Worlds Apart (12 page)

I heard some noisy kids come out of the mosque across the street. I saw a five-year-old girl hurriedly putting her shoes on and running to her mum, who was stood outside with the rest of the mothers.

Childhood memories flooded back of my mum coming to pick me up when I was that age. The hostile welcome she got from the Bangladeshi women, all huddled together in a sea of colourful saris. Mum didn’t care; she’d walk
straight up to them in her Pakistani shalwar kameez and start talking.

A man then came out of the mosque after the kids and, to my surprise, it was my old imam from all those years ago. He looked different; his beard was now parted in two and curled up at the ends; was coloured with henna to make it orange. He looked vulnerable; his back was hunched forward and he moved slowly with the aid of a stick, using the other frail hand to thumb through a tasbih. His eyes still watered and his clothes still hadn’t seen an iron. I wondered if his caning skills were still as good.

I had not read Arabic since leaving mosque and wondered how quickly it would come back if I decided to attempt it now, though my pronunciation would still be like that of a child. It suddenly occurred to me how Christians finish their prayers with ‘Amen’ and at mosque we finish our prayers with ‘
Ameen
’. Was this the same? Also, the headscarves worn in mosque were the same as the ones worn by Christian women during Lent.

What would life be like if I hadn’t had that confrontation with Mum about wanting to study away? Perhaps I’d be one of these women picking up my kids. What if I hadn’t made that spontaneous visit to London? Bristol would not have given me the Chelsea Barracks…

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the
latch sliding off the hook from inside the door, and then Shazia’s face appeared. She was wearing a scarf wrapped tightly around her head and was holding a wooden spoon. Her face dropped for a split second when she saw me.

‘Hiya,’ I said as I stepped inside and embraced her stiff shoulders, grabbing her loosely fitted purple dress. I could smell cooking turmeric coming from the back of the house.

‘How are you?’ she asked, trying to pull away.

I caught the undercurrent in her voice. ‘Good, thanks. I thought I’d come and see you.’

She led me down the long narrow hallway lit by a single bulb at the top of the stairs. It was dark and cold but then got brighter and warm as we entered the kitchen. A couple of pans bubbled away on the stove, steaming up a window above. The sink looked chaotic, covered in half-cut vegetables and packets of spices scrunched up. I couldn’t stand untidiness growing up, and the army had taught me to be minimal and compact.

The soles of my shoes stuck to the lino as I walked over to the small wobbly table and sat down. I watched her putting a pan of water on to make chai. She threw sugar, full-fat milk and spices into it then served it up to me in a Smarties mug. I didn’t like chai, even when I lived at home. She knew that.

After the initial awkwardness, to my relief, the
conversation finally began to flow between us like we were old friends again. She told me about how her husband’s business was ‘booming’ and about the new car they were planning to buy (which I wasn’t interested in at all but nodded every so often anyway). All the time I was thinking of how to approach the subject of the army, hajj, my delayed security clearance, my parents’ visit to London and my sanity.

‘Your mother’s been through enough as it is,’ Shazia cooed. ‘You’re not helping matters by being so … picky.’

I looked the other way, feeling helpless.

‘Kashif sounds like a nice boy.’ Shazia tried to look serious. ‘When are you next seeing him?’

You probably know more than I do, I wanted to say, but resisted. Kashif was another potential suitor my mother had lined up. Admittedly he looked like golden boy compared to that idiot from last night.

I decided to stop wasting time.

‘Shazia,’ I cut in. ‘I need to talk to you.’

She smiled at me, her eyes softened. ‘I was waiting for you to ask. I’ve noticed you’re not looking yourself these days.’

I studied her carefully. For a split second I got worried. Was she going to tell me something I didn’t want to hear? I brushed the negative thoughts to one side and decided to trust in her.

