Little Rumours by Bryony Pearce

Author:Bryony Pearce [Pearce, Bryony]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2022-01-07T12:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Aleema

I probably shouldn’t be driving; I haven’t slept for almost thirty hours and my eyes are gritty and blurred. But what was I going to do – sit with Mary while she cried? Comfort my husband? My arms, which have always fit around him like they were made for just that purpose, feel awkward now.

My thoughts are skittering between Mia and what she must be going through, and the fact that I’m not there. That I’m unable to protect her. The only thing I can do is what I’m doing now. I’m going to mosque. If I pray hard enough, Allah may send her home.

A Land Rover beeps, making me jump, and I realise that I’ve swerved into its lane. I turn the wheel, almost too slowly, and straighten up. Weaving all over the road, I’ll be lucky if I’m not stopped and breathalysed. I’ll be lucky if I’m not killed. I can’t bring myself to care. I swipe tears away and keep driving.

I park badly and emerge from the car like an old Nani, gripping the frame and staggering onto the tarmac. I think this must be what it’s like to be drunk. I lock the door with trembling fingers and shuffle towards Vicarage Street on jellified legs that can barely hold my weight. I am still wearing my wet slippers.

When I reach the mosque, I stand outside swaying. I need to go inside, to pray for Mia but … what if it doesn’t work? What if I pray and she doesn’t come home? What if I’m unworthy?

I think of the moment in the woods, when I gave up. And I think of my general laxity; it’s been years since I prayed five times daily. After I went to university, I cut down to two or three times: fajr and then maghrib or isha’a, depending on my mood. What if I am being punished? With a wail I drop onto the pavement in a pile of loose clothes.

The front door opens, and I scramble sideways, hiding my face as three women emerge. I can just see their shoes.

‘Aleema?’

The shame! I put my elbows over my head, but soft hands take mine and tug them gently away from my face. ‘Alee, what are you doing out here?’ Saira’s kind eyes are peering into mine. At the sight I let out a choking sob: part misery, part relief.

Alarm fills Saira’s face, and she gestures towards her friends, who quickly flank us. One of them is wearing a niqab and abaya and she pulls the loose black garment outwards, to hide me from prying eyes. Gratitude makes me sob even louder.

‘You should come inside.’ Saira tries to lift me, but I resist.

‘I can’t. I don’t deserve it. I’m being punished!’

A soft voice from behind the niqab says, ‘Should I fetch the Imam?’

‘No!’ I grip Saira’s arm. ‘You don’t understand.’

Saira glances at her friend, shakes her head and sinks to the ground beside me. Her round face fills with sympathy and grief. ‘The police called, they asked if I had seen Mia.

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