SHAZIA & CO

SHAZIA & CO

CHAPTER 1

There was no reason for me to believe my epiphany would come on the 100th day. It was a trick of the mind. A vague kind of hope. Longing for a moment of revelation that would rid me of the negativity I had been living with. Days and days of carrying this heavy load. Not knowing where I was going or when I would finally dump the sorrow that was debilitating me. I had a home and for a sixty-three year old woman I was healthy and fit. I had a career I could continue if I pulled myself together. I don’t know why that number - 100 - seemed to carry so much weight because, in the end, it turned out to be the 97th day.

The sky was grey and unappealing. Clouds, like my emotions, hung heavily with a rawness that spoke to my heart. Trudging around the park as I had been doing most mornings, noticing nothing as though I was walking in a trance with bullying winds behind me. I made myself walk to stop myself from getting emotionally lost and that was when I heard someone shout.

‘Hey you. Please. Yeah you,’ a woman, I imagined a decade older than myself or perhaps even in her eighties, said pointing at me. When I looked behind me thinking she must be addressing someone else, I realised there was no one there but me.

I stood still, taken aback by her tone.

‘Please. Please. Help me.’ Now she was screaming, her grey hair flying around, tears pouring down her cheeks.

‘She was here a minute ago. Now she is gone. I can’t see her. Please help me. My granddaughter has gone missing.’ She started yelling, ‘Layla, Layla, Layla.’ My eyes followed hers and I began, for the first time in a long while, to see the trees, focussing on my favourite tree. Then, as my gaze concentrated on the sturdy, tall London Plane, it’s olive, greeny-grey bark and large scaly plates, I caught a glimpse of something moving. I saw the eyes of a tiny child flicker, her head darting back and forth behind the trunk. I put my hands on the woman’s shoulders to turn her around and pointed in the direction of the tree. The woman caught sight of her granddaughter, and sighed with relief. I quickly made my way to the tree and just as the little girl was popping her head round, I playfully ran up behind her. She screamed with fear and excitement and scurried to her grandmother, looking back at me as though I was an imaginary, make believe character. Her grandmother wrapped both arms tightly around her.

‘Nan, who’s she?’ the little girl asked as she pulled away from her grandmother’s embrace.

‘A stranger. A very kind stranger. A canny lass,’ the woman said before turning to me, ‘Cheers Pet.’

As soon as she spoke I knew she was a Geordie like Dad. My blue silk scarf hid my grey hair; I hadn’t dyed my hair in months. My Indian genes, together with the pounds I had recently lost, all belied my senior age so she was still calling me lass. Internally I couldn’t help smiling, which again I hadn’t done in a while.

‘I don’t know what I would’ve done.’

‘All’s well,’ I said.

‘Thanks to you. Say goodbye to the lady. Eeee, I’m propa paggered.

We need to get home,’

‘Bye Layla,’ I said to the little girl as she turned back to wave at me.

That was how on the 97th day I learnt to bury at least part of my grief. That was how I realised possibilities lay ahead if I could just believe in myself. That was how it all began. I watched the grandmother and her granddaughter disappear and walked around the park again. I had time to think. At last I was alert to what was around me: the blurred blankets of growing grass, the oaks, the beeches, the pines, the silver birch, the sweet chestnuts, the clusters of saffron yellow daffodils and other sprouting flowers and leaves, the magpies and parquets, the squirrels scrambling through the bushes and up the trees. I wasn’t at death’s door. I hadn’t been abducted or abused, and most importantly I wasn’t alone. My Mancunian childhood friendships with Wangari and Ellie had been key. It was my good fortune we were still close and all living in London. Mari and Ni, the devoted couple whose relationship I thought mirrored what Nandita and I, until Nandita betrayed me, were also there ready to hold me up. Sixteen years together, and just like that, Nandita left me for a woman she met at work; still so hard to come to terms with. As I was walking round the park, I recognised it was these friends who had picked up the pieces of who I was and am. They had been instrumental in seeing me through the distress and trauma. It had all seemed so unbelievable. I was totally unprepared and had they not all pulled together, steadfast and unflinching, instead of months, god knows how long, I would have remained a wreck.

Now they were all getting on with their lives and that is what I had to do. I hugged myself as warmly as the grandmother had her granddaughter, once again remembering Nana’s hugs in Bombay as I perched on her lap while she sat in her wheelchair and when I grew too heavy, how I would sit at her feet as she told me stories of Palghar. And Mum’s hugs when I was a child growing up in Edith Avenue, in Manchester. How warm and reassuring those hugs had been. Being the good Goan Catholics they were, Nana and Mum had found my relationship with Nandita difficult. But I knew they wouldn’t have wanted me to suffer. Mum and Nana were proud, determined women. They would have wanted me to follow in their footsteps, which on the 97th day I decided I must.

I remembered Nana telling me about her life as a little girl growing up in Palghar surrounded by rice paddy fields and crops, chikoos, bananas, mangoes and guavas, and how it had all changed when she married Grandda. He worked for the State Bank of India in Bombay so Nana had left Palghar to build a new life in Colaba where Mum and all my Aunties and Uncles were born. Then it was Mum’s turn. She told me about meeting this Englishman that none of the family had approved of, but finally Grandda had agreed, so Dad was able to whisk Mum away from Bombay to Edith Avenue.