‘Thank you,’ I whispered, reaching out and touching the silk sleeve of her dress. I felt terrible for all those resentful thoughts I’d had about her. I should have picked up the phone and shared the burden as soon as it became too much to bear alone.

‘I was also nervous on my wedding night.’ She broke into a cheesy grin. ‘Men are like bears…’

It shouldn’t have surprised me. I decided to change tactics and talk about London and my company. She looked pleased for me so I carried on and mentioned my spare time and taking up a hobby.

‘Another college course?’ she assisted.

I laughed nervously, half expecting her to come out with something so obvious. I shook my head and started jabbering on about something more ‘physical’.

She looked round, bemused, then pointed a finger at me and started to laugh aloud. ‘Don’t you think you’re a bit old for that?’

The resentment came back. I felt hurt by her belittling comment. No, I wanted to shout back, I don’t feel old, no matter what stage in life people expected me to fit into. I realised her attack on me last time wasn’t a one-off. This was who she’d become since being married. She thought she knew better than I did. She didn’t care what I did any more, but then again, I didn’t care about her life either, I realised guiltily.

‘Mum and Dad want me to go to hajj with them.’

‘Yes, I heard … me and my husband are hoping to go when the business picks up,’ she prattled.

She had told me the business was booming before, but I let it go. It wasn’t the first time she had exaggerated and most definitely wouldn’t be the last.

‘I can’t go,’ I blurted. ‘I don’t have time with the business.’

‘Of course you can, my father-in-law got my husband to look after the shop when he went.’

‘It’s not a shop.’

‘Think of all the respect you’ll get around here if you go. All the bad things people have been saying about you will be forgotten.’

Most of them coming from you, I was tempted to add, but kept my mouth shut. ‘I don’t care what people think.’

‘Your parents do.’

There was an uncomfortable silence. I could see this going into lecture mode like last time and decided to retreat from the whole discussion. It had been a wasted journey coming here today.

I stood up to leave, then stopped as I tuned to the noise coming from the neighbouring wall. It was chanting mixed with wailing.

‘What’s that?’ I pointed to the house next door.

‘Shi’ites,’ Shazia said as she wrinkled her nose,
reminding me of Julie from school when I had the spicy omelette sandwich. ‘They’re doing the Ashura; punishing themselves for the mistake they made of believing that the Prophet’s son-in-law, Ali, should have taken over after Mohammed’s death – instead it was Abu Bakr, Mohammed’s father-in-law, who did.’

I didn’t want to get into a debate, but ever since I’d been on my religious journey, discovering other faiths and facing difficult truths, I had to say something.

‘I don’t think it is a punishment,’ I replied.

Shazia grabbed a big knife and started chopping up a bunch of coriander. ‘Just because you’ve been to uni doesn’t make you above us lot.’

‘You lot?’ I forced a laugh. ‘Just because you live here doesn’t mean you know it all.’ I gulped the chai. It tasted disgusting.

‘You have no idea what it’s been like for us.’

I wasn’t sure if she was talking about being Sunni, a woman or Pakistani and frankly didn’t care. I hadn’t come here to listen to this, but couldn’t stop myself. ‘You think that by living in London my life is easier?’ I snapped back. ‘I still get it all the time on the phone from Mum, thanks to you.’

There, I’d said it. It felt like a weight off my shoulders. But, at the same time, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. I could tell from her face there was no forgiveness for
me this time. But did I care? I tried to find compassion inside me, and then it finally came. Her life was these four walls and cooking for the men of the house, who were hardly ever home. She had no children to keep her company, and that would be putting tremendous strain on her marriage, not to mention the tongues that would be wagging in the community. She was expected to have become pregnant in the first year of marriage, with a son. I was away from it all and only got snippets when I visited, which stressed me out, but imagine having this 24/7, I thought. This wasn’t my mess, however, and I didn’t want to be burdened with it; I had enough going on and needed someone to listen to me.

