Finding Mr Perfectly Fine, page 26
‘Yeah, we’ve been here for three years now. When we first moved in after the house was built, the grounds were literally just sand, but they’ve finally sorted the landscaping out and there are shops, a supermarket, salon, everything you need, really.’
‘It’s gorgeous.’
Sabs parks up in the open garage adjacent to the house and we enter quietly, mindful of the fact that the kids are asleep. Her husband, who I respectfully call ‘Dhulabhai’ in Bengali, is also asleep by the looks of things, sprawled out on the beige L-shaped sofa with his laptop still whirring on the coffee table.
‘Go and have a shower and change and I’ll get you some food,’ Sabs instructs, showing me to the guest room where I’ll be staying for the week. Like the rest of the house, it’s beautiful, with designer wallpaper, a plush cream leather bed and mirrored side tables. I do as she says and ten minutes later I’m digging into roast chicken, veggies, crispy roasted potatoes and delicious home-made gravy. It seems that everything my cousin touches turns to gold. I say this to her, and she guffaws loudly, not caring that Dhulabhai is trying to sleep a few metres away.
‘Yeah, I have magic fingers,’ she says with a not-so-humble shrug. ‘You should see me at work and the stuff I have to do to make these brides presentable.’
‘Like what?’ I ask, intrigued.
‘Like last week, my bride made me put foundation on her knees because she didn’t want her husband to see her dark knees on their wedding night.’
‘Are you for real?’
‘Yep. And covering up bacne is, like, a given on most days. I have to disinfect all my brushes and sponges between each job.’
And there’s me thinking being a famous makeup artist in Dubai was a glamorous job to have.
*
The next few days pass by in a blissful blur of shopping, eating, pampering and playing with the kids; ten-year-old Maaryah, eight-year-old Ibrahim, or Ibby as we call him, and three-year-old Musa. Maaryah’s the sweetest tween ever, who sews and bakes and sneaks into my room for chats and makeovers. Ibby’s really quiet and sits around gaming whenever he’s not at school but likes snuggling next to me when we watch movies together. It’s the first time I’m meeting Musa, and he’s nothing like his older siblings. He can’t sit still and if he’s not jumping up and down on the sofas, then he’s cannonballing into the pool.
All the food in Dubai is halal so I go to town eating anything and everything I want – to hell with Jordan and his meal plan. Beauty treatments are also a lot cheaper so Sabs and I spend an entire day at a beautiful ladies-only spa getting a hammam treatment done (the craziest bath experience when you get scrubbed to death until you turn a lighter shade), a full-body massage, a facial and mani/pedi. I get a haircut too, and some much-needed high and lowlights, and by the end of it, I feel absolutely amazing. Not quite a new woman, as the emotional scars I have run a lot deeper, but I’m getting there.
Adam hasn’t got in touch with me at all. You’d think he’d text me to see if I’m OK, ask why I’m not at work, but nothing. He has no idea where in the world I am because I’m not posting anything on socials (this is supposed to be a family emergency, remember) but it’s as though he doesn’t care. In fact, it’s beginning to feel like I dreamt up the kiss, the punch, the restaurant, everything. It obviously didn’t mean much to him, so I’ve decided to put that entire night into a locked box and throw away the key. I’m not going to let ‘what ifs’ get in the way of my life anymore. I need to focus on the here and the now.
Hamza, the sweetie, has been messaging constantly to check if I’m OK. At least there’s someone who still cares about me. For now, at least. I’m still in two minds whether or not to tell him about the kiss.
‘Don’t you bloody dare!’ Sabina shrieks when I tentatively confess how guilty I’m feeling. We’re at the spa, chilling in the relaxation room and sipping on green tea after all our treatments. Thankfully we’re the only ones here because her scream shatters the silence. Relaxation, it seems, is over. ‘You can’t tell him!’
‘But it’s like I cheated on him,’ I explain. ‘I’d be a lying snake if I didn’t.’
‘You haven’t cheated on him,’ she insists. ‘It wasn’t real. It was an act.’
‘I know, but I was completely into it.’
