Page 106 of The Mismatch

The sound of Hossein’s heavy footsteps on the stairs silenced them.

‘What’s for dinner?’ he asked, coming into the kitchen whilst scratching his bottom. Laleh rolled her eyes and jumped up to stir a large pot simmering on the hob.

‘I’m making spaghetti,’ she said.

He made a noise of disapproval. ‘I want rice,’ he said, walking into the living room.

Despite what had just gone on between them, Neda still felt a pang in her heart on seeing the way Laleh’s face clouded over with disappointment at her father’s dismissive words. And maybe also, in a strange’ twisted way, at his failure to notice the love bite on her neck. Laleh was invisible to Hossein.

‘I’m just saying, Laleh dear,’ Neda said to her later, when Hossein was busy watching television and the younger children were asleep, ‘be careful, bedecent, and remember you’re a Muslim. Allah is watching you.’

Laleh rolled her eyes. ‘Sure, Mum.’

CHAPTER 50

Neda

Brighton, 1999

Weeks passed in a similar vein, except Laleh had no more love bites. She would occasionally stay out late, but overall she was quieter and more subdued, as though she had finally absorbed Neda’s advice, recognised that her mother wasn’t stupid, that she knew what teenagers got up to.

Neda decided she and Laleh needed some quality time together. So, they went shopping.

In the car Laleh was anxious. She bit her nails whilst her mother was talking.

‘What’s the matter?’ Neda asked.

Laleh jolted upright and stared straight ahead at the car in front. Neda sighed.

‘Is it about that boy?’

‘What boy?’ Laleh asked, her voice pitched too high.

They were in traffic now, and Neda put the car in neutral. She turned the music down. It was a difficult position to be in. She didn’t want to be too harsh and push Laleh away, but she didn’t want to be too gentle and thereby allow her daughter to do haram acts. Where was the balance?

‘The boy who gave you the mark on your neck.’

‘Can you drop it?’ Laleh snapped.

Neda let out a breath and opened the window. The heat inside the car was stifling, combined with the moody energy Laleh was transmitting; some fresh air was more than necessary.

Despite Laleh’s words, Neda got the sense that she wanted to say something. Wanted her mother to push her one last time. How she knew this, she could never describe. Perhaps it was a mother’s intuition but she had a feeling the girl was saying one thing while meaning something else.

‘Are you sure? You know you can tell me anything.’

‘Fine, I’m …’ Laleh stopped talking. She made a choking sound; similar to the first time she realised she had a nut allergy.

‘Are you OK? Tell me,’ Neda said, softly. The softness would soon turn. She clicked her indicator to the left. ‘You’ve been acting strange for a few weeks now, what’s the matter?’

Still Laleh said nothing.

The radio broke the silence with the presenter cackling at a joke. Despite the gravity of this moment, the sun was shining brightly. The hottest day of the year, the presenter proclaimed.

‘Did you fall out with one of your friends?’ Neda asked.

‘It’s nothing.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Laleh.’ They stopped at a red light, which gave Neda the opportunity to study her daughter more closely, as though doing that would give her the answer. And perhaps it would have if only she had understood what she should be looking for.