Dismal grey skies loomed above over the next week. Rain varied from spitting to torrential downpour oppressing me indoors in the greasy flat. Painfully, I'd slowly become accustomed to living above a greasy curry takeaway. The pungent stench of spice, garlic and frying oil was forever lingering in the flat. No amount of Febreze spray could cancel it out.
At first, Zara kept calling for her mother, asking me when she was back bludgeoning me with guilt. It seemed like I'd failed the children. They wanted their mother to return and take them back home. To happier times.
Now, three weeks later, Zara shrunk becoming reserved and quiet. She sat on the mattress in the living room and coloured in her unicorn book. This troubled me. I missed her misbehaviour, her cheeky laugh when she stole Armaan's Ipad and hid it under her pink dress. Children are meant to be noisy, lively and full of life, but my children were eerily silent. Leaving this hell hole without the children was not an option. I had to make a swift exit without incorrigible Zayn.
Standing in the park under my black umbrella, rain spitted upon me in mid-August. The swings and slides were damp from the rain and this was the only place I could take them for some fresh air. Vandalised with missing swings and damaged fences, the park was a sorry sight to bring the children. Armaan hung aimlessly from the monkey bars, with no motivation to reach the other and stared at the ground. Zara held my hand huddling to my leg under the umbrella. Aymaan remained in the back seat of my car colouring his super hero book.
With Zayn working in Bristol, he didn't return for days as it was 94 miles away, on a 2 hours and 15 minutes car journey. I rarely slept with the music, conversation and sounds of pots and pans clanging from downstairs. The children slept in the single bedroom and I pulled out the mattress on the sofa bed and tossed and turned on the rickety springy mattress. I scrubbed every floor, every wall and bleached the bathroom making sure it was hygienically clean for the children. The flat stunk of Dettol. I was trapped. No school for the children. No grandparents' house. I knew no one in this God forsaken town.
Later that afternoon, I arranged to meet Kash at Dixy's, a halal version of McDonalds. The children sat on the adjacent table sharing chicken nuggets and a tray of fries. Suffering with an abstemious diet, I played with my plastic straw dipped into the black liquid coke.
"You look awful." He observed sitting opposite in his smart cashmere coat chomping on a flaming chicken burger.
"Thanks for reminding me." I smoothed my Turquoise Khaadi printed kurtha which I'd purchased in better times on a shopping spree at the Bullring.
The chicken shop was at a lull allowing me the opportunity complain about the broken boiler, the cold showers, and Zayn ignoring my calls. Kash listened whilst munching his burger and fries. He licked his fingers clean from the tangy taste of barbeque sauce.
"Why are you doing this to yourself? You're punishing the kids." He chewed two fries at a time.
"Please, don't stress me out." I sat back in the leather seat. "My back aches from that awful mattress. The kids have been scratching, I think they got bed bug bites. I just want to run away."
"Well you know what you need to do."
Kash's face was stern. His chin paused from chewing. The silence was ominous.
"If you leave, he will come after you and the kids. You won't hear the end of it. Put in the surveillance cameras. He won't know. They're tiny." Kash pressed.
I looked at Zara throwing fries into her cup of drink. "I'm putting the children at risk. They are not bait waiting for Zayn to hit them. It feels wrong."
Kash pushed his tray aside and leaned forward. "The cameras are a deterrent, Zohra. When you're not in the flat, who knows what happens? I will monitor them. The moment we have solid footage, you will be out of there. It could be today, tomorrow."
It was tempting. The idea of returning home to mum with the children seemed too good to be true. Kash flirted with the options of starting a life with the children, without the interference of Zayn. Sitting with Kash, a level of compunction rose. I knew meeting Kash secretly was wrong. Whatever Zayn did, or didn't do, there was no excuse for me to see Kash behind his back.
"I don't have the money. Two grand for one camera? It's too much. I'm just about paying our bills."
"Don't worry about the money, that's secondary." Kash's voice muted with softness. In another world, maybe I would have allowed him to come closer to me. But he was tainted with Zeenat.
"I do. I don't want to be in debt. That's how we got into this mess. I'll speak to mum, she'll transfer some money into my account."
Lingering in two minds, I was uncomfortable with the idea. However, I could see no other option now. I just wanted Zayn to stop being so stubborn and admit he needs help. He's a good man when things go his way. Maybe, once I get some footage I could negotiate a deal with Zayn, tell him to talk to dad or else I would report him. Yes! That would be better. With the footage I had some leverage. One day. One moment. He snaps. He yells and that's it. We have the evidence.
I recalled the moment when Aymaan was splashing in the bath and Zayn's harsh reaction leaving marks on the child's arm. Zayn had a terrifying temper.
"Okay. Okay. I'll do it. But I don't feel right in spying on Zayn. I feel awful doing this-"
"Thing about your sister. Think about Zeenat. Think about her promise." He reminded.
Kas was right. I had to protect Zeenat's children. I promised her.
