Caged Nightingale

atif 65

We spend the next three days parusing London, eating, drinking, laughing and acting every bit the typical tourists. Saara plays her part well, pretending its her first time on the London eye, or tower bridge. Other times she is the perfect host. She takes me to her favourite places, Regents park, Camden, Portabello road, Edgeware Road. We walk hand in hand. Enjoying the last of the summer before autumn settles in.
On the fourth day over breakfast she suggests we should visit her parents.
I sit back keeping my face as passive as possible. Of course I knew it would happen- or maybe I didn't. I'm not sure.
We seem to have been living in a world of suspended reality. As if I'm not leaving and she's not staying. It feels real though. Almost too good to be true. I see the lingering gazes on peoples faces when the see us together. The envious way strangers look a little too long. We look like a couple in love and that is infinitely attractive
"Its because you're tall dark and handsome" Saara declares teasingly. But I know it has more to do with the fact that I cant take my eyes off her, hands off her, I want to protect her, possess her and keep her close. Like those 3 men all those years ago.
There is something magnetic about her. Even now, after all these weeks, every time I look at her it's to see her in a different light, every touch feels like the first. Watching her sleeping in my shirt, shoulder exposed, only makes me hunger for her more.
I smile back at her and say nothing.
I want to make her mine. Keep her close, forever. Seeing her parents will be a wake up call.
I nod. Return my attention to my plate. Ive lost some of my appetite. I chew slowly feigning calm, but inside I can feel the tension in my chest.
We take a cab to Hampstead. It stops outside a detached red brick house, covered in ivy on one side. Lilac, growing abundantly on the other. Saara keys in the code on the panel and the cast iron gate slides open slowly. Huge oak trees and tall hedges obscure the property from the outside, but it is quite something once you are stood on the gravel drive. The lawn stretches around the house. Saara takes my hand and leads me up the path to the glossy black front door, which opens immediately. Just inside are her mother and father. Both are as I expected: mother carefully coffed in a pant suit with a full face of make up and hair up in a knot and father in shirt and slacks with a jumper.  A full head of greying hair and starting to round out as they do at his age.  Middle aged. Middle class. They embrace her in tight hugs and her mother begins to cry quietly, wiping away silent tears.
When they eventually release her, they turn their attention to me. Saara's mother has the same grace as her daughter. She gives me an uncertain painfully tight smile and nods when Saara introduces me. Her father is harder to read. He has the same eyes as his daughter, but his gaze seems so much more colder and a little glassy. He's has the distinct look of a politician. Smiling on the outside but sizing me up at the same time. He holds out his hand and shakes mine firmly. I have at least a foot on him, I see his eyes narrow ever so slightly as he leans in and says " Welcome to our home. Let's go through."
My instinct tells me I'm not really welcome here, that Saara's parents are just going through the motions with me. But I pretend to not notice and follow them through.
We follow Saara and her mum into the lounge. Saara sits on the sofa next to her mum who still has her arm wrapped around her shoulders, her father takes the single winged chair and I sit opposite them.
Saara and her mum talk quietly all the while her father watches me like a hawk.
"Is this your first visit to London?" He asks as he takes the cup and saucer from his wife, without making direct contact. I know then, instinctually that he knows more about me than I would have thought possible.
"No." I reply. " I was here a few years ago." -To negotiate an important deal regarding some pretty potent kashmiry heroin, with some Armenians. But he already knows that because I see the very edges of his mouth curve upwards slightly. He's as about as dangerous as they come. He has the distinct look of a sociopath, which immediately puts me on edge.
In that moment I realise two things: 1) that he knows everything -anyone could -about me and 2) that he's known something about Saara's whereabouts this whole time.
So that means only one thing: this has all been about her. Seeing what she would do. Throw them in at the deep end and see what happens.
I sit back a little, letting the sofa take my weight and rest my arms on the arm rests, then look across as Saara who is talking in hushed tones to her mother, who is fussing over her-pushing back her hair and tutting at her scars.
I wonder if she knew her father was such a ruthless bastard? Whether she knew he wouldnt come for her?
Her father is also looking at her. Only there is a new found respect, as if he is almost proud of her.