She Wore Red Trainers (7 page)

I laughed. ‘OK, OK, I'll help in any way I can. Just don't expect me to be a group leader or anything. I've never done anything like this before. And the boys… they may not take to me, you know?'

‘Too posh, huh?' Usamah was clearly amused by my discomfort. ‘Nah, you'll be fine, akh. Just relax. You can help Brother Omar out with his group and maybe go on the trips with them. You think you can handle that?'

I nodded, swallowing hard. Yes, I was pretty sure I could handle that.

12

‘Hey, Samia, what's the latest with your
wali
, Imam Sajid? Has he tried to marry you off to any more serial polygamists lately?'

Samia's face went red.

‘Don't even joke about that, Rania, it's really not funny. Just because I'm a revert, my
wali
thinks it is of the utmost importance that I get married ASAP, never mind that the brother doesn't have two
miswaks
to rub together, has three other wives or has just come out of prison!'

‘And everyone knows how popular white revert sisters are, eh?' I remarked drily.

‘As if I would ever settle for one of those losers!' Samia snapped. ‘People think that, just because I'm a revert, I'm going to put up with their rubbish. Well, guess what: I wasn't desperate before Islam and I sure ain't desperate now…'

‘Waiting for Brother
Sunnah
-to-the-max to sweep you off your feet, eh?' I smirked. ‘Dream on.'

Samia looked over at me pityingly. ‘The last thing I want is to be swept off my feet, my dear. I want my feet firmly on the ground where I can see them. As far as I'm concerned, it's all that Western crap about romance and Prince Charming that sets marriages up for failure. That's why I prefer the Islamic
approach: don't try to woo me, speak to me plainly, honestly, tell me what you're bringing to the table. I'll judge you on your merits, with a clear head, and make a rational decision, one that is based on fact, not butterflies.'

‘Ughh,' Rania shuddered. ‘I
hate
the way you make that sound: just like a business contract!'

‘But isn't that what it is?' Samia asked. ‘A contract between two people to give each other their rights, to fulfil responsibilities: so simple. Beautiful.'

‘I don't think it sounds beautiful at all,' Rania pouted. ‘If a guy came to me with that kind of talk, I would chuck him out so fast his head would spin. I
want
to be wooed. I
want
the romance. I demand to be swept off my feet! After waiting this long, it's the least he can do!'

We all laughed and made smoochie faces at Rania. She chucked a couple of menus at us. I laughed with the others, of course, but couldn't help asking myself: which approach did I prefer? The no-nonsense, Islamic approach or the romantic, fairytale one? My heart fluttered as I saw
him
again in my mind's eye. But I quickly shut it down. Of course I didn't prefer either of them. I wasn't getting married, remember?

‘Rania,' I said, smiling, ‘you are wasted on those brothers, sweetheart. You're too good for them, girl, you know that.'

‘Oh, come on, Amirah,' Samia sighed, ‘haven't you grown out of that guy hating phase yet?'

‘I never said I hate guys, Samia!' I said, making googly eyes at her. ‘I just don't trust them, OK? And besides, Muslim brothers make lousy husbands.'

‘How can you say that?' The expression on Samia's face was one of genuine surprise. ‘The Prophet Muhammad –
sallallahu alayhi wa sallam
– was a fantastic husband.'

‘Yeah, I know that, Samia. But let's be honest, you're not likely to find anyone like that anytime soon, especially not walking the streets of Lambeth!'

Everyone laughed and, when the waitress came to take our order, we waved her away, saying, ‘the usual, girl, the usual!'

Yasmin looked at me. ‘Don't you believe in love, Ams?'

I gave her my most incredulous expression. ‘Yaz, what's love got to do with it? You can love the guy as much as you want, it doesn't stop him being a scumbag and taking liberties with you.' I was getting warmed up to my favourite subject: useless Muslim men. ‘Listen, ladies, let me spell it out for you: Muslim men these days want all the perks and none of the hard work. They want the little obedient wife who will give it up whenever they're in the mood, who will have ten gazillion children and homeschool them all
and
help pay the rent. Why? Because they're spoilt and too lazy to get off their backsides and step up to the plate, like real men.'

‘Really?' piped up Yasmin. ‘Your brother doesn't seem that type. I think he'd make someone a great husband, mashallah.'

