‘Is it – did Ali –’ I start, and then instantly want to kick myself when Fatima gives me the side-eye.
‘Isa, honey, when have you ever known me to listen to a bloke when it wasn’t something I wanted to do myself?’ Then she sighs. I think it’s a sigh at me, although perhaps it’s about all the times she’s been asked this question. ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘Maybe having the kids made me reassess stuff. Or maybe it’s something I’ve been working my way back to all my life. I don’t know. All I know is I’m happier now than I ever was.’
‘Well, I’m …’ I pause, trying to work out how I feel. I am looking at her high-buttoned top, and the sleekly folded scarf, and I can’t help remembering her beautiful hair, the way it fell like a river over her shoulders, draping her bikini top until it looked like she was swathed in nothing else. Lady Godiva, Ambrose had called her once, though I didn’t understand the reference until later. And now … now it’s gone. Hidden. But I understand why she might want to leave that part of her past behind. ‘I’m impressed, I guess. And Ali? Is he – I mean, does he do the whole nine yards too? Ramadan and stuff?’
‘Yup. I guess it’s something we’ve kind of come to together.’
‘Your parents must be pleased.’
‘I don’t know. It’s a bit hard to tell – I mean, yeah.’ She shoulders her bag and we start to walk across the jetty, picking our way carefully in the last shafts of sunset. ‘I think they are; although Mum was always very clear that she was OK with me not wearing a scarf, I think she’s secretly quite chuffed I’ve come round. Ali’s parents … funnily enough, not so much. His mother is hilarious, she’s always like but, Fatima, people don’t like hijabis in this country, you’ll hurt your chances at work, the other mothers at school will think you’re a radical. I’ve tried to tell her my surgery is pathetically grateful to get a female GP who can speak Urdu and is prepared to work full-time, and that half of the kids’ friends are from Muslim homes anyway, but she just doesn’t believe it.’
‘And how’s Ali?’
‘He’s great! He just got made a consultant. I mean, he’s working too hard – but aren’t we all.’
‘Not me.’ I give a slightly guilty laugh. ‘I’m swanning around on maternity leave.’
‘Yeah, right.’ She grins sideways at me. ‘I remember that kind of swanning. It involves sleep deprivation and cracked nipples. I’ll take the podiatry clinic at work, thanks.’ Then she looks around. ‘Where’s Freya? I want to meet her.’
‘She’s asleep – completely knackered by all the travel, I think. But she’ll wake up soon.’
We have reached the door of the Mill, and Fatima pauses with her hand on the knob.
‘Isa …’ she says slowly, and I know, without her having to spell it out, what she’s thinking, and what she’s going to ask. I shake my head.
‘I don’t know. I asked Kate, but she wants to wait until we’re all here. She said it wouldn’t be fair.’
Her shoulders sag, and suddenly it all seems hollow – the meaningless social questions dry as dust on my lips. I know that Fatima is as nervous as me, and that we are both thinking of that message from Kate, and trying not to think about what it might mean. What it must mean.
‘Ready?’ I ask. She blows out a long breath of air from between pursed lips, and then nods.
‘As I’ll ever be. Fuck, this is going to be weird.’
Then she opens the door, and I watch the past envelop her just as it did me.
When I got off the train at Salten that first day, there was no one else on the platform apart from Thea and Kate and a slight, dark-haired girl about eleven or twelve years of age, far up the other end. She looked uncertainly up and down the platform, and then began to walk towards us. As she got closer I saw that she was wearing a Salten uniform, and as she got closer still that she was much older than I’d taken her for – fifteen at least – just very petite.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Are you for Salten?’
‘No, we’re a gang of paedophiles wearing these uniforms as a lure,’ Thea said automatically, and then shook her head. ‘Sorry, that was dumb. Yes, we’re going to Salten too. Are you new?’
‘Yes.’ She fell in beside us, walking to the car park. ‘My name’s Fatima.’ She had a London accent that made me feel instantly at home. ‘Where are all the others? I thought the train would have lots of Salten girls on it.’
Kate shook her head.
‘Most people drive their kids, especially after the summer vac. And the day girls and weekly boarders don’t start until Monday.’
‘Are there lots of day girls?’
‘About a third of the school. I’m a weekly boarder myself. I’m only here because I’ve been staying with Thea in London for a few days, and we thought we’d go back together.’
‘Where’s home?’ Fatima asked.
‘Over there.’ Kate pointed across the salt marsh towards a glimmering tract of water, far in the distance. I blinked. I couldn’t see a house at all, but there might have been something, tucked behind one of the dunes, or the stunted trees that lined the railway.
‘How about you?’ Fatima turned to me. She had a round, friendly face and beautiful dark hair swept back from her temples in a clip. ‘Have you been here long? What year are you in?’
‘I’m fifteen, I’m going into the fifth. I – I’m new, like you. I’ll be boarding too.’ I didn’t want to get into the whole story – my mother’s illness, the long hospital stays that left me and my thirteen-year-old brother Will alone while my father worked late at the bank … the sucker-punch suddenness of the decision to send us both away, coming as it did out of a clear blue sky. I had never been any trouble, had I? I hadn’t rebelled, or taken drugs, or acted out. I had responded to my mother’s illness by being, if anything, even more diligent. By working harder and picking up more loose ends at home. By cooking and shopping and remembering to pay the cleaner when my father forgot.
And then, the talk … better for you both … more fun than being on your own … continuity … schoolwork mustn’t suffer … GCSEs an important year …
I hadn’t known what to say. In truth I was still dazed. Will had just nodded, his stiff upper lip firmly in place, but I heard him crying in the night. My father was driving him down to Charterhouse today, which was why I had travelled alone.
‘My father’s busy today,’ I heard myself say. The words sounded relaxed, almost rehearsed. ‘Otherwise I suppose he would have driven me down too.’
‘My parents are abroad,’ Fatima said. ‘They’re doctors. They’re doing this, like, charity thing for VSO? Giving a year of work for free.’
‘Fucking hell,’ Thea said. She looked impressed. ‘I can’t imagine my dad giving a weekend up, let alone a whole year. Are they getting paid anything at all?’