This chapter touches but lightly on transgendered issues. But I have dwelt upon the thouroughly modern exploits of Akilah and Yusaf as they struggle to address the constrictions of traditionalist wahabism in britain. There won't be much more about their releationship except where it enters into the other story lines.

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We returned to Rosy Cottage quite late, the children were sleeping but we three adults; Yusaf, Chrissie and I were in thoughtful mood. Yusaf was obviously trying to reconcile his feelings for Akilah and I grinned as we pulled into the yard. I switched of the grumbling engine and turned to study Yusafs’ pensive expression.

“Penny for em’ Yusaf.”

He turned and grinned self-consciously.

“She’s pretty isn’t she?”

“Who?”

“Who d’you think!”

“You’ll have to get around her dad then, won’t you?”

“I don’t think that’s an issue. The group made it abundantly clear that all those ladies are of the same mind.”

“What’s that; free love?”

“Steady Bev. This is Islam we’re talking about. Even if Akilah made it plain she fancied me, I’d still feel that I had to speak to her father.”

“Oh I think it’s as plain as the nose on your face that she is enamoured of you, so I think you’d better take those steps and get talking.”

“D’you really think so?” He pressed.

Chrissie let out a snort.

“Bloody hell Yusaf. She kissed you didn’t she! How obvious does she have to get?”

“It was more of a peck on the cheek though, wasn’t it?”

“You said it yourself. She’s a Muslim isn’t she? Modesty and all that. We had Muslim girls in my class at school; some of them used to rankle at their burkahs and they always took them off when the boys weren’t around. You know Akilah likes you, Mummy Bev and I know she likes you, you said it yourself; Akilah’s a thoroughly modern miss. It’s what you teach isn’t it?”

“Huh! Out of the mouths of babes eh?” He grinned at me.

“She’s right Yusaf. Akilah’s a thoroughly modern miss. You could do a hell of a lot worse. My advice is to go and see her dad while he’s still in hospital. Compare bullet wounds; that will impress him.”

“I’m not that rich though. All my funds go to running the mosque. A girl like Akilah can have the pick of Islam.”

“Oh, so you’re a philanthropist as well eh! Your hand gets better and better. Akilah won’t be able to resist you. It’s not money or wealth she’s after; she’s a successful woman in her own right. She just wants the right man and you a proven philanthropist, flipping heck Yusaf, Chrissie’s right! You’re holding the ace of trumps in your hand. Come on let’s get these kids to bed.”

Gently we woke the children and they stumbled sleepily into the kitchen where Angie had prepared a light supper after Yusaf had phoned ahead to let her know our ETA. Around the kitchen table, only Maha had something to add. She loitered in the hall as the others made their way upstairs to bed.

“Uncle Yusaf. Do I have to sleep downstairs tonight?”

“Ah!” I replied thoughtfully. “It’s a bit late tonight darling. Can we sort out the new sleeping arrangements tomorrow?”
Yusaf turned to me and motioned with his head.

“She can sleep in Emirs’ room in my bed. They usually share a bedroom at home anyway, separate beds of course. They have done since the murder. The trauma left them wounded. They keep each other company. I’ll sleep in the study tonight.”

“Okay then, be my guests, - well;” I grinned, “you already are my guests but you know what I mean.”

Yusaf smiled again and Maha flung her arms around me and kissed me feverishly.

“I love you Auntie Bev! You’re just the best!”

I returned her hug and as my hands squeezed into the small of her back I felt something hard and sharp under her blouse. Maha squeaked with pain.

“Ouch. What’s that?”

“I don’t know darling, there’s like a pebble or a bean stuck to your back.”

Yusaf gasped as he stared at Maha’s back.

“My God Beverly, she’s bleeding! It’s from the bullet wound!”

“Let me see,” Angie demanded for she was still having difficulty coming to terms with Maha’s miraculous recovery.

Even as Yusaf said, ‘She’s bleeding,’ I felt the ‘bean’ break off her back and slip down to the belt of her long skirt. I followed it down with my fingers and finally recovered it as I tugged the tail of her blouse from out of her belt. As I studied the object I recognised it as a sharp, misshapen bullet fragment. My fingers were also covered in blood as I gasped.

