Dishonour Page 10

  As they walked along the road, the stares from the passing strangers seemed fewer. As long as they didn’t notice she was wet, there was nothing unusual about a woman dressed in a burka following a few feet behind two men. It was the only time Laila was thankful she was wearing traditional dress. Wearing western clothes would’ve certainly brought more trouble.

  They stopped and one of the men turned to Laila, pointing.

  ‘Here?’

  The man nodded his head as they stood outside a house which was almost a replica of the one she’d been standing outside with Tariq. ‘No, I want to go to the nearest town.’

  The man pointed again and said the word, here. Laila couldn’t understand why he was saying the word, here. She didn’t want to be here, she wanted to get to the nearest town. Though quite what she’d do when she got to it she hadn’t worked out.

  There was no one to call. Her family, besides from her mother – who’d be too scared to help anyway – were all here in Pakistan. They’d been the ones who’d brought her. Her friends were all family friends and the ones who weren’t, for their own safety, wouldn’t dare get involved. Laila Khan was quite literally alone in the world.

  The men started to walk towards one of the houses, turning back occasionally to see if Laila was going to follow her. She stood, unable to make a decision. Part of her wanted to keep on going, but going where? It could be another few hundred miles to the nearest town for all she knew. The other part of her just wanted to rest. To put her faith – which in the past week had been taken away – back into people. To trust they would be kind and help her.

  A minute later she’d made her decision. Though it wasn’t her head or heart helping her to make up her mind, it’d been her bladder. She needed to go to the toilet. Taking a deep breath, Laila hurried to catch up to the men.

  It wasn’t a toilet. Not the sort she was accustomed to anyway. It was a hole. A reeking, foul hole behind the house of the woman she’d been taken to. What made it worse was the old lady standing, watching her. Sensing Laila’s hesitation, the woman gestured, then contemptuously flicked her head towards the fly-filled hole.

  The humiliation Laila felt as she squatted in front of the old lady brought her head down and caused the tears to return. This couldn’t be the life she was going to lead. Somehow she had to get away.

  Standing up, and knowing it was pointless to even think about toilet paper, Laila walked back towards the door of the house.

  The two men had gone and Laila stood in the dark room, grateful for the coolness and the escape from the relentless heat.

  The old lady smiled a toothless grin as she asked Laila to sit down. Too tired to search her brain for the word in Urdu, Laila gently gave her reply in English, her large beautiful eyes lighting up with genuine gratitude as she did so. ‘Thank you.’

  A bowl of rice topped with what looked like curried lentils was placed in front of her, and Laila accepted it gratefully, ignoring the stained, chipped bowl it came in. She lifted up the upper portion of her burka with her left hand so she could get to her mouth. Expertly using her fingers, she hungrily scooped up the rice.

  When her uncle had moved in, he’d insisted on them putting most of the cutlery away, seeing the practice of them using knives and forks as another indication she and her family had been ruined by the western ways.

  The curry hit her lips, tingling at first and then burning, her mouth almost calling out distress signals as the heat of the sauce refused to ease off. Laila glanced around, catching the eyes of the old lady, who cackled with laughter as she poured Laila a glass of milk.

  The milk was like a balm, cooling down the insides of her mouth and throat. She was still hungry but didn’t dare venture to eat any more of the curry. Sighing, and with her stomach still rumbling, Laila turned to the woman. Without needing to say anything the old lady pointed at the large floor pillow in the corner.

  It looked so inviting. The white cover might be off-grey and the stained sides might have turned brown, but to Laila it meant she could rest. It looked like a piece of heaven.

  She was exhausted and perhaps if she had a few hours’ sleep her mind would be clearer. Not being so tired would help her decide what she was going to do next. Laila knew it wasn’t unusual for someone in Pakistan to offer hospitality like this. Her uncle had told her countless stories about the kinship and warmth of the people of Pakistan, often unfavourably comparing it to the hostility he found in England, where neighbours didn’t speak to neighbours and people walked past each other in the street as if each one were invisible.

  In truth, Laila really wanted to get some more distance between herself and her uncle, especially as in a few hours it would be getting dark. But as she looked at the cushion, the heaviness of her eyes, the aching of her body, and the weariness of her feet told her she needed to sleep.

