Chapter 7
After the kitchen door closes behind them, Masood turns to Afia. "Let's go into the sitting room," he calmly suggests.
Once they are seated on the couch, with Tamwar next to Afia holding her hand, he begins.
"Afia, it's important that you tell us exactly what happened from your first contact with Nazir. Please don't leave anything out."
"He got in touch a few weeks after dad died," she begins, her voice slightly hoarse. "He told me he was my half-brother."
"How did you know he was telling the truth?" Tamwar asks.
"He knew all about dad's family; he had photos of my grandparents. He is the image of dad when he was in his teens; I've seen old photos."
"Of course, you're right. When I first met Nazir, I had a feeling I'd seen him somewhere before ..." Masood trails off. "You met up with him?"
"We met once, he wasn't particularly interested in getting to know me; all he wanted to talk about was the fire and everything that went on beforehand."
What did he tell you about himself?"
"He told me that my ... our dad met his mum a few months after you and Zainab ran off together."
"Yusuf told him about what happened back then?" Masood asks, surprised.
"There was a fire, Zainab was almost burned to death, she left with you. Don't you think the whole village was talking about it? Nazir's mother, uncle, aunt, kids in the playground; just about anyone could have told him about what happened back then," Afia snaps irritability.
"Of course, he murmurs.
"For the first few years of his life, Nazir believed his aunt and her husband were his parents. When he was five years old, my father returned from England and wanted to meet him. He was told the truth about his parentage, and his biological mother took him to live to Kara*chi. As he grew up, Nazir saw our father only every couple of months. It was explained to him that dad had to travel to England to work and could only get home for the odd week."
"Your father led a double life?"
"Yes," Afia huskily confirms.
"Did he marry Nazir's mother?" Masood can't hide his curiosity.
"They were married in 1989?"
"So, ..."
"He married my mother in 1986," she sharply clarifies. "I was a year old when he returned to Pakist*an to meet Nazir and marry his mum. My mum and I, we obviously weren't enough for him." Afia wipes away a tear, and Tamwar puts his arm around her shoulder.
"There was only one thing about your father that I ever found to be sincere, and that was his love for you," Masood gently assures.
Afia manages a weak but grateful smile. "When I was growing up, I remember him travelling back to Pakist*an many times. My mum and I rarely travelled with him; he said he wouldn't have any time to spend with us, as he would be very busy. He used to do volunteer work in a poor area of Kara*chi, to give something back, or at least that's what he told us ..."
"Nazir knew nothing about you?"
"When he heard about the fire, he wanted to know exactly what had happened. After speaking to my dad's cousin Tariq, he decided to travel to London."
"Your dad's cousin, of course," Tamwar eagerly pounces on the slender connection. "Let's go and see him; call him straight away."
"I fell out with Tariq when I discovered that he had been involved in setting the fire that almost killed Zainab. The last I heard, he'd gone back to Pakist*an. The number he used in the UK no longer works, and it's the only one I have," Afia offers regretfully.
"It was Tariq who told Nazir about me."
"And you told him about us," Masood says quietly.
"He wanted to know all about you, as much detail as possible. He said it would help him to plan ..."
"What did you tell him about Syed?"
"I told him that Syed used to be an estate agent, but that he doesn't seem to have very good instincts when it comes to business, that he is gay and living with Christian and ... and ...," she hesitates.
"Please Afia, the more we know the better chance we have," Tamwar pleads.
"I told him that Zainab cares more about Syed than anyone or anything in the world," she confesses miserably. "I'm so sorry."
After a moment, Masood huskily asks, "What else did you tell him about Zee?"
"I told him about dad drugging her."
"Anything else?" Tamwar gently prompts.
"I told him about what she did," Afia says, looking up for the first time, her tone hardening, her gaze defiant. "He deserved to know the truth about the cruel way our father died. It is no word of a lie to say that Zainab sent him into that fire; that she used his love for me to send him to his death." Afia breaks off at this point and buries her face in her hands. "He died because of me," she cries despairingly.
"That's ridiculous; how could you think such a thing?" Masood rubbishes the idea, the first sign of impatience creeping into his voice.
"You were completely blameless," Tamwar quickly adds, his tone a little more conciliatory.
"If Syed ... dies, l won't be blameless," she cries despondently.
There are no words of reassurance Masood or Tamwar can offer.
After a moment, she continues. "He told me he would make her pay. I assumed he meant ... I did not expect him to go after Syed; I never wanted that. I like Syed; he has always been very nice to me. There were times when he was the only person who made me feel welcome in this house. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to him," she moans, tears streaming down her face.
"Afia, can you tell us where your brother lives, where he might go, what he was planning to do?" Masood presses.
She shakes her head regretfully. "He only told me enough of his history to convince me of his identity. Nothing more than that. He said it was safer for me to know very little about him, and nothing of his plans."
"What did he tell you about himself?" Tamwar asks his father.
"Well, he ... I suppose he told me ..." Masood tries to think of one thing Nazir said that could be of use. "He's covering for Dr Fonseca. Yes, yes, of course," he cries excitedly, quickly reaching for his phone.
