Page 67 of The Mismatch

He went down the stairs, pushing Parvin out of the way. And he was right about one thing: Parvin was more obedient. She let herself be shoved aside without protest, something Soraya would never allow. Something in her always wanted to have the last word with her dad, wanted somehow to bring justice home. But instead more chaos ensued, and her mum was caught in the crossfire.

‘I hate him,’ Soraya whispered. Her voice was strangled. She barely recognised it as her own.

‘What happened?’ Parvin asked, rushing to her mum’s side.

‘Zainab saw a picture of Soraya on a boy’s Instagram. There was alcohol too.’ Her mum turned to Soraya. ‘What is all of this?’

‘It’s not what you think—’

‘It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, just stop it. Your cousins in Iran are nosy and they gossip. Don’t give them anything to gossip about. You don’t want to end up like your sister.’ Her mum rarely said Laleh’s name. It shocked Soraya that her dad had named her.

‘Why won’t you just leave him?’ Soraya wailed.

‘And where would he go? He’s adruggie, Soraya. He could never survive on his own. And at the end of the day, he’s yourdad.’ Her mum shook her head and breathed in deeply. ‘You know you shouldn’t be hanging around with boys, you’re Muslim.’

As well as her mum’s, Soraya could also feel Parvin’s eyes on her. It was as though she was judging her, not for what she did, but for how careless she had been.

She had been too reckless, pretending to be a normal girl with a normal boyfriend. That wasn’t her, so why had she tried to live like that? Why had she let Magnus post a picture of her online? Why didn’t she just tell him to delete it when she saw it?

‘Soraya, listen to me. No more messing around with this boy, do you hear me? I know you live in London now, but remember Allah. Remember you’re a good Muslim. No more of this, please.’

Looking into her mum’s tear-stained face, Soraya nodded once. Her actions had consequences. They inadvertently harmed those she loved. No good would come from being with Magnus.

They weren’t like English families who could go months without talking to each other; the Nazari family were close-knit, just like most Iranian families. It was part of their culture. To cut her dad out of her life would mean cutting her mum out too. And that was unthinkable. Her dad was wrong about one thing, though. Soraya wasn’t exactly like Laleh; that wasn’t something she could do. Perhaps she was too weak, but she loved her family, and she would never leave them.

Soraya’s heart ached with the knowledge that they were stuck with this drain of a man until death intervened – theirs or his. And she was so tired of it.

So, so tired.

PART TWO

CHAPTER 32

Neda

Liverpool, 1978

In the time Neda had been married to Hossein she noted three things about him:

He was always worried about something. Since moving to England his once perfectly manicured nails had been reduced to stubs. It looked painful, and yet when they watched television she noticed him biting them, again and again.

He would go weeks without calling his mother or sisters whereas Neda called her family every other day. It made her wonder about his character, especially when his mother would then ring Neda’s mother to find out how they were.

He was not a practising Muslim. He slowly stopped praying whilst they were in Liverpool, and when questioned would say, ‘My relationship with Allah is between me and Allah.’

She knew his dad had been religious, and slowly began to realise Hossein chose her, one of four hijabis at the university,because it would have made his father happy. That wasn’t the only reason, but she was sure it was one.

Still, she had questions. But she couldn’t broach them, because to do so would incite conflict, and Neda knew it was best to avoid such situations. Especially now they were in a foreign country away from family.

**

Neda enjoyed the breeze, the way the cool air brushed against her face. It was the beginning of autumn, the days still fairly warm, the leaves beginning to fall. All around was excitement at the changing season.

They had arrived with one suitcase each, a rolled Persian carpet and an abundance of pistachios. They had rented out their flat in Tehran to a newly married couple.

Hossein used a substantial amount of his savings and inheritance to pay for their plane tickets and a deposit on a flat in England.

‘It’s an investment in our future,’ he had said simply, as though nothing worried him. She wondered if this was truly his personality or a front he put on for her benefit. Either way, it put her at ease. In this way they were well matched; she was anxious enough for both of them, always planning ahead, whereas he shrugged off any hiccup in their new life.