Brick Lane (82 page)

Twenty-seventh of October. Five more days,' said Chanu. 'There is a lot to do.'

'But we will never be ready. What about the flat? We can't just leave it.'

'Dr Azad has come to our aid once more. He has agreed to deal with everything. Rent it out for us, or hand it over to the council – whatever I instruct from Dhaka.'

Nazneen moved around the room. She touched the trolley, the corner cabinet, the glass showcase, the dining table, the coffee table and the bookcase. She stood behind the dung-coloured sofa and gripped the top. Her little finger popped through the fabric and into the stuffing.

'But what will you do in Dhaka? How will we live?'

Chanu patted his stomach. 'Do you think that my stomach will go long without being fed? When I went to the doctor, I went for medicine, not money. Don't worry. The ulcer will soon be gone and I don't plan to live on water alone. There's nothing to worry about. I am going into the soap business.' He cleared his throat prodigiously but there was nothing waiting to get out.

She sat on Razia's windowsill with a big bubble of panic caught in her mouth. Slices of grey sky wedged themselves between the blocks of flats. How small they were. How mean. In Gouripur, when she looked up she saw that the sky reached to the very ends of the earth. Here she could measure it simply by spreading her fingers.

The bubble moved to her chest and lodged just beneath her collarbone. She sat very still. If she moved, the bubble might get into one of her lungs and burst it. A rhythmic knocking came from the bedroom door.

Razia lay on the floor. Her hair, filled with static from the carpet, lifted around her head like a great grey sea anemone.

Nazneen said, 'Shall I see what he wants?'

'No,' said Razia. 'Only one thing he wants.'

There were three more days to go. Three more days to take action, if any action was to be taken. Chanu had bought more suitcases. The girls and Nazneen gathered round them as at a graveside.

The knocking grew louder. It became a pounding.

Razia got up. She rubbed her arthritic knees. Approaching the door, she walked against an unseen drag, as if wading in chest-high water.

Nazneen felt the bubble expand. Her collarbone would snap. She breathed carefully.

Razia stooped and examined the iron bar across the bottom of the door. Then she checked the top bar.

Only three more days to go and then all this would pass. She felt the bubble subside a little. Having won this advantage, Nazneen pressed for more. They would get on the plane and go.

An enormous bang shook the door. Tariq must have thrown himself at it.

Now it was quiet. Perhaps he had knocked himself out.

Razia turned round and back again, like a cat about to curl up. Then she lay down on her side and closed her eyes.

And it was right to go with her husband. Chanu was the one who needed her. Children must have a father. There was no choice but to go.

'You think you're doing what's best for your children,' said Razia, still with her eyes closed. 'But you can never go back and do it a different way and see if that would have been better.'

'How long has he been in there?'

'Two days.' Razia opened her eyes. 'Look at all this space,' she said, as if she had just noticed the furniture had gone. 'It was his idea – the bars, the locking in. He said, "Even if I am calling you all the names under the sun, don't let me out until it is finished, OK-Ma?" And I promised him. Son, your OK-Ma will not let you out.'

Hasina stood by the pond and shook her hair down over her shoulders. 'Come on,' she called to Nazneen. 'Let's jump.' She didn't wait. She never waited. She ran and jumped, disappeared and resurfaced. Her hair streamed behind her, catching little gems of water and sunlight.

Three more days and she could go and find Hasina. She pressed the tips of her fingers together and brought them to her lips. Nazneen tried to conjure an image of her sister that did not belong to yesterday. She tried to see her as a woman with all the scars of her life. All she could see was a girl with pomegranate-pink lips, a face that made your breath catch, and a flick of her shoulders that said she would not wait.

'Ma! Ma!' Tariq sounded like someone who had made an exciting discovery and wished to share it.

Razia, who was scratching her thigh, stayed her hand.

'Come and talk to me, Ma. It's boring in here.'

'What is it?' said Razia, unwilling to be drawn.

'Just come near to me. I don't want to shout.'

'I can hear you very well. No need for shouting.'

Tariq was quiet.

She would not say goodbye to Karim. He was busy with the march. If she was lucky he would not come again. When he did come it would be too late. She imagined him knocking at the flat, then pounding the door, finally breaking it with his shoulder. He raged and he wept. Nazneen gave Razia a rueful little smile.

'Hey, Ma, listen. I'm feeling a lot better. Really a lot better.'

'Good,' said Razia.

'It's all down to you, Ma. I think we've done it now. I think we've cracked it.'

'Good,' said Razia.

'Honestly, honestly, honestly, I could walk out of here now and never touch the stuff again.'

'Good,' said Razia.

'Ma? Why don't you just open up the door for a minute and we'll have a nice cup of tea, you and me.'

'No,' said Razia.

'It's all right. I'll go back in my room afterwards. I don't want to take any risks.'

'I promised you,' said Razia.

'Yeah, Ma. Look, you've done really well. I couldn't have done it without you. Now just open the door.'

Razia drew her legs up so her knees touched her face. She wrapped her arms around them.

Would he find solace, thought Nazneen, with someone else? She pictured Karim falling into a girl's arms and burying his face inside her bosom. Who would it be? She tried to give the girl a face. Perhaps it would be the girl from the meeting, the one who knew everything about the thirty-five thousand children who would never have justice done in their names. She was the kind of girl that Karim
ought
to be with.

Behind the door, Tariq whistled softly as if he had just woken to a bright and beautiful dawn.

Karim kissed his new girl.

Tariq whistled louder.

Karim began to unwind the sari.

Nazneen jumped up and turned to face the window. Karim wrapped the sari around the girl's shoulders and draped it over her head. That was better.

The whistling dropped any pretence of a tune. It became demented.

A thousand thoughts crushed into Nazneen's skull. Dhaka would be a disaster. Shahana would never forgive her. Chanu would be finished. It was not even going home. She had never been there. Hasina was in Dhaka but the city of her letters was an ugly place, full of dangers. And there was Karim. If she could leave him so easily, if it was as easy as that, then why did she ever begin it?