Alone

Khalid tried to ease into the hard couch that he spent his first night on. On coming home the night before, his wife Amal had given him a piece of her mind, a hard slap across the face and accused him of spending his night with diseased hookers and threatened to take away their child. He tried to explain the situation but decided that with her foul temper that blurting out “I spent my evening in a hotel room with a woman I am (not yet) married to” was not something he should say to any woman who was going crazy after taking care of a screaming child all day. Add in the fact that he had left her starving and had kept her waiting; only to come home with soggy, cold fries and a simple sandwich and it was pretty much decided for him that he was to spend his night on the couch.

Staying awake until three o’clock – it finally dawned on him that he had left another woman waiting and without food; he started to feel guilty and worried. If I slip out and just quickly drive there; give her food and money and then dash back here then Amal might not even know I was gone. If I am quick and quiet then I can get away with it, but if she catches me then I will have to say goodbye to the couch and hello to the hallway. I will have to make sure she is asleep…

He sat up, the leather underneath him croaking as he lifted his body weight from it. Amal; awake and ever sleepless, heard the small sounds and listened carefully. She heard his footsteps; his careful tiptoeing across the carpet. Next the door to her bedroom began to creak open. “Don’t even think about it,” she hissed, listening to the door closing again; the man walking normally to the couch and the creaking again as he settled himself in for the remainder of the uncomfortable night.

The next morning he tried his best to be pleasant, making her hot tea and an even hotter breakfast, carrying it in to her bed as she sat up with Hamza in her arms, feeding him. She stared at him with the look that only she could give. He saw it, immediately walking backwards with the tray like an obedient servant.

He dressed himself, left without saying goodbye; knowing she would never reply so he didn’t bother wasting his breath. As fast as he could he drove to work, claimed to his boss that his son was sick and then drove as quickly as he could to the hotel where he had left Jude.

He knocked at her hotel room door, waiting for a few minutes in the corridor. At first he thought she was asleep, but after further waiting and getting the man at the desk to call her room, he finally realised she wasn’t in there.

After a few minutes pacing in the hotel foyer, the hotel attendant piped up and remembered that the woman had left before in a taxi. Khalid, furious at the man’s lateness and the consequential time it lost him, started shouting at him over the desk. “Why didn’t you say anything before? I have been going from the room to here, back and forth for no reason!” he fumed. “Where did she go? Do you know where she went?” he asked, although he had his suspicions.

As he was arguing over the counter with the man on the other side, Jude returned in a dark green abaya with lighter green and gold arm trimmings, mismatched with a bright red hijab.

“You look like a big Christmas tree. Where did you get this?” Khalid laughed with relief.

“Home,” she flatly answered.

His relief turned into instant anger and jealousy. He took her gently yet firmly by the hand and pulled her down the hallway into her room. Once inside he shut the door, locking it behind him and turning to her, ready to bite. “What happened? Why you left? I told you I would come back.”

“I didn’t eat yesterday. I still haven’t eaten and I was dressed like a prostitute – a hungry hooker - which it was that guy out there thought I was,” she paused, catching her breath. “You left me cooped up in a room with nothing to eat, no money to fend for myself and no clothing. I had to quite embarrassingly leave the hotel and enter the street dressed like I was last night because I was so hungry I was about to chew on the walls.”

“Hungry? That’s it?” he questioned, feeling doubtful as to her true reasons. “No other reason?” he eyed her over, knowing she wasn’t letting on the whole truth.

She shook her head, not wanting to admit defeat. He took one look at her face and the way her eyelid glided shut slowly, for only an instant; then he knew the real reason. “He told you goodbye again. Didn’t he? Eh?” he mocked.

Jude set her jaw, made her face stern and met his eyes… with nothing to say.

“I told you,” he reminded her, raising his eyebrows smugly. “I said yesterday he don’t want you. I am correct.”

“Yah, and you’re also a smug bastard,” she spat. “Are you happy? Are you happy you fucked up both of my marriages?”

“Ana?” he asked, referring to himself, pointing with one hand to his chest. “La’a,” he denied while clicking his tongue. “Not me. I ruined your first marriage – no lie. But the second one is your fault.” She went to speak but he put his hand up to silence her, to stop her from interrupting. “Did I force sex on you? Did I ripe you?” he questioned.

She smirked, imagining fruit. “Ripe? I think you mean ‘rape’?” He always knew how to make her laugh at the worst of times.

“Whatever,” he blew it off. “Did I rape you? Did I make you come with me? Did I put a gun to your head and control you to meet me so many times? No!” he denied, answering his own question. “You did that by all yourself. You came to me with your own decision – so why you blame me for what you wanted?”

She kept her mouth shut, knowing he was right. She looked away, to the floor.

“Eh?” he pushed. “Nothing to say? No words?”

“You’re right,” she muttered.

“I didn’t hear you,” he put one hand to his ear, pulling the top part slightly forward.

“You’re right,” she shrugged, throwing up her hands, admitting defeat.

“I am right because I knows you Judie,” he said, looking down at her, talking softer than before; coaxingly. “Now come and sit on the bed.” He went towards it, patting down the space the wanted her to sit on.

She shook her head, disobeying. “I don’t want that. Let me be clear with you Khalid. I don’t want you and I am never going to re-marry you so please just get rid of that thought from your head. Don’t waste your time.”

“Really,” he turned on her, staring at her stomach. “Who is going to care for you and that?” he paused, waiting for an answer, yet she didn’t give him one – too angry at having him call their child ‘that’. “He don’t want you and he won’t change his mind. He is Arab – so stubborn. Once we made a decision we don’t go weak on it.”

She rubbed under her nose and leaned against the wall; away from him. “You know… even if he never takes me back; and I know that may happen; even if he never speaks to me again – I will never marry you.” She spoke slowly, making sure he would for once take in her every word.

“Never,” she leaned forward, saying the word in his face. “You had your chance back in Australia and you fucked it up. You abandoned me and left me with a broken heart, bills, an empty house and too many unanswered questions.”

Her eyes welled up from the emotional exhaustion of the morning’s encounter with Faisal and the still raw emotional memories left over from Khalid’s original leaving. “I will never trust you again. I gave you all I had – I promised you my whole life and you left me like a piece of dog shit on the sidewalk.” She stood up straighter, feeling the power and strength inside of her. “I may be completely stupid when it comes to love and I do love you; but I finally learnt the hard way that love is not enough.”

“That man back there loves me,” she continued, “I know it, but he doesn’t trust me. It is the same for me with you,” she continued on. “I still carry love for you but there is no way I am putting myself into the mess you call a marriage.”

“We will see,” was all he could muster up.

She scoffed, then laughed out loud at his blind arrogance. “Is this male pride or are you just deaf? Did you not listen to a word I said? I will never go back to you,” she repeated, slowly, surely. “You’re problem is that you are one of those men that never take ‘no’ as an answer. ‘No’ means ‘No’, Khalid. It is not going to happen.”

“What about the baby?” he questioned, trying to rope her in with her situation.

She shook her head, rejecting his trick. “Women all around the world bring up children by themselves; all of the time. I won’t be the first or the last.”

His phone rang, breaking up their conversation. He looked at it the name appearing; a puzzled look on his face. As soon as he knew the caller his back went up straighter, his eyes burned with fury; like an animal on guard. Jude waited, leaning against the wall as he took his call; certain not to sit anywhere near him, even though her pregnancy made her constantly tired and weary.

After a few minutes Khalid closed the call, looking up to her. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip as he replayed the telephone conversation over in his mind. Jude studied his face, raising her eyebrows in question. “That was him,” he spat, not wanting to say Faisal’s name. “He wants me to go back and take your things tomorrow. You are not to come.”

“Faisal?” Her heart sank in tune with his name. “How did he get your number?”

“He called from your phone,” he stated, showing her the call list with her own number appearing in the most recent place.

“This is all too fast,” she sighed, sliding down the wall a little, ready to collapse. She leaned forward, her hand outstretched for the bed. Khalid moved quickly, reaching out and grabbing on to her, guiding her to the bed to lay down. She bundled herself up, flinching away from his touch as he tried to hug her. “I need food Khalid. I haven’t eaten in so long…”

He immediately left on her orders, leaving her to collect something to eat that had more care and thought put into it than what he retrieved for Amal the night before. As soon as the door clicked into place she dug her head under the pillow, blocking out the world in order to start her period of mourning.