‘So? Adam is bloody gorgeous. If he suddenly appeared in this spa and snogged me as prep for an upcoming movie role, I would be into it, too. Trust me. Hamza does NOT need to know. It will unnecessarily complicate everything.’
‘Hiding this from him now that I’ve met his family doesn’t feel right,’ I say, looking down at my freshly painted toes.
Sabina sighs. ‘Before I got married, Tel wanted to know about my past and you know what I told him?’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I told him nothing because he didn’t need to know. All it would do is make him paranoid and jealous about things that were completely irrelevant. And by the way, Islamically you don’t have to reveal your past sins to your husband. Did you know that?’
‘Er, I didn’t,’ I admit, wondering where this sudden religious knowledge has come from. Sabina wears hijab and prays five times a day, but I sort of assumed that it was a habitual thing.
‘Yep. I learnt it in the Islamic Studies class I go to every week.’
‘I can’t believe you go to Islamic Studies classes.’ I giggle, imagining her in a room full of abaya-clad women with her red lipstick and heels.
‘That’s not the point. The point is, men – especially Arab men – are paranoid, jealous and often irrational creatures. You tell him this and he’ll never forget.’
‘That’s a pretty harsh generalisation of Arab men,’ I mutter.
‘There’s no smoke without fire, babe.’
We spend most of the next day Asian-clothes shopping in a place called Meena Bazaar, where Sabs persuades me to not only buy two sarees, but gold bangles as well, because it’s so much cheaper out here. Apparently gold is an investment and the prices are always rising. I listen to her advice and invest in a beautiful pair of bangles with intricate designs etched along the rims.
On the way home we pick up cheap but delicious shawarmas from a roadside joint and then sit by the pool in the garden to eat them. It’s so quiet and peaceful out here, with the sound of the water lapping against the edges of the pool. The sky is pitch-black, dotted with a million stars, more than I’ve ever seen in London, and it’s lovely and warm at this time of the night. I take a moment to sit back and enjoy the serenity while it lasts.
Just as I’m about to eat the last morsel of juicy, fatty lamb encased in a soft flatbread, my phone beeps. I glance down at it to see that it’s a text from Hamza. I figure it’s probably him saying goodnight, so I wait until I’ve finished before I open it up.
I’m here.
My heart stops for a second. What the hell does he mean, he’s here? Where? I look around the garden nervously, half expecting him to be hiding in a date palm.
Where? I hastily type, getting grease all over my phone screen.
In Dubai.
What!!!!! Why??? How come???
I was supposed to come for a meeting next month but since you’re here, I thought I’d bring the meeting forward and take the opportunity to surprise you.
Shit shit shit shit! Coming out here was supposed to be an escape from all the crap going on in my life, all the difficult decisions I need to make. This was supposed to be my safe haven. And now he’s here.
Say something then. I thought you’d be happy?
I try to speak, but it’s more of a squeak that comes out. ‘Sabs! He’s here!’
‘Who?’ she drawls lazily, stuffing more shawarma into her mouth.
‘Hamza!’
Now that’s got her attention. ‘What?’ she sits up so suddenly that she drops her sandwich into the pool. Muttering profanities under her breath, she tries, and fails, to fish it out and it sinks sorrowfully to the bottom. ‘Is he stalking you?’
‘No! I don’t think so . . . He said he was meant to come out here for work but moved his trip so he could see me.’
Sabs looks unimpressed. ‘Sounds like stalking to me. What if you didn’t want to see him, or had plans?’
I stare at her miserably. ‘This is the least of my concerns right now. How am I supposed to face him after what happened with Adam?’
‘I thought you already saw him when he “surprised” you with meeting his family? He likes surprises, doesn’t he?’
‘That was different. There were loads of people around. We weren’t alone. I can’t face him alone!’
‘Well, now that he’s here, you’re going to have to, aren’t you? Better to get it over with now so you can go home with a clear head and start afresh.’
I lie and text:
I am happy. Shocked that’s all! Breakfast tomorrow?
My meeting’s tomorrow morning. Let me take you out somewhere nice for dinner?
Great!
