Chapter 2

"Where have you been?" demands Zainab and Amira in unison as soon as Syed walks in the door.

He walks straight past them and up the stairs. He locks the door to his and Amira's bedroom and doesn't come out until the next morning. Amira has to sleep on the couch.

For the next couple of weeks, Syed works from early morning until late at night in the MQ. He manages to get a few hours sleep each night because he's exhausted, and he eats when someone reminds him to. He has given up all pretence of being a loving husband to Amira. If she tries to touch him he pulls away, giving no reason, making no excuses. Whenever Zainab starts ranting at him, or even tries to talk to him reasonably, he just walks away.

During one of their one-sided arguments, Amira tells him bluntly that she found out a couple of days earlier she isn't pregnant; and she coldly informs him she is going back on the pill. Syed doesn't comment, he knows it doesn't matter now, he can't even bear the thought of it now. And he's no longer under the illusion that a baby will fix everything. He doesn't have the answers anymore. He doesn't know what to do anymore. When he got married, he really thought he would be able to be a proper husband to Amira. He didn't expect to find it so difficult to have sex with her, or that as time passed it wouldn't get any easier. He thought Amira was a nice and suitable girl, he wanted kids, and he wanted to be a good Muslim; and that was as far as his thinking went before the wedding. He didn't bargain on his emotions getting in the way and ruining everything.


One night, when Syed arrives home, Masood is waiting for him.

"Somebody's working very hard," he says by way of greeting.

"Hi dad," says Syed in a tired voice, as he goes to walk past him towards the stairs.

"Wait a minute," he replies, "I think maybe we need to have a little chat."

"I'm tired, maybe tomorrow," Syed suggests, as he carries on walking.

"Hang on," orders Masood firmly, catching his arm and halting his escape, "this can't wait."

"Talk to me, tell me what's going on inside that head of yours," he demands, once he has closed the sitting room door behind them and turned to face Syed.

Syed doesn't speak.

"Syed, whatever it is, we can talk about it. You and I have had our ups and downs, but there is nothing you can't talk to me about. I promise I won't (over) react the way your mother would," he teasingly cajoles.

"Why didn't you thank Christian for everything he did when mum was in labour with Kamil?" Syed asks abruptly.

"What?" asks Masood surprised. "Did we not thank him? I'm sure we did," he tries to think back to that magical day. "There was so much going on … maybe we forgot. I'll speak to him about it tomorrow, definitely. Did he mention something? I hope he isn't annoyed with us. I've always really liked Christian, and I wouldn't want any bad feeling."

But that's not what's bothering you, is it?" he guesses. "Please tell me." And when Syed still doesn't answer, "I'm not blind, you know. I did notice that you and Amira haven't always been happy since you got married; but this last couple of weeks you've just shut down completely, not speaking to anyone unless it's about work or to answer a direct question (and not always then). Did something specific happen to upset you?"

No response.

"Is it something to do with Amira?"

Silence.

"Marriage can be difficult at the best of times, Syed. And I know it can't be easy living with your parents, the lack of privacy. Maybe we could try to give you more time alone together, we can work something out."

Syed bites his bottom lip and looks towards the door, but makes no response.

Anger and suspicion hardening his voice, Masood continues, "I've heard your mum kicking off at you more than once recently, but she won't tell me why she's giving you such a hard time. And I walked in yesterday to find Amira in tears being comforted by her. Have you done something I should know about, Syed? Something illegal maybe, to do with money?"

"No, dad, I've learned my lesson on that score," Syed finally speaks, stung by the accusation. "I've got no money and I've not tried to come up with any. You get most of my pay each week, and all that's left over goes on food and any bits and pieces Amira and I need."

"Then can I ask you a more personal question?" asks Masood carefully. "Have you cheated on Amira?"

Syed doesn't respond, but he can no longer meet his father's eyes.

"Syed, answer me," he warns, his mood darkening.

"I'm going to bed," says Syed nervously. Trying to project a confidence he doesn't feel, he starts to walk towards the door.