I left Manchester feeling ten times worse, with no idea how to stop my parents coming to London, and no idea who to talk to. The train journey back was a nightmare. Three hours turned to six because of track delays, or so they said. I was still wearing the glitzy outfit under my Puffa jacket and couldn’t be bothered to go to the toilet and get changed into jeans. I was knackered. The house had been like Piccadilly Circus last night with guests coming and going, visiting Mum and Dad to talk about their spiritual journey. The last one left around midnight, then Mum and I cleared up. I got up early this morning to clean the house before leaving. Thankfully, I didn’t see any more of Auntie
Pataani that weekend. She was like an irritating rash I’d had all my life. I wasn’t sure who was worse, her or Taylor.

My legs felt stiff from sitting down too long so I got up and hobbled over to the catering carriage on the train. There was a queue at the snack bar and they were giving out complimentary teas and coffees as recompense for the delay we were experiencing. I didn’t want either – I wanted to eat again. I joined the queue and stared out of the window at the rolling hills and meadows. The sun was shining down on me but I felt grim.

I tried to morph my mind back to the barracks but it kept flipping to the events of the weekend at home. My anxiety to go out for a 10-mile run had long gone. I didn’t think Shazia would ever speak to me again, or should I say I would never speak to her. It wasn’t my fault her life had ended up like it had. If she’d been braver, stood up to her mum and taken the risk like I had, her life may have mapped out differently.

My eyes prickled with sadness. I was going to miss Dad when he went to hajj. I did manage to get some time with him before leaving and asked if he was looking forward to going. He nodded, but interestingly he didn’t ask if I was. Perhaps he could read me better than Mum or maybe it was just that, unlike her, he wasn’t in denial. I just wish he’d voice himself more. If only
I could tell him about my army life, then all my problems would be resolved; he would manage Mum and fight off all the obstacles going forward.

They planned to be back in six weeks, by which time I would either be off the training or on the hills, which would mean another difficult conversation with them. I wondered if the other recruits’ lives were as complex. At least they could tell their families they were in the army, which was half the battle for me. But perhaps the lads had other pressing issues that I didn’t encounter, like kids. I couldn’t imagine the strain the training might put on a relationship.

A bloke brushed past me. He stood by the window and checked his phone. He was wearing jeans and trainers with a very large outdoorsy rucksack hanging off one shoulder. I did a double take, suddenly recognising him from the barracks. He was often hanging outside Captain Wood’s office when I’d go up to check on my security clearance papers and would look at me like he’d taken a bad turn in a bad neighbourhood.

I should have gone back to my carriage and everything would have been fine, but instead I moved along with the queue to the front of the bar. My heart was pounding. I tried to look in every direction except at him. The lady behind the counter was very loud and chirpy which didn’t help. She was also taking her time
serving, making me stand across from the lad for what felt like ages while queuing.

Then the inevitable happened. The lad got distracted and looked up straight at me. Neither of us moved, then his eyes lowered to check out my outfit and back up to my sparkly shawl wrapped around my neck, half covering my head. I wasn’t sure who was more surprised, me or him. For some reason I didn’t want him to see me dressed like this. Perhaps if I’d been wearing jeans I would have tried to initiate a conversation. My mind went back to secondary school when I’d see classmates in town on Saturday. I’d be out of uniform, wearing traditional clothes while shopping with Mum. I’d wave at them but they would blank me as if embarrassed to be associated with me.

A heavy stillness hung between me and the lad. Everything stopped around us, as he witnessed a snippet of my other world. I wasn’t sure if I should say hello or lead him to believe it was mistaken identity, but either way it left us both in a very strange place.

‘W
HERE’S THE THIRD
?’ Staff Monty flicked his eyes between me and Becky. He was talking about Adele, who was meant to be joining us. It was a Friday night and we were stood in the courtyard of the Chelsea Barracks in what was becoming the usual weather; dark, wet and a fierce, cold wind.