The next day, after a long lie-in, I get up and spend the rest of the morning hanging out with my niece and nephews in the pool. It’s hot and I know my tan is bordering on barbecued, but we’re having too much fun to go back indoors. Mum will be horrified when she sees how dark I’ve become, but I don’t really care what she thinks right now.
At around five I trudge upstairs to get ready for my execution/date! I brought one nice dress with me, an emerald-green silk maxi dress with a low back. I took it out of my suitcase this morning so I could iron it later, but when I get out the shower I find that Dolly, Sabs’ live-in helper, has already ironed it and hung it up for me. She’s been making me breakfast every day as well, and my niece has been making me snacks and keeping me company whenever her mum’s not around. I could seriously get used to this.
I do my makeup quickly and keep it simple because it’s way too hot for full coverage and I don’t think my foundation matches my complexion anymore, so it’s literally a layer of mascara, a dusting of bronzer and a swipe of tinted lip gloss. I keep my hair up too because the back of my neck is constantly sweating, creating little rivulets that trickle down my back. I take it back – I don’t think I could get used to this life after all. Slipping my feet into Sabina’s designer heels, I go downstairs and wait for Hamza to arrive, thankful that Sabs is at work and a) can’t criticise my makeup and b) can’t meet Hamza and give him the third degree.
The nerves intensify while I wait. I think back to Sabs’ reaction at his ‘surprise’. He’s ambushed me again. I know he was trying to do something nice, and possibly romantic, but does the intention justify the means?
When he texts, I slip out of the house quietly so as not to disturb the kids, my stomach buzzing with nervous anticipation – and not in a good way. He’s at the wheel of a tank of a car and he jumps out to greet me before opening the passenger door for me, being the gentleman that he is. My stomach twists into a knot.
‘I’ve missed you, habibti,’ he says with a smile as he drives away confidently.
My heart twists, mostly with guilt but also with the realisation that I’ve missed him too. Is surprising your sort-of girlfriend in another country really that bad? As far as sins go, it’s pretty minor. Nothing compared to what I’ve done to him, anyway.
‘I’ve missed you too,’ I reply sincerely, after a beat. ‘But what on earth are you driving?’
‘It’s a Hummer,’ he reveals, his eyes sparkling. ‘I’ve always wanted to drive one of these! Do you like it?’
‘It’s a bit big,’ I reply, unimpressed, and he laughs at my reaction. His good mood is contagious and I finally lean back in contentment. As always, his presence is comforting and I feel safe with him; safe in the knowledge that he’ll not only protect me but he’ll always put my needs first. Given my recent experience, this isn’t something to take lightly.
Am I being a complete idiot for not instantly choosing Hamza? As we fall into easy conversation, I’m beginning to think that I am. I’m also very aware that, contrary to Sabina’s advice, I need to tell him what happened with Adam . . . and when I do, there’s a chance that he won’t want me anymore.
We exit the monstrous highway Sabs lives next to and we’re now driving down a smaller road – which still has three lanes on either side, by the way.
‘How do you know your way around?’ I ask in awe as he smoothly takes another exit until we’re close to the beach and all the gorgeous five-star resorts along the shoreline. ‘I would never be able to drive here.’
‘I come here for work a lot. And I lived here for a year after uni.’
‘What? You never told me that.’ I look at him in surprise. I had no idea that stable, responsible Hamza had this adventurous side to him. OK, it’s hardly backpacking through Cambodia, but it’s not like I’m the camping-in-the-wilderness-peeing-in-a-bush type, anyway.
‘Didn’t I? Well, it’s no biggie. I have an uncle who lives here so I stayed with him. It was a pretty crazy time of my life. I’ve always wanted to live here again in the future, for a couple of years or so.’
‘Wow, really?’
‘Yeah. You up for the challenge?’
I look at his profile as he continues to drive, one hand on the steering wheel and one hand casually draped along my head rest and I begin to think to myself that maybe a lifetime of adventure with Hamza wouldn’t be so bad after all.