  Curling up in a ball on the floor, Laila rested her head, put her hand under her burka to suck her thumb, and within moments was asleep.

  13

  ‘I want a mirror.’ Ray-Ray Thompson struggled with the words but his look was determined.

  ‘I don’t know babe. I don’t think it’s a good idea at the moment. You need to get yourself better first. Maybe we should wait for the doctor.’ Tasha tried to keep her voice light as she spoke, but she could tell it wasn’t working. The edge of fear was audible in her voice as her eyes darted round for a nurse to intervene.

  It was the second time in less than two days Ray-Ray had asked to look at himself when his bandages were being changed. The last time, one of the junior doctors had come round to discuss pain management, saving her from having to find a way to discourage him from looking in the mirror. Tash had then made a hasty exit, out of the hospital, into the car park where she’d promptly been sick.

  She was a coward. She knew that. But how could she let her son see his face or what was left of it? She could hardly bear to look. It wasn’t disgust. It certainly wasn’t shame. It was pain. Pain that Ray-Ray had been put through such torture; such undeserving agony.

  He’d been lucky; if you could call it luck. The acid hadn’t been thrown all over his entire face, only part of it, but she was scared she couldn’t be strong enough for him. It was pathetic, but she didn’t know how to stay strong for her son when she couldn’t stay strong for herself.

  ‘I said pass me the fucking mirror, Mum.’

  Ray-Ray snarled, twisting his mouth at Tasha, partly through anger, partly through pain, but mainly from the damage the acid had caused the top part of his lip. Tasha thought he looked like Freddie when he did that. Full of anger. Full of hate. Full of fear.

  ‘Ray-Ray, it ain’t a good …’

  ‘Now, please.’ The appeal in his voice tore at Tasha’s heart, hardening it towards her husband, Freddie. With shaking hands she passed him the mirror and looked across, at the nurse who gave her a sympathetic smile.

  ‘Don’t cry Mum.’ Ray-Ray’s voice was hoarse and quiet. His voice no longer sounded like his own because of the acid attacking his vocal chords, and they could both hear it.

  Tasha saw him take a deep breath, mirroring the one she was taking. ‘You ready babe?’

  ‘Ready.’

  Ray-Ray stared but he didn’t recognise who he saw. Who he was seeing in the mirror wasn’t him. It couldn’t be, because he had blonde hair falling across his forehead. His face was fresh and handsome. Tiny freckles covered the bridge of his nose. His cheeky, dimpled smile pulled more birds than any guy could wish for. Ray-Ray Thompson, son of the handsome Freddie and beautiful Tasha Thompson. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. The best-looking guy in Soho.

  That’s who he was; yet the mirror was telling a different story. This person, this imposter who stared back at him blankly, was nothing short of a grotesque monster.

  Red, inflamed, weeping skin. Raw burns deep into his face, taking away the top part of his lip, displaying his gums. A hole where part of his nose had been. His eyelid deformed; eaten away by the acid. Unlikely to see again out of
the once dazzling blue, now dull grey, filmy, fish-like eye.

  Ray-Ray swallowed. He wanted to throw the mirror to the other side of the room but he was transfixed by what he saw. Tortured by it. He could feel the tears coming but with it came more pain. His tear ducts had been damaged too.

  The shiny skin on the top of his head was taut. His hair had gone. Tufts were all that was left, giving his head a bizarre, tragically comical appearance.

  Ray-Ray slowly moved his gaze to look at the other part of his face. The part which hadn’t been touched by acid. This was the smooth, handsome Ray-Ray he knew, a glimmer of the young man he once was. And in a way, having a reminder of what he’d looked like was worse than none at all. It was as if the beautiful part was taunting him, reminding him of what had been.

  He felt his mother touch his hand. ‘Ray-Ray, I’m …’

  ‘Ain’t nothing to say. I look like a freak. No wonder you didn’t want to give me the mirror.’

  Tasha’s eyes filled with tears again. ‘It wasn’t that babe. It was just … I knew how difficult it would be. I didn’t …’ Tasha gave up mid-sentence. She was exhausted. Ray-Ray was right, nothing she could say was going to make it better; only actions.