**************************************************

“You are an absolute idiot! I really want to come over there are beat your head in with my shoe!” she fumed down the line, gripping the phone in her hand. “I really can’t believe you would believe that! Why didn’t you take the time to ask me? It would have taken one minute to put her oath under trail by calling me and I could’ve told you she was telling the truth!"

“Nada,” Faisal clicked with his tongue. “Nada, I can’t do it.”

She banged the phone against the wall three times, wishing it was her brother’s head. “Go and get her wherever she is and bring her home! You are a fool! A real fool!”

He didn’t reply, he just shook his head in his left hand and let his sister continue.

“She spent all day excited about you coming – making the house nice, making dinner for you – making herself beautiful and you go and just throw her out! You let her go with some man?!” she roared, in shock. “I don’t care if he is her ex-husband; how could you let her walk away!”

“Nada… she… she is pregnant,” he whispered; hating the words as they tripped off his tongue.

Nada sat back in her chair, taking the surprise in. After a long silence she spoke. “You let your child walk away too?”

“It’s not mine,” he said matter-of-factly; accepting the situation.

“What?” she slurred. She sat further back in her chair; the whole room around her ceasing to exist. “I don’t… I… Oh my God… I…”

“Don’t know what to say?” he finished it off for her.

She breathed out heavily, nodding her head. Even though he couldn’t see her, he knew what her laden sigh indicated; utter disbelief. “What are you thinking now?” he asked.

Nada shrugged, shaking her head. With her mouth dry, she answered. “It is all your decision. Do what you want. I won’t speak about this matter anymore.” I had no idea. I thought she was just a little chubbier – not… Why would she do this to my brother? Jude, why?

“Hmm,” he hummed.

“I’m so sorry,” she added; quietly, humbly; not knowing what else she should say.

“Don’t tell our mother though. I don’t want anyone to know,” he pleaded. “I don’t want people thinking I couldn’t satisfy her, I was a bad husband or that I drove her away or that she was bad or that…”

“I won’t say anything,” she interrupted quickly, knowing how quickly rumours, lies and insinuations could be made in her social circle. “I can’t believe she is gone.”

He smiled sadly, “Me either.”

“What will you tell them?” she dared to ask.

“The family?” he guessed who she was referring to. “I don’t know. Maybe I will say she went back to Australia to visit her family for a while.”

“And when they stop believing that?” she prodded.

He thought on it for a moment, trying to come up with an ideal response that would explain her permanent absence. “I will say she hates living in Dubai and had trouble settling here; that I refused to live anywhere else and so she chose to stay with her family.”

“That should work,” Nada agreed. “It is semi-believable. But you know as soon as the family knows, our mother will be at your door with Fatima? She will push even harder than before.”

“I know,” he sighed in response. “She wouldn’t even give me time to grieve – she would just unrelentingly be pushing the subject and I am not ready to be married again.”

“But what about the future?” Nada wondered. “One day you will want to move on. Will you accept Fatima then?”

Faisal shrugged, not yet ready to contemplate the proposal. “Hmm… who knows.”

Goodbyes

After staring at the television that played only Arabic soaps that she couldn’t understand, Jude decided to acknowledge her fiercely rumbling stomach and find a way to get food. During the night she put up with it, forcing herself to drink the water from the bathroom tap. The next morning, with her stomach severely aching did she decide to take drastic, slightly embarrassing action.

The shitty, low budget hotel Khalid had temporarily set her up in didn’t offer room service or any sort of minibar so she was left with no other choice than to venture outside, dressed only in her high gold heels, her knee-length short dress and her now messily yet still curled hair uncovered.

She looked outside her door cautiously, tiptoeing down the hard floored hallway, trying to stifle the noise of her heels clicking and clacking against the surface. With her hands pulling down her dress, making it stretch as long as possible and her arms crossed over her chest, trying to hide her cleavage and bare skin she made her way to the reception; feeling awkward and ashamed.

She crept up to the high desk, coughing softly to get the attention of the man on shift; a different one to the one the night before. He looked up to her face and then down to her chest, lingering a while before flicking them back up to her eyes. “How may I help you?” he asked in a thick, slurred accent; his tone very telling of the fact that it was a learned phrase as opposed to a question that spilled forth naturally.

I feel so dirty - this is so embarrassing. “Can I order food in here? You don’t have any room service? Nothing I can put on the room bill?” she asked, a little too quickly for the man standing behind the desk.

“Repeat please”, he said slowly; a puzzled look on his face.

She lifted on hand up to her mouth, miming the act of eating. “Food? In room? I want food in my room.”

He shook his head, pointing outside to the glass doors. “Outside. Shop.”

“Fucking great,” she muttered to herself, trawling herself back to the room; holding her hands behind the end of her dress, knowing he was looking at her from the back.

She locked herself inside, looking around the room again for anything – a drop of money – a miracle – anything. She looked at the hotel phone on the small bedside table, wishing it to somehow reveal her phonebook. I don’t know Khalid’s number off by heart and Faisal isn’t answering his phone. Obviously simply refuses to answer it.

What the hell am I going to do? I’m starving. I want to go back home and get out of this shit hole. I want to go back for Faisal. I can’t believe I ended up here. Why the hell did I have to be so zoned out? Couldn’t the numbness come later? I basically allowed Khalid to drag me off – now Faisal is really going to think I was with him.

Fucking Khalid! Fuck fuck fucking Khalid! He ruins everything!

She tried Faisal’s number again; hearing it once again ring out. He must know it is me. Khalid is right – he doesn’t want to speak to me. Not that I will let him know he is right, of course. He would be too smug about it and I don’t want him to think that.

A low growling erupted from her stomach again, the hunger pains kicking in more. I gotta eat. My baby has to eat. I have to eat. I need to get out of here right away… I need to get back to Faisal and explain everything. Screw his divorce – he doesn’t have the right to do that without first talking to me.

She scuttled down the corridor again; the same sense of shame settling in, even more so when the man’s eyes lit up again upon seeing her. Men are so dirty. “Can you call me a taxi, please? Taxi?” she asked, this time slower; wishing she could headbutt the man's ogling eyes out of his head in order to teach him a lesson on respect.

He nodded his head and picked up his desk phone, dialling a number and speaking in Arabic. Ten minutes later he alerted her to the fact that the driver was outside and waiting. She slid into the car, carefully giving the driver her address in Arabic. He seemed to know where he was going; only having to turn to his GPS for the last section of the ride.

The taxi pulled up outside the house, just as Faisal was shutting the gate behind him. Before the car had come to a complete halt, she opened the door and flung herself out, calling out his name. Through the tiniest of slits in between the gate and the wall, he saw her; took pity on her clothing, even missed her and then remembered the hot rush of hatred that drowned him the night before when he caught the world’s stupidest pair of adulterers.

He opened the gate just enough to stick his head through. “I don’t want to talk to you. Go away,” he warned, waiting for her predictable response.

“You are being an idiot Faisal! If you only knew the truth…” she began, determined to push herself back into her own home.

The taxi driver got out of his car, politely asking Faisal in Arabic for the fare that his passenger could not pay. “Wait, I will get it,” he responded in rushed Arabic; annoyed. “And the fare back.”

He shut the gate in both of their faces and returned to his house, ripping his wallet of the sideboard at the entrance and taking out a large note. He returned, opening the gate fully and sliding it into the taxi driver’s semi-open palm. “Take her back where you got her or I will call the police and tell them you are escorting prostitutes into residential areas,” he warned harshly, sure that the driver would be too scared to fight back a threat like that. “Children live here – you should be ashamed of yourself!” he added, cementing the threat.

The driver looked down at his shoes, happy for the money but ashamed and nervous over the threat. Without a word he got back into his seat and waited for the woman in the indecently short dress.

“I don’t know what you told him but I am not getting back in that cab!” she protested, standing her ground; trying to exude authority.

He held out his hand, handing her a clean abaya and mismatched scarf - things quickly grabbed from his dash inside the house. She thanked him, grateful that he always played the gentleman.

“You are not coming in here,” he replied; smoothly, sweetly, yet sure of himself. “Listen to me and listen well – this is the last time I am going to say this; I don’t want you here or in my life or anywhere. It is over and I am not stupid enough to have you fool me twice.”