“My God! It is the bullet!”

“Let me see,” gasped Yusaf.

“I’d better look at the wound.” Observed Angie, lift the back of your blouse up Maha.”

I dropped the bullet fragment into Yusafs’ hand and told Chrissie to fetch the first aid kit. I had to admire the kid she was already fetching it as I made Maha lie on her tummy on the kitchen table.

“I want to see,” Maha protested.

“Lie still girl,” Angie commanded. “You’re getting blood everywhere.”

Yusaf held out his hand and Maha got to finger the fragment until Angie started dressing her back.

“Now lie perfectly still while I fix this dressing.” Angie ordered the fidgeting Maha.

Maha obeyed and Angie’s expert hands had the blood flow stemmed in short order. Fortunately only a few tiny drops had splashed onto the heavy duty table cloth.

“Is it painful?” I asked.

“No. I can hardly feel a thing.”

“Good, well it’s off to bed with you now. You’ll have to lie on your tummy though.”

Maha scampered up the stairs declaring to everybody that the bullet had come out miraculously. Naturally all the children had to come down again to see the magic artefact and it was another half hour before order was restored.

Downstairs, after the children were bedded, we adults chatted at length about the days’ events.

“And she just seemed to rub it?” Angie asked.

“Yes. We had hell’s own job straightening the arm of the wheelchair to get Maha free then the woman laid her on her front in all the dog poo and chewing gum and just started sort of running her fingers up and down Maha’s spine. She located the scar and then started kneading the area with her fingers.”

“Was there really a blue glow?” Asked Yusaf sceptically.

I looked at him; then at the floor for his doubts seemed to indicate to me that he was beginning to question his own beliefs. Reluctantly I ‘confessed’ and replied softly.

“Yes Yusaf there was, honestly; little Martina was not lying. I saw it too but after the woman told me not to say anything; I was reluctant to spread it abroad. I owe Martina a bit of an apology.”

“Well go now and apologise to her. You’re right! You owe her that.”

I was pleased that Yusaf had given me a clear directive. It somehow lifted the burden off my shoulders and I went up to Martina with an easy conscience.

“So I was right wasn’t I Auntie Bev? There was a sort of blue light.”

“Yes darling; and I’m sorry I tried to pretend it was the fall that had dislodged the fragment.”

Martina turned victoriously to the other children. Maha and Emir had joined them in the big bedroom when they heard me going past their bedroom door, for they were still too excited to sleep.

“There see! I told you. She was a miracle woman.”

“Yes, well you make sure you keep her miracle a secret’” I cautioned her, “you also heard her tell me not to say anything so that goes for you too Martina; and all the rest of you.”

I turned to give the children a stern stare as I explained further.

“The lady obviously keeps her stuff a secret so that nobody will bother her. Could you imagine what it would be like going out and having people begging all the time to be cured?”

“Yes, there’s a lot of sick people about,” Maha declared, “I was really lucky wasn’t I?”

“Yes darling, and then some Kid, and then some,” I agreed.

“I’m going to the mosque tomorrow to give thanks.” Maha declared.

“I’m pleased to hear it. There’s a small one in Bournemouth, but please don’t tell anybody about the miracle lady. It’s just between you and God.”

“And the miracle lady.” Added Maha.

“Well; yes. That’s as maybe, but remember her words.”

“Yes, I heard her say not to tell, but I didn’t see the blue light; it was behind me. I wish I had.”

“Heaven’s Maha, you actually endured it. Yours was much more intimate than Martina and mine, we only witnessed it. Just give thanks at the mosque and leave it at that. Secrecy, okay? That’s what the lady wanted. Now promise me! And that goes for you all, okay!”

Maha nodded and I finally got the kids into their correct beds. When I returned downstairs, Angie had made coffee so we sat and chatted about Maha’s cure. There was something else the woman told me but I’d forgotten and it kept nagging at me. Reluctantly I had to go to bed without remembering but I slept well. The day had been exhausting.

Morning was accompanied with the inevitable thunderous charge of twelve feet as Maha and Emir joined the fray. Eventually Chrissie joined us but with the additional pleasure of a large tray of tea and toast. (The girl was learning,). She had also invited Yusaf to join us but he declined. I think the sight of a woman and an effeminate transvestite in bed together with six children and a teenaged transsexual was a bit too awesome even for one of the most open minded Imams in Islam to contemplate. He had his limits.

