Finding Mr Perfectly Fine

Chapter 26

Arriving in Heathrow, everything looks tired and dingy compared with gleaming Dubai. Even so, I’m happy to be back in London, grime, cold and all. It might not be as shiny and glamorous as Dubai, but it’s real, and it’s home.

Both my suitcase and hand luggage are twice as heavy as they were when I flew out, and I’m wondering to myself if I should brave the Tube or splash out on a taxi home when I see familiar faces standing in arrivals, anxiously scanning the crowds of people. My heart soars and I realise that I’ve missed them, and judging by the looks on their faces, they’ve been worried about me. Mum’s frowning as she surveys the crowd and Abbu is saying something soothing to placate her.

‘Mum, over here!’ I call out as I struggle to wheel my heavy trolley through the crowd. I wave frantically at her and the relief on her face when she spots me is palpable. She nudges my dad who breaks out into a huge grin as he hurries over to me, engulfing me in a big hug before taking my trolley from me.

‘We’ve been worried sick because of you!’ Mum admonishes me when I reach her, throwing her arms around me. I stiffen slightly at the dramatics which makes her tell me off more. ‘How could you run off like that? What were you thinking?’

‘I didn’t “run off”, I went to stay with my cousin for a few days because I needed to get my head together.’

The traffic is crazy on the long journey home, causing Abbu to mutter something about Tubing it being faster, easier, and cheaper, and what’s the point of being on the Piccadilly Line if you didn’t use it to travel to Heathrow? Thankfully, Mum is sitting in the back with me so I’m hoping that the noise of the traffic and radio will prevent him from overhearing the gory details of why I went to Dubai.

‘Why did you disappear without telling us? Your nani hasn’t slept the entire week!’

I inhale deeply. ‘I didn’t disappear, Mum, I texted you.’

‘A text is not the same as asking for permission! Until you’re married and you become your husband’s problem, you are our responsibility! Don’t you dare pull a stunt like that again!’

With a deep breath and a prayer, I start with, ‘That might be sooner than you think.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Remember I told you about Hamza?’ I realise then that I’m still wearing my ring, so I subtly move my hand and squeeze it under my thigh. I don’t want Mum to see it until she actually knows who it’s from. ‘He flew out to Dubai to see me and it made me realise that he’s a really decent person and I think this might be it.’

For the first time in my life, my mother is stunned into silence.

‘Are you saying you want to marry him?’ she clarifies, her voice strangled and her eyes wide.

‘Yes, Mum,’ I groan, covering my face.

‘Oh my goodness me! Alhamdulillah! Alhamdulillah! I thought it would never happen!’ Mum’s eyes well up and, before I can continue, she bursts into tears. I eye her warily, unsure of how to respond. This definitely wasn’t the reaction I was expecting, so I reach over and pat her shoulder awkwardly.

‘Mum, stop crying,’ I plead, catching Abbu’s eye in the rear-view mirror. He raises an eyebrow and we smile at each other. I think he heard what’s happening but he’s too embarrassed to say anything.

I hand Mum a tissue to wipe her face and blow her nose. When she finally calms down, I proceed to give her a summary of how he proposed.

‘I’m still not sure about him being Egyptian,’ she says, sniffling. ‘That’s something different. Of course I need to meet him and his family before anything else can develop. I need to see who these people are that want to take my daughter.’

‘Absolutely,’ I agree. ‘They’re really nice people, Mum, much nicer than most Bengali in-laws would be.’

‘We need to do salat-al-istikhara as well,’ Mum muses, referring to a special prayer that Muslims do when they want guidance from God.

‘OK. But I need to show you something as well.’ I take out my hand from where I was hiding it and show it to her. It takes a second for her to clock on, and when she does, she gasps.

‘Oh my goodness!’ she cries, her voice rising to an impressive soprano. ‘It’s absolutely breathtaking!’ She grabs my hand exactly like Sabs did and stares at it. ‘I never thought I’d see you with a ring on your finger again, and such a beautiful ring as well! Much nicer than that tiny rock Tariq gave you!’ Then she starts crying again. I sigh and lean back, but as much as I’m feigning exasperation, I’m secretly quite pleased. It’s nice to be the bearer of good news for a change, instead of constantly being the source of disappointment.

When Mum calms down, she takes my hand and studies my ring. ‘He’s quite well off, isn’t he?’ she notes with appreciation. I roll my eyes.

‘He has a good job and he works hard.’

‘Well, he’d better look after you.’

I catch Abbu’s eye again and this time, there is a sadness in them. I guess there’s one person at home who’s not quite ready to let me go. I lean forward and squeeze his shoulder, and he takes one hand off the steering wheel and places it on top of mine. We stay like that for a long time.