“I’m not fooling you!” she shouted, exasperated. “I am trying my hardest to fix things! I don’t even know how he came to me or knew where we lived.”

“I don’t believe that,” he muttered, denying her words.

She took her hands to his face, replacing them every time he swatted them away. “I swear to you – I swear to Allah – God can strike me down now and kill me if I am lying: I did not know he was coming – I haven’t spoken to him and I have no idea how he came here and found me. I swear that…”

“I don’t care!” he snapped viciously, wishing she would just disappear from his life for good. “I don’t want you! Get out of my street and piss off!” His eyes burned deep with anger; the type she had never witnessed before. It scared and unnerved her. He continued; “You are divorced! What more is there you need?”

“I need you…” she tried.

He shook his head, laughing incredously. “You need to be with the father of that child,” he shouted, letting his eyes flick over her pregnant mound. “Stop being so fucking selfish for once in your life and look after what is more important. I don’t want that kid and I don’t want you. Take your child and let it be with its father. Be fair and love your child – it deserves that.”

She shook her head, the hot tears burning behind her eyes. Stubbornly she refused to let them out.

He took her by the shoulders, baring down into her eyes, shaking her a little to knock in some sense. “Jude - you are pregnant. The father wants you as his wife and he wants his baby. Don’t take a child away from his father and don’t take a father away from his child. Stop thinking about yourself,” he paused. “Anyway – you love him. I don’t see why you are here. There is nothing left for you.”

“You,” she whispered, looking at his neck, unable to meet his eyes.

“No, our time is over,” he said softly, making a silent pact with God that he would treat her gently if she would just let him go. “Look at me,” he ordered. She kept her head down, unable to. He shook her, speaking harsher. “Look at me.” She gazed up and wished she could get lost in his eyes. “I don’t want you as my wife. You are not good for me. I can’t and I won’t live my life with someone who changes beds like a bee changes flowers.”

“I swear…” she tried, sounding tired and worn out, but by the look in his eyes she knew she had no other choice but to believe him. He simply no longer wanted her. There was nothing she could do.

“No, stop,” Faisal shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it. Please let us leave each other’s life in a calm way – the way we met.”

“I can’t believe you don’t want me,” she breathed out, her stubborn eyes finally releasing the pent up water. “I can’t believe it…”

He sighed, sick of the trying. "You have to give it up."

"I wont give up. Nah-uh," she shook her head. "If you push me away today I will only keep annoying you until you see I wasn't lying. I know you want me."

“I don’t want you,” he confirmed, lying. He took a deep breath in, a heavy breath out and stood up straighter. Biting his lip, he said his goodbye. “When I met you we smiled and laughed. Whatever bad shit happened to us – I want to remember you that way. One day I will stop hating you for this and then I will want to remember the good times. So please smile and laugh now – then walk away. Can you do this one thing for me?”

She held back her tears again, bit her lower lip and sucked in the sobs, standing tall; nodding her head. She smiled a slight grin that took all her effort. Faisal smiled back, amused at her fake smile. “That’s not real.”

“What did you expect?” she moaned, rolling her red eyes. Why don't men crumble in public like women do?

He shrugged, smiling. “One I can remember.”

Still biting her lip she shook her head slowly. “I can’t lie and give you a real smile.” She put her hands up, about to touch him but then dropped them again – an inch away from his skin. It will hurt me more when he pushes my hands away. “Did you bring me back anything from Italy?” she asked, changing the subject; hoping their meeting wouldn’t have to end; hoping they could stay talking until they both grew old on the spot.

“Myself and a hat,” he stated.

“What kind of hat?” she queried, gulping down the choking feeling in her throat that threatened to suffocate.

“An orange hat,” he answered matter-of-factly.

She scoffed, laughed, smiled; all genuinely. Fucking orange.

He smiled in response, satisfied. That’s all I need. He leant forward, putting her hair behind her ear, smiled at her and stood back for a second before stepping forward again and kissing her on the top of her head. He stepped away again quickly, eyeing off the bump. “Be good to your mother.”

And then he walked away.

Confrontation

“Let me go!” she yelled, hitting Khalid across the face and falling to the ground, unbalanced. Khalid put his hand down, tightening his fingers around her arm, trying to help her up. Faisal just stood in the doorway, his bag in his hand, staring down at her; utter disgust and loathing spread across his face.

Khalid pulled her to her feet, eyeing off Faisal. This is the guy, is it? This is who has taken my Judie away. Well fuck him! She is mine! “I’m taking my wife back and I won’t let you stop me! She belongs to me!” he warned in Arabic, sending the words flying over Jude’s head; herself unable to understand them.

Faisal looked to her face for an instant, shaking his head slightly and turning it away from her direction unable and unwilling to see her face. I can’t even trust her on the day I am coming home. I am so stupid. She played me again. Why did I even come back? “Take her,” he replied in Arabic. “I don’t deserve a woman like this anyway and I don't want your scraps.”

“What do you mean? She is the best of the best – you fucking Khaleeji men don’t know how to treat your wives. It is more like she doesn’t deserve you!” Khalid spat back, hate plastered across his face, aimed at his rival.

Jude straightened up her back, looking wildly from her former husband to her current one; confused and wondering what was going on. She saw the look on Faisal’s face, the fact that he dared not look her in the eye and then got upset, knowing it was her time to speak. She tore herself from Khalid’s grasp, lunging at Faisal, flinging herself against him. He looked away, down at the floor, holding her back and away from him. She began wildly pleading with him, trying to explain the confusing situation. “He just came, Faisal! I don’t even know how he knew where we lived! He must have followed me!”

“Followed you from where?” Faisal growled back at her, shutting down her excessively worrying pleas. “You had to be with him for him to follow you!”

“No!” she protested, shaking her head. “I swear I was here all day with Nada – making dinner for you when you came back. Wallahi!”

“Ha! ‘Wallahi’?” he mocked. “You say ‘wallahi’ to me and you expect me to believe your lies?” he incredulously asked; bewilderment caught in his eyes as he finally looked to her. “Do you really think I would come home, see you with him – in his arms – in my own home - and then believe you when you say you had no idea how he got here? And now you lie about my sister being here? Ruining her dignity as well as whatever was left of your own?”

“Faisal…” she began, seeing in his eyes that he had already made up his stubborn mind. “I swear that…”

Khalid cut in, grabbing her away and pulling her to him. The sight of his love in another man’s arms, begging to be believed was too much for him; jealousy, anger and embarrassment rushed over him. “Let’s go!” he ordered in English. “I will come for her things later,” he added in Arabic, staring down Faisal with angry brown eyes and furious drawn-in eyebrows. “Her things only; not the shit you bought her.”

“Get her out of my sight!” Faisal yelled back in Arabic, walking past them and deeper into the house. “Both of you pieces of crap get out of my house! Now!” he demanded, this time in English so Jude could understand she wasn’t either welcome or wanted.

“I don’t care what you call me, but never call my wife crap!” Khalid shouted, letting go of Jude and rushing after Faisal, lunging at him and swinging a well rounded punch that landed half in between his jaw and his neck.

Jude screamed, the sound of fist against flesh making a sickening thwack. She ran after them both as they began to fight, swinging punches and lashing out at each other. She screamed, trying to break them apart, only to be pushed to the ground herself by Faisal – a push that was unintended.

Seeing Jude being smacked to the floor only enraged Khalid more; laying into Faisal’s body with a higher energy of rage. He only stopped when Jude got her pregnant self off the floor and tried once again to get in between them both. This time, in the heat of the argument, it was Khalid who accidently sent her flying back to the floor.

Horrified at his own accidental action, Khalid ceased the fighting, rushing to her instead, helping her off the floor, apologising profusely. Khalid, leaning against the bottom of the staircase, wiped at his face, bringing his hand back; painted with blood. At first he couldn’t tell whose blood it was – either the blood coming forth from Khalid’s obviously split lip or the one from his own bleeding, broken nose. Either way he didn’t care; the adrenaline rush of the fight was still pulsating through him, making him unable to register the pain yet.

