Page 116 of The Mismatch

So after an hour of browsing she suggested going to the cafe where she bought Soraya a large hot chocolate, insisting on adding whipped cream.

‘You look unwell,’ she told her daughter. ‘Is it because of what happened with your dad and Laleh?’

‘No, it’s nothing, I’m fine,’ Soraya said, eating some of the whipped cream with her forefinger. Neda wished she would use the teaspoon instead, but thought better of saying so.

Neda’s gaze was steely. ‘Oh, come on. You’re so skinny now – what’s going on?’

Around them were various groups of elderly people. No one Soraya’s age. Neda saw the way she looked around, noted this fact, the way her face looked ever more sad. Something in her daughter’s expression reminded her of Hossein’s when they first moved to England, when he first told her he felt he didn’t belong, that he felt like a loser.

‘It’s nothing to do with Dad or Laleh.’

Neda sighed. She searched for something to say, something to help, but struggled. She always seemed to struggle to help her family and she was sick of it.

‘He is sorry, you know,’ she said finally.

Soraya’s head shot up. ‘What?’

‘I know I always talk badly about him and …’ Here Neda paused, the words stuck in her throat. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What do you mean?’ Soraya’s brows were furrowed.

Neda noticed the nail of her daughter’s forefinger digging into her thumb, and the raw pink skin there. She almost grabbed Soraya’s hand, wanting to force her to stop, but that kind of parenting hadn’t helped her children in the past.

She made herself lean back in her chair.

‘I’ve been going to counselling,’ Neda said. ‘And I’ve held on to a lot. I’ve always thought it’s better to keep things in, but secrets are no good. They just wear you down. And when I spoke about you … about how much you dislike your dad, how anxious you are, how you think no one notices when you pull at the skin around your nails … well, I realised I needed to say to you, I’m sorry.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Soraya put her hands between her legs and squeezed them together.

‘I’ve always come to you children to complain about your father. Amir and Parvin always ignore me. But you’re my little girl. You’re the only one who listens to me.’ Her face softened. ‘I didn’t think what that would do to you.’

She noticed Soraya becoming tearful then, avoiding eye contact.

‘Your dad loves you. I know you don’t believe it, but he does. He does bad things but he … he doesn’t even realise what he’s doing. The day after he hit us those months ago, I heard him crying in the living room. He thought no one could hear.’

‘But he still hit us! He’s not—’

‘He’s not perfect, and I don’tlikehim. But it’s not that simple. He’s depressed, he always has been. I just ignored it.’

‘Everyone always forgets things, always pretends bad behaviour is OK if it’s in the past. But it’s not. It’s not.’

Soraya wiped her tears away quickly. The elderly white people around them probably thought they were highly dysfunctional, Neda thought, crying in the M&S cafe in the middle of the afternoon. Maybe they were.

‘In Islam we’re taught to forgive. That’s something I struggle with, but I’m working on it.’

‘What about Laleh?’

‘We have to make things right, not focus on the past. I feel sick when I think of all the lost time, how much she must have needed us …’ She took a deep breath. ‘Laleh has agreed to visit us, whilst your dad’s away, with Zara and her boyfriend.’ Neda tried to keep her face neutral when she said the last word, but her nose wrinkled almost reflexively.

‘You’re OK with meeting her boyfriend?’

‘What can I do? I’ve tried but you children do whatever you want.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe they’ll get married. They have been together fifteen years, it’s about time.’

‘Maybe,’ Soraya said quietly.

‘I wish you and Parvin would make up.’

‘We’ve not fallen out.’