*
That night, Hamza picks me up again and we meet Sabs at a really cool Moroccan restaurant hidden away in the farthest corner of a mall. The shisha lounge is at the back, and when we walk through the doors, it’s like stepping into Marrakesh. The walls are almost cave-like in texture and colour and the ceiling is adorned with countless Moroccan lamps of all shapes and colours. The DJ is playing chilled out Berber beats mixed with US chart-toppers and all around me are gorgeous people cradling shisha pipes or sipping on colourful mocktails.
Sabs is already at the lounge and I’m surprised to find Dhulabhai there too. I guess Dolly is looking after the kids. She’s dressed like she usually does when she’s been in work – as though she’s been for a stroll down Camden, in ripped jeans, Converse and a long jersey top. I’ve also dressed down compared to yesterday, but since I’m a new fiancée and all that, I made a little bit of an effort in heels and red lipstick. It’s really weird but I suddenly care about what Hamza thinks of me, and I want to look good for him.
‘All right, Hamza? I’m Sabina, Zara’s one and only older cousin,’ she announces with a flourish and a grin. ‘This is Tel, my husband.’
Dhulabhai gets up and shakes Hamza’s hand and then we both sit down at the table, opposite them and next to each other. Unlike when Hamza met my sisters, I can sense how nervous he is, though he does a good job at hiding it as he starts to engage with my brother-in-law.
I squeeze Hamza’s knee under the table in reassurance and he tries to suppress a grin as he takes my hand and laces his fingers between mine. A tingle runs up my spine and I’m so shocked that I nearly spill my drink.
When it’s time to get up and go home, I find myself reluctant for the night to end. I’m too embarrassed to admit that I would rather Hamza drop me off than leave with my cousin, so I bid him a chaste goodbye and make my way to the car park with Sabs and Dhulabhai, while Hamza waits for the valet to bring his car.
‘Well? What did you think?’ I ask them both the moment we’re out of earshot.
‘I was pleasantly surprised,’ Sabina admits. ‘He’s actually got a really nice face, good teeth, a full head of hair, and nice hands. If he grew some facial hair he would be quite hot.’
‘Nice hands?’ Dhulabhai pipes up in confusion.
‘Not as nice as yours, babe,’ Sabina reassures him, slipping her arm through his.
‘Er, that’s not what I meant. I’m surprised that you noticed stuff like that. I was going to say I thought he was smart, hardworking and respectful. I liked how he spoke to you, like an equal.’
‘Thanks, Dhulabhai,’ I say sincerely, my cheeks heating up.
*
‘Do you get why I’ve been so confused all this time?’ I ask Sabina later that night, after we’re home and she’s sneaking in a quick fag in the garden. She’s not a chain smoker but she likes a menthol now and then.
‘Yeah, I get it now. I still don’t know if I could marry someone I didn’t fancy.’
‘That’s the thing .?.?. every time I see him I’m beginning to fancy him a little bit more.’
‘If that’s the case, I’m happy for you. And I can’t wait for your Big Fat Bengali Egyptian Wedding!’
‘Omigod! I completely forgot that there’ll be a wedding!’ I gasp, grabbing her fag out of her hands and taking in a drag. I’ve wrongly assumed that smoking a cigarette is the same as shisha and I begin to cough, the ash burning the back of my throat. I hand it back to her and she rolls her eyes as I take a gulp of water.
‘What the hell are you going on about? How could you forget?’ She laughs as I try to compose myself.
‘All this time I’ve been so focused on the actual marriage that the fact that I’m going to have to parade myself in front of hundreds of people slipped my mind,’ I explain fearfully. ‘I hate being the centre of attention!’
‘Well, you’d better get used to it.’ She grins, stubbing the cigarette out. ‘Because once I’m done with your face, no one will be able to tear their eyes away from you.’
I spend the entire plane journey back to London staring at my ring and praying I’ve made the right choice. Adam crops up into my mind every so often. Not because I still want him, it’s just that the last time I was on the plane, it was on my way to Dubai and I was in bits over what had gone down between him and Fran. It felt massive at the time, but the week away and my time with Hamza has dulled the pain, so whenever Adam enters my head, I push him out. Hamza is a decent man. He’s been bold enough to make his intentions clear and go after what he wants. That is the sort of man I want to be the father of my children, not a sexy, funny and unpredictable motorbike rider who disappeared and slept with someone else right after kissing me.