Finding Mr Perfectly Fine

‘And I guess I was a bit jealous too. I mean .?.?. why him? Why not me?’ He says this with a simple shrug, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to confess. But I feel as if I’ve had an ice-cold glass of water thrown over me and the first thing that comes to my mind is Hamza’s smiling face.

My expression must give away my thoughts because Adam laughs an empty laugh and then downs the rest of his drink before swiftly changing the subject. ‘By the way, there’s this guy at the next table who keeps staring at us. At first, I thought he fancied you, even though he’s with a girl, but now I think he might know you.’

I barely register what he says. He was jealous? I mean, I thought it was in a protective, big-brother sort of way, not in an ‘I want you for myself’ sort of way. My heart contracts, painfully, and I stare down at my empty plate, too afraid to look up and see what’s lurking in his eyes. This changes nothing, Zara, I remind myself as I take a swig of water to wet my dry throat. He’s still Adam. He’s not what you want in a husband. And there’s Hamza to think about, too. Perfect, sweet, Hamza.

‘All right, enough about me, tell me what’s going on with you?’ I change the subject, taking a large gulp of water to cool myself down.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Tell me to piss off if it’s not my place, but I’ve got the feeling something’s going on with you at home.’

‘Oh. How could you tell?’

‘You’ve been avoiding going home after work. Or at least, that’s what I assumed.’

He sighs. ‘Yeah, there’s some stuff going on.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

He pauses for a bit, and he looks so disheartened that I wish I hadn’t brought it up. ‘Remember I told you my aunt lives with us? She’s sick. Really sick. Cancer.’

I breathe in sharply and place my hand on his arm. ‘I’m so sorry, Adam.’

‘Yeah. Shit, isn’t it? The thing that’s upsetting me the most is that she’s suffered her whole life. She got married to an arsehole who used to beat her up. She got married again, kept having miscarriages, and then became a widow. And now this.’

‘Can I ask what type it is?’ I whisper, my eyes filling with tears as his do the same.

‘Breast cancer. They’ve given her just a few more months. The chemo didn’t work, nor did hormone therapy, radiotherapy or surgery. There’s nothing left for them to do.’

We sit in silence, my hand still on his arm. He stares out the window at London spread below us, and then takes my other hand into his.

‘Adam,’ I begin tentatively, ‘if your aunt doesn’t have much time left, then shouldn’t you be spending all your free time with her, instead of avoiding her? I can’t imagine how painful it is to watch her deteriorate, but I get the feeling that you’ll regret it one day if you don’t.’

Adam doesn’t reply and continues to hold my hand, stroking it with his thumb. The touch is sending currents through me and I know I should remove my hand, but how can I, when we’re talking about his dying aunt?

After a while he pulls away and finally looks at me. His eyes are watery and he smiles wryly at me. ‘This is why I have a hard time believing in God. If he’s really out there, why do so many awful things happen to good people? I wish I could have the same level of faith as you, but I can’t get my head around it.’

The waitress starts clearing away our plates and I welcome the respite from the complexity of this conversation. I still feel on edge, though, almost as though I’m waiting for the next surprise to come and hit me.

‘Oh bloody hell,’ Adam says once the plates have been taken away. ‘That guy’s still staring at you. I’m tempted to go over to him and ask him what his problem is.’

‘Fine, let me see him.’ I whip my head around, even though I suspect that it’s a diversionary tactic. It takes a moment to absorb my surroundings as the place is packed with people and I have no idea who the Peeping Tom is.

Then I see him. He’s right there, two tables away. Our eyes meet and I’m twenty-four years-old again, sobbing in the shower as I try and wash away the bruises. My head starts to spin like the fast cycle on a washing machine and I hear Adam’s voice in the distance but I can’t make out what he’s saying. My chest begins to tighten and every breath becomes a struggle, so I gulp, trying to fill my lungs with oxygen, but nothing helps the dizziness.

‘Zara, what the hell’s going on?’ Adam demands, getting up from his seat and coming over to me. He crouches down next to me and takes both of my hands in his. ‘Calm down. Please. Breathe in slowly, askim. I’m here, OK? I’m here.’

He stays like that until I start to breathe normally again. I don’t know how long it takes but I finally manage to calm down.

‘Do I have mascara streaks down my face?’ I croak when I get my wits back and realise that this is not the time to look like a panda.

‘Er, no, you don’t. Just a little smudge under your eyes. Here, let me.’ He leans over and cleans it off with his thumb. The gesture is sweet and tender, but unlike a few minutes ago, I feel nothing towards him. Seeing Tariq has completely crushed me.

What is he doing here? Why did I have to bump into him today, after all these years, when I had finally stopped stressing about him and started living again? Who’s that girl with him? His wife? Is she the one he dumped me for, after he .?.?.

My skin prickles and I rub my arms in an effort to smooth out the goosebumps.

‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on with that bloke?’ Adam asks after a while. The waitress brings us our desserts but they sit in front of us, untouched.