Free Dishonour by Helen Black Page A

away, her ample bottom sashaying down her hall to the kitchen.
    Taslima followed her, her heart pumping as she crossed the threshold.
    The kitchen was filled with steam as an oversized pan of rice bubbled on the gas ring. Taslima’s stomach growled.
    ‘How much they going to be paying you?’ asked Mrs Roberts.
    ‘I don’t know yet,’ Taslima admitted.
    Mrs Roberts kissed her teeth.
    ‘It should be pretty good,’ said Taslima. ‘I’ll be working in a solicitor’s office.’
    In fact she hadn’t discussed money but Lilly Valentine had come across as a decent woman. Dizzy and disorganised, but decent.
    Mrs Roberts seemed unimpressed.
    ‘I’ll pay back everything I owe,’ said Taslima.
    Mrs Roberts didn’t answer but took a pinch of salt from a bowl and tossed it into the pan.
    Taslima could see the white rice studded with kidney beans like glossy, mahogany jewels. She smelled the air appreciatively.
    Mrs Roberts pointed an accusing finger at Taslima. ‘You look half starved.’
    ‘I didn’t get time for lunch,’ Taslima lied.
    Mrs Roberts narrowed her eyes. ‘You want some?’
    Taslima nodded. ‘Please.’
    Mrs Roberts ladled rice and peas into one Tupperware box, curried ackee into another. Taslima could almost taste the spices on her tongue. Mrs Roberts wrapped the boxes of food in a clean tea towel and handed them to Taslima.
    ‘Things are on the up, Mrs R.’ Taslima gratefully took the boxes. ‘This time they really are.’
    Aasha washes the plates without a sigh. The dahl is stuck to the edges like grey cement and she has to pick at it with the edge of her thumbnail. Her brothers have been told a thousand times to run them under the tap when they’ve finished but why should they bother?
    As soon as Aasha put her key in the door they were on her case. Why wasn’t she wearing a hijab? Why was she so late?
    Aasha could feel her heart in her chest. Had they noticed her sweaty shirt? Her dirty shoes? Her brothers seem to know everyone in Luton, perhaps the owner of the café has called them, told them what she did?
    She told them she’d been kept late at school. Described the extra maths session in detail. Even offered to show them her notes. It was a surprise how easily the lies slipped off her tongue. Her brothers soon drifted away to the television, leaving her to the dishes. They don’t care about her life as long as it doesn’t affect theirs.
    As she rinses the last plate, Aasha wonders what it would be like to be a boy. She’d be able to come and go freely without anyone checking up on her. She’d sit withImran and Ismail, have a laugh with them. They’d have to listen to what she has to say. Notice her.
    Because they don’t do that. They don’t actually look at her. Aasha is sure that if someone asked them what colour her eyes were, they wouldn’t even know.
    Ryan knows. He says they’re beautiful.
    She checks her reflection in the back of a spoon.
    He says he likes the way they sparkle in the sun, and her long black lashes.
    ‘What are you smiling about?’
    Aasha looks from the spoon to see Imran, leaning lazily against the counter. His hands are in his back pockets, pulling his jeans down so she can see not only the elastic of his Calvin Kleins but most of his hipbone.
    Dad is always on about it. ‘Do you need to display your backside?’ he says. ‘Are you a gorilla?’ But he doesn’t actually do anything about it, does he?
    Aasha can just imagine what would happen if she went about showing her pants. She’s not even allowed hipsters or skinny jeans.
    ‘Make us a cup of tea, Ash?’ Imran says.
    ‘I have to do my homework,’ she sighs.
    ‘It’ll take you ten seconds.’
    Aasha shakes her head but is already filling the kettle. She wishes she could just tell him no. One day she will. One day soon.
    ‘Me too,’ Ismail calls from the other room.
    She makes the chai and takes refuge in her room. As she logs on to her computer she already knows that her English assignment