I loved it when Mum, Dad and I would visit Nana and Grandda in Colaba. They lived close to one of Bombay’s most famous monuments, the iconic Gateway of India. I would love to go with my Aunties and cousins for a ride in one of the multi-coloured horse-drawn carriages, known as Victoria buggies, gathered around the Gateway. I would laugh with my cousins looking out at the boats at the seafront and the people playing cricket at the Oval Maidan. How my Aunties would bargain back and forth for the best rate and then we would all clamber into the carriage. What fun we had all those years ago. How those and other memories of them all in Bombay flooded my mental archives and as they did, brought me joy. But now I had to reconcile myself. There was no one who was going to sweep me off my feet away to another land, another life. Like a bird gliding through the clouds, I had to navigate my own way. Dad had died when he was seventy-five, Mum when she was eighty-eight. Nana had lived until she was a hundred. With Nana’s genes, I had a long way to go. I was only sixty-three. What I understood then, on the 97th day, was I wanted my life back. I wanted to be hugged with as much warmth and love as that little girl. But if I was to survive the days, weeks, and months ahead, I had to learn to cherish Nana’s words, ‘Shazia, never forget, baba, each day is a gift.’

CHAPTER 2

The next morning I recognised I hadn’t woken up a different woman. I was still me and at that moment still vulnerable and uncertain. But I was ready to venture out to the park again, to reengage and be nourished by all it had to offer me. With a new enthusiasm, I pulled open the wooden blinds, only to discover blotches of grey clouds warning me of what was to come, but I was still determined to plant a new seed. I pulled out one black bin liner after another filling them with all the things in the flat that I no longer wanted to see, and needed to get rid of.

By the end of the day, having stopped several times to clench my fists, telling myself to beef up, there were five bags stationed by the front door. I looked at them with a certain pride. So when Wangari called that evening suggesting we meet at our regular, The Salisbury on Green Lanes, I felt it was well deserved.

As her grey and black locks swung back and forth, and her warm black eyes and beaming smile reached out to me, I was once again reminded how lucky I am. While my relationship with Nandita hadn’t, my friendship with Wangari had survived over half a century.

‘Hey girl you look well chuffed.’ Wangari put the two pints down on the table and opened her arms and we hugged.

‘So good to see you, Wangari, and I am, dead chuffed.’

‘What’s up?’

‘Believe it or not, I’m finally back on my feet, and ready to get on with my life.’

‘Sweet.’ Wangari’s smile now embraced her whole face. She picked up her glass, passing me mine, and we toasted. ‘That’s well mint. Everything you’ve been through, it’s been rank. All the years you and Nandita were together, but hey, now you’re ready to move on. All power to you, sister. Onwards to new beginnings. I’m well pleased to see me bessie, buzzin. Just the best.’

I could feel myself smiling.

‘Cause for serious celebration, girl. I’m getting us another round,’ Wangari got up, her locks once again swinging, as she headed back to the bar. We were no longer the young teenagers, drinking in Alexandra Park after school. But Wangari was on a similar roll and I was feeling so much better. While my distress meant I had lost weight, I could see Wangari’s drinking meant she’d put on a bit, but she looked great. We were celebrating. That day my worries about Wangari’s drinking had no place. For the first time in a long while, it felt like old times, simply chilling together.

We had barely had more than a few sips from our first pint before she was back with another two pints. ‘Nothing like new beginnings. At least now you won’t be throwing anymore strops.’ Wangari dropped her purple specs down her nose, and winked; her way of confirming all was well again.

I was glad I had resisted saying anything.

‘Talking of which, how’d you like to come to my lesbian badminton group? I know, in all these years, nay decades, you have never been sporty, but we’re trying to recruit new members. I’ve arranged to take a friend from work called Ding. Come along and see what you think. If you like, you join. If not …’

I was all ready to say no, and stopped myself. ‘Why not?’

‘Sorted. As I was telling Ding, they’re a friendly crowd. Nothing competitive or too strenuous, just a matter of hitting a shuttlecock over the net.’

‘I don’t have a racquet?’

‘No worries there are spares. And if you decide to join, I’ll go with you to buy one.’

‘What about other stuff, clothes?’

‘Just wear comfortable leggings and trainers and you’ll be fine. Ding’s like you, never played before so you’ll both be on the same page.’

For one reason or another it made Wangari laugh.

I looked across at her. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing. Simply you’ll both be green, and I’ll be the teacher, for a change.’ Wangari couldn’t resist tilting her head and tapping me on the shoulder.

‘So who is this friend?’ I asked never having heard Wangari mention Ding before.

‘She works for the Council too; a real computer whizz. We were all chatting at work the other day, and it turns out she’s a lesbian. I was rather surprised I hadn’t clocked. So, of course, I mentioned the badminton group and she’s keen to give it a go.’

‘So?’