I chuckled to myself. Yasmin wasn't fooling anyone. We all knew that she had had a crush on Zayd practically forever. ‘Listen, girl,' I said to her, putting my hand on her shoulder, ‘forget about Zayd, all right? He's still in cloud cuckoo land, waiting for Miss Ideal Muslimah to appear.' I took a slurp of my extra-thick strawberry milkshake. ‘Besides, he won't consider any sister who's not already wearing niqab.' I saw Yasmin's face fall and, for a moment, I felt bad for being so blunt. I sipped the milkshake it was cold and sweet, just the way I liked it and I thought to myself,
It's better I be honest
with her so she doesn't get her hopes up
.

Rania took a huge bite out of her burger and rolled her eyes. ‘I don't care what anyone says,' she said, her mouth full of beef. ‘This is by far the best burger in the south of England. No contest.'

I had to agree. Just the right amount of meatiness – not so much that you felt you were chewing on someone's leg – and just enough crumbliness, with a spicy, salty edge. Teamed up with crisp lettuce, a juicy slice of tomato, pickles and salad cream (no onions), you were talking serious burger beefcake, right there.

‘Another cow dies needlessly,' Samia said sourly.

‘Oh, no, Sami,' I winked at her, ‘that's where you're wrong. This cow
needed
to die so it could end up on my plate right here.' I tapped the plate with the tip of my finger. ‘An honourable end indeed for any bovine.'

Samia wrinkled up her nose and sniffed. Ever since she had decided to go vegetarian, she'd become a pain to go to Katie's with. She spent the whole time trying to make us feel guilty for being happy-go-lucky carnivores.

‘Samia,' Rania pointed a French fry at her veggie burger, ‘how do you square your new vegetarian ideals with the fact that the Prophet Muhammad ate meat? Isn't that a bit of a contradiction on your part?' She leaned in and narrowed her eyes. ‘Isn't it, in fact,
haram
to choose vegetarianism as a lifestyle choice?'

‘Ooohhh!' That was low and Rania knew it. But then I saw the wicked glint in her eye and realised: of course, she was just trying to wind Samia up.

You see, out of all of us, Samia was definitely the most cautious when it came to religious matters. She even did
proper research into things, finding out whether they were halal, haram, disliked or recommended. And the
Sunnah
, the way of the Prophet Muhammad –peace be upon him – was a big deal for her.

Now, I'm not saying that it wasn't a big deal for us born Muslims but she was definitely the most conscientious about things like that. When you're born a Muslim, you do tend to take certain things for granted, accepting the rules pretty much without question and getting on with life. But as a convert – or revert as she liked to be called – everything for Samia was deliberate, a conscious decision to choose the correct Islamic position, to halalify her life in every area. I thought she'd be really offended by Rania's low blow but she just shook her head. ‘No, babe,' she said, nibbling on a piece of lettuce, ‘I've done research into this…'

‘Of course…' I added.

She shot me a look. ‘And my decision to be a vegetarian is not haram because I'm not saying that it is forbidden to eat meat; I'm just choosing not to because I disagree with the way animals are treated and the whole way in which modern farming works. Did you know that they have bred bulls that have butts so big that they can't reproduce properly?'

That was it. We all burst out laughing. I laughed so hard that I almost fell off my seat. LMBO, literally. Rania choked on her Coke and sent it spraying across the table. Yasmin squealed, dabbing frantically at her hijab while I tried to control myself, wiping the tears from my eyes.

‘I'm serious!' Samia's face was going red. ‘If you don't believe me, look at this!' And she whipped out her phone and typed a search into YouTube. When she showed us the genetically modified bulls with their enormous rumps, we
started howling all over again.

‘Oh, I give up on you guys!' Samia huffed, even though a little smile was tugging at her lips. But soon she was giggling too. ‘Yeah, yeah, I guess it is pretty funny…'

‘Not for the cows, it ain't!' More howling laughter that earned us dirty looks from our waitress. She probably couldn't wait for us to leave but, hey, we'd been coming here for longer than she had been wearing that striped pink apron so she'd have to just sit down and zip it.

Then Yasmin spoke up in that quiet, deliberate way of hers.