Monty was our new trainer on pre-selection. He was a tall, lanky man who looked like the lead singer from Spandau Ballet. His seriousness wasn’t as convincing as the other trainers because of his soft features, but his voice boomed.

He had trained us a few times at Hyde Park, running
alongside me and ordering me to widen my strides. I definitely felt my fitness level escalate during this time, and knew that the gap between me and the other recruits was getting smaller.

I’d bought myself a Helly Hansen top. I’d never been to an outdoor shop before but we’d been advised to buy one. They also asked us to buy a training bag but I couldn’t afford it so used my wash bag instead, which was awkward to run around with. We’d been issued with our uniform. It was huge on me so I had to go down to see George who managed the stores, where all the army supplies were kept, to get it taken in, as well as pick up my size four boots that had to be specially ordered. George had a warm, round, gentle face, and he reminded me of a teddy bear.

I hadn’t been sleeping well ever since getting back from Manchester and during the day I carried a nauseous feeling around in my stomach. Since getting back to London I had attempted to call home a few times with excuses to avoid my parents on their visit to London, but couldn’t think of any. In the end I had cowardly left a message on their answering machine the day they planned to visit, telling them that I would be away on a training course all weekend. I should have spoken to them, but didn’t have the bottle. It left me with the fearful thought that they would arrive at my empty flat in
a few hours’ time while I was still here. I’d also been having bad dreams, which I don’t normally remember, but this one was reccurring: running through a forest surrounded by a pack of wolves, my hair all over the place blinding my vision. I would try to keep up but then would trip over and be pulled back up by the wolves that dragged me along like a rag doll.

‘As from tonight, you’ll be joining the men.’ Monty pointed his finger at me and Becky. ‘It’s going to be a tough weekend. I don’t want you anywhere near them except during training. They need to stay focused.’

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. What did he think
we
were going to do to hinder
them
?

We were dismissed. I picked up my wash bag and followed Monty and Becky towards the glowing headlights of the white minibus parked just inside the gates. I felt scared, not sure what to expect. Maybe Adele was already in there. I had a feeling she was going to make my life hell. She and Becky were going to become a ‘pair’ and I would be left on my tod. Maybe she saw me as an embarrassment and expected a better calibre to be training alongside her.

The sinking feeling stayed with me as I clambered into the van where the lads were sat in khaki T-shirts. There was a horrible tension. I didn’t know what was worse, being here or calling Mum when I got back.

The lads looked up as we got in and then turned away. Monty had probably had a word with them, I thought, settling down next to a lad whose forehead was pressed against the window. He had red blotches on the nape of his shaven head and reminded me of the lads who used to hang outside my school.

The vehicle roared out of the barracks. I looked down at my wash bag and started playing with its metal clip, worrying that I wasn’t as physically fit as Becky and Adele. Earlier, in the changing rooms, I couldn’t help but stare at Becky’s strong physique as she stood in front of the sink, combing back her hair. I would have liked to cut my hair short so it would be easier to manage during training but instead had to spend ages putting it into tight braids. Long hair was a sign of femininity in our culture and Mum would kill me if I cut it. I stared out into the darkness. It was just forty-eight hours, I told myself, but in army terms that felt like a lifetime.

I tried to sleep for part of the journey but didn’t succeed, and neither did any of the others. We arrived at Pirbright Barracks just after midnight. As soon as the vehicle parked up, all hell broke loose.

Everyone shot up to get out as fast as they could. I let a few pass me then asked myself why I was being so polite. This isn’t the train station, I told myself, then barged forwards, wedging myself between two big lads.

Monty was stood by the main building. ‘In you go, girls.’

Becky and I headed inside, walking down the corridor until we were told to stop. Voices could be heard from one of the rooms ahead.

‘… the birds can go in your room.’

‘Fuck off!’

There was a roar of laughter from several others.

