Finding Mr Perfectly Fine by Tasneem Abdur-Rashid

Author:Tasneem Abdur-Rashid
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bonnier Publishing Fiction

Chapter 18

A week later, my sisters and I are outside the Alexandra Palace ice rink, waiting for Hamza to arrive. I’ve taken Layla’s advice on board and decided that in order to gain some clarity on my situation, I need my sisters’ perspective.

I’m thankful that coming up here doesn’t make me feel nervous anymore. It took a good few years, but I managed to overcome my anxiety. This place holds so many positive childhood memories for me; skating at the rink, rowing on the lake, fireworks, picnics, weddings . . . I couldn’t let Tariq taint all those special moments for me. I’d already lost nearly a year of my life because of him; all the weddings and parties I was too afraid to attend, all the nights I stayed at home locked in my room, too broken to go out. And as I stand by the wall and look down at magnificent London spread out before me, I’m glad this beautiful piece of my history – and perhaps future – isn’t forever lost to me.

‘Salaam Alaykom!’ Hamza’s booming voice startles me out of my morose thoughts. I smile back and wave shyly, my insides a bundle of nerves, like my dad’s cable drawer with its countless phone chargers, laptop chargers, USB cables and other wires, all tangled up beyond redemption.

‘Wa Alaikum Salaam,’ I reply when he gets closer, unsure of how to greet him in front of my sisters. Hamza seems to sense my dilemma and gives my arm a quick squeeze before extending his hand to Amina first, and then Yasmin.

‘Ah, the formidable Choudhury sisters. I’ve heard a lot about you! It’s so nice to finally meet you!’

He shakes hands with them enthusiastically, pumping their hands up and down as if the harder he shakes them, the more they’ll be inclined to like him. I see that Yasmin is trying to supress a smile, whereas Amina’s expression is more difficult to read.

We make our way around the building to the ice rink entrance, where Hamza insists on buying our tickets, all the while keeping up a steady stream of conversation with my sisters. Well, with Yas anyway. Amina looks more uncomfortable than I imagined. He tries to engage with her but she responds with closed answers, which makes it challenging for him to continue the conversation.

When we finally get onto the ice, Yasmin whizzes away like she always does, gliding and spinning like a pro. She used to take lessons when we were kids and likes to show off her skills to anyone willing to watch. Hamza looks at me in awe.

‘Can you skate like that, too?’

‘No,’ I mutter, carefully stepping onto the ice and promptly falling down hard on my backside. Whose stupid idea was this? Probably Yasmin’s. She’s always stealing the bloody show. Today is supposed to be about me. I stare at her as she pirouettes at the centre of the rink, in her leggings that show off her legs for days and her slouchy sweatshirt casually rolled up to her elbows, her perfect hair swishing about in time to the music.

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