In My Sister's Shadow-Book II

2. Desperate Measures

Dismal grey skies loomed above over the next week. Rain varied from spitting to torrential downpour oppressing me indoors in the greasy flat. Painfully, I'd slowly become accustomed to living above a greasy curry takeaway. The pungent stench of spice, garlic and frying oil was forever lingering in the flat. No amount of Febreze spray could cancel it out.

At first, Zara kept calling for her mother, asking me when she was back bludgeoning me with guilt. It seemed like I'd failed the children. They wanted their mother to return and take them back home. To happier times.
Now, three weeks later, Zara shrunk becoming reserved and quiet. She sat on the mattress in the living room and coloured in her unicorn book. This troubled me. I missed her misbehaviour, her cheeky laugh when she stole Armaan's Ipad and hid it under her pink dress. Children are meant to be noisy, lively and full of life, but my children were eerily silent. Leaving this hell hole without the children was not an option. I had to make a swift exit without incorrigible Zayn.

Standing in the park under my black umbrella, rain spitted upon me in mid-August. The swings and slides were damp from the rain and this was the only place I could take them for some fresh air. Vandalised with missing swings and damaged fences, the park was a sorry sight to bring the children. Armaan hung aimlessly from the monkey bars, with no motivation to reach the other and stared at the ground. Zara held my hand huddling to my leg under the umbrella. Aymaan remained in the back seat of my car colouring his super hero book.

With Zayn working in Bristol, he didn't return for days as it was 94 miles away, on a 2 hours and 15 minutes car journey. I rarely slept with the music, conversation and sounds of pots and pans clanging from downstairs. The children slept in the single bedroom and I pulled out the mattress on the sofa bed and tossed and turned on the rickety springy mattress. I scrubbed every floor, every wall and bleached the bathroom making sure it was hygienically clean for the children. The flat stunk of Dettol. I was trapped. No school for the children. No grandparents' house. I knew no one in this God forsaken town.

Later that afternoon, I arranged to meet Kash at Dixy's, a halal version of McDonalds. The children sat on the adjacent table sharing chicken nuggets and a tray of fries. Suffering with an abstemious diet, I played with my plastic straw dipped into the black liquid coke.

"You look awful." He observed sitting opposite in his smart cashmere coat chomping on a flaming chicken burger.

"Thanks for reminding me." I smoothed my Turquoise Khaadi printed kurtha which I'd purchased in better times on a shopping spree at the Bullring.

The chicken shop was at a lull allowing me the opportunity complain about the broken boiler, the cold showers, and Zayn ignoring my calls. Kash listened whilst munching his burger and fries. He licked his fingers clean from the tangy taste of barbeque sauce.

"Why are you doing this to yourself? You're punishing the kids." He chewed two fries at a time.

"Please, don't stress me out." I sat back in the leather seat. "My back aches from that awful mattress. The kids have been scratching, I think they got bed bug bites. I just want to run away."

"Well you know what you need to do."

Kash's face was stern. His chin paused from chewing. The silence was ominous.

"If you leave, he will come after you and the kids. You won't hear the end of it. Put in the surveillance cameras. He won't know. They're tiny." Kash pressed.

I looked at Zara throwing fries into her cup of drink. "I'm putting the children at risk. They are not bait waiting for Zayn to hit them. It feels wrong."