When I finally pulled back the curtains a drab grey sky greeted me with the promise of heavier rain. It had been forecast and it was already spotting, so I suggested that we take up Maha’s idea of going into Bournemouth. We could all go and give thanks, or shop, or whatever.

Yusaf took me aside and whispered.

“Just let me check first. Some imams are a bit sensitive about ‘unbelievers’ praying in their mosques.”

“But I thought, -“

“Yes, you’re right, ‘children of the book’ and all that, but you’d be surprised at some of the bigotry to be found in Islam. It can make the Churches of Ulster or the Southern US Bible Belt look like open house.”

He phoned around and found a mosque more to his liking but confessed to me.

“I’m afraid the best one is in Portsmouth.”

“Crickey Yusaf! You make it sound like the old Victorian days in Britain. What with one church not talking to the other. We’d better get moving if we’re going back to Portsmouth.”

“There are problems in Islam as well dear Bev, the division between Sunni and Shia to mention but one. The mosque I want is in Portsmouth. The Imam’s not a bad bloke.”

I nodded, everybody knew about religious fissures and Rudyard’s poem came to my mind again,

‘He that hath a gospel,’ and all that.

“Okay then,” I declared, “Portsmouth it is. Kids! Wellies and coats!”

“Where are we going? Jenny demanded.”

“Back to Portsmouth.”

“Oh goodiee!” Maha squealed. “I can have that jewellery the miracle lady told you to buy,”

I suddenly did a double take as I remembered.

‘That’s what she told me to do!’ The kick-boxer had suggested a piece of jewellery for Maha to remember the miracle. We would have to go back to the shop where it all happened for she had told me specifically to get it from that shop right next door to the Assims’ take- away.

Then I had another thought. It was Sunday!

A search of the telephone directories on-line revealed the shop’s telephone number and a brief call confirmed that the shop was open. Sunday was a busy day for the HMS Victory so back to the jewellery shop it was.

‘Ho hum,’ I thought, ‘somebody’ll be happy. There’s the take-away next door with a very attractive daughter.’

And he was happy.

Somebody else was also happy when she learned the mosque prayers of thanks would take but a few minutes whilst the potential for shopping would be all day, especially as there would be no interruptions like ‘visiting old wrecks’. The mood in the Landrover as we rumbled happily back to Portsmouth that morning was one of excitement and anticipation.

The children, naturally, were studying the bullet fragment that had come out of Maha’s back when Chrissie suddenly had a brainwave.

“Mum.”

“Yes darling,” I answered.

“You know that piece of jewellery thing for Maha.”

“Yes darling.”

“The kick-boxer said it was to remember the miracle thing didn’t she?”

“Yes Darling.”

“Why doesn’t Maha have it set into some sort of locket or pendant?”

“Have what set Darling?” I asked absently as I concentrated on the traffic.

“The bullet of course! Why doesn’t she have the bullet fragment set into a sort of locket or something. Then she can hang it on a chain around her neck.”

The whole Landrover fell silent as the brainwave was digested. Then Maha’s voice piped up excitedly.

“That’s brilliant Chrissie! You’re a genius. Can I have that Auntie Bev, Can I Uncle Yusaf? Plee-eease!”

Yusaf and I exchanged surprised grins as we contemplated the idea. It was an excellent one. We agreed to Chrissie’s suggestion and Maha leant right forward over the middle row of seats to hug us tightly. Her efforts nearly separated me from the steering wheel.

“Steady darling, I’m driving here.”

“Oh Auntie Bev, you and Uncle Yusaf are just so kind!”

“It’s Chrissie you should thank Maha,” Yusaf countered, “it was her idea.

Maha turned sideways and gave Chrissie a sisterly hug. Then she took the fragment out of her pocket and clambered over the seat into the middle row. They fell to discussing how it should be mounted and Chrissie turned it thoughtfully in her fingers.

“D’you know this fragment is something special. Have you looked at it closely Mummy?”

