Page 89 of The Mismatch

‘Salam,’ he said.

‘Salam. Have you seen Hossein?’

‘No.’ He was cutting up a kebab behind the counter before putting the strips of meat inside pitta bread. His bluntness didn’t surprise her; he never gave her much time, presumably because as a married woman she was not deemed worthy of his notice. He preferred to deliberate over which of his blonde cashiers he most wanted to fuck.

‘When did you last see him?’

‘He’syourhusband, why don’t you know where he is?’ asked Ziryan, still not looking up at her. He was too busy squeezing mayonnaise over the salad.

A sharp pain in Neda’s abdomen jolted her. She gritted her teeth; she didn’t have time for this.

She looked at his face, searching for answers. His dark goatee, something she hadn’t really noticed before, now irritated her. The sight of the facial hair above his lip made her want to put all the equipment in the takeaway into the sink with bleach on it, too. It shouldn’t be allowed, she thought with disgust, having facial hair when you worked in a kitchen. She looked at his hands and saw him add lettuce to another wrap with his bare fingers. She wasn’t sure if it was men in general who revolted her, but decided she couldn’t look at him or his hands anymore.

Laleh was getting restless next to her, attempting to sit down on the floor despite Neda’s strong grip on her arm. As the pain in her stomach came and went she tightened her hold, until Laleh moaned, wriggling away. ‘Sorry, azizam,’ Neda muttered, letting go.

Ziryan only then seemed to notice Laleh was with her. He flashed the child a grin. ‘Do you want a lollipop?’ Laleh perked up. He grabbed a box from under the counter. ‘Which flavour do you want?’

‘Strawberry!’

‘Laleh, what else do you say?’

‘Please. Thank you!’ She snatched the lollipop from the box, as though a one-second delay would deprive her of it.

‘Do you know where Hossein could be?’ Neda asked. She breathed heavily, silently praying that whatever was going on in her body, be it wind, the babies moving, or even contractions, would soon pass.

He looked at her then. His eyes were cold. ‘No, sister. He’s probably at home now, waiting for you and wondering where his dinner is.’

Neda walked back to the car, aware the man was lying to her but also aware there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t force him to tell her the truth. His loyalty lay with Hossein.

In this foreign country, who did she have on her side?

CHAPTER 41

Neda

Liverpool, 1986

Neda’s waters broke just as theCoronation Streettheme tune came on. She had begun watching it to understand the colloquialisms of the English language better, but continued for the drama each episode promised. She felt the water soak through her trousers and into their sofa. She almost laughed.Now, she thought,when my husband is missing and I’ve finally been given evidence that he’s cheating on me. Now! When he’s probably in bed withher.

She called Ali, and he answered on the fourth ring.

Her second labour was both easier and harder than her first. Parvin seemed to pop out, quite suddenly, with one big push.

She came out so quickly that the midwife almost didn’t catch her.

Amir was a struggle. Neda was so spent from giving birth to her second daughter that she didn’t think it possible to pass another life through her body.

‘Khar … come out,’ she said between gritted teeth. Her face was wet with tears. If Hossein had been there, she would have grabbed his hand. But he wasn’t, so she balled her hands into fists instead.

‘Come on, one big push,’ the midwife said from between her legs.

Neda thought about how much she’d like to push Hossein off the riverside and watch him drown, before giving that one last push.

Her palms were bloodied by the time Amir came out.

And then in turn Neda was given her babies to hold. She had somehow become a single mum of three children within the space of a day.

Later, her brother Ali arrived with Laleh in tow. Ali’s skin was pale; under the hospital lighting it looked almost sickly. He was often mistaken for an Englishman. Anyone else from Neda’s family would have been elated by that, but since he’d moved to England it only angered him. Despite enjoying aspects of the Western lifestyle, such as being free to have relations with numerous English girls, he prized his Iranian roots.