TRAPPED (39 page)

It was a couple of minutes before she straightened herself up, not trusting that she wouldn’t be hit again by another wave of sickness. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Laila quickly turned away as she noticed the fly land on the foul-smelling vomit.

She felt a scratch on the palm of her hand and realised she was still clutching onto the reason for the sudden onset of illness. It was a photograph. Loosening her grip on it to stop it digging into her hand, Laila allowed herself to look at it. It was a picture of a man. A man she’d never seen before, yet Laila Khan had just been informed in a week’s time she was going to become his wife.

Half an hour later Tariq Khan sat across from his sister at the dinner table noticing how her eyes were red, blotchy and swollen. Reminding him of a bullfrog he’d seen last year in Pakistan.

He’d come in from work to hear screaming upstairs and when he’d gone to investigate, he’d seen Laila kneeling on the floor at their uncle’s feet, begging and pleading with him not to force her to marry.

He’d watched as their uncle had called his sister names. Accusing her of being nothing short of a disgrace. Spitting at her in disgust. She’d then turned to Tariq. Pulling at his trouser leg and looking up with her big almond shaped eyes. Begging him to do something to help.

Why did Laila have to make such a fuss? She knew what their uncle was like. Didn’t she understand that everything would be easier for her if she didn’t put up such a fight? She was making it harder. She knew she had a duty. A duty to their uncle. A duty to their family.

What did she think her uncle was going to let her do? Run around like the other slags in her class? Laila was sixteen, almost seventeen. Old enough, their uncle had told her, too old nearly.

How was he supposed to feel sorry for his sister when she’d brought it on herself? Word had got back to them that she’d been cosying up with some English boy at school. Flaunting herself and making dirt out of their family name. And of course, the moment the rumours had hit their uncle’s ears, he’d straight away put what needed to be done into action.

Laila should be thankful. Her life wasn’t over, though it would’ve been if their uncle and the family had had their way. Tariq had had to beg with them, pleading for leniency on Laila’s behalf and eventually they’d backed down, on the condition that she marry.

She’d been lucky. A lot of girls he knew who’d behaved like Laila had didn’t get away with it so lightly.

‘Is everything in order?’

Tariq’s thoughts were broken as his uncle spoke to him in a gruff tone of voice.

‘Yes, everything’s sorted; just like you arranged.’

Mahmood Khan looked at his nephew. There was a lot to do before tomorrow. He was feeling tired but he prayed that he would be given the strength to deal with the next few hours.

He glanced quickly at Laila as he reached for another helping of rice. Girls were a curse. Especially beautiful ones. The more beautiful, the more of a curse.

Quite frankly he wasn’t sure what wrongs he’d done to deserve to be blighted with three nieces. But then, he knew
he shouldn’t question what he’d been given. Only make th
e best of it, which, if he were to be honest, was very hard to do.

Laila had always been spirited. Her two sisters, who were older than her and already married, had been different. They’d been quiet and willing to please. Understanding what it was to be a woman. Neither of them had the brains nor the dazzling beauty of Laila; they’d been blessed with simplicity and plainness.

From the moment Laila was born, Mahmood knew his youngest niece was trouble. As a baby she’d had the cry of a lion; roaring with discontent. When she was little she’d suffered with stomach problems. No doubt caused by the fire of the warrior in her belly, fighting to get out. She absorbed knowledge like the jacaranda tree absorbed the water and her spirit whirled and glided like a Middle Eastern Sufi dancer.

It was all too much. She was nothing like her mother who’d been a good wife to his brother, although admittedly he’d needed to show her his word was final in the beginning. Nevertheless, his sister-in-law was silent and attentive. Two traits a woman should possess, but two traits his niece didn’t come close to holding. Thankfully though, by this time next week, Laila would be someone else’s problem.

It felt to Mahmood that all he’d done for the past few years was battle with his niece to keep her in her place. With each passing year it became more of a struggle as he fought against her curiousity about the world she lived in.

When his brother, their father, had died, the responsibility of looking after the family had fallen on his shoulders. And the adjustment had taken some doing for both he and them.