“No Chrissie, I’ve hardly had a chance to hold it since it came out of Mahas’ back. You kids have been playing with it all night and all morning.”

“Well it’s strange, just look at that Maha, what d’you see?”

Maha took it and squinted curiously but she shook her head.

“No. I don’t see anything.”

“Turn it that way so that it catches the light.”
Maha turned it in her fingers and held it up as Chrissie explained.

“There! Hold it there. Now what d’you see?”

“Ooh yess! It’s like a crescent, the crescent of Islam.”

“And what’s that tiny bit inside, see, just there where the fragment must have broken off.”

“Oooohh! Maha squealed. By the light of Allah. Uncle Yusaf! Look!! There’s like a cross inlaid inside the crescent!”

Yusaf took the proffered fragment and studied it thoughtfully. I could tell he was looking for some sort of religious message to teach Maha. 'Ever the Imam,' I grinned to myself, 'ever the teacher!'

“The crescent and the cross, it’s like the international sign for saving victims of disasters.”

“Co-operation and care,” I added reinforcing Yusafs’ theme.

“That’s good!” Maha squeaked. “I always wanted to be a doctor. This in a pendant will help me.”
Yusaf handed the fragment back to Maha who shared its secrets with the other girls and Emir. In the rear-view mirror I caught Chrissie smiling at me so I smiled back. We had nearly reached Portsmouth and the traffic was thickening so I had to concentrate until we arrived at the jewellery shop and take-away.

In the jewellery shop the girls became excited as they inspected the goods and I noticed the poor proprietor become agitated. She was a youngish girl who obviously made a lot of her own jewellery and she obviously suspected that we were shop lifters. To reassure her I called the girls to order and told them they could each spend up to forty pounds and no more except of course for Maha. The young proprietor gasped and mouthed ‘Thank you’ to me.

With a known limit, it didn’t take long for the girls to choose their preferred pieces and as they each placed their selections on the counter, the proprietor’s mood relaxed. After all, One hundred and sixty pounds worth of business was not to be sneezed at.
She heard me discussing the pendant idea with Chrissie and Maha and she soon became enthusiastic. She listened to Chrissie’s idea then whipped out a jewellers’ magnifying glass to inspect the bullet fragment.

“I can do something with this,” she offered, “the fragment looks like nickel and that’s non ferrous. I could polish up the surrounding crescent and enhance the little cross by picking out the edges. It would make the whole thing much clearer and more dramatic.”

She prepared a sketch and then held it under the jeweller’s magnifying glass to demonstrate her idea. The magnification made a spectacular icon and she explained that by setting the fragment under a small lensed glass. Set in a precious metal it would make a unique pendant.

I could tell Maha was impressed, as where Chrissie and I. The girl had a wonderful design sense. After studying it a bit more she frowned slightly.

“Sadly, I’d have to slice a bit off the back of the fragment as well, so as to slide it flat under the lense and get the right focal length.” She added. “Any thicker and the pendant wouldn’t sit right when she’s older.”

She made a hand motion indicating breasts and Maha blushed. Chrissie and I grinned but we could see the jewellers’ point.

“How much?” I asked.

“About two millimetres.”

“Could you make that two separate millimetres?”

“She sucked her lip thoughtfully.”

“I could try, but nickel’s quite hard to work with.”

“Give it a go. It’ll be worth your while. This is a fragment of a bullet and it’s got a lot of provenance. Just don’t damage the bit that goes into the pendant; the crescent and cross bit.”

“Has this got anything to do with the robbery yesterday?” Asked the girl shrewdly.

Maha answered immediately, “Yes! I was the girl who was cured.”

The jeweller nodded knowingly but remained silent. I tried asking her.

“The woman who was in here yesterday when it all took off; the kick-boxer. Did you know her?”

The girls’ expression darkened slightly. Then she spoke softly.

“Yes. Why?”

“Do you know her name?”

“Yes. I’ve done some original work for her, why?”

“Would you be prepared to tell us who she was. We’d desperately like to thank her.”

“Sorry. No can do. She shuns publicity, well at least publicity around her healing power. I’m sure you can understand.”