"Dad, its 2am."
"Of course it is," he agrees, deflated.
"You can go to the surgery first thing." Tamwar tries to be positive.
"I'll do that," he manages to huskily confirm, running a hand through his hair, his eyes glazing over for the first time.
"Afia, can you think of anything else he might have said, no matter how insignificant?"
"We spoke on the phone initially. I was so shocked to find out I had a brother. I wanted to ask him so many things. I knew very little about my father's life in Pakistan; and the thought of being able to speak freely about him, to learn more about his life was like a gift. I couldn't mention his name to anyone in this family. I needed to talk about him, to remember him." She stops for a moment, her heart too full to speak.
"I'm sorry you didn't feel you could talk to me," Tamwar says sadly.
"Nazir told me that my dad's family are Pusht*un, that they originally came from Pesha*war in the North West where they practiced a strict form of Isl*am. He explained the idea of justice or revenge as they believe it, and why he felt it was his duty to avenge his father's murder. He was so focused; I remember being a little afraid of the intensity in his eyes. Afterwards, I did a little research, and discovered that one of the traditions of the Pusht*uns is that a man will travel miles, spend years patiently waiting for an opportunity to get revenge on someone who has wronged him. I realised that that's what dad did; he waited more than 27 years to get revenge on you and Zainab." She directs a reminder at Masood.
"It's true," Tamwar quietly realises.
"Nazir didn't seem to care that he had a sister," she says sadly. He wasn't interested in finding out anything about my life. As soon as he had the information he needed, he was eager to be away. I was disappointed, but didn't try to stop him. Almost from the moment we met, I felt his friendly demeanour was insincere. I could see nothing of dad in him."
"The man you describe sounds exactly like your dad," Masood interrupts, his tone hard.
Afia doesn't comment.
"This is getting us nowhere; we need to call the police," Tamwar suggests anxiously.
"And tell them what?" Masood asks with a sigh. "Syed went with Nazir of his own free will."
"We have to do something."
A tentative knock, the door slowly opens and Christian walks in. "Whatever you're planning, I'd like to help," he offers.
"Can you borrow Ian's car?" Masood asks. "You and Tam should drive around the area. Zee, can you look for a recent photo of Syed and get copies made to leave in shops restaurants, bars; someone might have seen him. I'll see if I can find out anything at the surgery in the morning. I suppose it would do no harm to also try the police station," he adds with a sympathetic smile in Tamwar's direction, "you never know what they might have heard."
"What can I do?" Afia pleads.
Masood looks at her for a long moment without speaking. "The hospitals," he finally says huskily, "phone the hospitals."
###
Earlier that day
Syed's call didn't explain anything, and Nazir didn't ask any questions.
When he collects him from outside the flat, he notes with satisfaction the bin bag full of clothes he has with him.
Syed sits quietly next to him as Nazir drives, his mind empty of thought. Neither speak.
"We're here," he shortly announces, pulling into a residential street.
Syed blinks, looking around him. "Have you moved?" he asks surprised.
"Yes, it's temporary," Nazir explains rather bruskly.
"They get out of the car and approach a house which is part of a row of terrace houses. There is a little, overgrown garden at the front, divided by a narrow path leading up to a dated front door with the paint peeling off. Nazir has a key and they enter.
Syed can hear voices speaking in Urdu coming from the back of the house.
Nazir calls out to announce his arrival; and from his knowledge of the language, Syed makes out the words "God be with you" and "I have him."
He leads Syed into a room, which does not appear to have ever been decorated in any meaningful way. There is a two-ring camping cooker in one corner, an old rusty sink in another, and a plastic garden table and four matching plastic chairs in the middle of the floor. On the table, are a few books, four unwashed mugs, a half-finished packet of digestive biscuits; and an electric kettle. The kettle has attached to it an extension lead, which trails across the floor to plug into an electric socket at the wall. However, the thing Syed cannot take his eyes off is the gun sitting on the table next to the mugs.
"Have you eaten?" Nazir asks, interrupting his thoughts.
"I'm not hungry," he nervously responds.
Two men enter the room and warmly greet Nazir, without any acknowledgement of Syed's presence. Whilst they talk in what appears to be their native tongue, he has time to think that he has made a terrible mistake. That feeling of unease he had felt around Nazir from the beginning has crystallized into a fear so powerful he can feel it coming up in his throat. He is still unsure of what precisely there is to be afraid of, but knows without a doubt that he is in some kind of danger. He looks around him, automatically searching for a means of escape.
"Here, drink this," Nazir says sharply.
Syed jumps guiltily, but he doesn't seem to notice.
"Thank you," he manages, taking the glass of juice from him.
"Come, let me show you where you will be sleeping."
"Actually, I think I've acted too hastily," Syed responds in a breathless voice. "I think I'll go home. Sorry for wasting your time" He quickly finishes the juice and hands the empty glass back to Nazir. "I can find my own way back," he calls over his shoulder as he walks quickly towards the front door. As his hand reaches out to open it, he begins to lose focus. Nazir catches him before he hits the floor.