He looked to his wife half on the ground, being helped up by the Egyptian intruder. For the first time he spotted her baby bump, disgusted and appalled by the sight of it – not helped by the fact that the man who had got her pregnant now had his arms protectively around her. “Get out of my house!” Faisal ordered to her, nursing his bloody nose. “I don’t want you. I don’t want to see you. Take your lying arse out of this house and never come back.”

Jude stared at him in shock, wondering how this night had gone to shambles so quickly. “I was making food for you…” she blurted out in shock, rambling on in a daze. “One minute ago I was praying and then he came…” She looked around the room in despair, confused more than anyone else.

“Then go with him,” Faisal whispered back harshly, condescendingly. He lifted the volume of his voice, forcing her out with his words. “You and him,” he pointed, “and your whole new family can get out of my house right now.”

“Faisal…” she pleaded pathetically, her eyes giving away her innate desperation.

“Don’t,” he held up a bloody finger to her. “Don’t say my name again. You don’t exist for me. Talaq, talaq, talaq.” He repeated the divorce proclamation three times, divorcing her on the spot.

Jude, too shocked to cry, too numb and confused to fight, just stood in a heavy daze in front of him, unknowingly letting Khalid pull her away and out the door. “You don’t want me? He doesn’t want me…” she muttered to herself, beginning to shake.

Faisal followed them; waiting for them to leave so he could slam the door behind them, gaining power from casting them out. Before slamming it, the final insult came from Khalid squeezing his arm around Jude, leaning his neck in and kissing her on the dazed head. Faisal flared up some more, screaming out to him before slamming the door shut hard. “Go and ride your donkey around your Lego pyramid and fuck off.”

Khalid, never one to bite his lip, could only retaliate with a laugh; somewhat amused at his attempt at an insult. “You tease me about my people building huge structures thousands of years ago, while yours built sand-castles?” he laughed again, throwing another insult over his shoulder in Arabic. “Your people only came out of the desert fifty years ago. Wake up to yourself!”

Faisal, angry at his insult, re-opened the door. Jude spun around, hoping it was to let her back in, but upon seeing his infuriated face, knew it wasn’t to be. She tried to run back to him, but Khalid caught both of her hands firmly in his own, using all his strength to hold her back.

With a lie of acid on his tongue, Faisal let out false words in Arabic that shocked Khalid to the core. “Take your new wife home – take good care of her when my baby is born too. He will need a father.” Let him be tortured like I was. If he doesn’t know already then it will taunt him and if he does know, then my words will play with his head; making him wonder who the father really is.

Khalid bit his lip, shooting a quick look of terror at Jude, yet not letting go of his strong grasp on her. She is pregnant? To him? Ya Allah…

Khalid all but dragged her to the car, forcing her in to her seat. He reached over, putting her seatbelt on as she sat staring straight ahead of her, gazing into nothingness; absolutely stunned. How can this have happened? Where did it go wrong? I don’t understand. For a moment she forgot to breathe, catching her breath back quickly, gulping in air. This is stupid – it is ridiculous. Surely Nada will talk to him and sort this mess out. She will verify that she was with me all day, then he will believe her and want me back. He has to know! He has to believe this was not my fault! Surely he heard my words to Khalid – telling him to leave and that I didn’t want him! Surely! But which part of our short conversation did he walk in on? I hope it was the start…

Khalid clipped her in, securing the seat belt and leaning away from her, brushing his arm against her protruding stomach. Shit. It’s true. She’s pregnant. He stared at her face fleetingly, deciding to ask questions later; when he had formed them properly and when he had her sitting down and relaxed. Now where am I going to take her?

The sound of the engine woke her up out of her numbness. She hurriedly undid her seatbelt, unlocking the car door and opened it, just as Khalid had begun to drive off. Her intention was to jump out of the moving car, run to her front door and beg to be let in – just to be given the chance to be listened to so she could prove she had not done a thing wrong. But Khalid’s reflexes were quicker than hers. He pulled her back in, came to a sudden halt – the sudden braking make Jude fly forward in her seat, hitting her head hard against the windscreen, yelling out in pain as she reeled back. He leaned over further, slammed her door shut and locked it from the main controller on his door; preventing her from unlocking it herself.

He drove her to a low budget hotel – the only one he could afford on his salary, hiring a small semi-comfortable room for a week, deciding that should be enough time for him to plan his next move. The man at the desk looked down at her in disgust – eyeing off her high heels, short dress and done up face and hair; thinking that she was some sort of prostitute the obviously bleeding Egyptian man was setting up a room for. Both Khalid and Jude were stuck in their own minds and forgot the way Jude was dressed – missing her lack of coverage.

In a daze, now painful state, Jude dropped onto the bed, curling herself into a ball; her knees tucked into her. Khalid sat on the bed next to her, putting his hands on her lower legs for comfort. “It is finished. Khalas. You are back with me now.”

At his words, Jude howled, shaking as she cried. He undid the straps of her shoes – putting them on the floor, finally letting it click how she had been dressed in public. He shook his head in half shame – half embarrassment for his ex-wife.

“I don’t want to be here. I want to go home,” she moaned, put off yet still comforted by his familiar close touch. “He doesn’t want me…”

“We will find a nice home together – don’t worry. I will glue this problem up,” he promised, racking his brain as to how he would do it so quickly. He had gone to her house not with the best of back up plans, but with the uncontrollable urge to have her again. His emotions took over his rational thinking; but having her to himself again was all that mattered and with that he was satisfied. Everything else will fall into place, Insha’Allah.

“This is not my home Khalid,” she said, sitting up looking around the room. “I don’t want this. I don’t want this with you. I want to go back to my home – with my husband Faisal.”

“You’re just telling this because it is confusion and dramat… dramtic,” he stuttered, trying to get the word off the tip of his tongue.

“Dramatic,” she corrected, shaking her head. “I know what I want and it isn’t you,” she added softly, careful of his feelings but adamant of her own; just so there was no confusion.

“I don’t believe you,” he confronted her. “You loved me so hugely – so strong,” he clenched his fist into a hard ball, showing her what he meant, “since before we were even married. After I left you – and I’m so sorry and stupid for that – but I don’t believe you can stop loving me for this man.” He paused; eyeing the mound that housed what he thought was Faisal’s child. “I know you love me. You wouldn’t come with me if you didn’t. You just have confusion.”

Confusion swirled in her head. Maybe I do. Maybe he is right. No, he isn’t. No, I don’t know. I just don’t know. No, I know. “I love you Khalid – I always will. But I love Faisal. He is my husband.”

“No, not anymore. He said ‘talaq’ to you,” he corrected, reminding her of his recent words. He wiped his throbbing lip, removing some of the semi-dried blood. A small price to pay. It actually went a lot smoother than I thought it would. “You’re not his anymore. He said it three times,” he held up three of his fingers, shoving them in her face as if it was somehow damning proof.

Jude’s lips tightened, forming a thin line as she thought over his statement, knowing it to be true. She dismissed the fact, feeling Faisal had not meant it – saying it purely from rage – an upset she could understand. “He didn’t mean it. He was just angry because he misunderstood what was really happening, because you fucking showed up out of nowhere when he was supposed to come home. You ruined everything! You ruined my first marriage and now you have ruined the second chance I had with my second marriage,” she raged. “It’s like you don’t want me to be happy!”

Khalid sat back, unable to believe she could be so stupid. He counted a new finger each time he made a new point. “He said he divorced you; three times. He put you out of the house. He sent you with me – permissioned you to go with me. He let you go out with no hijab – no covering. He didn’t try to believe your words. He told me to take you from him. He hit you to the ground,” he gave her a quizzical look, knotting his eyebrows together. “Can’t you see he don’t care?”

Jude sat up straighter, ready to defend her husband. “He was just angry – I swear he didn’t mean it. He just needs time to calm down and think!”

Khalid crossed his arms across his chest, looking her directly in the eyes with a hard, stern stare. “He doesn’t want you.” He let his harsh words fall into silence, watching her face for her reaction. “You don’t have a husband. You are divorced.” He let the words sink in; noticing the look of realisation had fixed itself on her pale face. “You have no one but me.”

Divorced? Holy shit. He’s right. But surely Faisal just said that out of anger – I’m sure he will come around and want to talk things over. He just needs time – it must have been a huge shock – thinking he was witnessing what wasn’t really happening. He just needs time, she convinced herself. “He will call me tomorrow. We will talk.”