I nodded resignedly. The kick-boxing woman’s fears were perfectly logical so I let the matter lie and returned to the commission for the pendant and now possibly two matching earrings if the cutting work was successful. After agreeing a price for the commission, I paid for the four lesser pieces for Jenny, Bea, Chenille and Martina and left a small deposit to secure the metal for the pendant. Maha, being a Kurd, wanted twenty four carat gold but the jeweller persuaded her that it was too soft.

“Eighteen carat max darling, or it’ll wear out before you have your first child.”

I smiled at Maha’s youthful indulgence and explained further to her.

“Darling, this pendant isn’t part of your dowry or some such declaration of wealth. This is to remind you of your thanks to God and the miracle of yesterday. Let it be a talisman of your faith if you must, but it is not a declaration of wealth, it’s a declaration of thanks!”

“Quite right Beverly. Well said!”

I turned at the sound of Yusafs’ voice and smiled as he entered with Akilah at his side. Their arms were around each others’ waist. I grinned at the happy pair.

“I presume Daddy said yes then,” I suggested.

Akilah nodded with a huge grin as Yusaf beamed with pleasure.

We then showed Akilah the strange symbols in the fragment and she smiled thoughtfully as she bent down to hug Maha.

“A rare sign indeed Maha. Always remember its message.” Akilah advised.

“And what’s that,” Asked Maha.

“Just as the crescent and the cross share this same fragment of metal, so do Muslims and Christians share the same God.”

On that note everybody present nodded sagely and we bid the jeweller good-day. Assim had prepared an early lunch for us at a moment’s notice. Now that’s what I called hospitality.

Around the table the children chatted about Maha’s recovery and wondered if the strange kick-boxing lady was some sort of witch.

“Maybe that’s why she doesn’t want anybody to know about it.” Declared Emir.

“No. If she was a witch why would she do a good thing? Witches cast nasty spells.” Countered Beatrice.

“Not necessarily, Darling, I added. Women who do good things are sometimes called white witches. Usually they are what we would today call herbalists. In olden days they were called white witches.”

“Usually by men,” Akilah added for good measure,” who then burned them at the stake anyway, good or bad.”

“Sadly yes,” Yusaf added. Happily, things have moved on.”

“Well whatever she is, she had magical powers,” Martina declared boldly.

“How so?” Assim pressed.

“She knew Maha was Kurdish and nobody told her.”

My fork stopped half way to my mouth as I recalled the event and I wondered at Martina’s total recall. I stared at her open-mouthed before I confirmed the child’s observation.

“D’you know she’s right. The woman did mention it, now I come to think about it.”

Encouraged by my agreement, Martina went further.

“And she knew Maha had a bullet fragment in her back without anybody telling her. Anybody else would have thought Maha was hurting because of the car hitting her, but Kick-boxer knew about the bullet. Her fingers were only on her back for a moment before she went straight to the spot and you couldn’t see the scar because Maha was still wearing her blouse.
Then there was the blue light. That woman is definitely some sort of witch or faith healer or something.”

Once again all eyes turned to me for confirmation of Martina’s observations and I was forced to agree. Martina’s description had brought it all back to me. Then Maha piped up.

“Martina’s right, I heard her mention the bullet fragment and nobody told her so how did she know?”

The mood around the table turned solemn for a moment as each of us digested the facts then Maha broke the impasse.

“Well whatever she is, she made me better and it felt good. It still feels good and God hasn’t struck me down or anything for consorting with a witch. So she can’t be a bad witch.”

“I don’t think she’s a witch at all,” Yusaf advised Maha, “she’s a woman; possibly with peculiar powers but they are probably God given and that certainly doesn’t make her a witch.”

This statement settled it for the children and I smiled at Yusaf. The man obviously realised just how much moral power an imam could wield amongst impressionable children but Yusaf knew to use it for temperance and tolerance. I also caught Akilah’s adoring glance as she exchanged a knowing look between her father and her mother. I smiled at my private thoughts and remembered the Jewish Story, ‘The Rabbi came to Dinner.’

Here was the Muslim version. Fortunately all the other adults were smiling at their own private thoughts about Yusaf so my own thoughtful expression went un-noticed and unquestioned.