"You idiot," snaps Masood furiously, moving nearer to the door so that he's blocking his way. "How could you be so stupid?" he accuses, his voice rising. "She's a lovely girl, and she doesn't deserve this. It's only recently you were talking about having a baby."

"Get out of my way, please," begs Syed. He doesn't bother to try to correct his father's assumption, he doesn't have the energy to care. He once again tries to get to the door.

"Who did you cheat with?" demands Masood, not moving.

"I haven't cheated on Amira since we got married," Syed admits wearily, unable to take anymore. He feels more tired than he has ever felt in his life. "Please let me pass," he pleads, putting his hand out to try to force his way past Masood.

"Who did you cheat with before you got married?" asks Masood slowly, pronouncing each word clearly, his voice now dangerously quiet; he slaps Syed's hand away. "The only girls I've seen you getting friendly with since you returned are Parveen and Janine Butcher. Have you and Janine ...?"

"No," replies Syed quickly, but he is suddenly aware that he has said too much.

"Then who?" shouts Masood, losing patients. He grabs Syed by the shoulders and shakes him. "Tell me," he demands furiously.

"I'm sorry, dad," Syed whispers helplessly.

Masood sighs heavily and, letting go of his shoulders, says a little more calmly, "Please Syed, tell me what's been going on." He puts his hand under Syed's chin, lifting his face so that he can see his expression. He has never seen him look so unhappy.

"Syed, whatever it is, whoever it is, you can tell me. I'll be angry, but it'll pass – isn't it better to get it out in the open?"

Syed's eyes fill with tears, and Masood puts his arms around him and hugs him tightly.

After a few minutes, Syed pulls back, wiping away his tears.

"You know, no matter what happens, I'll always love you, I'll always be your dad," Masood says gently.

"If I told you, you'd hate me, you'd throw me out again, you'd never speak to me again," replies Syed sadly.

"How bad can it be?" asks Masood, smiling encouragingly at his troubled son. "Maybe it's not as bad as you think."

"You know, I learned a tough lesson after I forced you out last time," he admits. It wasn't just your mother who was miserable and missing you. The only thing that kept me going those four long years was that you were keeping in touch with Tam, and he was able to reassure us that you were all right. I could never go through that again, so no matter what you've done, you're going nowhere, I promise you."

"You haven't killed anyone, have you?" he adds teasingly.

"No, it's worse than that," replies Syed bleakly.

"Is she married, this woman who's got you under her spell?" asks Masood after a few minutes silence. "Does she live around here?"

No response.

"Can you really not live without her?" he gently persists.

"I've never felt like this before," Syed finally whispers softly. "I thought I could control it, but I can't. I don't know what to do, it's eating away at me," he sobs, covering his face with his hands; his shoulders shaking with the force of his pain and torment.

Masood hugs him once more, this time fighting back his own tears. He's never seen his son so broken, and it upsets him so much.

"I thought that if we could be friends, and see each other and talk every day, then I could cope," Syed says mournfully, "but now he's leaving, and …"

"He?" asks Masood.

Syed freezes, his breath catching in his throat. He jerks out of Masood's embrace, his face a mixture of horror and fear, and backs away from him until he is up against the cupboard on the other side of the room. He tries to speak, but can't get the words out.

"'He', Syed?" repeats Masood, stunned.

Syed frantically looks around for a way to escape, but there isn't one.

As Masood takes a step towards him, his legs give way and he slides down until he is on the floor. Hugging his knees to him, he bows his head, trying to make himself as small as possible. "Please, please don't hurt me," he begs hoarsely. "I can't stop it, I love him, I can't control how I feel, I've tried so hard," he cries desperately.

Seeing how terrified he is, Masood stops a few feet from him, looking down at him for a moment, his face frozen in shock; he then turns and walks out.

He returns a few minutes later with a cup of strong coffee. Syed is exactly as he left him.

He takes his arm gently and helps him up, leading him, on legs that are not quite steady, over to the couch. "If there was ever a time for alcohol, it's this, but all I can give you is coffee, I'm afraid," he says, handing him the drink. "Being gay is one thing, but drinking alcohol …"

Syed takes the cup in both hands.