Khalid rolled his eyes, wondering when she was going to wake up to the truth. “Sometimes you are so new in the head; like you were birthed yesterday,” Khalid muttered aloud. “How will he call you? Did he give you your phone? Do he know where you are? Do you really think he will want to speech with you?”

“Yes,” she faintly replied, unsure.

“I promise you he won’t call or try to finding you,” he snarled. “I promise.” He looked at her blank face, waiting for her to reply or refute his statement, but she didn’t. “Men like him are too much pride of themselves. He won’t do it; I promise you. Remember my words.”

Jude shook her head in disbelief, rejecting his oath.

“You don’t believe the only man who loves you?” he questioned her, squeezing her leg tenderly. “I will proof it to you. Tomorrow I give you my phone – you call him – see the truth with your own heart. He won’t let you say one letter to him – not even if you call everyday for a year,” he gestured dramatically with his hand.

Jude looked down to the bed, not knowing what to say; wishing time and Faisal would prove him wrong. Annoyed with her continuing denial and naivety, Khalid decided to rub her nose in his version of the truth even more. “He doesn’t want you and he doesn’t want your baby.”

Her head shot up, startled. “You know?” she gasped.

“He told me,” Khalid answered, keeping the look of repulsion off his face, not wanting to hurt her. His child in her body. I hate it.

Jude thrust her hands upon her stomach instinctively, protecting her child. “I was going to tell you; but I never found the right time – so many things were going on.” She bowed her head in apology, feeling weak for not have told him sooner that he was going to be a father again.

This must be why she stopped seeing me. I understand it all now. Khalid swallowed his own saliva, unsure of how to reply. He stared at her stomach, motionless and speechless. She broke the silence, trying to ease the discomfort. “I know it changes things a bit – makes it more complicated,” she added, referring to the issues with Faisal not being the father and her wanting to remain with Faisal; not knowing that Faisal had lied to Khalid and told him it belonged to him.

My Judie is carrying some arrogant Emirati’s child – of course it fucking changes things a bit. His face remained tight lipped – unable to move. His eyes, full of furious sadness, did the talking.
She looked away, thinking to herself that he was more than angry at her decision to keep the news of his developing child from him. She was about to apologise again, when his phone interrupted her. He answered it in front of her, letting her quite clearly hear the frantic female voice on the other end of the line. Although she didn’t understand all of the word being spoken, she recognised the frantic voice.

“You said you were going out to get dinner! Where are you? Hamza and I are hungry – I need to eat! Where are you?” Amal asked, obviously annoyed. “Hamza keeps crying and I don’t know why – I need a break – I’m so stressed out. Where are you?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he tried to diffuse her anger. “I will be home in twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?! You left more than an hour ago!” she screamed incredulously. “Where are you and what is for dinner?”

“I will pick something up on the way back,” he promised. “What do you feel like?”

“You haven’t got it already? Where the hell are you?!” she demanded, the questioning rage in her voice apparent.

“I have to go,” he said, regretful of Jude’s puzzled face watching him. “I will explain when I get home,” he finished, hanging up on her quickly. He slipped the phone into his pocket, starng at Jude.

While he spoke on the phone, it finally came to her that he had been slightly injured in the scuffle; finally noticing his bleeding lip. Instinctively she sat up towards him, wetting her finger in her own mouth wiping away at the blood on his face. She did it out of care, out of the love that they had; a reaction that still seemed natural for her. But Khalid saw more in the simple touch and leaned forward to kiss Jude on the head. She pulled back, away from his lips, not wanting him to touch her. “What?” he questioned her in a confrontational tone, angered by her rejection.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” she asked him, realising the whole thing was clearly on his terms; in his world. “I don’t want you; I want Fai…”

Getting angry and fed up, he put his finger up to her face, speaking slowly. “Wallahi, I am saying tomorrow he will not want you. Next month he will not want you – Next year he will not want you. Just wait and see.” And with that he left her sitting in the small hotel room – no extra clothing; nothing she could cover herself with to even walk outside her hotel room so she could look like a Muslimah. She had no money, no personal phone and no food. Left upset, hungry and all alone, she fell into a deep emotional lull, one which she wouldn’t rise from in a long time.

untitled. irrelevant.

I saw you today.

For the first time in years.

Even without my glasses on and from far away - I still knew it was you. I felt your prescence before anything.

I slipped my glasses back on my head, instantly recognising your profile.

Those dark long eyelashes that curve so amazingly - so naturally. You always had a pair of lashes that belonged only on a doll.

Then I looked down and checked out the line of your nose and then my heart knew that distinctive bump. It started beating harder and faster in my chest - pounding so much in my ears that I thought it was going to escape. The rush of pressure and tick-tocking in my head was too much.

You walked by - instantly knowing it was me. We didn't say a word. Just stared at each other - half in shock - half in awe - knowing it would be the last time we would ever see each other's face. Not that I saw your face - I only focused on your dark brown - almost black - eyes. I didn't see the rest. It was a blur except for your eyes. They looked pained, yet focused, deep and regretful. Even after all this time I can still read them. I got your message loud and clear, but it is too late for that...

We passed by - each in our own directions - walking past each other and then both finally turning back around for a final look after fifteen metres had separated us - at exactly the same time. Yes - we both knew it would be the last time. Neither of us smiled, neither of us stopped in our tracks - we knew we couldn't. It wasn't possible. Not now - not ever. The time and the days of 'catching up' are over. You have your life now and I have my own. And I'm happy. I truly am.

But I still get sad when I think of what happened. I don't miss you. I don't want you. I don't love you like I did before, yet I still catch myself remembering - then frowning - sometimes grieving over the great loss and hardship. That was a sad time.

I keep thinking it's a shame. A shame that I had so much love and so much of it was wasted. Such a shame that everything we said before God got sucked up in the vacuum of life and lies - way earlier than it was meant to be.

But the biggest shame of all is that you couldn't see what you had. You only thought of the here and now - the fun and frivolity of being young, stupid and reckless. You never thought that maybe you would change your mind, your loyalty, your fidelity and your maturity when it was too late.

I saw your eyes flicker over the tall, dark skinned protector at my side. I saw you recognising me in hijab and abaya for the first time. I guess the closest you got to seeing that before was when I used to dance around the house like an idiot in your white thobe and the only way you got me to stop was to throw me over your shoulders and carry me up the stairs. Remember that? We used to have so much fun! While it lasted you were my best friend. I don't think I have laughed so much before in my life - or cried. You were your own rollercoaster of extreme ups and downs...

I look different, don't I? I must look like a different person from the one you remember, but I'm not. I'm still the same loving, caring girl underneath. Same eyes, same laugh, same warm affectionate touch. Is that what you regret? Or was it my protector or my clothing that switched on the lamentation in your eyes?

Either way; it is still too late.

Too late because I knew in my heart that your way wasn't mine. Too late, because I had discovered at an early age that love is never enough. Too late, because I had already broken my own heart in order to find a better life - a better someone. Too late, because I realised that your rich Khaleeji money could buy me expensive bags but wouldn't dare pay sadaqa. Too late because I finally understood that your hands would always be all over me (and God knows who else) yet they would never humble themselves to pray next to me.

And that is all I really wanted. All I asked of you. And when I didn't get it; I left - to start searching for a new path to the Islamic life I so very much craved.

But I'm not bitter. I'm not sad and I don't regret.

What's done is done and was done for a reason - a reason I cherish. A reason I look in the face every morning and wonder to myself "How can a man be this good? This beautiful? This devout? This caring and protective? This loyal and honest? This perfectly moulded just for me? This... everything I have always wanted and more? Subhanna'Allah!"

So in a way I thank you before being you and for letting me let you go and get to the second life I'm living now. Shukran my past Habibi. Shukran.

I forgive you for the hurt you caused and the never ending tears you brought to my eyes. I forgive you for making me break my own heart in order to find a better life - and a better sort of man.

And it is all this I wish I could've said to you in the brief few seconds that our eyes reunited today - just a simple "Thank you". Thank you for what you did, what you made me learn and thank you for helping me write this book. I guess you already know you are the real Jacaranda Secret.

I truly wish you all the best and I send you my final goodbye. Au revoir. Adiós. Ciao. مع السلامة. Farewell.

May God be with you the rest of the way...

Love,

A.

