Page 80 of The Mismatch

Neda clasped her hands together. She looked up at the leafy branches and the way the sunlight filtered through them, the sky beyond so blue.

‘As long as you believe in Allah, it’s OK, there’s nothing to fear. Have faith and you will have no worries, azizam.’

He opened his mouth as if to argue then snapped it shut. ‘Of course, but it’s the great unknown, isn’t it?’

‘It’s not the unknown, not if you believe in Islam.’ She tried to make her words gentle, instead of a lecture. She wanted him to agree with her, reassure her that he did believe in Islam and Allah.

Hossein lay back on the grass, his hands behind his head.

‘Yes, of course,’ he said.

CHAPTER 37

Neda

Liverpool, 1982

‘I’m not happy here,’ Hossein said one evening, sitting on the end of the bed, twisting his hands together.

Neda had been putting night cream on her face in preparation for bed.

‘What?’

‘I’m not happy.’

‘In this flat?’ she asked. She knew what he meant but was hoping her pretence of ignorance would make what he’d said go away.

He sighed deeply before responding.

‘It was only meant to be for a year. A brief adventure, not our whole life.’

She walked around the bed and stood in front of him. ‘We agreed that after my PhD—’

‘Oh, come on, Neda, let’s be real. You don’t want to go back.’

So much had happened since they’d left Iran.

How does one country endure such change in four years? The Shah had been overthrown suddenly three years before. When they had heard the news Hossein and Neda had held a party, just the two of them, in their flat. Theybought a variety of nuts and the largest, freshest fruit, excited for the future.

They imagined an Iran in which the gap between rich and poor was no longer so stark, in which Neda’s family would struggle a little less. An Iran in which the possibilities were endless, rather than restricted to a select few. It was an unknown future, but one that promised to be better. Iranian people were finally being listened to; their demonstrations had made an impact.

However, the day after their celebration, questions were raised. Who would rule the country now? With the Shah exiled from Iran, what happened next? News from their country wasn’t documented in great detail on British television; Neda, Hossein and Mena were perpetually on edge, though their English life continued in the same way as before. It was an odd feeling, being away from home when everything there was changing. They heard that Ayatollah Khomeini had been invited back into the country and how eventually he became its leader, declaring Iran to be an Islamic Republic. How there were now hijab police; that every morning the people of Iran stood outside and chanted ‘Allahu Akbar, Khomeini Rahbar’ in harmony; that some of those who supported the Shah were taken away while others fled the country.

It physically hurt to be away from their families at such a time. That said, the place they once called home remained unchanged in their mind; so despite seeing on the news and hearing from family all that was going on there, they couldn’t fully envisage the new Iran that was being talkedabout. But that didn’t mean Neda didn’t want to return there.

‘Why would you say that?’ she asked.

‘You have something here – prospects. All I’ll ever be is a taxi driver or a shopworker. In England I’m nothing. I’m a loser.’

She sat next to him, took both his hands in hers. ‘Hossein, you’re not a loser.’

He pulled away, stood up and crossed the room to put distance between them.

‘I don’t want to limit you – you know that. But life here isn’t good for me. What am I meant to do?’

‘Wait. Wait for me to finish my PhD. There’s only a year and a half left.’

‘Neda, I know.I know.’