The voices quietened as we approached the open door. Inside some seven training staff stood around holding metal mugs of tea, dressed in combats and khaki jumpers. One of them, a tubby chap who looked like he’d eaten too many pies, walked across the room, stepped between us and out into the corridor. ‘Follow me, ladies.’

I sensed mockery in his voice but didn’t dare look at Becky. Instead, I studied him from behind. He had a funny walk, like one leg was shorter than the other.

We were taken to a basement room at the back of the building. It smelt of stale air and looked like a classroom that hadn’t been used for ages. It was freezing cold and the only pieces of furniture inside were a few broken chairs and a desk shoved in one corner. I curled up on the floor beside Becky, my bony hip pressing against the hard floor, and tried to get some sleep. I felt cramp in the lower part of my stomach and became worried
that I was going to start my period as I hadn’t brought sanitary towels. I had overheard some girls talk about going on the pill so that they could control their menstrual cycle during training. I didn’t know anything about the pill or any other form of contraception. I didn’t know how it was managed in the field. Instead, I repeated the first verse of the Koran in my head and prayed it wouldn’t start.

‘A
hmed … AHMED!’

I opened my eyes. Becky was shaking my shoulders roughly. ‘Are you OK?’

I sat up and looked around, remembering where I was. ‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘What time is it?’

It was 5 a.m. I must have spoken aloud in my nightmare. I’d dreamt of the forest again, this time running with a pack of soldiers towards a house. I stopped and went inside, where my family were sat around a table eating. I muttered something about being late, but nobody acknowledged me.

Becky got up and started to get dressed. I wanted to ask her about Monty’s comment last night or where Adele was but instead I got up and joined her.

An hour later, we headed to the cookhouse. At some
point during the night, other squadrons had joined us because there were about 200 lads in the hall. The recruits were a mixed bunch of former Marines, Paras and even a lad, Sullivan, from the Australian Special Forces, who’d moved to England and had to do it all again here. He was surprisingly small, but a strong chap, with a leg injury that looked like it had been patched up several times. He was well respected amongst the lads and was fascinated with us being here.

The new lads looked up as we walked in; their voices quietened as we weaved through and joined the queue with our mess tins and metal mugs. I didn’t feel like eating but would have to force it down because we had a good few hours of training ahead of us. All I kept thinking was where we would sit. Would we be separated? I couldn’t bear the idea of sitting around a table of hostility but decided I had to get used to it. I spotted a six-seater table with two empty chairs on the end and signalled to Becky with my eyes. As soon as we sat down, the lads began eating faster, and then all four of them got up and left.

Staff James, the tubby chap from the previous night, appeared at the door. ‘Listen in, lads,’ he said, putting a hand into his smock pocket and bringing out a large pair of frilly knickers. ‘We found these, so if any of you have lost a pair come and claim them later.’

The lads roared with laughter. I didn’t understand
the joke and looked round at Becky who was suppressing a smile. ‘Make the most it,’ she said. ‘Nothing gets funny after this.’

After breakfast, we were taken into a theatre to watch a training film. Adele came in just as it came to an end and sat down as the lights came back on.

One of the trainers walked up to the front and switched off the wall screen. He looked like one of my bus drivers from Manchester; a silver fox with a big moustache and a puffy face. His eyes scanned over us like we were leftovers from his takeaway last night.

‘OK, lads, hope that’s given you enough to think about. Any questions?’

There was a silent reply.

‘Right, lads, make your way back to your block.’

The room filled with noise as the boys got up and started heading for the door. Not sure where to go, I looked around for Becky.

‘Girls!’ Monty walked towards us. ‘I want you ready, in sports kit, outside in ten.’

Becky put her hand up.

‘Yes, I know about your knee, I spoke to the medic,’ Montague cut in. ‘You do know that if you can’t train after this week, you’re off the course?’

Becky nodded frantically in agreement. ‘Yeh, sir, I understand.’

He turned to me and Adele. ‘You two – in kit.’