Preparations

She picked up the house phone, dialling Nada ecstatically. After three rings Nur answered, passing the cordless phone to Nada who sat on the floor on her child’s bedroom, singing and clapping songs to her son.

“Allo?” Nada greeted in her Emirati accent.

“It’s me.” Jude rushed, too excited for greetings.

“Ahh, Hello.” Nada repeated, this time in her American English.

Jude didn’t even let Nada finish off her last syllable before she started on her reason for calling. “Guess who is coming home?!”

“Really?” Nada gasped, her eyes widening in surprise, brought to attention. “When?”

Jude shuffled from foot to foot, the exhilaration forcing her to remain energetic and unable to stand still. “Tomorrow,” she breathed out. “I wanna make a huge welcome home dinner for him – all his favourite foods. Do you think you could help me? I know I can’t make three-quarters of the stuff he likes.”

“Yes, sure,” Nada nodded, agreeing to her plan.

For the sake of politeness Jude hesitated, taking a literal and requesting step back. “I mean you’re not busy or anything? I know it is pretty last minute, but I only just got told myself.”

“Oh, Jude,” Nada clicked her tongue behind her teeth. “It is a special occasion. I had a lunch planned with a friend but it is nothing. I will just reschedule.”

“No…” Jude began to protest, feeling a stab of guilt for taking over her day.

Nada’s voice got serious; her tone losing its joy. “This is my brother trying to secure his marriage to a woman I personally love – you are like my sister. It is more important than me eating chicken and salad with a friend I can see any day.”

Jude welled up inside, overwhelmed by her sister-in-law’s proclamation. I feel like I belong in this family. Please God, make me stay. I’m so sorry. “Thank you,” she muttered, feeling humbled.

The morning came and Jude woke up to it, welcoming in the sunlight that shafted itself in through the slits of her horizontal blinds. She smiled at it, sleepily, wishing in her heart that the day would be great; a day for forgiveness, for reunion and re-commitment.

After day dreaming for a while, she removed herself from the bed, making it perfectly; setting the his and her pillows in place, rolling down the top of the light blankets, ready for the man of the house to return. She sprayed her perfume all over it, kissing the pillow she intended for him to use, taking in the scent of her own vanilla infused potion. I know he misses this smell.

She showered, taking extra care and attention than she normally would. She exfoliated all of her skin carefully, washing her hair twice, using her most expensive and potent scented body wash and then drying herself off and sealing in her work with a heavily infused body moisturiser. Next her face was carefully moisturised, her hair wrung out and towel dried carefully, making sure not to disrupt the natural waves and curls that were making themselves known as her hair drunk in the water. No blow drying, no straightening, no fake curls; I’m gonna keep it real and natural – just the way he likes it.

Her eyes ran over her makeup collection, deciding for herself that she would get to that section of the beauty regime later in the day; after all of the cooking had been done. Instead she quickly slicked on some mascara, threw on a light white cotton skirt that rested just below her knees and a loose lush green kaftan that ended around her hips. Her bare legs and the bright detailing on the loose kaftan took the attention off the protruding mound that sat under her breasts. She ran her hand along the part that came out the most, rubbing small circles along it. Will he even want to touch me? She stared at it for a few long seconds, lost in her uneasiness. He is coming home – that shows for something, I guess. She shook her head, deciding to abandon the useless thoughts and focus on his impending arrival.

With her damp hair piled on top of her head, she flitted down the stairs, dancing along the tiled floors to reach the backyard, sitting herself outside in the sun, knowing the heat of the sun’s rays would do their magic and dry her hair for her. She sat on a small chair, undoing her hair and letting the slightly wet curls fall around her shoulders, already feeling the heat attacking the wetness.

After a very quick fifteen minutes and a lot of detangling with her fingers, she felt her hair was dry enough. With the cat reappearing at her feet, winding its way in between her legs and out again, asking for breakfast; she escorted it to the kitchen, taking out the canned food she had bought and placing it on a small saucer, filling a tiny bowl up with fresh water.

The cat licked up the milk and bit into the small chunks of processed chicken, alternating between the two dishes. Jude leaned down and patted the ridge on his back, the cat lifting and arching the middle of his back to meet her caressing hand, dropping back to his original position to return to his morning meal.

From there Jude brushed aside the idea of feeding herself, too excited to perform ritual daily activities. Instead she spent her morning going over her already spotless home, making sure everything was perfect for her husband’s arrival, including watering the few house plants she had acquired and dusting over every single piece of furniture; scrutinising her work.

A few minutes after eleven o’clock Nada arrived, sweeping into the room in a long dark brown abaya, removing it to reveal a short denim skirt and a draping long sleeved grey blouse with transparent sleeves. Jude admired the way it fell in folds around her chest; the small feminine ruffles delicately playing with the wisps of hair that fell around them.

“You look nice,” she mentioned as she gave a warm yet bodily distant hug to Nada, pulling down her own top, making sure that the tiniest amount of cleavage showed. Hopefully Nada would be too embarrassed to look in that area then and she won’t notice the bump.

Nada smiled, handing over two bags, heavy with already cooked food. “I made – well Nur made – some stuff already; sweets and so on, but we still have to make the chicken and stuff.” She pushed Jude in the direction of her own kitchen, helping her unpack the items onto the bench. “The chicken will take about forty minutes. What time is he coming?”

Jude shrugged, a smile that played along with the mystery, dancing on her face. “He wouldn’t tell me, but I checked the arrivals online and the flights coming in from Italy are at noon and then at five-thirty. So either one, but he was dropping hints about the night time, so I’m putting my bet on the later flight.”

“Sounds more like him,” Nada agreed. “It gives him more time to sleep in.”

Jude nodded, looking at the items Nada had pulled out. She saw tiny cream coloured biscuits, homemade and dusted off with icing sugar; a small neat almond placed in the exact middle of every one. She picked one up, biting in to it. “He loves these. I never learnt how to make them,” she said with a hint of regret, thinking to herself that she had slacked off in the many ways of her wifely duties.

“Plenty of time for that,” Nada smiled reassuringly.

“Nur must have stayed up all night making these,” Jude muttered to herself, enjoying the sweet taste, licking the icing sugar off her top lip.

“No, I did,” Nada correcting her. “She did most of the cooking of course, but I put my hands to magic in creating these.” She picked one up in her slender fingers, popping one into her mouth after she spoke.

“Thanks,” Jude smiled, picking up another.

Nada studied her features, making Jude feel uneasy again. “Did you…” she began, hesistating for a brief second before continuing; “did you put on a bit of weight? Your face looks rounder.”

“I keep eating all the time,” Jude somewhat lied. “I do it when I get lonely – a bad habit,” she nervously giggled. “It gets hard being in this big house all alone all of the time.”

Nada smiled appreciatively, examining her face. “Well, it suits you because you already had a round face. Some people suit being a bit chubby.”

“Yeah?” Jude smiled, satisfied with being thought slightly fatter rather than pregnant.

“Yes.”

After removing chicken pieces from the prepared marinade that they had been sitting in overnight, Jude arranged them on a tray, placing it in the oven and closing the small door. Nada set the table, arranging two plates, two empty glasses and cutlery for two; all perfectly laid out on a new white table cloth.

She stood back, admiring her work, turning her nose up at the white cloth. With her hands on her hips she studied it, looking at it from a slightly turned head. “Something about it doesn’t sit well.”

“It’s not orange – that’s the problem,” Jude laughed, pinpointing the issue. “He decorated the whole thing by himself. Big mistake.”

Nada looked around the house, laughing to herself, wildly amused. “You know; I never really noticed it before that much, but you’re right. The whole house is orange. I mean I knew it was orange, but never this orange. Why did you let him do this?”

“I didn’t,” Jude defended herself and her decorating honour.

With raised eyebrows Nada played the role of detective. “Maybe that is why your marriage went rocky.”

Jude laughed, slapping her on the back in a playful matter and returning to the kitchen, letting the adopted cat slink in between her legs.

“So you won’t be joining us for dinner then?” Jude asked, remembering the place settings for two.

“Honey, as much as I want to see my brother, I’m sure you two need private time,” Nada said with a smirk on her face. “Besides, I don’t think the dinner will last that long if you know what I mean.”

“Yup,” Jude embarrassingly grinned, dropping her eyes to the floor. “Probably.”