His brother had been soft; far too soft for a man who carried the Khan name. Often Mahmood had disapproved of the freedom his brother offered his wife and children. Giving them leave to argue, question and be educated. He’d often chastised his brother but the admonishment had been wasted and fallen onto deaf ears. But then his brother had passed away and everything had changed.

Under his guidance everyone had been shown the error of their ways. And though the changes had come up against long faces and the occasional question, they’d all eventually accepted the way it was going to be under his rule. All except Laila.

Mahmood looked at his watch ‘We better go, Tariq, time is short.’

Mahmood pushed his chair away and looked once more at Laila. Her face was marked not only from her tears but also from the bruise now forming on her cheek. Tomorrow when they went out, he’d make her wear her burka. It would hide it. By next week it’d be gone, and then maybe for the first time in his life he could be proud of her. Proud to give her away.

Laila’s eyes widened as she watched her older brother and uncle. She was terrified, but she had a rising suspicion that something worse was about to happen. Her uncle rarely ventured out at this time of night, preferring instead to have his friends come to him.

Mustering up some courage, Laila directed her question at her brother which she almost always did. ‘Is everything alright, Tariq?’

Before Tariq had a chance to say anything, Mahmood snarled at her, his strong Pakistani accent punctuating the words.

‘You bring dishonour on this family then you ask if everything’s alright?’

Laila sat up in her chair. Her face reflecting the puzzlement in her tone. ‘Dishonour? Tariq, what’s he talking about? I don’t know what he’s talking about.’

Tariq banged his fist on the table as Mahmood Khan stood back, admiring the forcefulness of his nephew. ‘Laila, don’t play the innocent with me. I’ve heard the talk. Uncle’s right, you’ve brought shame on us. On me. Well, it stops right here.’

Laila’s face was drawn and her fear was apparent. The look on her face made Tariq feel uncomfortable and he turned away, not wanting to see the terror in his sister’s eyes.

‘Tariq, please. I … I really don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Tariq’s arm shot out, sweeping the supper dishes off the table, sending Laila’s untouched plate of palak chicken to stain the beige carpet rug.

‘Don’t make a fool of me, not when I’ve tried to help you … I know all about you and the English boy.’

‘English boy?’

Tariq clenched his fist. Why was she doing this? Why was she lying to him when all he needed her to do was quietly get married so there’d be a stop to all of this? He didn’t want any harm to come to her but there was only so much he could do to help if she wouldn’t help herself.

Tariq leant forward, his arms on the table; ignoring the fact that he’d just put his hand in a pile of cold rice. ‘Raymond Thompson. Ring any bells, Laila?’

Laila Khan swallowed hard. She knew the name. She knew the boy. But not in the way her brother was trying to imply.

He sat next to her in class and that’s all it was. Yes, she’d talked to him. He made her laugh. She’d even given him a CD of her favourite song, covering the case with pink smiley stickers. But it’d all been innocent.

He hadn’t been at the school long, moving up North from London to come to live with his mother on the south side of Bradford. He was popular and handsome, his cockney twang adding to his appeal, though it wasn’t just the girls who flitted around him and swooned over his six-foot frame. The boys wanted to be his friend too. They seemed to respect him, getting the feeling he could handle himself. That he wasn’t going to be messed with. Even Mrs Rigby, the sixth form maths teacher, blushed when he went to talk to her.

So she’d been surprised when Raymond had moved his desk next to hers. Though quietly pleased. At first she’d ignored him. But slowly she’d started to smile when she’d heard his jokes. Then the smiles had turned into laughter and they’d become friends.

Laila didn’t know why he’d chosen to be her friend but she’d cautiously welcomed it. She loved it when he teased her as his blue eyes twinkled back at her. But that’s all it was. A smile. A laugh. A tease. That’s all it
could
be. She knew that more than anybody.

Apart from that one time. That once. The day she’d decided to forget she was Laila Khan, respectful and dutiful daughter of the late Zarin Khan and niece of the ever-present Mahmood Khan. That day she’d chosen to walk to the bus stop with him instead of with her friends.