  ‘Your dad’s going to sort this babe. He ain’t going to let whoever did this get away.’

  Ray-Ray quickly turned away his head. ‘Leave it. I don’t want him doing anything. It’s nothing to do with him.’

  Tasha’s voice took on a tone of resentment. ‘It’s got everything to do with him. The least he can do is try to sort it. I knew. I just bleeding knew this would happen one day.’ She stopped, realising her voice was getting too loud and slightly hysterical. Taking a deep breath, she continued in a whisper. ‘Listen babe, you ain’t got to defend your dad. I know you love him and I ain’t trying to put no wedge between the two of you, but Christ, Ray-Ray, look at you.’

  The moment Tasha had said it, she knew she shouldn’t have. She watched her son turn his face from her, wounded by her tactless comment. ‘Ray-Ray, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. You know me; my mouth’s too big sometimes.’

  ‘Forget it Mum, you’re just telling the truth.’

  Tasha squeezed Ray-Ray’s hand. ‘Please honey, let your dad sort it out. He’s going off his nut. He can’t stick it inside, knowing some low-life scum has done this to you. It’s killing him not being able to be with you.’ Tasha paused, making sure the nurses were out of earshot. ‘He’s planning to do a break.’

  Ray-Ray shot his reply, causing a darting pain to run down the side of his face. ‘No, he can’t. Is he stupid or something? Mum, you’ve got to tell him not to do it. Not for me. Please tell him I’m okay. I’ll be okay.’

  Tasha bit her lip. Perhaps she shouldn’t have told Ray-Ray about Freddie’s plan but he’d find out soon enough, especially once the Old Bill started to sniff around. Better he have a heads up now.

  ‘Just tell me what happened babe. Can you remember anything about it? Would you recognise their faces? Do you know who did this?’

  Ray-Ray looked up at the ceiling. He knew exactly who’d done it. He could see their faces clearer than he could see his mum’s. Everything about that night played out in slow motion in his head. He could feel it. He could hear it. He could smell it. The smell of melting flesh. His melting flesh. The hot, searing pain. Pain which he didn’t think was even possible. Oh yes, he knew exactly who did it. He turned back to face Tasha. ‘No, I can’t remember nothing. Last thing I remember is you dolling yourself up and going out. After that, nothing.’

  Tasha’s eyes narrowed. ‘Maybe it’ll come back to you.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘You don’t know that doll. You hear all sorts of stuff about people’s memory coming back to them.’

  ‘I know it won’t, let’s leave it at that.’

  Tasha looked at her son. He was stubborn like Freddie, but the problem was he couldn’t afford to be. Not with this. He needed to remember, because Freddie needed revenge. She was so angry with her husband, but at the same time she hated the idea of him hurting, and he would be, knowing Ray-Ray was in pain. Revenge would be like a balm for Freddie; soothing and healing his wound.

  The nurses came over to re-dress Ray-Ray’s face and Tasha moved quietly to one side. Her phone buzzed. She checked the caller ID and frowned. Ignoring the call, she sat down by the side of Ray-Ray’s bed deep in thought, waiting for the nurse to finish and the phone to stop ringing.

  Gently and expertly, the large West Indian nurse placed the fresh white bandages back on. It was so painful, and just trying to bear the pain and not let anyone see him flinch was exhausting.

  To distract himself, Ray-Ray put his headphone into the ear which hadn’t been damaged by the acid, listening to the CD Laila had made for him. The music played and his thoughts drifted immediately to her. The reason he couldn’t tell his father who’d attacked him.

  It wasn’t as if he didn’t want revenge himself; he did. It was like an unquenchable thirst but the fact was he couldn’t have it. Not now, perhaps not ever. And that was okay. It was okay because it would mean Laila would be safe, and that superseded the simmering anger he had within him.

  He knew his father, and he knew what he and his cronies were not only capable of doing but would do to Laila’s family – and potentially even to Laila if they ever found out. Even if they didn’t hurt her directly, hurting her family would be hurting her.

  By not saying anything he could try to put the wrongs right. He’d always known by the look in her eyes that Laila shouldn’t have walked to the bus stop, shouldn’t have taken his hand gently, and probably shouldn’t have even spoken to him, but she had. She’d done it for him. And this was what he was going to do for her.