We pull up at a luxury hotel where the valet attendant hurries to open my door before taking the keys from Hamza. If I lived here I’d become such a lazy prima donna.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask Hamza as we walk through the plush hotel with its ornate marble interior and traditional Arabic accents, until we’re at the back of the resort by the pool area.
‘You’ll see,’ he replies loftily, slipping his hand into mine. I take it, but I’m attacked by another stab of guilt. I open my mouth to blurt it all out to Hamza, but when I turn to face him, he looks so happy that I close it again. I can’t ruin this night for him.
‘By the way, I forgot to tell you that you look beautiful,’ he says shyly as we continue to walk through the exquisitely landscaped grounds, hand in hand.
‘Thanks,’ I respond, his nerves rubbing off on me. ‘You look nice too.’ And he does, in his tailored shirt and trousers. In fact, this whole night is transpiring to be super-romantic, not at all what I expected when he dropped that he was here in Dubai. It’s difficult for me to enjoy the romance, though, when guilt is simmering beneath the surface.
‘Where are we?’ I ask, but he doesn’t reply, just smiles and leads me along the pier which is gently illuminated by lanterns. We’re quite a distance from the shore now and coming up to what looks like a small, intimate restaurant in the middle of the Arabian Gulf, black waves dancing beneath us.
The rest of the evening is equally as spectacular. We have a delicious dinner whilst listening to the waves crash against the pier. Hamza is sweet and attentive as always, but also cracks jokes every so often so the mood isn’t too intense; it’s comfortable but also romantic, and so different from the night out with Adam. Adam is exciting, dangerous, unpredictable. Hamza is sweet, funny, stable. But obviously, the major difference is that the latter actually wants to be with me. For now. There are a couple of moments when the conversation halts and I know I can use the opportunity to tell Hamza what happened. But I don’t. I don’t want to ruin a night that he’s obviously put a lot of thought into. In fact, it’s beginning to feel like he flew all the way out here just to see me, not for work as he claimed. Sabina told me the other day that the power balance in a relationship is never completely equal; there’s always one person who loves the other more, wants the other more. It’s pretty obvious that in this scenario, it’s Hamza, but if I’m being completely honest, the sensation of being wanted this badly is pretty intoxicating.
After dinner we start walking back to the main hotel, stopping midway to stare out into the sea again. It’s so calm out here, away from the city lights, the traffic, the noise. I close my eyes and breathe in the salty air, enjoying the sensation of the sea breeze brushing against my skin. It’s the calmest I’ve felt all week and I wonder if it’s because of where I am or who I’m with.
As we stand there in silence, Hamza turns to me and draws me in for a hug. I snuggle up to his chest, my eyes still closed, inhaling the scent of his aftershave. With his arms firmly around me, I feel protected and safe and I know that if Hamza and I got married, I would never feel as alone and as let down as I have felt this week. Yeah, there’ll be other problems, but what is a bit of sex appeal compared to a lifetime of easy companionship?
‘Zara?’ he whispers into my hair, still holding me tight.
‘Hmm?’ I keep my cheek pressed against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart. He smells good, like cinnamon and the sea.
‘I don’t want this moment to end.’
‘Me neither.’ And I don’t. Wrapped in his warm, comforting embrace, I feel like I’m home.
‘I don’t want anything between us to end,’ he continues to murmur, his breath tickling the nape of my neck. ‘Ever. I know you’re still not 100 per cent sure about me but I’ve never been surer about anything. I want you, all of you; your complicated mind, your kind heart, your generous soul. I even want your crazy temper.’
I swallow nervously, my pulse racing, my stomach somersaulting.
‘You sure about that?’ I try to joke, the tremble in my voice betraying how I really feel.
‘Will you please do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
‘What?’ I try to pull away from him but he refuses to let go and I’m stuck here, in his unrelenting embrace. I try again and this time he lets me, his eyes full of fear as we stare at each other.
‘Are you serious?’ I whisper, looking up at him in shock.
‘I’ve never been more serious,’ he replies solemnly. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small velvet box. My heart is racing so fast that I’m scared it will jump out of my throat and drown in the sea. I stare at him wordlessly as he opens it up to reveal a striking diamond ring.
