In My Sister's Shadow (Book 1)

16. Seeing Red

The next morning, I awoke with a pounding headache. With my large pink soft fleece gown wrapped around me like a blanket, I slumped on the stairs leaning against the wall, yawning wildly. Rubbing my heavy eyelids, I could taste Zara's foot in my mouth. The small child moved a hundred times during the night breaking my sleep time and time again. I don't know how Zayn managed to sleep with her. When I woke, Zayn's intimidating gravelly voice played on my mind.

Downstairs, the television sang out with the 'Raaa raa' jingle. The stink of burned toast singed my lungs. I could hear the washing machine humming in the background. Washing machine? At this time? I dragged myself towards the kitchen and found Zayn dressed in his grey overalls and brown boots busy organising the children's packed lunches. Boots! I forgot to tell him to leave his boots at the door and only wear them when he leaves the house. The kitchen was a bomb site. Empty plates, cups and cereal boxes busied the table.

My mind still half asleep, I pulled the hood over hanging over my head

"Why is the washing machine on?" I rubbed my eyes.

Zayn grated the cheese with a vengeance like he was trying to grate blood from the block.

"Aymaan climbed into my bed and wet the bed." Zayn replied without turning to me.

"-but Aymaan wears a nappy." I wasn't sure if I heard that right, maybe he was talking about Armaan.

"Why are you always in my face?" Zayn snapped pivoting round on his back foot and faced me.

I stood up straight. Wide wake. 

"Can't I put the machine on without the fifty questions?" He threw the grater in the sink. Bits of cheese sprinkled on the floor and sink. I hated soggy cheese stuck in the sinkhole.

"I'm just saying." I backed away holding my hands up. "You need not worry, I'm here. I can do all that."

"No one asked you to!" He placed a carton of blackcurrant juice into each lunch box and shut them. Then he grabbed his bag from under the chair and walked straight out.

"Zayn-" I called out to him.

He slammed the door in reply without a goodbye to the kids. His fluctuating moods left me in a cloud of confusion.

"Good morning Zohra. How are you this morning?" I spoke to myself in a posh accent. If no one was going to bother, I may as well make humour of the situation.

"I'm very well. I had an awful sleep." I replied to myself.

"Aww, that's a shame! I'll make you a fresh pot of coffee." I grabbed the kettle and filled it with water.

"You are too kind, dear sir." I could only think of my literary hero, Mr Darcy.

"Auntie, who are you talking to?" Zara stood in the doorway holding an empty cereal bowl.
"Mad people talk to themselves."

From behind Arman came crashing in. "Auntie's fagal!" He laughed. "She's mad!" He grabbed the cereal box of coco pops and dived his fist into it.

"Charming!" I rolled my eyes. The boy was just like his father.

****

Later that afternoon, the peace which the children left behind was broken by my mobile. A panicked mum called ready to make her way to Walsall with dad.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Why didn't you tell us?" She huffed. "Why are you hiding things from us? Your dad is coming. We have to sort this out?"