"Is it Christian?" Masood asks, after a few minutes silence.

Syed almost drops the cup, but says nothing, keeping his head down and his eyes to the floor. The blush which rises in his cheeks gives Masood his answer.

"You're being very calm about this," Syed eventually manages to say hoarsely. "Mum once said there were no gay people in Pakistan."

"Ah, but did she tell you about the UK Postal Service?" Masood asks blandly.

"Really?" asks Syed, looking up at him in surprise, but Masood just smiles teasingly.

They sit quietly for a little while, both lost in their own thoughts.

How long has it being going on?" Masood finally asks, now getting serious.

"Since last June," Syed replies nervously.

"Before you got engaged to Amira?"

"Yes."

"Yet, you went ahead with it," he says sharply. "You lied to her, telling her you loved her when you knew you never could. Even though you knew what it could do to her reputation if your relationship failed, you went ahead and married her," he points out, his anger increasing the more he thinks about everything, his fists clinching.

"I'm sorry," begs Syed, "I thought I could push my feelings down deep inside me. I did, I do care about Amira, and I thought that once we had children I would be okay. I really believed I could make the marriage work, and that her reputation would be safe, that no-one would ever know," he concludes desperately.

"Why not just stay single?" asks Masood in frustration. "I know your mother was putting pressure on you to find a girl, but you have a voice, you could have said no."

"I thought that if I was committed to Amira ..." he murmurs awkwardly looking away, "if we were together and it was official ..."

"That you'd be safe from temptation, safe from yourself," Masood finishes for him, finally understanding the whole sorry mess.

"Do you hate me?" Syed asks brokenly.

"Of course I don't hate you," says Masood firmly. "It's going to take a bit of time for me to get my head around this, I won't lie to you; but you're a grown man, and I wouldn't dare presume to tell you how to live your life; as long as you aren't hurting anyone," he adds pointedly. "And I know very well that you can't help who you fall in love with. If you've been struggling with this since last June, then it's obviously very serious."

"It is," Syed says quietly, but firmly.

"I am, however, angry about the way you've handled things," Masood insists sharply. "I know you've struggled, and you thought you were doing everything for the best, but the way you've treated Amira is despicable."

"You don't always make very good decisions when you're cornered, do you?" he sighs. "You made a lot of choices without speaking to anyone, without getting any advice."

"I spoke to the Imam back in October," Syed admits. "I asked him if I could be gay and still be a good Muslim, and he told me that Allah created men for women, that it's the natural state, and that I would bring shame on you if I admitted I was gay. He advised me to stay with Amira."

"Allah knows a lot more, and has seen a lot more, than the Imam, and he is probably a lot more broadminded," assures Masood wisely. "Personally, I'd be more worried about your mother finding out, but that doesn't mean we can let things continue the way they are. You have to speak to her and to Amira first thing tomorrow, and tell them what you've told me. You don't need me to tell you that it's a pretty safe bet your mother, maybe even more than Amira, will give you hell; but you have no choice, this situation cannot be allowed to continue even for one more day. "

"Mum knows."

"What?"

"Christian told her."

"When?"

"The day of the wedding."

"Before or after?"

"Before."

"And she didn't stop it, come to me, tell me what was going on?"

"She thought it was best to go ahead with it, she was trying to protect me, us, our reputation.

Dad? Dad, where are you going? Dad please, please don't do anything rash."

But it's too late, Masood is already halfway up the stairs before Syed has finished the sentence.

"Zee, Zee," he shouts, barging into their bedroom.

"What, what is it?" mumbles Zainab as she struggles to wake up. "Lower your voice, you'll wake Kamil," she says sharply a moment before the baby starts to cry.

"Now look what you've done," she cries getting up out of the bed. "I'll never get him back to sleep."

"You knew that our son was gay and you didn't tell me?" growls Masood angrily.

"Oh," replies Zainab faintly, her face draining of colour.

"Tamwar's gay?" asks a surprised Amira, coming out of hers and Syed's bedroom on her way to the bathroom.