before her, smiling and holding out a hand that wore the most intricately worked, delicate ring that Miriam had ever seen.
“And so, is this my new sister-in-law?”
“This is Miriam,” said Omar.
All four children were stunned by the arrival of this new aunt. They had come racing down the stairs only to stop abruptly at the bottom, bumping into each other and forming a tangled knot of wide eyes and awkward limbs. They examined Aunty Rehmat and her husband from a safe distance; and after each of them had come forward under duress to be introduced and kiss the goddess-like creature, they ran back to the banisters and sat crouched on the stairs. Only Alisha ventured to stay nearby, and Rehmat touched the child’s head and praised her beautiful eyes (“you must have your mother’s good looks,” she said) and then she laughed, embarrassed at such an awed reaction from the children. Their quiet did not last long, however - as soon as they saw that the new lady was talking and joking with their parents, they understood she might actually be one of them. When Rehmat’s husband James took some French centimes from his jacket pocket and proceeded to make them disappear, they moved closer still, until they were right next to him, where he could reach down to pull the missing coins from Sam’s ears and Alisha’s nose.
Miriam was aware of very little of the opening conversation - she felt a wave of relief when drinks were offered, and Omar looked at her to go and get them. She followed Farah into the kitchen where they poured Coke and passion fruit juice into the best, gold-rimmed glasses, and Miriam looked at her bhabhi for some recognition of the wonder of this new sister, but Farah banged down the glasses irritably without uttering a word.
“They are so nice,” whispered Miriam.
“Yes,” Farah replied flatly, and picking up the tray she went back into the living room.
When the time came to serve lunch, Rehmat followed Miriam into the kitchen to help bring in the food. They carried in bowls of aromatic lamb curry and rice, and plates of golden fried samosas while Farah followed at last with her centrepiece platter of chicken biryani. Sadru had started eating before the women had even sat down, and he met Omar’s look of annoyance with surprise. “Eat,” he told him. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Although Farah was generally acknowledged to be a good cook, people expressed this opinion with a strange and almost imperceptible sense of hesitancy. It wasn’t that her food was not always delicious. It was just that she seemed to prepare it under a glowering cloud of discontent at having to be in the kitchen at all, and this infected those around her with a sense of guilt at having to consume what she had produced. Sadru always consumed his meals at high speed, as though he were afraid the food might escape from his plate if he left it there for too long, but others, including Miriam, tended to eat with care, lifting the steaming morsels gingerly to their mouths, as though the fragrant scents might somehow be hiding within them the poisonous fumes of Farah’s frustration.
Rehmat, Miriam noted with frequent furtive glances, was tall, and light-skinned like Omar and bore an extraordinary resemblance to her brother.
“You could think that you and my husband were twins,” said Miriam, so quietly that she went almost unheard. It was the first sentence she had ventured to say directly to her sister-in-law. Rehmat caught the words and smiled across the table at her.
“We are,” said Rehmat, arching an eyebrow at Omar. “We are twins.”
Miriam gave a gasp of surprise, and looked at her husband. Rehmat laughed, throwing back her head so that the thin string of gold that circled her long neck caught the light and shone in the room. She held out a hand and covered Miriam’s with it briefly, as though to reassure her that she was telling the truth. Omar merely gave a short movement of
“And so, is this my new sister-in-law?”
“This is Miriam,” said Omar.
All four children were stunned by the arrival of this new aunt. They had come racing down the stairs only to stop abruptly at the bottom, bumping into each other and forming a tangled knot of wide eyes and awkward limbs. They examined Aunty Rehmat and her husband from a safe distance; and after each of them had come forward under duress to be introduced and kiss the goddess-like creature, they ran back to the banisters and sat crouched on the stairs. Only Alisha ventured to stay nearby, and Rehmat touched the child’s head and praised her beautiful eyes (“you must have your mother’s good looks,” she said) and then she laughed, embarrassed at such an awed reaction from the children. Their quiet did not last long, however - as soon as they saw that the new lady was talking and joking with their parents, they understood she might actually be one of them. When Rehmat’s husband James took some French centimes from his jacket pocket and proceeded to make them disappear, they moved closer still, until they were right next to him, where he could reach down to pull the missing coins from Sam’s ears and Alisha’s nose.
Miriam was aware of very little of the opening conversation - she felt a wave of relief when drinks were offered, and Omar looked at her to go and get them. She followed Farah into the kitchen where they poured Coke and passion fruit juice into the best, gold-rimmed glasses, and Miriam looked at her bhabhi for some recognition of the wonder of this new sister, but Farah banged down the glasses irritably without uttering a word.
“They are so nice,” whispered Miriam.
“Yes,” Farah replied flatly, and picking up the tray she went back into the living room.
When the time came to serve lunch, Rehmat followed Miriam into the kitchen to help bring in the food. They carried in bowls of aromatic lamb curry and rice, and plates of golden fried samosas while Farah followed at last with her centrepiece platter of chicken biryani. Sadru had started eating before the women had even sat down, and he met Omar’s look of annoyance with surprise. “Eat,” he told him. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Although Farah was generally acknowledged to be a good cook, people expressed this opinion with a strange and almost imperceptible sense of hesitancy. It wasn’t that her food was not always delicious. It was just that she seemed to prepare it under a glowering cloud of discontent at having to be in the kitchen at all, and this infected those around her with a sense of guilt at having to consume what she had produced. Sadru always consumed his meals at high speed, as though he were afraid the food might escape from his plate if he left it there for too long, but others, including Miriam, tended to eat with care, lifting the steaming morsels gingerly to their mouths, as though the fragrant scents might somehow be hiding within them the poisonous fumes of Farah’s frustration.
Rehmat, Miriam noted with frequent furtive glances, was tall, and light-skinned like Omar and bore an extraordinary resemblance to her brother.
“You could think that you and my husband were twins,” said Miriam, so quietly that she went almost unheard. It was the first sentence she had ventured to say directly to her sister-in-law. Rehmat caught the words and smiled across the table at her.
“We are,” said Rehmat, arching an eyebrow at Omar. “We are twins.”
Miriam gave a gasp of surprise, and looked at her husband. Rehmat laughed, throwing back her head so that the thin string of gold that circled her long neck caught the light and shone in the room. She held out a hand and covered Miriam’s with it briefly, as though to reassure her that she was telling the truth. Omar merely gave a short movement of
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