Ayesha At Last(55)

Sister Jo shifted her weight to her other leg. “He seemed shocked by the news. I don’t think he knew about it at all. I must admit, his reaction concerned me. When my daughter asked us to help her look for a husband two years ago, I made sure she was comfortable with every introduction we arranged. After all, she was the one getting married, not me.” Sister Jo lowered her eyes, thinking. “Every family is different, of course.”

Nani remained silent at this diplomatic answer. “Did Khalid know who he was engaged to?”

Sister Jo shook her head. “Not at first, but Aliyah told him. I was so relieved to see him smiling. It makes me so happy to see the young people in our community settling down. I hope they will bring their children to the mosque one day.”

“Inshallah. Love is a powerful force,” Nani said.

Sister Jo reached down for her bag, and when she straightened up, her troubled expression was replaced with a smile. “Hafsa is your son Sulaiman’s daughter! Now your questions make sense. Brother Khalid is a kind and respectful young man.” She hesitated, choosing her words. “I would only be concerned about Sister Farzana. Some of the other women at the mosque are uncomfortable with her conservative beliefs.” Jo fixed the bike helmet to her head and smiled wryly. “At the party, Farzana held a halaqa study circle just before dinner. She talked about the importance of modesty. She made sure to mention that a pious Muslim woman should never ride a bicycle, as it draws too much attention to her legs.” Sister Jo sighed, her amusement replaced by worry. “Such rigid thinking has no place in our community, Laik.”

In the car ride home Nana asked, “How is your investigation progressing? Have you found a suspect yet?”

Nani shifted irritably. “Make fun if you like. Ayesha is heartbroken, and I fear Hafsa has made a mistake.”

“Jaan, sometimes it is better to let things work out on their own.”

Nani’s eyes softened as she looked at his lined, well-loved face. “Of course, Nasir,” she answered. “You are so right.”

Nana smiled. He knew that it was not in his wife’s nature to let matters rest, not until she was satisfied. “Laik, why did you not join the RCMP? They always get their man.”

Because this time I am after a woman. Laik closed her eyes and organized her thoughts.

After lunch, Nani told Nana she was going for a walk, and she left before he could offer to accompany her. She brought the cane she kept to nudge objects off the top shelf in the kitchen and set off in the direction of the park.

She slowed in front of a large house with a double-car garage and looked around; the coast was clear. Leaning heavily on her cane, she dragged her foot painfully, her face screwed up in feigned agony. She shuffled to the front of the house and rang the doorbell.

A few moments passed before the door opened. A woman in her early fifties, wearing an ugly orange cotton shalwar kameez, opened the door. She had a bright-purple scarf wrapped around her head, which clashed painfully with her clothes.

“Assalamu Alaikum, Farzana,” Nani said, making her voice sound old and querulous. “I am Hafsa’s Nani. Samira told us the good news about the engagement yesterday and I decided to visit you. I’m afraid the walk was too much for me.” She tried her best to look weak and helpless, and Farzana, after a moment’s hesitation, led Nani into the family room and offered her water or tea.

Nani requested tea because it would take longer to prepare. She was instantly on her feet and poking around when Farzana retreated to the kitchen to boil water.

The room looked as if it had been decorated by a toddler obsessed with primary colours—bright-blue curtains, a vibrant green carpet and a yellow blanket on the brown leather couch. There were no pictures on the walls, and the TV looked as if it was not used much; a stack of newspapers was piled in front of it.

Farzana returned with a small cup of tea, and Nani noted the absence of the usual cookies or snacks. She clearly wanted to give her no reason to dawdle.

“You have a lovely house,” Nani said, trying to sound breathless. She took a sip of the tea—it was weak and lukewarm. “Delicious chai,” she lied.

Farzana smiled at Nani, but her eyes weren’t friendly. “I’m surprised Samira didn’t accompany you. We need to finalize the guest list for the engagement party.”

Nani ignored her. “This is quite a large house for only you and your son. I heard your daughter lives in India. Does she visit often? I hope she will join us for the engagement on Sunday.”

Farzana flinched at the mention of her daughter. “Zareena is quite busy. I doubt she will be able to make it back for the ceremony. A girl belongs to her husband’s family after she marries. I’m sure you agree.”

Nani watched Farzana over the rim of her cup. Underneath her words and bluster, Farzana was clearly afraid. She masked it with anger, but the fear was just below the surface, and Nani pitied her for it.

“Every family has its own problems,” Nani said mildly. “I’m sure the issues with your daughter will resolve with time.”

Farzana gripped the arm of her chair and attempted to smile again. “There is no problem. Why would you say that?”

“Hafsa is very young,” Nani said, ignoring the question. “She has been sheltered from many things. I hope Khalid will make her happy.”

Farzana shook her head. “Your granddaughter comes from a good family, and girls should be married young, otherwise they become stubborn and set in their ways.”