Page 91 of The Mismatch

Neda sighed. ‘No, I don’t think he does.’

Ali paled, mouth agape at his sister’s truthfulness.

‘Why?’ Laleh asked.

Again, Ali looked from his niece to his sister, wondering if this was a normal exchange for them. Neda knew what he was thinking. He thought she was a bad mother. Even she thought she was a bad mother. How could she care for three children alone? She didn’t sign up for this. They were meant to be a family, a team. Not like this. She had thought the children would bond them, not push them further apart. She pinched her hand with her nails, to stop herself from sobbing.

‘Your mum is being silly,’ Ali said, his gaze on Neda. ‘Of course your dad wants to see your brother and sister. He’s just busy at work.’

‘When will he be back?’

Ali’s mouth was forming a reply when Laleh interrupted him, crying: ‘Daddy!’

Neda’s head whipped around to face the door. Hossein walked into the room with a grin on his face and a large bouquet of flowers in one hand. Laleh ran over to him and he lifted her up with the other arm, playfully throwing her over his shoulder and spinning her around. Her giggles filled the silence.

When he put her down, he messed up her hair and gave her the bouquet. ‘Go give these to Mummy,’ he stage whispered in her ear.

Laleh complied and Neda gave her a tight-lipped smile as she took the flowers. She noticed the price had been left on.

All she wanted was to be left alone.

‘Everything went OK?’ Hossein asked, walking over to the bed. Tension filled the air, threatening to stifle everyone.

Ali and Hossein stood next to each other. Hossein seemed to tower over the younger man and in that moment Neda felt sorry for her brother. He looked weak in comparison to Hossein. But what he lacked in physique he made up for in youth. At nineteen years old he couldn’t yet know enough about the world. Or perhaps he knew more than she gave him credit for – about the new Iran, different from the home she had left, and the way it had adapted to suit men better than it suited women.

‘Where were you?’ Ali hissed at Hossein.

‘At work,’ he replied, his face reddening.

‘Don’t lie, we know about you and thewhore.’ All of their conversations were in Farsi, meaning the hospital staff had no idea what was being said. Had they known, perhaps they would have asked the two men to leave, to give Neda the space she needed.

‘What did you say?’ Hossein was in Ali’s face now. Neda could feel herself shaking. She looked over to Laleh and her heart broke further.

‘Stop it,’ Neda said quietly. But she was ignored. She wondered why she was so quiet. Did she want what happened next? Perhaps not consciously, but subconsciously it was entirely possible.

‘You’re embarrassing my family, laughing at us. She’s my sister, have some respect. She just gave birth to two of your children. She’s too good for you. You’re a loser, Hossein, a fucking loser!’

‘Respect? You need to showmesome respect.’ And then Hossein’s fist connected with Ali’s nose. Blood came pouringout, dripping onto the floor and soaking Ali’s T-shirt. He held his nose whilst simultaneously drawing back his fist and punching the side of Hossein’s face. He was so quick, he caught his brother-in-law by surprise. Then they seemed to jump onto each other, with no regard for where they were or who would see. They were like wild cats scrapping, the kind she often saw in their garden in Tehran and Neda hated it. It was something she didn’t want to see: their hands held in front of them, flailing and scrabbling to land a further pathetic blow.

‘Stop! Stop! Stop!’ she yelled, to no avail. She threw her empty apple juice carton at them, but they took no notice.

She heard a tearing sound, saw Hossein had ripped Ali’s T-shirt, which caused her brother to knee him in the balls in retaliation. Hossein yelled out in pain, louder than Neda had when she had given birth to not one but two babies.

Laleh watched from the corner of the room, her Barbie doll clutched in one hand. Her expression was blank, though she backed away as far as she could from everyone.

A nurse came in, saw the scene in front of her and called for help.

‘Excuse me,’ she said sternly to Hossein and Ali. ‘Stop this right now.’

Neda’s midwife entered together with a male nurse. Hossein and Ali finally stopped fighting and stood up straight, as though they had done nothing. Their appearance betrayed them, their ripped, bloodied clothing an embarrassment.

Neda sank deeper into her bed at the sight.

The male nurse stood between them and called over to her, ‘Which one is the father?’

Something about the look on his face gave her the impression he thought they were fighting because they were both potential fathers, like this was a soap opera, not real life.

She pointed a shaky finger towards Hossein.