I nod enthusiastically. ‘Yes, yes, good idea!’
Dad’s quiet again. He seems to have decided the conversation is over. Suits me fine. I stare out of the window at the quiet streets and houses as my hangover kicks in properly. There’s hardly any traffic on the road and I feel totally spaced out. I wish I could go back to bed.
That feeling gets worse when we step inside the church. The colours from the stained-glass windows are too bright for my pounding head. I sit in the middle of a pew, Dad to my left and a row of old ladies in pleated skirts and strappy shoes to my right. I recognize one of them; she has curly white hair that looks like a perfect cloud. Once, when I was younger, she came up to us after the service and asked if we celebrated Christmas. Akash and I laughed and laughed about that. I know we’re the only brown family in the church and not many Christian Pakistani families exist, but still …
There’s a draught carrying the smell of incense, which makes my stomach turn. I lean forward and bury my face in my hands. At least it looks like I’m praying, and I am, just not for what Dad thinks I should pray for. I’m not requesting forgiveness. I’m begging that I’m not sick right here in front of everyone. That my hangover passes sometime in the next thirty seconds. Please, please, please. I need a miracle.
The drone of the organ rumbles through the church and everyone stands up. Dad pokes me in the arm and glares at me. I force myself to get up too. Hold on to the pew to steady myself. Everyone sings a hymn about the beauty of the world or something, then we sit back down and the lady vicar, or whatever they’re called, starts talking. Her high-pitched voice rings through the church. I zone out again. I feel sleepy. Really sleepy. My eyelids get heavier as the sermon goes on. Then I hear the words life and death and forgiveness and the sleepiness slips away. I remember the day Akash disappeared. My eyes blur and I concentrate on a fly crawling around on the pew in front of me to stop the tears.
It was a Saturday. Three o’clock in the afternoon. None of us had seen or heard from Akash since Friday night. We were gathered in the kitchen, the sun streaming through the patio doors, making us hot and sweaty. All morning, Mum had reassured Dad: ‘You know how he is. He’ll have his fun and then he’ll come back.’ But now she was perched on a chair at the end of the dining table, ignoring Dad and calling everyone in her address book.
‘Where is he?’ Dad kept saying. He was pacing the kitchen, up and down, up and down. I felt dizzy watching him. ‘Where THE HELL is he?’
Mum dialled number after number. ‘No, it’s OK, thank you anyway,’ she would say each time, her voice clear and controlled.
I checked my phone for the millionth time. Still nothing. I messaged him again.
I know you’re probably with Fiona, but please come home now. Dad’s properly freaking out.
And then I added:
Just let me know you’re OK? Even if you don’t want to come back.
Dad stopped pacing. ‘Right, that’s it. I’m going out to search for him again.’
I stood up. ‘I’ll come with you.’
But Dad walked out of the kitchen. ‘Your mother needs you here,’ he called from the hallway and then the front door slammed.
Mum was dialling another number so I slipped into my room and called Akash again. Still his voicemail. Had he switched his phone off? Or had the battery died? Or …
I didn’t want to think of the worst-case scenario.
Sinking down on to my bed, I replayed the night before in my head again, in case I’d missed something.
Akash had come to my room around eleven and woken me up. ‘Come to a party with me,’ he’d pleaded, slurring his words. His breath stank of whisky and cigarettes and he was wearing a white hoody and a yellow-and-purple cap that seemed too bright for night-time. He looked far too awake. ‘You’ve been so down lately. I’ll cheer you up! We can dance!’ Then he’d pranced around my room, waving his hands in the air in exaggerated Bollywood moves. I laughed a bit, but then he cupped his hands round his mouth and shouted: ‘Oi! Oi!’
I was so worried he’d wake Mum and Dad that I’d snapped, ‘Shut up, Akash! And do what you want, but I’m not going. Let me sleep.’
That was when he put the cap on my head. ‘OK, OK! Just …’ He sighed. ‘You know, try to be happy, Neens. You deserve that. Be happy.’
That was the last time I saw him.
I stared at my phone but still no reply. He’d left the cap with me. Did that mean anything? Had he planned to stay away or had he just forgotten it? I had a horrible, heavy, sinking feeling in my stomach.
I wish I hadn’t shouted at him.
I wish I’d gone to the party.
The front door opened and closed. I ran out into the hall but it was just Dad. He shook his head before I even said anything. Then there was a loud thud from the kitchen and Mum’s address book landed on the floor by the door. Dad and I rushed into the kitchen.
‘What is it?’ Dad asked.
Mum was dialling another number. Her teeth were clenched. ‘Enough,’ she said, pressing the phone to her ear. ‘No one knows anything. I’m calling the police.’
The fly has left the pew and is on my leg. I flick it off but it keeps coming back for more. ‘Stupid fly,’ I mumble. I reach for a Bible and try to hit it off my knee, but Dad grabs my arm.
‘What are you doing?’ he hisses.
I look round. I’d forgotten I was in church. The old lady next to me glares at me disapprovingly. ‘Sorry,’ I whisper. ‘It was the fly.’ But the fly has gone and Dad shakes his head at me. That same disgusted look he had last night. You’re a mess. Look at you! Everyone stands up for yet another hymn, but I just can’t force myself up. I want to go home.
We’re leaving the church when I see him. Someone’s got Akash’s cap. I push through the crowd, all the way up the aisle, following the yellow cap with the purple streak. I’m breathless as I grab the guy’s arm; grasp the pale skin of his forearm. I peer up at his head as he turns round. Oh. It isn’t Akash’s cap. This one has a red logo of a tiger on the front. Akash’s doesn’t have a logo. Just that distinct purple streak through the middle.
The guy tugs his arm out of my grasp, frowning. His soft brown eyes question me. He’s about my age. Cute. I die a bit inside.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I … I thought you were something else. I mean, someone else.’
Dad catches up with me. He looks at me, and then at the guy, and I can see him trying to join the dots, getting the wrong idea. ‘What’s going on?’
I’m all choked up. ‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘I’ll see you at the car.’ And I rush out of the church before I embarrass myself any more.
All the way home, Dad goes on and on about how I need to think about my behaviour. Pray more. Stay on the ‘straight path’, not some ‘twisted path that leads nowhere’. I’ll be going to church with him every Sunday, he tells me. And I need to focus on studying and nothing else now. He’ll be checking on me, he warns me.
I try to say all the right things: ‘Yes, Dad, of course. It won’t happen again.’ But all I can think about is how weird it was that I thought that guy had Akash’s cap. I mean, how? How would he get it? I was wearing it last night. I slept with it in my hands. There’s no way he could have it. But it was so similar to Akash’s that it was an easy mistake to make, right?