In My Sister's Shadow-Book II

10. Turning into Dust.

The van is cold. I sit in the driving seat beleaguered with the height as I am used to driving a smaller car, closer to the road. Ducking, to find the ignition, I struggle searching for it under the steering wheel. I can't find it. Every task is a burden, the thought of driving this large vehicle beleaguers me and all I want to do is drive down off this hill. Where will it lead me? I don't know. I don't care. Dark thoughts haunt me, they've returned and the idea of driving into a busy dual carriage way-a motorway- plays on my mind. God, it's tempting.
When I was twelve in the midst of self harming, sometimes, the cut wasn't deep. The bloodletting was slow. I thought explicitly of slitting my wrists and putting an end to this horror story called My Life. Tonight, the thoughts were back. I could smash the barrier and drive down the steep hill.
But how could I do that? Behind me, three darling children depended on me. All three cuddled under the blanket sleeping peacefully. Zeenat told me to care for them, to protect them, not drive them to their death. No. I can't punish them. I must find a way to take them to my mum. Mum would look after them. My head bowed, my forehead rested on the steering wheel sobs racked through my chilly bones. I was exhausted. I need Zayn. I had to muster an ounce of energy and return home.
Finally, I found the ignition, it was under the steering wheel. The engine flutters and conks out.
"Please don't do this to me." I pray.
Once again, I turn the key this time it turns and starts. Sitting at the back of the seat, my feet barely touch the break and accelerator. So, I shuffle my bum towards the edge of the seat and tap the gas letting a might roar. I turned to look though the rear-view window, but it's pitch black. It's a van, there is no rear-view window. From the wing mirrors I can just about make the main road. I hate driving in the dark, no street lights and a large van. How will I drive? Shoving the sticky gear stick into reverse, I tapped the accelerator and released the handbrake. The van groaned and jumped backwards causing a burst of panic and the van stalled. I lifted the handbrake halting the car. This was useless. I can't do this. Where are you Zayn? Come back.
Once again, I tried. I reversed the van and drove onto the main road. Clicking the headlights on, I could see the narrow road yet unsure where I was going. With my mobile dead, shoved somewhere in my suitcase, I have no sat nav and no idea where I was going. Surely, somewhere I would come across a blue road sign to guide me back into the city of Birmingham?

Nervously, with fear that the police would catch me driving an uninsured vehicle, I entered a small sleepy town with detached houses and bungalows. The streets were narrow, and it was difficult driving a large van. I had to make wide turn to make sharp corners.
Luckily, Zayn hadn't taken us far, we were in Wolverhampton and Birmingham soon displayed on the blue road signs. The tank was half full of diesel to take me back and with the sun rise, I felt confident driving.
Travelling in familiar streets in Birmingham, my stomach twisted with worry thinking what I would say to mum. Dad would ask a million questions and I wasn't in the right frame of mind to answer him. Right now, I had to get the children into a warm house. They could catch a cold and maybe hypothermia. Grappling with guilt and regret, my tears showed no signs of ending. Like a waterfall, they'd flow thinking back at Zayn's heart-breaking revelations.
'You saw me.'
Dressed in Zayn's jacket, wrapped in a black shawl, it was 8:45 am on a frosty December morning I returned home. It had been a year since the news of Zeenat's death and under a year since I married Zayn. Was this the end of my marriage?
The rickety van chugged along Montgomery Road and I parked it haphazardly outside my parent's house. Staring at the front white door, I saw myself dressed as a bride who'd been forced to accept the mission and marry my recently widowed brother in law.
'I need you there. You are my right hand.' Now I know what dad meant.
Now, just under a year here I was; home. The children safe with me. Zayn had left. I was a good obedient daughter. Surely now, dad would be proud of me? He wouldn't care about the lies I'd swirled around Zayn. Nor would he give Zayn's feelings a second thought. I'd broke Zayn's heart, betrayed him and snatched his children to please my dad. This heartache served a purpose; to please my father. The end justified the means. All my life, I searched for his endorsement. I wanted to be his good and favourite daughter. I wanted dad to sing my praises to his friends and family. Today, it was my day. I was his good daughter.