We rose from the table at Chrissie’s insistence that we had promised her a days' shopping and that it was a Sunday, so all the shops closed early. Her argument brooked no challenges from us girls and even Fatima decided to join the fray as she bullied her long suffering, (and wounded,) husband into submission.

“You can close the shop for one day Assim. It won’t cripple us. Anyway, you’ve just been shot so nobody can accuse you of laziness and this is a very special day. Akilah has at long last agreed to get married and this child Maha has to give thanks for her cure.”

Secretly, I think Assim was glad to have a day off and I learned later that afternoon why. He couldn’t wait to go down to their mosque and spread the news that his beautiful but wilful daughter Akilah had at long last agreed to take a husband and a very
special husband at that. An Imam no less, and even better than that, the famous Imam Yusaf of the Warwick Mosque.
Furthermore, that very same Imam was actually down at the mosque that very day offering prayers of thanks for a little girl’s cure.
The news spread like wildfire and soon the mosque was crowded. Our group were lucky to escape out of the back door through the resident Imam’s home. Emir had to sneak around the front to recover our shoes.

Later, several Muslim women came up to us whilst we were shopping to offer Akilah and Fatima their congratulations and joy. All of them commented upon Akilahs’ age and Fatimas’ relief at finally getting her only daughter married. Akilah was only twenty seven, but in traditional Islamic circles that was considered old for a girl to marry. I had to admire Akilahs’ patience for she could hardly walk a single step without yet another acquaintance rushing up to congratulate her.
When we met again with Assim and Yusaf they told us of the numerous old men in the mosque who were disappointed at the news for they had sons of marriageable age and now one of the greatest prizes in England had been taken. Only now was I beginning to realise what august company I was keeping with my friendship to Akilah and Yusaf.

As a special treat, Fatima and Akilah took us into an ethnic wedding shop where we were delighted to indulge our feminine whims. Chrissie was squealing with delight as she tried out various materials and designs while Akilah helped her modify them to western mores.

The older proprietress seemed a little put out but her daughter assistants were more than eager to indulge the beautiful Akilah. Besides, it was an excellent advert for their shop. Amidst much fun and rejoicing all the children, - the girls that is, - enjoyed the fun and I couldn’t resist buying a little piece of ethnic jewellery. A broach with a delightful, geometric bird design made of a myriad precious stones. Yes I had indulged myself and it was very expensive, but the shipping business was looking up and it was such a beautiful broach. The bird seemed to spring out of the bush it was set in. I had tried to keep my purchase low key but it was impossible to hide my expensive purchase from the older proprietress. Akilah noticed the buzz at the counter and sidled over without my realising. She whispered amusedly over my shoulder.

“Retail therapy Bev?”

I was startled and nearly dropped the broach then I sighed contentedly.

“It’s lovely, don’t you think?”

“Yes Bev. It’s truly beautiful. Go for it girl, you deserve a treat.”

Naturally, the ever nosey teenager came over to see what all the interest was about and when she saw the broach she immediately had designs upon it.

“Ooooh! That’s pretty! It will make a fabulous setting in my head band!”

“Get your greedy paws off young lady. You’ve already ‘borrowed’ half my jewellery as it is. This one is special! It’s to remind me of Akilahs’ engagement and Mahas’ miracle.”

“Aaah-aah. You’re a right old meanie,” whinged the teenager.

At this, Akilah took Chrissie aside and quietly scolded her.

“Listen young lady! Your mother’s a saint. Let her have one small thing she can call her own. She deserves it looking after you lot!”

Suitable chastened by a beautiful and successful lady that she had huge cause to respect and admire, Chrissie had the good grace to look embarrassed as she shuffled away to resume looking at rolls of precious cloth that the younger girls were admiring.
Fatima and Akilah agreed to come back the following Thursday to decide on a wedding dress. Outside the shop I expressed my surprise.

“I’m amazed. I thought Islamic weddings were all about respectable families and stuff. I mean this romance has moved faster than a Barbara Cartland novel.”

“And what can be more respectable than an Imam?” Fatima demanded.

“Okay; point taken. Boy this is a real eye opener for me.”

Fatima grinned as she explained further. “I’m just glad to get this girl off my hands.”

“Yes, and have a grandchild to take over the shop.” Added Akilah.

