed. ‘Well, why can't he, eh? Doesn't he trust me?'

‘Some children are like that, son,' Nana said. ‘You try your best for them but, in the end, they have to want it themselves. They have to make their own choices.'

‘Well, Umar has always been the problem child.'

‘No, Andrew, you have always treated him like one,' said Nana. ‘There's no use denying it.'

Dad looked over at me. ‘I've always been fair to you guys, haven't I?'

I shrugged and said nothing. I wasn't about to walk into a hornets' nest with my eyes wide open. Besides, Nana did have a point. Dad had always been extra hard on Umar. Mum was always going on at him about it.

As Nana and Dad carried on their back and forth, I went outside to Umar. I couldn't deny that he looked better: his skin had cleared and he seemed more relaxed. We sat down under the big oak tree at the bottom of the garden and, for a while, we just watched the bees and butterflies dancing between Nana's flower beds.

When at last he spoke, Umar said, ‘When did it all start to make sense to you, Ali? When did it all seem real?'

‘When did what seem real?'

‘Islam.'

I was silent for a long time, then I turned to him. ‘It seems like a lot of rules at first. Some of them, you understand. Others, you don't. But you trust that there's some kind of wisdom to it. And, one day, the penny drops. You understand what you were put on this earth to do, and it's not any of the things they tell you at school or on MTV. It's not to get a degree, or a good job or a fat crib or even fall in love. Allah created us to worship Him, pure and simple. And that puts everything in perspective, straight away. You're not searching anymore. Not really. And you're not trying to escape either, to lose yourself in thrills of different kinds. You're conscious.'

Two tears rolled down Umar's cheeks. ‘How come I don't feel that, Ali? How come all I feel is anger? I don't feel any
love, none at all.' More tears fell.

Slowly, I put my hand on his clenched fist – and he didn't pull away this time. He let me rest my hand on his as he cried.

When the tears seemed to have dried up, I looked at the hand I was holding. ‘Have you ever really spoken to Allah about how you feel?'

Umar shook his head, chewing his bottom lip.

‘Try it,' I said. ‘He will respond. Trust me, Umar, I would give anything to spare you this uncertainty – but I can't make your journey for you. But I want you to know,' I said, and, by then, I was sniffling too, ‘that I'm right here with you. I won't ever give up on you, OK? I promise.'

He let me put my arm over his shoulder and there we were, two wounded boys on the way to healing, holding each other under an oak tree.

38

I woke up on Friday morning with a bubbling feeling in my stomach. I rolled over, dragging the duvet over my head. What was it about this time?

Then, I remembered. A level results were out that day. My future would be decided that day.

I grabbed my phone and switched it on. Rania had got there first with a text:
Salam. Meet u @ skool @10.

I couldn't bear the thought of breakfast, I was so excited. Mum smiled at me when I came downstairs from my shower, glowing, scrubbed up, my hair still damp.

‘Someone's excited, mashallah,' she winked conspiratorially. ‘Bet you're still flying high from your second meeting with Hassan the other night, huh?'

My heart lurched at the thought but I kept my composure. ‘Mum,' I said gently, ‘we get our A level results today. Remember?'

She frowned slightly then smiled. ‘Oh, I'm sure you've done well, sweetie, you always were clever, mashallah.' Then she squeezed my arm. ‘And now this situation with Hassan is moving forward – well, it looks like it's all coming together, doesn't it?'

She was talking about my second meeting with Hassan,
the one during which he got to see my face and actually spoke to me. It had been nerve-wracking, definitely, but I was relieved to see him smile when I walked into the room. Zayd was under the impression that he was about to marry me off any minute – he was just waiting for the brother to get back to him.

As for me, I was keeping my mouth shut. Today was the day it would all be decided.

Of course, Rania demanded a blow-by-blow of the whole meeting.

I told her about how I'd sat across from him in the living room, trying to imagine myself waking up with him every morning. Cooking for him. Living with him. Getting to know his family. The picture was blurred and swam out of focus constantly. I tried hard to sharpen the edges, but found that I couldn't pin the images down.

