Page 68 of The Mismatch

The city was not quite what they had both expected. Of course, they had seen England in the movies, but Liverpool looked different, more industrial and in some areas run-down and dangerous. Neither of them said this to the other, fearfulthat voicing such opinions would shatter the shininess of this new chapter in their lives. Besides, Hossein’s excitement that John Lennon had once resided in Liverpool, and had drunk at the infamous Ye Cracke pub, managed to overshadow their doubts.

Neda had been so nervous about her first day in class: that she wouldn’t understand anyone, that she would be picked on by lecturers, that people would stare at her.

Her fears were unfounded for the most part. Despite her English being basic, the handouts helped and no one picked on her to answer questions. The teaching techniques in England, it seemed, were kinder.

She was right, however, about the staring. But it wasn’t just at her. She was among a handful of foreign students who had got in on scholarships, and they too were stared at. She wondered what made her stand out: was it her hijab, her skin colour, or both? And were they curious or resentful stares?

At the end of her last lecture, she expelled a deep, low sigh. Whilst her energy was almost depleted, she still went to the library to go over what she had been taught. There was a reason she had won a scholarship; Neda had to be top of her class, even if that class was in a foreign language.

Whilst in the lecture halls surrounded by foreign people she felt out of place, in the library Neda felt at home. She belonged. The musty, familiar smell of old books, the hushed tones and the studious quiet, this was what Neda loved. She found an empty table and spread the contents of her bag onto the surface, marking her territory, before going off in search of textbooks. Really, she needed to buy them, but they weretoo expensive. The bursary she was given by the university would be best used towards rent, until Hossein found a job. The only copies the library had left were for reference only.

She had been there for an hour when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Neda assumed she had done something wrong and prepared to apologise. But when she turned she saw a petite woman with a crooked nose and glistening white teeth, smiling brightly at her.

‘Sister,’ the woman said, ‘I just wanted to say hello.’

One look at her and Neda’s posture softened; she smiled back. ‘Salam,’ she said.

The woman sat down next to Neda, her large hazel eyes bright with interest. ‘It’s so rare to see a hijabi, I had to say hello.’ Despite having an Iranian accent, she spoke perfect English, each word crisp and deliberate.

‘Have you been here long?’ Neda asked in Farsi. ‘Sorry. My name is Neda.’

‘I moved here a month ago,’ the woman said, her smile fading momentarily. ‘I miss home, but I can’t complain.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m Mena.’

‘Did you come here with your husband?’

Mena laughed, covering her mouth just as she was given dark looks by people trying to study a few tables away. ‘Hell, no! I left Iran to get away from men,’ she stage whispered, reminding Neda of her friend Shanauz.

Neda chuckled softly. ‘Men are everywhere, you can’t escape them.’

‘Unfortunately …’ She looked down at Neda’s ring finger. ‘So, you have one then?’

‘I came here with my husband, yes.’ She clasped her hands together.

‘And he studies?’

Neda hesitated. ‘No.’

‘Oh, he got a job here?’ Up close Neda noticed the white spots on Mena’s teeth. It made her like the other woman more, realising she wasn’t quite perfect.

‘Yes … he’s working in a restaurant at the minute. But he hopes to find something else. It’s hard here, you know, but I’m sure once we’re settled he’ll find something that suits him better.’

‘Inshallah,’ Mena said.

‘Yes, Inshallah,’ Neda repeated.

And so began a blossoming friendship. They met in the library, often by chance.

Mena would bring various pieces of fruit with her, and Neda would bring a flask of coffee and two cups. She learnt that Mena’s family wanted her to marry, but she applied for scholarships abroad in secret and narrowly missed marrying a man twenty years her senior. Her family couldn’t stop their daughter from going; the bragging rights of having a child studying in England were too great.

‘The man I was meant to marry looked awful! His belly was like this!’ She indicated with her hand a large rounded stomach. ‘And he had huge teeth.’ She bared her own teeth and pulled faces.

Despite her loudness, which at times made Neda feel uncomfortable, Mena reminded her of home, and for that she was grateful. The dramatics of every conversation, everysituation being high stakes, was typical of the way her family and friends spoke back home. English people, Neda thought, seemed calmer, less interested in storytelling and complaining, or observing the minute details of life. They did things and moved on, instead of talking about things long past.

The pair went to English evening classes the university put on for foreign students. They took trips to the cinema and found themselves watching romantic comedies, horror movies, whatever was playing, to master the all-important language.

They recommended their favourite romance novels to each other, beginning an informal book club where they would discuss what they had read each week. It began a couple of months into their friendship when Mena gingerly slid a book across the library desk to Neda, cover face down. Mena had a look of glee on her face.

‘What is it?’ Neda said, turning it over. ‘Eh!’