over as head of the family, and Tariq had changed, although admittedly he had been forced to. He’d gone from a protective loving brother to a chastising angry one, who each morning scolded her over the breakfast table or when he came home from work at night. It was almost as if he was playing a role. A role their uncle had given him; one which didn’t really fit. At times Tariq seemed cruel, harsh, but Laila knew that wasn’t who he really was, but what their uncle expected of him.
The pressure to be a manwhen he was only a boy had taken its toll on Tariq. Like her, he’d been expected to take on a different role overnight. A role no one had warned them about when their father had still been alive.
When he’d been alive they’d talked, dreamt and loved one another. But their uncle had put a stop to that before their father had even been cold in the ground. Now she barely said a word to her mother or Tariq, and neither did they to her. And even though she knew hatred was against all her teachings, Laila struggled not to hate her uncle with a vengeance.
Tariq had been good at so many things when he’d been younger; he’d been especially good at football. Their father had often told Tariq he was certain he’d be the first Pakistani goalkeeper playing for England.
But only a month after the funeral, Tariq had come home from school, walked into the garden and set his football kit on fire. Their uncle had stood a few feet behind Tariq patting him on the back as the flames leapt into the air.
She’d looked at Tariq from the kitchen door, watching in puzzlement before her brother had turned to her angrily, answering a question she hadn’t asked but only thought.
‘There’s no point in having it Laila. There’s no time for playing; that’s what boys do.’
‘But Tariq …’
Mahmood had jumped in then. ‘Enough Laila. When will you learn it’s not our place and certainly not your place to question what we’re called to do? Your brother’s made up his mind.’
‘You mean you’ve made up his mind for him? You haven’t even bothered to see him play. Have you ever thought he could’ve been called to do that? A gift he was blessed with, uncle?’ That day was the first time Laila’s uncle had hit her.
Tariq stopped playing football. Stopped playing sport and even stopped making an effort at school, leaving with no qualifications but stepping straight into a job within their uncle’s business. Laila tried to talk to her brother about it, but he refused to talk to her and shut her out of his life.
She was certain if their father was alive Tariq wouldn’t have chosen the path he was now on. He seemed to be trying to convince not only his uncle but himself that his life was what he wanted it to be. And with it, the Tariq who’d once loved her, kindly teasing her as he pulled on her pigtails as they walked to school, had disappeared, along with his burning football kit.
9
Arnold drove steadily to the hospital. There was a sense of urgency to get there but a stronger sense of not wanting to break the thirty mile per hour limit speed. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, or perish the thought, kill somebody by driving too fast. He’d never been one to break rules even as a boy. Especially as a boy. His father had made sure of that.
1973
Northumberland
‘Arnold! Arnold, come here.’ His father’s voice echoed round the large hallway and Arnold shivered. Even though he’d just turned eleven he still never knew if his father was cross or happy when he called him. The tone was always the same; low, soft and devoid of any emotions which might give away his true feelings.
Coming down the stairs, Arnold made sure his shirt was without creases and his tie was straight; his father liked that, liked him looking smart, looking better than the other boys.
‘Now son, I want you to take your sister out, it’s not good for you to be cooped up in here all day. When I was a boy, the holidays meant adventure, not
The pressure to be a manwhen he was only a boy had taken its toll on Tariq. Like her, he’d been expected to take on a different role overnight. A role no one had warned them about when their father had still been alive.
When he’d been alive they’d talked, dreamt and loved one another. But their uncle had put a stop to that before their father had even been cold in the ground. Now she barely said a word to her mother or Tariq, and neither did they to her. And even though she knew hatred was against all her teachings, Laila struggled not to hate her uncle with a vengeance.
Tariq had been good at so many things when he’d been younger; he’d been especially good at football. Their father had often told Tariq he was certain he’d be the first Pakistani goalkeeper playing for England.
But only a month after the funeral, Tariq had come home from school, walked into the garden and set his football kit on fire. Their uncle had stood a few feet behind Tariq patting him on the back as the flames leapt into the air.
She’d looked at Tariq from the kitchen door, watching in puzzlement before her brother had turned to her angrily, answering a question she hadn’t asked but only thought.
‘There’s no point in having it Laila. There’s no time for playing; that’s what boys do.’
‘But Tariq …’
Mahmood had jumped in then. ‘Enough Laila. When will you learn it’s not our place and certainly not your place to question what we’re called to do? Your brother’s made up his mind.’
‘You mean you’ve made up his mind for him? You haven’t even bothered to see him play. Have you ever thought he could’ve been called to do that? A gift he was blessed with, uncle?’ That day was the first time Laila’s uncle had hit her.
Tariq stopped playing football. Stopped playing sport and even stopped making an effort at school, leaving with no qualifications but stepping straight into a job within their uncle’s business. Laila tried to talk to her brother about it, but he refused to talk to her and shut her out of his life.
She was certain if their father was alive Tariq wouldn’t have chosen the path he was now on. He seemed to be trying to convince not only his uncle but himself that his life was what he wanted it to be. And with it, the Tariq who’d once loved her, kindly teasing her as he pulled on her pigtails as they walked to school, had disappeared, along with his burning football kit.
9
Arnold drove steadily to the hospital. There was a sense of urgency to get there but a stronger sense of not wanting to break the thirty mile per hour limit speed. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, or perish the thought, kill somebody by driving too fast. He’d never been one to break rules even as a boy. Especially as a boy. His father had made sure of that.
1973
Northumberland
‘Arnold! Arnold, come here.’ His father’s voice echoed round the large hallway and Arnold shivered. Even though he’d just turned eleven he still never knew if his father was cross or happy when he called him. The tone was always the same; low, soft and devoid of any emotions which might give away his true feelings.
Coming down the stairs, Arnold made sure his shirt was without creases and his tie was straight; his father liked that, liked him looking smart, looking better than the other boys.
‘Now son, I want you to take your sister out, it’s not good for you to be cooped up in here all day. When I was a boy, the holidays meant adventure, not
Similar Books