‘So, what, you weren't feeling him, or what?'

I sighed. ‘I don't know, Rani. I feel like a bit of fraud, to be honest. I mean, he hasn't asked me about anything that I consider important, like, my views on things, what I like to do, my ambitions. I have a feeling that he has made a load of assumptions about me based on who Zayd is and on the fact that I was wearing a niqab when we first met…'

‘You wore a niqab? You never told me that!'

‘Yeah, well, let's put it down to peer pressure, shall we? Anyway, so we basically had this one-sided conversation during which he told me all about what he expects his wife to do, how he wants his children to be raised, textbook stuff, I suppose, but all the while assuming I agreed with everything he said!' I sighed. Completely against my will, my mind had drifted to the one conversation I had had with Ali, at the
summer school. Now more than ever, I was aware that the two of us had clicked. And the more Hassan droned on and on about his perfect little Muslim wife, the more I longed to hear Ali speaking my language: spiritual connection, beauty, adventure, fun times. Everything that I longed for.

But Ali wasn't interested in me. His eyes had been on Yasmin all along. Mr Light Eyes was a dream – and Hassan was the reality.

So I had to make my move first. A place at university, even if it was to study boring Business Administration for the next three years, should be enough to cool Hassan's heels.

***

I decided to walk up the hill to school. I had missed my twice daily walks up and down that hill to school.

Just as I reached the top of the hill, I felt my phone vibrate. It was a text from Zayd.
Hope you get the results you want today. And may Allah bless them for you. Z

I smiled, tears pricking my eyes for no good reason. I really loved that crazy brother of mine. Subhanallah.

When I got to the school gates, I saw Rania, Samia and Yasmin standing together, all waiting for me.

‘Ah, there she is – finally!' cried Samia, pretending to faint.

‘
Salam
,' I said, kissing Rania's cheek, hugging Yasmin.

Samia grabbed me by my hand. ‘It gets rid of sins, remember?' She always said that when we forgot to shake instead of kissing air like a bunch of old Moroccan ladies.

Rania made us all hold hands. ‘This is it, girls,' she said,
looking each one of us in the eye. ‘This is the beginning of a new chapter. You ready?'

‘Ohhh, I can't believe school is really over!' cried Yasmin, her eyes welling up. ‘What if we don't see each other again? We're all going off in different directions – what if this is the last time?'

‘Don't be silly, Yasmin,' I said, nudging her. ‘Have you forgotten about social media, and Skype and Instagram?'

‘Oops, how could I forget?' Samia whipped out her iPhone. ‘Come on girls, let's do a before and after shot. Squeeze up and let's do a hijabi smackdown.'

We all squeezed together, getting our faces into the frame. Samia took the picture on her phone and then we all argued over which filter to use. Once she had saved it, she messaged it to us.

‘Now, you guys ready to meet the rest of your life?'

We all nodded, linked arms, and marched into the school building to look at the results board.

***

I blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.

No.

It couldn't be.

But it was.

Through my tears, I saw the little letters that spelled the end of all my plans.

D in Economics.

C in Business Studies.

I hadn't got the results I needed to get on to the Business
Administration course.

I had failed.

All I remember was the sense of shock working its way through me, tears flooding my eyes, reeling, stumbling past the other girls, rushing to get away, to leave it all behind, to escape and never come back again.

Then, there in front of me was Ms Fergus, her arms outstretched, a huge smile on her face. I didn't understand why she was smiling and I almost ran past her in my desperation to get out of there.

But she reached out and, grabbing my arm, pulled me back to the board, and made me look at it again.

Made me see my ‘A' in Art.

Made every assumption I had made about myself and my future fall away.

My phone vibrated again. It was a message from Zayd.

‘Hassan wants u 2 meet his mum. Wants 2 get married. Alhamdulillah!'

39

I couldn't go home after school. What would I tell Mum? How would she react as I tried to explain to her the massive gap between what I had expected and what I got and what it meant for my uni plans? What if she just brushed it aside and kept right on talking about Hassan and his proposal?

