In My Sister's Shadow (Book 1)

8. Wolves at The Door

Stolen from my sleep, I pulled on fleece gown to the sound of thumping on the front door. It was just past 7 o'clock and the children were playing in their bedroom.

"Stay in your room." I yelled and ran downstairs.
The knocks grew louder and turned into thuds coursing my body with worry. I peered through the spy hole to find two tall broad men dressed in black with cameras attached to their stab vests. Cautiously I opened the door rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
"Hello?" I mumbled.
With an intimidating glare, the bald headed man took out his clipboard and spoke in his daunting deep baritone voice.
"We're high court enforcement agents. We're after Zain Azlan. Does he live at this address?"
The afro-Caribbean man with a permanent scowl sized my car.
"Yes. But he's not here. He's at work." I replied.
Then, they both looked at each other in a brief glance.
"We have instruction to recover the amount of £5,400 on behalf of Bailey's Ltd. We need to speak to Mr Azlan."
They were bailiffs not the police. Zayn owed a large amount of money and I had no idea what to do in the panic. The man behind clamped my car to my shock.
"That's my car." Barefoot, I stormed outside onto the freezing cold slabs.
"And you are?" The afro-Caribbean man stood over me.

The men were tall and intimidating; they didn't give me a moment to think. They continued to repeat the amount, the method of payment and the fact they were not going to leave until they had the amount. I could hear the children cry.
"If we cannot recover the amount we will have to remove items from the house." The bald man pushed the door open and stormed into the house. He took out his mobile and began an inventory on the items in the house that were of value like the large screen television, the stereo system invading my privacy. I didn't know how I would get them out.
"Kids stay in your room." I yelled trying to herd the wolves into the lounge, but they peered into cupboards, moved the settee, and looked around like thieves. I grabbed the phone and rang Zayn-repeatedly-but there was no answer. I left a hurried and panicked message. Then I rang dad.
"The bailiffs are here dad! They want five and a half thousand and won't leave until they get it." I ran my hands through my hair in panic watching them take a picture of Aymaan's beloved Ipad. How could they be so cruel? It was the only thing Aymaan connected to.
"Where is Zayn?" Dad replied.
"He's at work and he's not answering his phone."
"Don't let them in. They can't-"
"They're in the lounge taking pictures. They've clamped my car."
"They can't take your car!" Dad yelled. "That's not in his name. Wait there. Hold on. I'm coming." The phone cut off.
The large men stood side by side staring at me waiting for my next move.
"Listen, we have to recover the amount of 5,400. If you call Mr Azlan we can deal with the matter as soon as possible.
I paced through the kitchen whilst the men mumbled in the hallway.

Half an hour later my parents arrived in a flurry of panic. Dad accosted the bailiffs in his angry stance.
"How dare you barge into my daughter's house like this?" He approached the bald man in the lounge.
"You want to take the television? Take it. But you cannot take the car! It's in my name! My daughter's name." He pointed at me.
The bailiff held his hands up trying to calm dad and looked down to dad. "We are not here to cause trouble. We simply want what is owed. Mr Azlan is in debt. He has to pay up."
"You will not get anything from me. This debt belongs to him and he will pay." Dad bellowed.
"If you can call Mr Azlan then we can sort this out." The bailiff explained.
"But he's not here. So, get out. Leave!" Dad reddened.
The confrontation became ugly, spilling into the street with neighbours watching. Mum rushed to the children's bedroom and shut the door to the mayhem that descended.

Twenty minutes later after incessant arguing, Zayn parked his white van on the street and marched into the house. Dressed in his grey grimy overalls, with screwdrivers, pencils tucked into the large pockets, black hat and boots smeared with cement, he curled his hands into fists and glared at the bailiffs. Like a bull he charged inside and pinned the bald bailiff against the wall.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?!" His nostrils flared in anger. "Get the fuck out of my house!"
The afro Caribbean bailiff approached from behind reaching out to Zayn. "Mr Azlan, if you could calm down."
"If you lay a finger on me, I will call the police." The bald man reiterated. Zayn grabbed the man by the collar and pushed him against the wall. "Call the police. Go on." He goaded him.
"We just need the money-"
"I haven't got the money! I haven't got anything to give you." Zayn repeated throwing his arms. "I' can't pay a penny!"
I pulled him back by the arm but he wasn't listening. He was locked in rage.
"Why did you open the door?" Zayn turned on me. "You shouldn't have let them in. Why did you call your dad? Is that why he sent her here? To spy on me? That's what this is all about?" He grew paranoid, agitated with rage.
At that point dad stepped in spilling fuel on the fire. "You're a failure! A shame to the family! No wonder my Zeenat ran away from you. You couldn't look after her or the children. Now this!"
Tensions flared. "Zayn! Dad!" I yelled holding Zayn back by a grip on his solid bicep. With fists waving in the air, the sirens screaming and flashing blue lights the police arrived creating a spectacle for the neighbours.