Page 105 of The Mismatch

‘What’s going on?’ Parvin asked, conveniently appearing once the action was over.

Soraya said nothing, walking past her sister and down the stairs, Amir close behind.

What followed was bizarre. Her mum continued laughing until she was face to face with her husband, the whole family gathered uneasily together in the living room. Her dad had the television remote in his hand, but the TV was off.

‘Has she gone crazy?’ Parvin whispered to Amir.

He nodded his head, said, ‘I think so.’ He put his hand on his mum’s shoulder and she shrugged him off, continuing to cackle, louder this time.

‘Are you fucking mad? What’s wrong with you? Leave me alone!’ her dad said, his voice cracking.

Their mum blocked the door to the kitchen and the children stood by the door leading to the hallway. It was unintentional but Soraya appreciated the irony. For once, Hossein Nazari was the caged animal. He was cornered. And he didn’t like it.

No one ever liked it.

There were grimaces all around. And silence. It ran around the room. Deafening. Soraya almost wanted to cover her ears, like this was a horror movie and she couldn’t take the suspense. It was no wonder she was anxious all the time, she thought. How could a person be relaxed in a house whose occupants were always at war with each other, in which the husband and wife always involved their children in their arguments?

She had always felt jealous of schoolfriends whose parents had divorced, because at least then their house was finally quiet. Divorce sometimes affects children negatively, but sodoes a couple staying with each other when they are both unhappy.

Soraya hoped this was the last argument they would have. That this would be the final straw. If it was, she could endure the way her heart hurt now. But she doubted it.

She noticed her dad picking at his nails, how bitten they were, to the point where they looked painful.

‘I know about Laleh,’ Parvin said suddenly. ‘I know everything.’

CHAPTER 49

Neda

Brighton, 1999

She knew not to force the hijab onto her children. If she lived in Iran, it would be different, especially now it was compulsory for women to wear it. In England, she didn’t want them to suffer the same abuse she and Hossein experienced. She wanted them to fit in.

She often wondered if this was her first mistake with Laleh.

No. Her first mistake was letting the child witness her parents’ dysfunctional relationship.

Laleh, now seventeen years old, was a brash young woman, with a level of confidence Neda could remember once having herself. She frequently talked back to her mother, and with Hossein often drugged up and asleep – his various medications made him sleepy – she had to attempt to tame her wild daughter alone. She had to do that whilst making sure Hossein didn’t get wind of anything that was going on,andworking full-time as a lecturer,andlooking after her other three children.

In 1993 she had given birth to another daughter: Soraya. And it was Soraya she truly felt sorry for. Laleh, Parvin and Amir grew up with a father who at least tried to be sober, ina family that tried to be normal and happy. By the time Soraya was born all the fight had gone from Hossein. His methadone addiction was no longer a secret in the family, his will to work dead and gone. He was a zombie, who occasionally lost his temper; the man she loved a distant memory Neda still mourned.

Of all her children, Laleh was the one who most reminded Neda of herself as a child. Her intellect, her inquisitiveness, her nose always being stuck in a book, made Neda nostalgic for her own childhood. Despite all this, as soon as puberty hit and she entered high school, Laleh became moody, which was to be expected, then rejected reading, rejected anything of her former self.

It all began when Neda had found a love bite on her daughter’s neck.

She had come home from work and Laleh was in the kitchen, still in her school uniform, eating a chocolate bar. ‘Baby One More Time’ was playing on the radio. At first Neda noticed nothing, her brain distracted from her full day working at Sussex University. Lesson plans and conversations with anxious students occupied her thoughts, but when she looked at Laleh she noticed how her daughter ducked her head low, and how her hair covered most of her face.

‘What’s going on?’ Neda asked, slowly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re acting strange.’ Neda made her way over to Laleh until she was face to face with her. Then she saw it. Her daughter’s neck. She made a noise of disgust. ‘Laleh!What is this?’

‘I think it’s a rash—’

‘You think I’m stupid?’

Laleh sighed. ‘Mum, I don’t know what you think it is?’ She looked at Neda aghast. So much so that Neda began to wonder if she’d got it wrong. Was she projecting her own dirty thoughts onto her daughter?