My heart sank. His proposal would seem all the more inviting now. After all, he hadn't asked about my exam results. He hadn't asked me about going to uni or working. He hadn't been interested in any of that. The little that he knew about me and what he had seen had been enough for him. My blood boiled. I now knew why our first meeting had bothered me so much: to Hassan, I was just a set of ticked boxes. Loads of others would be able to tick those same boxes.

‘Too any expectations,' Zayd or Mum would have said.

‘Too many romance novels,' Samia would have said.

‘Too much ego,' Yasmin would have said.

‘Hold out for what you want,' Auntie Azra would say. ‘Don't sell yourself short.'

The thought of Auntie Azra gave me strength. That was where I wanted to be: in her living room, soaking up her love and support, trying to work out what my next move should be.

***

‘You didn't need to run away like that, you know,' said Auntie Azra gently.

‘I always run away, Auntie,' I sniffed, wiping my eyes with a raggedy piece of tissue. ‘I always run away.'

She nodded and took a sip of her coffee. ‘I know, sweetie. But you've got to stop doing it. It doesn't help, does it? When you come back, you've still got the same problems staring you in the face. And this life is a test, don't forget that. Remember the words of Allah: “Do they think they will be left to say ‘We believe' and that they will not be tested?” This is the
Sunnah
of Allah. The
Sunnah
of life.'

I sighed then, a deep, trembling sigh that seemed to come from somewhere unbelievably deep inside. ‘I'm sorry, Auntie. But I feel I've been tested so much already. I was looking forward to the ease. Doesn't Allah promise that there will be ease after difficulty?'

‘Of course He does.' She looked at me, her head to one side. ‘But what made you think going to university would bring you ease? Isn't it just another set of trials? University is no picnic, you know…'

‘I know, I know.' I rubbed my eyes. How silly I sounded, how naive. ‘I guess I preferred the idea of struggling to get a qualification, even if it was in something I wasn't crazy about, than struggling like… like…'

‘Like…?' Auntie's voice was gentle.

‘Like… like Mum.' There, I'd said it out loud: I didn't want my mum's life. I stole a look at Auntie Azra's face, expecting to see shock or disapproval there. But all I saw was a look of knowing compassion. ‘The scrimping and saving. The council housing. The government benefits. Relying on men to determine your future…'

‘I see,' she said shortly. ‘So this is about not ending up like your mum?'

‘If I'm honest, yes, it is. Well, partly, anyway…'

‘Well, Aminah, I don't need to tell you that your mum has had it rough all her life. You know that already. But she's always tried her best to do what she believes to be right. She's fought to raise you kids properly, sometimes with no help at all.'

‘You think I don't know that?' My voice rose suddenly. ‘I've always been the one to pick up the pieces, haven't I?'

‘You have been a rock, mashallah,' she soothed. ‘We all know that and, more importantly, Allah knows. He does. Your mum's choices have resulted in her trials – just like your choices will result in yours. The only difference between those trials is how we respond to them.' She shrugged. ‘That's what I've learned over the years. We always think someone else has it easier than us but, when you pull back the layers, you see that they are struggling too, just in their own, unique way.'

‘But you, Auntie Azra, you don't seem to ever struggle, mashallah. You've got this perfect life where everything goes your way… that's what I want…' I looked down then. I had never expressed my deepest thoughts to Auntie Azra – or anyone else for that matter.

She looked at me then, a look of surprise on her face. ‘You think I have a perfect life, Amirah?' Shaking her head, she turned to look at the mantelpiece where a large framed piece of Kashmiri carpet hung. ‘Maybe I once thought I did, too. But then I lost my husband, Rania's father. Amirah, I loved that man so much – subhanallah – when Allah took him back, I lost the will to live for a while. I just couldn't conceive of life without him. But human beings are amazing like that.
We're resilient. And Allah tests us with the things we love so that we can return to Him and long for His love, not the love of His creation. That was when I realised that this life isn't meant to be perfect. It's a place for test and examination. The true happiness, the true bliss, will be in the afterlife,
Akhirah
. That's when I hope to taste pure happiness, with no loss, no tears, ever.'