Settling the children in my car, the rain dispersed. I locked the car door and made my way to Kash's red Bentley finalising the finer details.
"Kash?" I called him when he sat into his car. "What happened to that girl? The one who was using Zeenat's facebook to message you?"
"She hasn't messaged recently, why?"
"I need to know who she is. Can you find out for me? Maybe she knows something."
Kash left agreeing to message her. I was left with the arduous task of asking mum for money.
*****
Mum was vulnerable and desperate in need of contact. She would have done anything to please me and I was disgusted with myself.
"What do you need the money for?"
I lied. To pay the mortgage, I replied. I allowed her to believe we were living happily in Walsall and suffered a temporary shortfall of cash. This was the only way to protect her from our dire situation.
"I'll get permission from Zayn and see if he allows us to visit you." I said. Underneath it all, mum could sense something in my voice. Her final words sent a chill to my bones.
"Zeenat was distant. She hid many things from us. I'm still living with the guilt of it all. Don't be Zeenat." It was too late. The day I married Zayn, I stepped into her shoes.
Sadaqat transferred the money on mum's behalf and he promised that he would never tell dad. After the previous argument, everyone was on tenterhooks, worried about Zayn and dad kicking off.
Once again, I met Kash at Dixy's circumspect of my surroundings. This time the children remained in the car protected from the thundering storm. I handed the brown envelope to Kash where he inspected it, flicking through the notes.
"I can just afford one camera, for the time being." My voice strained, a knot in my stomach caused me physical pain. This was wrong. Everything about it was wrong. Kash slipped the money in the inside of his coat pocket and scanned the man behind the counter.
"Hey-get me a coke." He ordered the staff.
"One camera will get you nowhere." He said. "It will have to do. Where's your keys?"
Automatically, I fished my keys from my hand bag and handed it to him. Kash unhooked the front door Yale key and pocketed it.
"What are you doing?"
"I need access to the flat."
"How will I get in?"
"Tell the landlord you lost your key."
The cashier called Kash as his drink was ready.
"When will you do it? When will you install the camera?" I pursued him to the till where he slapped change on the counter.
"Soon. Let me know when Zayn is away. It doesn't take long."
"Zayn's rarely at home. He's in Bristol on a job."
"Good. Make sure it stays that way."
Standing outside against the window of the shop, we stood side by side waiting for the rain to subside. Kash's red Bentley was parked on the opposite side of the road where passers-by would linger to take selfies of the luxury vehicle in the rain.
"Zeenat will be proud of you." He sipped staring at his car. "There was something about her, she never had the courage that you do. She wasn't decisive as you. Always dithering, changing her mind, back and forth. Unlike you, you know what you want, and you go and get it."
There was a sharp look in Kash's eye. He straightened fed his collars up, pressed his bowler hat on his head ready to brave the rain and make a dash for his car.
"One last thing." He stepped closer to me.
"When you get a chance, in front of the cameras, ask Zayn about that night. What he did do to Zeenat? Make him confess in front of the camera."
"Do you think he had a part to play?" A cold chill puckered my skin.
Kash pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one up. He looked at the two young boys taking pictures of his car.
"Every man needs to confess his sins to someone be it a friend or a stranger. Will you be that someone?"
"Of course."
"Zeenat was a beautiful woman. She was fragile like a china doll. Any man could easily fall in love with her vulnerability. She needed someone to take care of her. Sometimes, I go through our Facebook messages. Our real ones, not the one that fake girl is sending after she died." He lightly shook his head with disgust.
"I can hear the sweetness in her words, her softness. I still can't believe she has gone." He paused and took a long drag of his cigarette.
"I still can't believe I won't hear her naughty laughter. She was lost, alone and needed someone to understand her. I couldn't reach out to her. I don't want to make that same mistake twice."
"Did you have feelings for her?"
"Maybe if I was honest and told her how I felt she would have still been with us." He admitted.
If ever I had doubt, today it was removed. Kash was in love with Zeenat. He was heartbroken, and he was making it up to her. We both wanted the same thing; truth and justice.
"Zayn's days are over." He threw his cigarette and stamped on it. "Together, we will destroy him."
With a spring in his step, he lunged into the street, splashing through the puddles and sprinted to his car. The red brake lights flashed bright, lighting up his registration plate that read 'KSH 55.' He left me coveting with thoughts of his luxurious life, driving expensive cars, wearing designer clothes and living in a comfortable large detached house. A life that Amjad could have easily given me, if only I was patient with his mistake. Maybe dad was right. I didn't want poverty. Dad was a provider, I may have suffered in my childhood, but we never went without anything. The thought of returning to that shabby flat, with a broken boiler and rickety mattress, burdened me with great sadness. I wanted to go home to my mum and dad. Zara drew on the car window, blowing on the pane filling it with mist. She drew two dotted eyes, a round nose and a long frown.
"Oh Zara! It won't be long now." I whispered with hope.
Now Kash had the money, he could cover the cost of the camera and the installation.
It was a matter of waiting for his signal.