“Definitely,” Nada argued, grinning, knowing.

The early afternoon passed as the two women finalised the dinner preparations, deciding that since his flight was sure to come at five-thirty that Jude should expect him to walk through the door around seven o’clock. With that in mind, at precisely six o’clock Nada left after the two had prayed the Maghrib prayer together, wishing her sister-in-law good luck, kissing her on the cheek and walking out the door, her abaya billowing behind her in the light afternoon breeze.

Thank the Lord she didn’t try to hug me again. Jude relaxed, touching her stomach again. Still smelling heavily of soft vanilla scents, she raced up the stairs, entering the bathroom, dragging a chair in and sitting herself in front of the mirror, getting ready to beautify herself for her soon-to-arrive husband.

She smoothed out her skin with a light shaded foundation, flawlessly and carefully covering any imperfections, careful not to let her natural glow be covered by the thick facial cream. After dusting her eye lids in a shimmering mix of taupe and gold shades, she outlined her top lid with dark brown liquid eyeliner, adding some more mascara and a soft peachy-brown blush; creating a darker look to her light features and finishing it off with a lightly pigmented nude lipstick. A smack of clear lip gloss set the look in place.

Next to be taken care of was her hair. By 6:55 she had managed to redefine her natural loose wavy curls into tighter, more perfect looking loose ringlets that played against her face that bounced with shine after she sprayed them intact with a hairspray mist that promised to keep her hair held in place yet flexible.

Carefully slipping her dress over her head, zipping it up at the back, she admired the way the gold tones played up her makeup and hair, yet at the same time the deep dark brown of the dress managed to slim her bump down, seemingly taking inches off her figure. She remembered the named ‘illusions’ written on the label and smiled to herself in agreement. Indeed it is.

High golden shoes, the same ones she had regretfully worn clubbing before, now graced her feet, completing the look. If he doesn’t want me in this, he will never want me, she said to herself, agreeing that she looked the best she had in a long time, despite the illegitimate child hidden beneath her flirty knee length dress.

Holding on to the rail, gliding down the stairs slowly, she imagined she was royalty, practicing a graceful walk as she descended the staircase that in her mind was made completely with gold. I feel like a princess tonight. Why not pretend for a while?

In her high heels she clicked her way past the front door, checking the time and then the dining table. 7:10 said the digital clock on her phone. “Seven-ten, seven-ten, seven-ten. Oh my god, he will be here soon. I can’t believe it.” She caught her breath, trying unsuccessfully to calm herself down. “I’m too excited. I’m gonna bust. Calm down, Jude, calm down.” In order to dispel her nerves she began placing the food on the table, beautifully setting everything in its place.

Through an open window she heard the Azhan calling her from a nearby neighbourhood mosque, alerting her to the Isha prayer. She rushed to the window, taking in the sound, yearning for it to calm her excited soul down. She listened to it, taking in the caller’s voice as his broadcasted call to prayer reached her ears. She stood at the open window; hanging on to every last rhythmic word, finally moving and flinging on her abaya once the caller had finished his duty.

Standing in front of her prayer mat, covering her dress with her abaya, masking her hair loosely with a long red pashmina, she stood facing the wall, reciting words from the Qur’an as she praised God for the return of her husband and the second chance she felt she was being handed.

In her last proclamation of praise, down on her hands and knees, her belly somewhat awkwardly scraping her thighs, she sat up, reciting the last ritual words of prayer before greeting peace on the Angel on her right, then the Angel on her left; both of whom were said to record her devotions.

Sitting cross-legged on her mat, performing dhikr on her hands, she praised Allah, at the same time pleading for forgiveness and the wish that her husband’s return was a smooth one; a transition from estrangement into a proper marriage; one which they never gave a chance to before.

As soon as she finished she stood up. Her bent knees were not even fully straight when a light, cautious knock was made three times on the door. Stunned, although expecting it she hurriedly flung off her abaya and her scarf, leaving them on the floor as she rushed towards the front door, stopping quickly before the mirror to check her image. Hair fantastic, makeup still intact; I look fresh and glowy. She quickly closed her eyes, squinting them shut as she made a last ditch plea to God.

Two small knocks came again, given impatiently and nervously by the waiting man on the other side of the door. Jude let out a rush of breath, dancing on the spot, no longer containing her excitement. Quickly she opened the door, flinging it back and staring in horror at the sight she saw.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” she screamed, panicking at the man on her doorstep.

“I came again,” Khalid started, trying to put his tanned hand on her white shoulder.

She flung it off her, disgusted, horrified and scared. “Did you follow me here? Is that how you know where I live? You’re stalking me now?”

He unsuccessfully tried to remain calm. “I know you don’t like being the second wife, but Judie, we might talk it around and you will see it is the way for us to be together.” His words came out not the way he had planned; not the way he had run it through in his head the hundreds of times that he had done since the last time they spoke.

“Don’t you get it?” she stared at him in disbelief; in dumbfounded wonder. “There is no ‘us’! There never will be!” she shouted loudly, shrieking at him. “Go! You have to go!” She pushed him back as he tried to walk forward, into the house.

“We can talk it out!” He tried again, walking forward, pushing past her. “You and me can do this like it was made to be.”

Jude tried with all her might to push him back out of the front door, beginning to shake with the emotional effort. She put her hands around his left arm, trying to drag him out; scared her husband would come home and find him there. “Get out Khalid! Leave! I don’t want you here!”

“Is he here? I want to talk to him – I will tell him you’re leaving with me,” he demanded, speaking as if telling her a fact.

“Are you fucking deaf?” she shrieked wildly, unable to comprehend how he could continue with his plan without even taking in what she thought about it. “I said I don’t want you!”

He shook his head, not listening, gently put his hands on her face, cradling her white-golden made-up face in between his tanned hands. “You’re just afraid… I will tell him. Go wait in my car.”

Once again she tried to push him away, beating at him with her hands wildly. He caught them, quickly bringing her close to him, encircling her into his arms and locking her into his chest. She fought wildly, feeling as if she was being bodily strangled. “Hush! Don’t be scared. I am here with you,” he whispered, trying to settle her down, thinking she was acting up for different reasons, misunderstanding her and the situation.

As he finished his sentence, his hand running through the mass of golden curls, she felt his arms relax; just enough for her to pull her head back and yell again. “Get off me! Let me go!” She pleaded, wishing he would disappear to where ever it was he came from. Why can’t he just listen to me and let me go! I don’t want him! I don’t want this! I only want him to leave me alone! She tried again to plead with him to leave, hoping to scare him off. “My husband will be back any second! You have to leave now!”

“I’m already here,” another male voice answered, directing his cold, stunned gaze at the entangled pair in his foyer, catching only the last sentence from each of the pair in front of him.

new chapter!!!

Crossing her ankles over each other, tucked in under her chair, Mel tried to figure out the people in front of her. The father sat across from her; blue-grey eyes that sat calmly in between dark blonde eyelashes, protected by white wrinkled skin, spotted by sandy brown hued freckles; skin that had somewhat leathered over the many years it had laboured in the sun, along with the man who owned it.

Although in his mature years, the tall, broad shouldered James ‘Jimmy’ O’Connor still held the physique of a young brick labourer; the strong arms that had been so used to hauling around heavy stones, now picking up the metal knife and fork with ease, piling the food in before it fell off and got caught in his dark blonde, slightly red speckled beard. Mel eyed him over, thinking to herself that if it wasn’t for the fact that he was Muslim, she would take him and his beard to be just another old, slightly worn out Bikie.

His wife, sitting next to him, sat in stark comparison. Small, somewhat squat and slightly pudgy with age, her fat and finicky fingers fussed over the food on her plate, pushing it around until she decided what section she would start on next. Every so often she would sneak an examining brown eye over Mel, studying her features while keeping her ever so softly olived face perfectly expressionless; a trick learnt from years of deception and natural lie-telling. Once in a while her perfectly drawn dark brown eyebrows would rise with her thoughts, pulling the painted skin below up higher.

Mel smiled at her, wishing she could put herself at ease, but having to stay under the cold, calculative glances of a potential mother-in-law was not something she could find comfort from. The awkward switching between cold stares to seemingly automatic over-intrigue put Mel off, switching her alarm senses on. I don’t like this woman, she thought to herself as she smiled a soft, sarcastic grin at her. She makes me feel weird. I don’t trust her; she doesn’t seem natural in the least.

