DISHONOUR. Jacqui Rose
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Laila. A trip. A trip to Pakistan.’
The scream which left Laila’s lips was heard all the way up the street.
Leeds Bradford International Airport heaved with the rush of excited laughing outbound holidaymakers and inbound sullen tired ones. Businessmen and women distanced themselves from the crowd, sitting with laptops precariously near their over-frothed cappuccinos. Honeymooning couples, families and security guards filed past, wrapped up in their own world, blind to Laila and her agony as she sat in her full burka, her face covered, with only her almond eyes showing.
The airport was overly hot as signs dotted around the airport apologised for the breakdown of its air conditioning. Laila could feel the sweat running down her back, changing from hot to cold as the heat of the July day mingled with the chill of her fear.
Her head was pounding and she felt ill, though no one could tell. No one could see her light brown skin become pallid and ashen, nor could they see the strain and bruises which were both imprinted on her face. All they could see was a person head to toe in black.
Laila’s eyes darted to the right, but her view was blocked. She looked the other way but that too was blocked. Both ways blocked by the sides of her burka, making her think of the horses she saw on match day wearing their blinkers, stopping them from seeing what was really going on around them.
A sense of panic started to creep over Laila; starting from her feet and slowly wrapping its way around her body, tightening her breathing and her chest. A cloying, nauseating feeling stuck at the back of her throat, causing her breath to rasp and making her feel as if she was being crushed by a heavy weight. She pulled at her burka but it was unrelenting; tight and unforgiving around her neck. The sense of claustrophobia was overwhelming.
It was the feeling of claustrophobia and panic which made Laila get up and run, scraping back the metal chairs and turning heads. She didn’t know where she was going but she had to get out of there. She couldn’t just sit there waiting for the hand of fate to happen. Maybe if she could get to a phone, perhaps then she’d be all right. But who would she ring? She knew it would be impossible to call her friends; they’d be as frightened as she was. Terrified the same fate would fall to them.
As the thoughts passed through her mind, Laila kept on running, hearing the muffled voices of the disgruntled crowd as she pushed past them, frantic to get away. She looked up at the signs. Which way out? Her eyelashes caught her veil, making her flinch. She ran forward towards the throng of people, hoping it was the exit.
Laila hurried on, seeing the curious looks from the passersby. Couldn’t they see she needed help? Help from what was about to happen. But how could they? They could no more help her than she could help herself.
Tears started to spring into her eyes, disrupting her vision even more.
‘Hey! Hey lady, calm down. Anyone would think you were in a hurry.’
A large security guard blocked Laila’s way. His arms outstretched with a large kind grin on his face.
‘Excuse me; can you get out of my way?’
‘Pardon?’
The material deflected the sound of her voice causing Laila to speak louder. ‘Can you get out of my way?’
‘It’s fine, she’s with me. She’s a nervous flyer. She’s never been one for planes, have you Laila?’
Laila turned to see her uncle, out of breath, standing behind her. His eyes were cold as he looked down. He took her tightly by her hand, pulling her away from the gaze of the guard.
‘Going somewhere Laila?’
‘No … no, I just needed to get some air.’
‘I hope you weren’t thinking of running to that boyfriend of yours? Not sure if he’ll be fit to see you.’
Laila screamed. She started to sink to her knees, but was held up by Tariq who’d come up behind her as well. He pulled her gently back to the coffee shop. His words were a warning as well as his tone. ‘If you want some advice, please do yourself a favour Laila and make this easy on yourself. Don’t mess with uncle.’
A crash of luggage falling off a trolley distracted Tariq, causing him to loosen his grip on his sister’s arm. Knowing it might be her last chance of freedom, Laila bolted. Running, ignoring the cry of her name, she lifted up her burka, revealing a pair of jeans underneath as she ran up the stairwell in front of her. If she could just find the exit, at least then there was more chance of getting away.
At the top of the stairs, Laila was breathing hard and was still no closer to finding the exit of the overcrowded airport. She hadn’t noticed the way she’d come in. Even though she didn’t know which way she was going, Laila continued to run, sensing an ever-nearing threat behind her. She was too afraid to turn around, knowing it could cost her vital seconds.
In the distance she saw two police officers. She hesitated. Perhaps they could help? But then, what would she say? She didn’t want to get into trouble and she certainly didn’t want her family to be in trouble. Besides, she wasn’t entirely sure if she could trust them. She’d always been told the police weren’t sympathetic and wanted to keep out of these matters; worried they were too culturally sensitive to get involved.
Pressing on, Laila continued along the upper level of the airport.
‘Could Laila Khan please come to the check-in desk? Laila Khan to the check-in desk.’
The voice over the airport tannoy sounded loudly, making Laila feel exposed. She whirled around as if a thousand fingers were pointing at her, uncovering her whereabouts, but she only saw the milling crowd of travellers. As oblivious to who Laila was as they were to her fear.
Then through the crowds Laila saw what she hadn’t wanted to see. Something which made her recoil into herself making her stoop in panic as she stood frozen to the spot. She saw the jet-black head of hair, distinctive by the way it bobbed and flopped. She saw the camel-coloured suede shoes paired with the green linen trousers. It was her brother, with his gaze transfixed on her.
Laila span round to run, but less than a meter away stood her uncle, disdainful and angry. Terror took over and she took an involuntary step towards the glass railing overlooking the drop to the busy ground floor thirty feet below, where people milled about in shops and drank coffee in the overheated airport.
She pressed her body against the barrier, clinging onto it and standing on tiptoes as she did so. Could she do it? If she jumped it’d all be over. She wouldn’t have to go to Pakistan. Wouldn’t have to marry a man she didn’t know. All her fear would go away in one swift movement. Looking over the barrier, she urged herself to do it as she felt her legs trembling. Her uncle walked slowly towards her, speaking with quiet menace. ‘Don’t be silly Laila; just come here, no one wants to make a scene. Not here. Not now.’
‘Please uncle, just let me go home.’ Laila’s voice sounded childlike as she struggled to hold back the tears.
‘That’s exactly what you are doing. Going home.’
She turned to Tariq, desperate for him to help her, but seeing her uncle take another step towards her made Laila turn away, her attention back on her uncle, hoping she could appeal to him. ‘Just let me finish school, like Daddy wanted me to, and afterwards, I … I promise uncle, I’ll do anything you say.’
‘We’ve been over this Laila. The life you had is finished. Your new life will be with your husband. Duty. Honour. Now come away from the balcony Laila, you’ll have people staring.’
Laila didn’t move. From behind her uncle she saw two large security guards looking over, concerned puzzlement on their faces.
Tariq spoke to her now, his jaw clenched in tension, desperately wanting his sister to stop causing herself more trouble. ‘Laila, there’s nowhere for you to go. Please. The best thing you can do is to make it easy on yourself. In time you’ll get use to it. One day you will come to love him. So please come here. Please.’
Mahmood