‘Shazia, you daft ‘apeth, there’s nothing going on. I get the impression she’s on her own and fancies doing something different and would like to meet some new people, same as you, girl.’

‘Just so we’re clear Wangari. I’m still recovering. I’m not up for…’

‘Don’t worry. I’m just buzzin’ for you. It’s all been well bad.’

‘True.’

‘So tell me.’

‘With Mum and Dad gone, Nandita was my family. Now, just like that, she’s up and gone, and I am on my own.’ As I was telling Wangari this, it was as though having just numbed the pain, I had reopened the wound, but Wangari was there to take the sting out of my words.

‘Listen here, girl, we’re all here for you. You want family? We’re your family.

You got Ellie, Mari and Ni, and me. You’re our kid now. Sure, it’s going to take some time, but like you said, you’re on the way.’ Wangari squeezed my hand. ‘Meanwhile why not give the badminton a go. You never know, you might enjoy it. A fun distraction. I’m getting us another round to celebrate.’

‘Listen it’s my round, but I’ve hardly finished my first…’

‘Stop being such a wimp.’

‘Honestly, just get me half then.’

Wangari didn’t listen and came back with another pint for me. I was barely able to finish my first pint. Wangari, on the other hand, was only too pleased to ensure all the glasses on the table were emptied. Having been the focus of Wangari’s attention for all these months, now it was my turn to worry about her. Given all the pints she was consuming, I was grateful she had walked to the pub. But I soon forgot, as we returned to our old Mancunian selves, raucous laughter causing others in the pub to turn their heads. As the evening progressed, not used to being out so late, I became tired, and Wangari had to get ready for work the next day, so we left. Before we went our separate ways, Wangari left me with a heart-warming hug that further warmed my spirits.

*

The next evening Wangari arrived as agreed at six thirty beeping her horn. Her big black eyes and broad smile beaming at me from the car window, looking none the worse for our night’s indulgence. Had I downed all those pints, my head and stomach would have been throbbing. I ran down the stairs, locked the door and jumped into the back seat.

Ding turned her head around and held out her hand and I shook it. ‘I don’t know how to play.’ It was almost as though she felt ashamed to admit it.

Before I could even reply in solidarity, Wangari was already there. ‘Don’t worry Ding, I’ve known this one since she was eleven and she’s useless at sports.’

‘Nothing like a few words of sisterly solidarity.’ I was laughing, as was Wangari, but poor Ding, I don’t think she quite knew how to take Wangari’s bluntness.

‘Don’t worry Ding, Wangari’s absolutely right but I just thought I would give badminton a go. Something new, something different, but I will try not to let either of you down.’

To calm us both, Wangari prepared us for what was to come. ‘You’ll both play against me for the whole of this first session. Usually what happens is people just break into fours or twos and change partners half way through.’

Ding looked back at me. We smiled at each other, me gritting my teeth and Ding biting her lip.

‘Wangari tells me you are a teacher.’

‘Yes. I’m a supply teacher.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I used to be a regular schoolteacher but getting old now so I work in different schools, on a temporary basis providing cover for permanent teachers.’

‘And you enjoy it?’

‘I do but I’ve recently taken time off. And you?’

‘I’m old too. I’m sixty-four but I continue to enjoy working in information technology.’

‘You’re talking to a computer illiterate.’ Saying this I was grateful that whilst I didn’t use any of the social media stuff, I still knew, and could use the basics on my MacBook Air, having attended a plethora of classes at the Apple store.

‘Why I like it, is because it is so different. Each day I find out about something I didn’t know before. It’s also good working for the Council.’

‘You must be a valued member of staff.’

‘No kidding, she’s always in demand,’ Wangari chipped in.

It wasn’t long before we were in Islington, on Hornsey Road, and Wangari was parking the car and we were walking towards the Sobell Leisure Centre, along with a motley crowd dressed in a colourful array of sports gear including shorts, which I found shocking being very sensitive to the cold. Most were in leggings, tracksuits, hoodies and joggers, snazzy trainers and a group of Muslim women looking fit and rather stylish with their black training hijabs.

‘If for any reason, I can’t pick either of you up, it’s easy getting here from either Finsbury Park or Holloway Tube.’

Ding and I both smiled across at each other. Wangari’s vote of confidence wasn’t lost on either of us. Staff, members, and friends were greeting and acknowledging each other, making it feel a friendly community space; clearly a home to many different sporting events and clubs. We dutifully followed Wangari and soon found ourselves standing on the glistening floor looking out at the 6 badminton courts. The other women in the lesbian badminton group were dressed in comfy loose clothing and sneakers, nothing too fancy or sleek, so having followed Wangari’s advice, neither Ding nor I felt out of place. Each woman said her name, which I almost instantly forgot. It was a welcome relief to see, not only young members of the group, but also a few other grey-haired women. In the spirit of change, I had dyed my long grey hair, a chestnut brown the night before and tied it up in a bun, and realised that some of them probably thought I was younger, fitter and a regular sportswoman as I had lost weight, down from 12 to 10, which I imagined, Ding was too.