I’m lying in a bed. It feels softer than my own. I open my eyes. A crack in the curtains lends the room enough light for me to distinguish the detail. Books, make-up, joss sticks, posters of Shawn Mendes.
I’m in Irfan’s house. This room must belong to his eldest daughter. Farah went to a Mendes concert with her last year. I glance at the digital clock on the small pine table by my side. It is already ten o’clock.
I stare at the ceiling. It’s coming back to me now. Lenny leaving me in the backyard as I tried to stop crying. Farah appearing. Her arms around me. Her and Irfan bundling me into their car. A cup of tea before bed. Me being grateful for no questions. I look under the covers. Farah lent me one of Irfan’s shirts.
Someone knocks at the door and I sit up. Farah comes in. I shuffle up into a sitting position and another mug of tea finds its way into my hands.
‘How do you feel?’ she says.
‘I’m okay. Sorry about last night. I must have had too much to drink. I’ll go when I’ve finished this and—’
‘No,’ she says firmly. ‘You relax here for as long as you like. If you want anything to eat just let me know. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.’ She turns to go.
I reach out my hand and tug on the bottom hem of her blouse. I recall doing that to Mum when she used to leave my room at night. I’d always beg for just one more story.
She sits on the bed.
‘Can you ever forgive me?’ I say. ‘Last night – Casey, Lenny, it’s made me realise – I’m so sorry if I’ve upset you.’
‘And I’m sorry for not realising just how hard it hit you – about Lenny and Beatrix. Whilst I was worried about this new regime of yours, I don’t think I fully understood just how much… how much you’ve been struggling.’
‘I’ve messed everything up,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t even know who I am anymore. I thought I was so empowered, taking charge of my life and turning it around, but now I’m not so sure.’
Farah takes my hand. ‘I’ve never talked to you much about my life before meeting Irfan.’
‘You grew up in Leicester, didn’t you?’
‘Yes – although, as you know, I was born in Pakistan. We moved here when I was six. I loved growing up in Leicester. It’s home to the widest number of religions of all the cities in this country. I really felt at one with the diversity. I got a job in a coffee shop in the sixth form and went clubbing with colleagues. My parents were great. They understood that I needed to embrace English culture in order to be happy and make friends. Yet I knew it was always part of their plan that one day I would have an arranged marriage. As I got older, we would have trips back to Pakistan. Very sociable ones where I met extended family and respected locals. My parents did their best to compromise and let me go to university. I moved back home for a while afterwards. My idea was to save and become financially independent.’
I nod.
‘I loved – do love – my parents very much and had managed to swerve the subject of an arranged marriage for years. However, the pressure really started when my older sister got married. Everyone kept saying I was next, but I wasn’t interested. At the same time I didn’t want to disappoint my parents. I saw the joy my sister’s union had brought them and they were so thrilled when the family of a successful businessman, Adeeb, showed an interest. I just couldn’t bear to let Mum and Dad down and somehow found myself pretending to go along with it.’
‘But you didn’t love him?’
‘No. He was a kind man, but not my type. He didn’t even read novels.’
We exchanged looks and both managed a smile. I took a mouthful of the strong tea.
‘The pretence started to take its toll – the weeks of acting as if I was this perfect daughter, happy to do things the traditional way. I’d stopped eating all the Western junk food and drinking alcohol. My dress style became more modest. I was only a size ten back then.’
Heat flushes into my cheeks. ‘Farah, I never meant—’
She pats my arm. ‘All I’m saying is, I modelled myself to be the perfect obedient, pretty-little-wife material. Over time, I became fond of the man Adeeb, but just as friends, and the deceit started to eat away at me even more. We didn’t meet often. He still lived in Pakistan, but when we did, I play-acted with him too. Things had gone so far I didn’t know how to call things off. I didn’t know how to tell him or my parents that I wanted a career and my own flat – that I wasn’t ready to settle down yet and when I did, that I wanted to choose my own partner. I just wanted to be myself.’
‘What happened?’
Farah smooths down the duvet. ‘I had a breakdown. Ended up in hospital. I didn’t know who I was anymore… just like you now. Mum and Dad were horrified.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m so lucky that all they wanted was for me to get better – even if that meant the marriage being called off. That was a massive thing for them and I’ll never forget it. And Adeeb was very understanding. I think he felt the same way too. He works in Dubai now and is married.’ She pauses. ‘The thing is, Violet – all the time I was pretending, I thought of myself as doing the right thing and being so strong and such the role model daughter. But I was living a lie. It nearly killed me.’
