Page 1 of The Mismatch

Prologue

Brighton, 1999

Neda wondered whether other people noticed when their families fell apart or if, like her, it caught them by surprise. Time and time again, after everything they had been through, and just when she felt able to exhale, loosen her shoulders, a new problem would arise, the ground shifting beneath her once more.

Her daughter’s words echoed in her ears.

The cars ahead of her blurred into one. She pulled over to the side of the road, without indicating and without checking her mirrors, car tyres screeching in the process. They jolted forward when she slammed the brakes.

Laleh had spoken and there was no going back now.

‘How could this have happened?’ Neda said through gritted teeth.

‘I don’t …’ Laleh whispered before breathing out unsteadily, tears running down her face.

A bus honked at them for stopping in the bus lane.

‘You don’tknow?’ Neda’s tone was mocking.

‘Do you hate me?’

‘You’re a stupid, stupid girl.’ Her head was in her hands as she came to terms with her own worst childhood fear being realised by her daughter. The mood in the car shifted from hostile to fearful. ‘What do we do?’ Neda said to herself.

Laleh kept her head bowed while Neda turned and stared at her. She was ashamed of her daughter, of course, but that did not mean she wanted anything bad to happen to her. Thinking of how Hossein would react made Neda turn pale. What an Iranian man would do upon finding out his seventeen-year-old daughter had transgressed to such a degree …

‘How could you?’ Neda whispered. She gripped her daughter by the shoulders, fingernails digging into her flesh.

They were unaware of the cars still whizzing past them. Some drivers shouted profanities. It was all background noise. Inconsequential in comparison to what was to come.

Neda removed her hands from Laleh and folded them on top of each other in her lap.

‘What should I do?’ her daughter asked.

Neda had always provided her children with guidance, but how could she help Laleh now?

She made a promise to herself that she would do better for the others. But for her eldest daughter it was too late.

‘You must never tell your dad.’ Neda spoke sharply then softened her tone. ‘He would kill you.’

‘So what do I do?’

‘You have to leave.’

PART ONE

CHAPTER 1

Soraya

London, 2014

When people ask Soraya how many people she has slept with the number varies depending on her mood.

Ten.

Six.

Three.