‘Laila, your uncle will kill you if he sees you.’

‘He won’t though, will he?’

She could hear the conversation now between her and her best friend and she’d been right, her uncle hadn’t seen them. Nobody had. But words don’t need to have eyes; only tongues.

As Laila sat at the table, trying to ignore her uncle’s cutting stare, she knew her friend had talked. Not intentionally, but talked all the same. And it didn’t take a whole vine for it to reach her uncle’s ears.

‘Tariq … it was nothing. Nothing happened …I was…’

The look on her brother’s face made Laila stop talking. The rage which was already there in his eyes had turned into something else. Hatred. And she couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t bear to have her brother, who she loved more than anyone in the world, hate her.

She watched as her uncle nodded his head to her mother – who’d sat silently throughout – gesturing to her to leave the room. Laila could feel her legs trembling as Mahmood walked around the table towards her. He pulled her up as he grabbed her arm, painfully squeezing it as he did so. She saw Tariq step forward, then stop. Her uncle’s face almost pressed onto hers as he spoke in a whisper. ‘Understand this. If it wasn’t for your brother pleading your case, Laila, you might not have had a tomorrow.’

Laila pulled back. Terrified by what her uncle was insinuating. Though it wasn’t an insinuation, was it? It was an outright threat. Clear for her to understand. She knew her family respected the cultural teachings and traditions as she did. But this? This wasn’t a part of it; this was just some twisted misinterpretation of it.

She’d heard time and time again about what happened to girls in the community who brought shame and dishonour on their family. But
she
hadn’t brought shame. She’d walked less than the length of a high street with Raymond. Refusing his requests to go to McDonald’s. Refusing his requests for him to walk her all the way home. It’d been innocent.

Mahmood dropped her arm and walked towards the door, deciding not to bother with a jacket. He turned to Laila as Tariq opened the dining room door.

‘
You
might have been lucky, but your boyfriend’s not going to have such an easy ride.’

Laila ran to her uncle, grabbing at his sleeve. ‘What are you going to do? Uncle, please. He’s done nothing wrong.’

‘For someone who’s so innocent you seem to care an awful lot about what happens to him. You’re a disgrace.’

‘I don’t care … I mean, I do care but not like that, I care because he’s done nothing … Uncle, please, don’t touch him.’

Mahmood grabbed Laila’s hair, pulling her head back. ‘Try stopping me.’

He let go of her hair and started for the front door, but Laila refused to let him walk away. She grasped hold of him, trying to pull him back. She was beside herself with anguish and the tears rolled down her face as she cried. Her uncle sneered. She was out of control and he was going to enjoy seeing Raymond Thompson squeal. ‘
Izzat
, Laila. Honour. Doesn’t it mean anything?’

‘It means everything to me, Uncle, you know it does. But not like this. It isn’t about this.’

She let go of her uncle and ran to Tariq, pulling on him and hearing his shirt tear as he tugged it away from her grip. ‘Tariq … no, stop. You can’t do this. Leave him alone.’

‘What do you want me to do, Laila? I’ve got no choice.’

‘For me, please, Tariq. Do what you want with me but leave him alone.’

Tariq didn’t want to listen to her any more. He didn’t want to hear his sister like this. Couldn’t she see what harm she was doing by acting like this? It was just making their uncle more determined. Pushing Laila to one side, he followed his uncle out of the door.

‘Tariq, no!’ She shouted after her brother. She needed to stop them but she didn’t know how. No one would help her. No one would get involved. This was family business, family
honour
, and most people she knew would think her uncle was doing the right thing.

She didn’t even have Raymond’s telephone number to warn him but she couldn’t let them hurt him. Not because of her. Without thinking, she picked up the phone.

‘Police, please.’

The phone went dead. Laila turned round. The first thing she saw was Mahmood with the telephone wire in his hand. The second thing she saw was his fist coming towards her. A moment later Laila Khan blacked out.

Can’t get enough of Jacqui’s writing? Discover Jacqui’s first novel,
Taken