In My Sister's Shadow-Book II

3. Holding it Together

Author's note: A treat. A nice long chapter. Enjoy.

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Over the next few days I watched the phone like a hawk. The moment it rang I leapt onto it, but it was mum calling me to come visit her. August rain was relentless, I couldn't take the children out, and I knew if I took them to mum's they'd tell her everything. But, then would they? Zara lost her appetite and lost her energy. She spent most of her time staring at the crackly television screen. Aymaan still hadn't uttered a single word and the idea of him seeing a speech therapist was a far-flung dream, we'd move out of the area. His name would be deleted from the waiting list.

Later that evening, the children sprung to life when they heard their father's footsteps stomp up the staircase.
"Daddy's here!" Ayaan and Zara charged with new found energy into the hallway. It was wonderful seeing them full of life, but I was jealous. They were never happy to see me. I'd cook, clean, bandage them and sing them nursery rhymes until they fell asleep, but Zayn got the glory and the welcoming cheer. It wasn't fair. At that moment I felt so under appreciated by everyone.Shockingly, the children's cheer was met by a curse from Zain.
"Damn!" He yelled.
In the hallway Zayn stood with a brown pizza box in his right hand and a carboard tray with four milkshakes in another hand. The strawberry milkshake was half in the cup and the rest splashed on his grey top. Zara tiptoed back covering her mouth with her hand trying to suppress her giggles.
"What's wrong with them? They're climbing on me like animals!" He yelled.
Zara ran into her room and slammed the door shut.
"What's wrong with them?" I retaliated following Zayn into the lounge "What's wrong with you? They haven't seen you over four days. They're excited to see you."
"Where are my clothes?" He dumped the pizza and the milk shakes on the table and stripped his grey t-shirt off standing in his khaki coloured combat trousers.
"What clothes?" I folded my arms trying to conceal his loose black t-shirt I was wearing.
"Clean clothes!" He began rummaging though the bags of clothes which I'd stored in the lounge. We had no storage cupboards, so everything was piled high in bags like we were ready to leave. He turned the bag upside down sifting through the kids' clothes.
"Where's my t-shirts?"
"In the washing bag."
Kneeling on the floor, he looked up at me. "Washing bag? Why haven't you washed them?"
"How am I supposed to wash clothes when there is no hot water? How many times have I got to tell you to speak to the landlord? Have you asked how we are coping?"
"So, what am I meant to wear?" Zayn stood up, half-dressed looking around the room. "Can't you do anything right?
Half of my body struggled to hate him, the other half clashed with my hormones desiring to sniff the strawberry scent from his moist skin. It reminded me of the moment in Walsall when I first stepped close to him on the verge of cutting myself. The blender splashed strawberry milkshake on his clothes and that memory ingrained in my senses. Zain continued to complain but I stared at his incredibly chiselled chest like a piece of art work. His strong biceps evoked memories of our crazy passionate nights in Walsaal, when I clasped onto his upper arm in moments of euphoria. How do I argue with him?
"Zayn-" I pointed fixing my gaze on his face telling myself not to lower my gaze. It was dangerous. "Don't turn this on me. You've dumped us in this hell hole and then you disappear for days." My tone struggling to remain stern and serious.
"I have no hot water; the cooker doesn't work. I must use the rusty microwave to warm food. Do you actually care about us?"
Angry Zohra was returning. I was defeating my untamed hormones. Zayn grabbed my chiffon pink hijab and wiped the wet strawberry shake from his chest then flinging it aside.
"I have to pay 1600 quid in under a week. That's two months rent. You think that's easy?" He said.
He stepped closer to me and now the strong scent of strawberry tickled my nostrils. I could taste him.
"I have to travel all the way to Bristol and sleep in my van working 95 hours a week. Until this job isn't complete, my boss won't pay me."
I stepped away from him regaining my space. I was struggling to be around him. "So, what am I meant to do in the meantime?" My tone turned into a pathetic plea.
"Stop shouting! Zara yelled out making us ashamed.
"You know what. I can't be dealing with this." Said Zayn.
Just like he came in, he marched out, this time half dressed. It was awful, we were tearing strips out of each other and the children were the innocent bystanders. It was times like this I wished the camera could record his foul mood and what I had to endure. We shouldn't be living like this. The sooner we were out of here, the better. Zayn didn't care about me or the children.