‘My aunts were talking about scheduling some marriage meetings with brothers before uni, in the next couple of months.' She said it so carelessly, like it was no big deal. But it
was
a big deal. It was a
huge
deal. The table erupted again, this time with everyone asking about the hows and whys, names, details and Mottie stats.

Rania cried out, ‘Hold on a minute! Didn't your parents say that you have to finish your degree first?'

Yasmin sighed. ‘Yes, but my mum's older sister,
Khala
Shazia, has a daughter who has a Masters and is still single. She's scared to death that I might end up like her so she's convinced Mum and Dad to start looking now, just in case, even if it means a long engagement…'

‘But I thought you had decided to tell them that you want to go to culinary school, not uni…' Samia's voice trailed off. We all knew how much courage it would take for Yasmin to tell her superambitious parents that she wanted to bake cakes for a living.

Yasmin looked down at the table and fiddled with her straw. ‘Yeah, well, let's just say it hasn't come up yet. They've
all been distracted by this great big marriage debate. But I'll tell them soon, inshallah…'

I watched Yasmin's emotions flit over her face as the others asked her more questions about her aunts' husband hunting plans.

I felt sorry for her then and made a big show of sighing impatiently. ‘What's all this talk about marriage anyway? It's so sad: once Muslim girls reach a certain age, it's like that's all we can talk about, like now that we've finished school, that's the next logical step.'

‘Well, isn't it?' Samia again with her wide-eyed revert look.

‘No, Samia, it isn't,' I said firmly. ‘I, for one, have things I want to do, places I want to see, dreams to fulfil…'

‘You can do that once you're married, can't you?'

‘I'd rather do it on my own, thank you very much,' I sniffed. ‘Husbands just get in the way. And then you've got the spawn to contend with…'

‘Oh, Amirah, stop!' Rania pushed me away and I almost fell off my chair, again. ‘You talk so much rubbish. We all know that you love those rugrats more than anything. I hardly ever see them around without you! Just admit that you're an old softie, really, and all you need is the love of a good man to get you barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen…'

‘Shut it, Rania,' I said, duffing her on the head with my bag, my face burning. ‘You don't know what you're talking about.'

Samia got in on the act. ‘Well, if I was a gambling woman – which I'm not, of course – I would put my money on Amirah to be the first to get married and have a kid.'

I stared at her, my mouth hanging open. ‘And what on
earth would give you
that
idea? If I told you once, I told you a thousand times: I am not getting married. End of!'

Rania threw Samia and Yasmin a knowing glance and smirked, ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much…'

I grinned then, feeling foolish. I
was
making too big a deal out of it. It wasn't as if I knew the future; only Allah knew that. But I felt pretty confident that Samia's prediction would come to nothing. Anyway, who in their right mind would want to marry me with all my issues?

‘Well, while you three weird sisters carry on with your Mystic Meg act, I'm going to order dessert. Let me know when you get back down to planet Earth.'

And that was the end of all that talk. There are certain times when one's full attention is required: ordering dessert is one of them.

13

‘So, son, have you heard anything more from the university?'

Dad sat back from our new dining table after a delicious dinner of roast chicken and macaroni cheese. One of our new neighbours, Khadijah Jones from number 5, had sent it. She had packed a week's worth of dinners in sturdy plastic containers, wrapped in cling film, and dropped them off first thing in the morning.

‘
Jazakallah khayran
, sister,' I had said, overwhelmed. I hadn't expected hospitality like that, not in the city.

‘You're new to the community, aren't you?' she had chirped. ‘And you've lost your mum, I hear? So this is the least I can do. Don't hesitate to knock for me if you need anything, understand?' And she strode off down the close towards the gate, her purple hijab fluttering behind her.

With curtains up in the windows and containers of home-cooked food in the fridge, the house was starting to feel more and more like a real home.

But now, Dad wanted to have one of our ‘talks' and Khadijah Jones' macaroni pie was starting to churn in my stomach. I had been dreading this conversation for weeks and, now that Umar and Jamal had left the table, it didn't look like I was going to be able to avoid it. Is there ever a good time to
tell your superambitious self-made father that you just aren't sure about all the superambitious plans you made last year? That you regret applying to study Law? That you just don't know what you want to do with your life anymore? No, there isn't.