‘How come you’ve never talked about this before?’
‘Because it’s a part of my life I don’t care to remember. And it’s so long ago. I can’t relate to being that person anymore. These days, it sounds corny, but I just follow my heart. I eat too much. I’m not always smartly dressed. I enjoy a glass – or three – of wine. I have my own bank account. I’m not perfect, by any means, but my head’s straight because I’m being true to myself.’
She takes my tea and puts it on the table next to the digital clock. She leans forward and embraces me.
‘That’s all that matters, Violet, that your conscience is happy. It’ll tell you if it’s not. Anyone else’s opinion of what you should look like or how you should behave is irrelevant. That includes this Bella, even if she is trying to help. Perhaps if I met her and—’
I shake my head violently.
The doorbell rings. Farah backs off about meeting my friend and instead we chat about the party. Someone knocks at the door. Irfan.
‘Everything okay in here?’
Farah and I nod.
‘Violet, you’ve got a visitor. Apparently Lenny went to your flat to find her.’
‘Violet, please don’t be scared, I’m here to help.’
I stop shouting and my breathing slows a little. At least the woman sounds friendlier than she looks. I clasp my hands together. Must be brave. Must be my own hero.
She loosens her collar. The uniform doesn’t look very comfortable. ‘In fact, we can take you home right now.’
‘Home?’ I stare at Tim. ‘You said you were my friend. Now I’ll get into trouble.’
‘Tim did the right thing,’ says the police officer. ‘It’s very dangerous out here at night. And your mum would have been so panicked, finding out that you’d gone.’
‘No she wouldn’t,’ I mumble. ‘She’s got Ryan.’
‘Violet. I’m sorry,’ says Tim. ‘You’re a great little girl, but this is for the best. I thought about it all day. I was just going to do a runner. But I’d have been worried knowing that you were here, on your own, waiting for me. I went down to the police station and then ran all the way back here so that you weren’t on your own if you got here early and the police or your mum hadn’t arrived. One day, you’ll understand – I promise.’
‘Adults’ promises don’t mean much. Uncle Kevin promised he’d be home at Christmas.’
The police officer jerks her head. ‘Come on. My colleague, Paul, he’s waiting for you down on the ground. He’s just spoken to your mum who can’t wait to see you. She’s really worried.’
‘I’m going to get told off.’ Tears slide down my face.
‘No, you aren’t,’ she says softly. ‘Your mum will just be really pleased to have you back safely.’
The police officer tells me her name is Clare and takes my rucksack whilst I climb down the ladder. The man called Paul helps me down the last few steps. Flint’s not around. I’ll have to wait until I see him tomorrow and ask where he went.
Clare says something to Tim about him going to the station with one of her friends and making a statement. The police would then find him a hostel. I wonder if that’s something Tim’s lost.
Tim gives me a quick hug. As usual he smells. I don’t mind. Never have. I thought he was my friend, but I’m on my own again. Apart from Flint.
‘Take care,’ he says. ‘Things will get better. Your life won’t always be like this.’
Clare and Paul take me home. Mum must have rung Ryan. He’s waiting in the hallway when I walk in. I stare at the floor, waiting for angry words. I say it was Flint’s fault. That he persuaded me to do it. I feel bad but I bet his mum’s so cool she won’t be cross.
Instead of telling me off, Mum’s crying and I can hardly understand what she’s saying. She gives me the tightest hug and tells me how much she loves me. She asks Ryan to make hot chocolate.
Ryan crouches on his knees and stares me straight in the face.
He’s been crying too.
I don’t know what to say.
He pulls off my woolly hat and says what a sensible girl I was to dress up warmly. He asks if I want a biscuit with my drink as a special treat. I nod.
Clare and I go into the lounge. There is another woman there from something called Social Services. I have to sit with her on my own for a minute. She asks me about the bruises. About Mum hitting me.
Apparently Tim thought I was making it up. Over the last two weeks, I’ve talked to him about Alice and he worked out it was her and her friends.
But for some reason the woman has to hear me say that it wasn’t Mum.
I do. She believes me. Not long after that, she leaves but we might have to meet again.
Secretly I’m glad to be home again. Mum ran me a bath using her fancy bubbles. I’m glad until she tucks me up in bed and says tomorrow we need to talk about Flint. And that she’ll be making an appointment with someone next week who will make me realise that Flint isn’t really a good friend at all.