“So how did you become Muslim?” James asked, ripping off the corner off of a tough piece of bread, tearing at it with his white teeth.

Mel finished what she was chewing, deciding it was better to not talk with her mouth full, even though in most situations she would have easily given a lecture with spinach in her teeth and half a steak rolling around inside her mouth. Taking a quick sip of water and clearing her throat she began the quick, summarised version of events; sick of re-telling the personal story time and time again, every time another Muslim asked. “Well, in a nutshell we learnt a little bit here and there about other religions in high school and Islam just interested me. I realised I knew nothing about it and just began researching it out of curiosity. I wasn’t searching for religion or anything – I just happened to find myself believing in it; nodding my head as I read some of the ideals and beliefs.”

“So it was kind of an introduction through self-education, then?” James offered up, ceasing his eating to listen to her story.

Mel’s eyes searched the right side of her head for an instant, thinking over his quick and simple evaluation. “Yeah,” she agreed. Couldn’t have said it shorter myself. “What about you?”

“Ahh,” he sat back, readying himself for his tale. “Well I got the wife here knocked up, so we had to marry.” He ignored his wife’s disapproving look over his choice of words and carried on with the story, admiring the smile of amusement on Mel’s face. “They said I had to be Muslim to marry her, so I really had no choice – she was pregnant with my kid and my conscience wouldn’t let me walk away; so I did it. I became one, didn’t do much about it though and continued on living my life as I had done before.” He paused, shoved more food in his mouth and continued on, talking through the now small pieces of chewed meat. “Wasn’t until Hamid was born that I started to take an interest. I read a bit here and there, began to study it in my spare time.”

He looked up at the ceiling, as if recalling a time long passed. “I wouldn’t say I believed in it all at first – more like I liked the simple yet structured way of life. For me, being a brickie it was like building a house. You have set rules - things you need to follow. If the foundation is weak and hasn’t been laid properly then whatever you put on top will be buggered. The whole thing will fall down. Same with the walls – you could have a great foundation but if the walls are wonky then the roof will collapse and then you don’t have a house. You need the whole structure to be complete and to strengthen yet complement each other and that’s how I saw Islam.”

“Wow. Such an interesting way to put it.” Mel genuinely said, amazed at how he had so far converted complex concepts and stories into the most compact yet telling of ways.

“Well at the time it was all I knew. I dropped out of school in grade eight to become a brick labourer; to build houses, fix things; so that was all I could compare it to, to really understand it. But it made sense to me. Of course at first it seems like too many rules, too many regulations, but when you study it more you see that all these tiny things that you have to abide by really build and strengthen you as a person, as a family and as a whole community. It was like a complete guide to life. Something that should be handed out at birth. Would save many people a lot of trouble,” he grinned, swirling the water around in his glass before downing it.

“Wow,” Mel repeated, unable to come up with a longer response; forgetting there were other people at the table for an instant, too engrossed into his thinking. Wow. I want to marry Hamid just so this man can be my father-in-law.

Hamid looked to his sister, watching her shrug her shoulders at him, pulling a face and dropping it again. He then looked to Mel, got her attention by coughing and breaking up the short span of silence that had seemed to descend on the table. “More corn?” he asked, putting a buttery cob on her plate before she could answer. She nodded, smiling briefly and continued to eat under the watchful gaze of Hamid’s mother.

When the dinner had been eaten and the talk had died down, Hamid stood on the family’s back porch, leaning against the wooden railing as his mother stood up, her back against a central large wooden column that held up the shaded covering. He looked through the kitchen window, testing how he felt about the sight of Mel standing next to his sister Zaynab at the sink, helping her wash the dishes. He smiled to himself, imagining what could be.

“What do you think?” he asked his mother, seeking her opinion more than her approval.

She snuck a cigarette out of her pocket, bringing it to her mouth and lighting it up as she cupped one hand around it, preventing the light breeze from blowing out the small flame. Two small puffs and a short breath out released the first rush of whitish-grey smoke. “What do I think?” she asked herself, bringing the cigarette back to her lips, breathing in the tobacco again; this time with much longer and deeper intakes of breath. “Don’t waste your time.” She breathed out the smoke again, crossing one arm over her chest.

“What?” Hamid asked, taken back. “You don’t like her? How could you not like her?”

The mother shrugged, puffing on her smoke. “It’s not that I don’t like her. I just don’t like her for you.”

On his guard, Hamid crossed both his arms over his chest, keeping her at a distance. “Why? I think she is perfect for me.”

She rolled her eyes back briefly, silently laughing to herself. “You’re young. Don’t think that just because she is a pretty package and seems to be right for you that she actually is. You leave it to me. If you really want to get married then I will find you someone.”

“I don’t need you to find anyone,” he chuckled back, shaking his head at her. “It is my life; I will do the deciding.”

With her arm outstretched she rubbed one side of his arm, hoping her motherly touch would convince him. “I can find you a nice girl. Someone who can cook, clean, give you a good life and home, someone who…”

“Who would not take my interest or make me laugh or be the type of woman I will love.” He cut in, dismissing her suggestions. “I know the type you would find for me – one hundred percent Lebanese.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” she asked, crossing her arm back into place, slightly offended that her son would reject a woman with the same background as her.

“I’m not Lebanese, Mum. At best I’m half and it’s a rather weak half.” He looked at her, realising that by the blank look on her face that she would never understand. He shook his head and looked down to the ground.

“So you want to marry an Australian?” she spat, rather than said, looking down on her cigarette then up at him with a half disgusted-half disapproving look plastered across her face.

“Well you did,” he pointed out.

She waved her cigarette clutching hand in front of her face, flicking off his statement. “Yes and that was all over a mistake.”

“Am I a mistake, Mum?” he asked, hurt; his face displaying the deep saddening insult she had caused with her words.

She smacked her lips together, wanting to kick herself for her choice of words. “I’m sorry – that’s not what I meant,” she apologised, reaching out with her spare arm again for him.

Arms still crossed, he stepped backward out of her reach and walked towards the door, turning back and facing her once more before he entered. “I love my Dad and I wouldn’t want anyone else. If marrying him was a mistake then it’s the best mistake you ever made. It shits me that you can’t see that and that you never stop complaining over a choice you made twenty-five years ago.”

“I just want you to be happy,” she offered up, regretting her own depressive thoughts.

“I am happy, Mum.” He paused, looking her up and down, feeling pity. “I am happy.”

He walked back into the house, closing the door quietly behind him, burying the recent upset down deep and replacing his hurt look with a more pleasing smile, one directed at Mel. “Washing dishes, eh?”

Zaynab spun around, her infamous sarcastic look facing him. “What does it look like, Genius?”

He dropped his head to the side, quickly flashing his sight over his sister’s lower half. “Looks like you got fatter,” he teased, instantly putting his hands up around his head, ready for the onslaught.

Zaynab came at him with the tea towel, expertly winding it around until it was in the shape of a small rope, flinging and whipping Hamid around his semi-protected head. “You’re so nasty! I’m gonna kill you!” she shrieked as she beat him, relentlessly attacking him as he dodged her strikes through the air.

“Ok, ok, ok – I give up – stop - I’m sorry - stop.” He managed to get her to stop, waiting for her to calm down for just an instant before he insulted her again. “I’m sorry, you’re not fat… you’re huge.”

She playfully shrieked again, going in harder with the tea towel as Mel stood back and watched, laughing. Hamid’s father came in, leaning on his walking stick, making small ‘tsk’ sounds with his mouth as he shook his head, thinking to himself that no matter how old they will get; they will still be children. He got in between the two, stopping the beating, calming them down. “You’re acting like little kids for crying out loud!”

He snatched the tea towel out of his daughter’s hand, sending her a glance of playful disapproval. With a twinkle in his eyes, he handed her something harder, something white. “Here, do it right – use a plate.”

hi there

ok - first of all - make sure you have read the new chapter below...

and then riddle me this...

why does everyone hate jude? what is it about her character that some of you hate so much? after im done writing the book, i will go over it and edit the shit out of it and i wanna make her less annoying for my readers (i seriously dont see her as annoying) - so tell me what it is about her that you all hate so much?