In My Sister's Shadow (Book 1)

23. Something Called Home

Standing here in the doorway, with my cold hands wrapped around a mug of warm milky tea, in a frozen April I gaze at the back garden. The long and wide garden is mossy, overgrown with two tree stubs. I imagine it landscaped and clean, with enough space to fit a trampoline and a swing set with the children running around.

In the far end there is a dilapidated woody shed, it looks creepy. I've got splinters in my eyes, by looking at it. I imagine there are stray dogs or rats living in there. Cold chill sweeps through my body. I sip the warm sugary liquid savouring the warmth in my mouth and down my throat. It feels good standing out here in frozen January with noisy children inside. It's been a tough few weeks for all of us. Zeenat's loss is very much present. Soon, it will be six months since her demise; a milestone.

Looking up into the cold blue January sky, I whisper her name.

"I miss you Zeenat. I wish I knew you better, Zeenat." I miss saying her name.

It was a relaxed Sunday afternoon and I was in the first two days of Aymaan's potty training. So far there were two accidents. Mrs Singh demonstrated the assistance of a picture aid to help him communicate. When Aymaan needed the toilet, he should reach for the picture of a toilet and show me, and I would sit him on the potty. That's how she designed it, but in practice, it didn't work. I had to physically sit him on the potty every 15 minutes making 'sssss' noises. When obviously it's not boys who make 'ssss' noises when they urinate, it's the girls. But he got the gist of it.

Later, Aafia and Sadaqat made a surprise visit with a peace offering; a bowl of strawberry trifle. After the social worker predicament and Aafia spilling  confidential information to Sadaqat, it was easy to be angry with her and Sadaqat. I could have slammed the door on them. But no. They were officially our very first visitors and I was delighted of the company. Sadaqat was like my annoying brother, with a frown plastered on face.

"Your favourite." He held the cling film covered glass bowl at me like I was a kitten and would dip my wet nose into the delicious bowl.

Before I could speak, Aafia threw her arms around me and pulled me towards her.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for your dad to find out. You must believe me."

Sadaqat made his way inside with his 9-year-old son leaving Aafia to pacify me.

"I'm sorry, I was really upset when you told me that I rang Sadaqat and your dad was in the office and he heard and then he rang Zayn and got angry and your mum found out-"

"She wasn't upset." Sadaqat interjected allowing her to breath. "She can't keep her mouth closed. She couldn't help herself."

Another squeeze.

Sadaqat took off his suit jacket and made himself comfortable. He was dressed smartly which meant he was working on a Sunday. Dad normally made us work unsocial hours. There was no such thing as weekend or annual leave.

Sadaqat bought Zayn a stack of vinyls of bands that I never heard of.
"Foo Fighters, Linkin Park, U2, Imagine Dragons." Sadaqat read out. Apparently, both men shared the same taste of music.

"Zayn's got a turntable in the shed. My needles broke and I haven't heard these beauties in a while."

Sadaqat's 9-year-old autistic son, Irfan, began trying to push the sofa together to construct a den. Irfan found it difficult to play with other children and Aafia avoided social situations with him. Sadaqat pulled a red blanket over the two sofas and made a cosy den a perfect hideout for him to play. Irfan threw his puzzle on the floor and the twins joined in lying on their stomach.