AN: Erm yeah. Massive apologies, I have been completely awol for a wee while. The good news is that I should have the next few updates of this coming up in the not too distant future. At some point I might even get Things Left Unsaid and The Nightwatchman updated. Apologies for updating this one first, I know it won't be most people's first choice! I think it is continuing to be quite derivative, so apologies to Indie especially if I continue to plagarise any of her far superior work. Also, I have tried to keep this canon compliant, but I've not been watching much recently so if there are any massive discrepencies, that may well be why...

A quick note re the layout too, every couple of chapters or so there will be these brief interludes, back with Christian, all continuing timewise as a direct continuation from the prologue (which took place just before the Argee Bhajee roof collapse.) Interludes are fairly short and very unplotty, chapters are pretty long. Hopefully it will all make sense as you read!


Interlude #1

15a Turpin Road, Walford. Tuesday 5th April 2011.

I run and stumble into the bathroom, tripping over my feet and trying to grab the towel rail in a rather futile attempt to stay steady. I miss and end up sliding down instead, falling to the floor. Just before I hit the cold tiles however, I feel a strong arm curl round my waist and breaking my fall.

"Woah, easy tiger."

"I had it under control."

Christian snorts and merely tightens his arms around me as we sit on the floor, his breath hot against my neck, his voice low and laughing. "Yes, I can see that you required absolutely no help from me whatsoever."

"Exactly," I nod, my body moulding back into his. "I just wanted to make you feel useful."

"You're very kind."

"So I've heard."

"I can be even more useful if you want."

"Go on then, make yourself useful." And I leant cpmpletely back into him as he slid the zipper down and ran his hands inside my jeans, cupping me and then stroking me slowly, steadily, quietly.

My eyes fluttered shut and I let random thoughts fly silently through my mind. Relaxed and quiet, only his heavy breathing and my gasps to filter through. How it feels to lie in Christian's arms, how sitting uncomfortably on the bathroom floor can somehow still feel like a small piece of peaceful bliss, how weird it is that both me and my brother should find our perfect partners in the least likely places, how maybe Masood weddings are always destined to be strange and maybe it's best for Shabs that she stays out in Pakistan and doesn't get involved in one here herself, unless of course there is something that she hasn't told us either and may—

"Okay. You're thinking again."

Christian's voice startles me out of my daze, his hand ceasing its movement too.

I look up at him shamefaced. "Sorry. Carry on, please?"

He just laughs and presses a chaste kiss to my lips. "It's okay baby. Lots of stuff on your mind. Jump in the shower and talk to me about it. Before I start worrying that I've lost my skills."

I would never have guessed before living with him that one of my favourite places to talk to someone would be the shower. I was always leaping in and leaping out, trying to get washed as quickly as possible to avoid being too horrifically late after another accidental lie in. And while it hadn't taken long to get used to the longer, more thorough showers that Christian and I would indulge in, I hadn't anticipated just how much Christian would enjoy chatting in here too. Me in the shower, him sitting in the bathroom, cup of tea in hand, listening to me go on about my family or work or whatever, while he sits and drinks and listens and makes sympathetic noises and helpful suggestions (or sometimes 'helpful' ones that I usually pretend not to have heard. Even if it does mean I sometimes have to turn away to hide my bitten back smile). It is just another of the things that I didn't know I needed but can no longer imagine life without.

I let the water run till it hits just the right temperature and I can feel it warming me up slowly, edging inside from my goosebumped skin.

Over the hum of the shower and the patter of the water hitting the tiled floor, I hear Christian settle himself back down and take a long gulp of tea before starting to talk.

"So Sy, spill. What thoughts are currently occupying that pretty head of yours?"

"Okay, well. Don't get mad or anything…"

"Always a good start Sy."

"It's just…I feel bad for my mum."

"You what?" His voice raises several pitches, and it's at times like this I realise why the whole shower thing works. It's always that bit easier to say stuff that I know he doesn't want to hear when I can't actually see his face, and when the running water can mask the worst of his mumbled bitter asides.

"You know how much she wanted all this, for all of us to get married and to have the big weddings, for everyone to see. She wanted us to make her proud…"

The snort from outside the shower and the muffled curses are not lost in the haze of the shower but I continue anyway.

"I know what you think, but whatever way you look at it, she has ended up with me messing up what was supposed to be the perfect wedding, Shabs out in Pakistan, no-one knows when she is ever going to come back, Tam getting married on the sly…well none of it is what she planned is it?"

"Don't worry I'm sure she's already planning how to run Kamil's life for him. Listen to yourself Sy, I know she's still your mum, and I know you still love her and God, you know how much I love how forgiving and loving you are, but for fuck's sake, she's brought it all on herself. And maybe when she finds out about Tam she'll start to realise that."

I sigh and rub the water through my hair, it runs over me and down me and runs into my ears, temporarily blocking all sounds except the constant pulse thumping through my body and the echo of thoughts bouncing round my brain.

Christian is right of course, except that he is also wrong. Or maybe he isn't wrong, not exactly, but still missing vital parts of information that you need in order to see it the way I do. He tries, mostly by staying quiet when I know he wants to scream or by stroking my hair when I know he wants to punch the wall. But he doesn't get it and he can't get it, because he can't understand the words that come from both decades of Masood family life and countless centuries of history and past, and I am the world's worst interpreter.

Maybe it's my fault, maybe I shouldn't expect him to get it. Maybe I shouldn't hope that one day my family will accept me. Us. Maybe I am just wishing for the impossible again, wanting it all, not satisfied with what I've got. That's always been my problem, my irredeemable failing; wanting more, always wanting more. Maybe I just want too much. Maybe there is no maybe about it.

But she always said to aim high (and he said try not to disappoint us again), and it was always worth it, the late nights studying, all that seemingly endless toil, just to see that look of pride, hear the proud delight in her voice as she wrapped her warm arms around me, see I told you you could do it (and his quick silent nod, the absence of censure that could sometimes sound better than thousands of honeyed words of praise). And really, it's not so different from Christian's be the best you you can be spiel that he reels off to his new clients, as they stand sweating and aching under his expert gaze. Or from the quieter murmured words of encouragement that brush against my skin in the darkness, I believe in you Sy, you can do whatever you put your mind to.

They all encouraged me to hope, but they forgot that they cannot prevent what I hope for.