  After all, it wasn’t her fault any of this had happened. Laila was gentle and would never hurt anyone. He wasn’t going to cause her any problems by letting his father have his revenge, no matter how much he loved him and wanted it himself. It wasn’t about his father anyway. It wasn’t his revenge to have. It was about him and about Laila.

  Ray-Ray didn’t want it to go any further. He would put a stop to it by keeping his mouth shut. Her family had settled the score. Warned him off and now they were satisfied, and so was he. It comforted him to know that Laila, with her stunning beauty, her shy demeanour, her dancing warm eyes, would now be safe. Carving out a happy future for herself. Excelling in everything she did before going off to the university she’d spoken about.

  Once he found out from the nurse if she was safe, he’d try to contact her again, but he’d leave her to get on with her own life. Besides anything else, he wouldn’t want her to see him like this. She could remember him as he once was. And he would be happy to always remember the sweet girl he once knew.

  Ray-Ray gritted his teeth as the pain hit him again, but this time, through his agony there was a glimmer of a smile.

  14

  ‘Bitch.’ The word coming out of his mouth made Arnie slam his hand across his own face, causing a red welt to start to form. He didn’t want to talk like that. Especially not about Izzy. But what was he supposed to do when he’d called her and she hadn’t answered?

  At first he’d thought something had happened, so he’d driven round to the hotel. And within the length of time it took the castaway on Desert Island Discs to get to their luxury item, he’d seen her. Smiling, laughing, and looking very much alive.

  Arnold couldn’t understand it. He wasn’t sure what he’d done. The last time they’d seen or spoken to each other was when he’d dropped her off at the hospital. He had a sinking feeling that she was disappointed with him as she had always been when they were children.

  He’d promised her a special day and he genuinely thought he’d be able to deliver it. He’d had everything prepared and she’d seemed keen; excited almost, but then it’d all gone wrong. What should’ve happened, didn’t.

  Sighing, Arnold wandered to the area of the room with a tarpaulin sheet laid on
the ground. A large green bucket sat innocuously on top. Bending down, Arnie murmured a little ditty to raise his spirits as he swirled the red water gently.

  ‘1, 4, 9, 16, 25, Izzy, whizzy, let’s get busy.’ The ditty made him chuckle at first, then laugh out loud as he repeated it with much more gusto, making him topple over from his crouching position onto the floor; bringing more hysterical laughter.

  Uproarious tears ran down Arnold’s face as he lay on his side, clutching his tummy as it started to hurt from all the hilarity. He shouted now, screaming the ditty as loud as he could; hoping passers-by would hear his rhyme. The thought of people outside wondering what the noise was took Arnold over into frenzied laughter. Saliva ran down his chin and onto his bare chest as he twisted and rolled around.

  Then he froze. Almost as quickly as it began, the laughter stopped, and the tears turned from ones of happiness to ones of sorrow. A deep, sad growl came from Arnie. Izzy was playing games with him.

  He looked up to see a pair of blue eyes staring at him through a mass of blonde hair. In his confusion he’d got it wrong again. How many times had he got it wrong now? Five times? Six, if you counted the foul-mouthed girl from Aberdeen, but he didn’t like to count her. He’d just been so desperate for Izzy to come back, he’d assumed this person was her. It wasn’t. He didn’t even know her name.

  It wasn’t his fault. If Izzy had just answered the phone, came to see him as she’d promised, then he wouldn’t have made this terrible mistake. Standing up, Arnie knew there was only one thing to do. The gentlemanly thing to do. He must apologise, as his father had always told him to do. ‘I’m so sorry; I do apologise. I mistook you for somebody else.’ With one swift movement, Arnie swung the axe.

  Arnold wrapped the dismembered body and placed the limbs in the black bin liners. He felt tired; exhausted from all the chopping. But he also felt tired from all the emotional games. Izzy was making him pay for making her wait.

  He didn’t want to get angry but he was starting to get annoyed. She was wasting their precious time together. Well, he wasn’t going to put up with it. If she wouldn’t come to him, he would go to her. He’d show her he was someone who could be relied upon; that he was as good as his word. If she wanted a special day, he’d make sure she had exactly that. One she’d never forget.