Page 95 of The Mismatch

They left the club at 6 a.m. and a group of them went back to John’s house, to watch movies and smoke weed.

When Oliver texted to ask if she was OK, she replied:

I’m fine.

CHAPTER 44

Neda

Liverpool, 1986

In the living room were two new additions: one brown and one cream cot. Inside the brown one was a blue fleece blanket, and in the other a baby-pink throw. Hossein had kitted out each cot with soft toys – which Neda wasn’t entirely sure was safe for newborns. As was his way, next to the cot were five packs of nappies – which would be too big for them – and two tubs of baby milk powder – which they couldn’t yet drink. It was at least better than when he had attempted to give Laleh cow’s milk straight from the bottle as a small baby. Neda’s lips twitched with annoyance all the same.

They had moved to a larger two-bedroomed flat when Neda was pregnant with Laleh. But as with all upgrades, it made another one seem inevitable. Neda wanted each of her children to have their own room, like English people often did.

As Neda struggled with carrying two babies and made her way further into the room, she saw Hossein had placed a stack of baby clothes on the sofa, the labels still attached, the prices displayed.

This was his way of apologising by attempting to impress her but instead it irritated her. The clothes were too expensiveand the babies would grow out of them in a week. Had he forgotten that? Or was it because he was never truly a part of the process with Laleh, conveniently working every night as soon as she was born, and then sleeping during the day, leaving Neda alone with their first newborn? He was a part-time father then, but at least he was loyal, not embarrassing or degrading her.

She had called Ali from the hospital, as promised, and he collected her and dropped her off home. He refused to come inside the house when he saw Hossein’s car outside, but agreed to look after Laleh whilst Neda settled the newborns in. Perhaps stubbornness ran in the family, because Neda had insisted only Ali could collect her from the hospital, and not Hossein. She had said she would rather walk the two and a half miles home with two babies in her arms and Laleh by her side than get in a car with her husband. Her cheating husband.

Seeing his wife struggle, Hossein rushed from the kitchen and took one of the babies from the carrier.

‘You’re home!’ He looked at the child in his arms. ‘Ah, little Amir,’ he cooed lovingly.

‘That’s Parvin,’ Neda said before putting the carrier on the floor.

He looked disappointed. ‘Of course, I got mixed up.’ Now he looked at Parvin as though she was an object to fear, holding her away from himself, his hands under her armpits. She began to cry.

Neda took her daughter from him, rocking her against her body. The crying soon stopped.

‘They need their mother,’ he said.

‘They need a father too.’

Hossein’s nostrils flared for a fraction of a second.

She held Parvin close. ‘Why are you making a fool out of me?’ she said, cooing the words. She knew – or hoped – that he wouldn’t do anything in front of the babies. Whilst he had never hit her, he had broken things when he was angry. She wondered if one day he would snap – he wouldn’t be the first man in her family to hit a woman. It was common back home for men to hit their wives, almost expected. That Hossein hadn’t done it so far was surprising. But hadn’t he done enough already?

‘What do you mean?’

‘Simran told me about that Englishwoman …’ Her words trailed off. Something about her husband was different. He was agitated, his face an unusual shade of red. She noticed the way his hands shook. ‘Are you OK?’

Tiny beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.

‘What’s going on?’ she said.

‘Nothing is going on,’ he said, moving away jerkily, reorganising the nappies, and taking teddies from carrier bags, placing them inside the cots. With each movement she became more and more aware of how unsteady he was. He wasn’t drunk; these weren’t the movements of a drunken man.

She began to recall his behaviour over the past few months. He had always been erratic, but this was different. This was the first time she’d truly looked at him in a very long time. She noticed how much weight he had lost, how he couldn’t stand still.

She put Parvin in one cot and checked on Amir, before going into the kitchen. She knew Hossein would follow.

He grabbed the ends of his hair and pulled, saying nothing.

‘What is going on with you?’ Neda asked, observing him. ‘Are you on the weed? Is that what this is? You’ve gone from drinking alcohol to smoking hashish?’

He gulped, stuttering, ‘No, obviously not.’ He turned away from her so he was in profile, fingering a crisp bag he had left on the countertop, folding it in half before attempting to rip it, but struggling.