Ten minutes later, we were stood outside in sports kit.

It was a cold morning. A couple of lads from regulars walked past and stared at me like I was an alien. I ignored them. I was getting use to these strange looks.

I turned my attention to Adele and studied her legs: strong and muscular. She was also taller than me, which meant her strides would be wider and, of course, she was built like an Amazon, just like the rest of them.

Glumly I looked away and began stretching my legs against a wall. I could only do my best, I thought.

I’d spent all my spare time in the gym getting fit just to keep up with these girls. I hated running and, unfortunately, running played a big part in this training.

I will be miles behind, I thought, and all the trainers will be watching. Then they’ll bin me.

Monty came out of the building and pointed to a Jeep parked up the side. ‘You two, get in.’

Adele and I jumped into the back while Monty stood talking to Becky, pointing his finger in her face every so often.

‘Have you been training?’ asked Adele with an authoritarian voice.

‘A bit,’ I said quietly.

There was a pause, and then I asked, ‘Have you?’

‘Yes, every day,’ she replied.

I looked out of the window, now feeling ten times worse.

Silver Fox got into the front and started up the engine. Monty got into the back with us. ‘Where’s Taylor?’ he asked the driver.

I thought we’d got rid of him at female selection.

‘Here he comes.’ Silver Fox pointed at Taylor through the windscreen.

To my dismay, Taylor got in with Monty and didn’t look at me, though I sensed he acknowledged Adele.

Then we were on our way, driving out of the barracks along a bumpy track.

Monty turned to both of us. ‘We’re going to do a run to measure your fitness level.’ He paused and looked straight at me.

I nodded and felt butterflies in my stomach. I knew what that meant.

Twenty minutes later the vehicle stopped and we all jumped out. Monty didn’t waste any time and immediately explained the route: along a track that disappeared into the distance, then apparently there was a canal, then a bridge that would bring us back here.

‘I’ll give you a moment to stretch.’

A moment really did mean a few seconds and then he had us stand by a small bush at the side of the track,
ready to run. My heart was pounding as I stood next to Adele. I tried to concentrate on what was ahead, but her energy was intruding my space.

‘Ready … Go!’

Adele raced ahead. I began running at a pace I could manage, trying not to think about her. Thirty minutes later, we were still running along the gritted track. Adele was getting further and further away, slowly becoming a dot in the distance. I was still running at a steady pace, mesmerised by her figure in front; she had Monty and another trainer running on either side of her, while I had Taylor grunting behind me. I didn’t like him and he didn’t like me.

I increased my pace a notch to the fastest steady pace I could manage. Time became endless and strange thoughts whizzed through my head; mundane chores that I had to do around London; whether I should stay with the company; the image of my parents sat on my doorstep waiting for me in the cold; the falling out I had with Shazia and my mum’s phone message that the marriage bureau had selected a few chaps to see me. I’d hate to think what they were like from the profile I’d written for myself.

I pushed these thoughts to one side and tried to focus on the present moment. Suddenly I realised I was halfway along the canal and could clearly see Adele in front.

‘Go on, Ahmed, get in front of her.’ Taylor’s voice was close to my left ear. ‘Go on, just run in front.’ I didn’t know what else to do but take his order.

I gasped for air and widened my stride, quickening my pace at the same time until I was just behind Monty, who looked round and didn’t even attempt to hide his shock as he let me through to overtake Adele on the narrow pathway of the canal.

My legs became numb as I ran a few metres past her.

‘Now slow down and set your pace,’ Taylor said, still running behind me. I did as I was told.

‘Come on, keep going.’ Monty was now on my other side.

I could feel my body waking up to another level, boosted by an adrenalin rush from the verbal support I’d never had before. Ten minutes later, we were heading towards a bridge.

‘Now give it all you can, Ahmed, to the bridge.’ Monty’s lanky figure hovered over me. Though I was clearly in front of Adele, they continued to push me to my limit.