“Not likely!” Fatima rebutted her daughter, “the shop was for your father and me! We had little education; your children will be like you, professional people. We haven’t slaved away for thirty years just to see our efforts come to nothing.”

“Sorry mummy,” Akilah apologised, then mocked her mother affectionately, “I’ll give you a doctor and a judge for grandchildren. How’s that?”

“Don’t you mock me child. We’ve worked our butts off to see you through college and then through chambers.”

I had to turn away to hide my smile. The parent — child issues were the same throughout history and throughout cultures. Akilah was a twenty-seven-year-old professional woman but she was still obviously Fatima’s little girl.
I wished my parents had been like Fatima and Assim. ‘But then,’ I thought, ‘how might Fatima and Assim have reacted to having a transgendered child?’

I kept my counsel as we met the men in Akilahs’ favourite coffee shop. Assim and Yusaf had been arranging men’s stuff concerning the wedding. I just couldn’t believe how quickly things moved in Muslim society then Akilah laughingly explained.

“They’re just so glad to finally get their daughter married off. People were beginning to talk, especially because two of my friends are gay.”

‘Oh,’ I thought, ‘no change there then.’

For the remainder of the afternoon, we gave Chrissie and the girls free reign to wander the mall as we three older ones relaxed over several cups of coffee while the love-birds strolled off to chat and get to know each other better. Fatima started probing me about Yusaf.

“What is his mother like?”

“She’s dead, so is his father, there was a terrorist bombing when he and his sister were at school. It was a Market bomb in Iraq.”

“Oh dear, that’s a pity.”

“Is that all you can say, ‘that’s a pity’? The boy and his sister grew up as orphans in an Iraqi orphanage under Saddam. Can you imagine what that means?”

Fatima’s face darkened as Assims’ eyes narrowed.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that we women like to get to know each other before our children are married. There’s lots of stuff to sort out. What sort of family is he from and stuff like that?”

“So am I really the person to ask?”

“You’re his friend. He seems to confide in you a lot.”

“So I’d be betraying his trust if I told you, wouldn’t I?”

“Yes but you seem to know a lot about him.”

“Well, maybe I do, I don’t know what his other friends know.”

“So you’re not going to tell us,” Assim charged.

“No, I didn’t say that. I’ll have to have his consent and his sister’s consent before I reveal anything.”

“And when will you get that?” Fatima pressed.

I frowned for I felt I was being pressured, but then, I wasn’t familiar with Islamic rites and procedures in marriage. I looked at Fatima inquisitively.

“Are you treating me like some sort of go-between; some sort of fixer like they have in Pakistan?”

“You’re the nearest thing there is between his family and ours.”

“But I’m not even a Muslim.”

“We know that.” Assim confirmed.

“Do you know anything else about me? Would you consider me respectable if you did?”

We know about your trans, - trans, - you know; you’re being half man half woman.” Fatima added.

“Who told you that?”

“Yusaf did, this morning while you were sorting our Maha’s pendant. We thought you were a respectable woman but he had to put us right for we were considering you as a functionary at the wedding.”

I swallowed more with surprise than nervousness. Only Fatima was talking now and I later learned that this sort of family check-up thing was mostly sorted out by the women of the families.

“But still you talk to me.” I continued.

“Yusaf talks to you and treats you well. He says you are honest, and generous and charitable. If you’re good enough to be a friend of the Imam of the Coventry mosque, you’re good enough to be a friend of our only daughter.”

I turned questioningly to Assim, presuming him to be the arbiter in this matter but he simply canted his head sideways and motioned towards his wife. It was obvious that Fatima was the main player. I felt I was getting out of my depth so I asked them permission to phone Yusaf and sort some Islamic things out in my head. Fatima was more than happy to consent.

“Hello Yusaf... Hi, ... yes,... and me. Look, I’m totally out of my depth here. It’s all sorts of family stuff. Fatima’s pressing me,... Are you quite sure? Everything? ... No secrets; and your sister? Okay then, everything, no secrets.”

I handed my phone to Fatima who confirmed with Yusaf that I could tell them all I knew. She smiled and remarked.

“He must trust you a lot.”

“He told me a few nights ago that I’m the nearest thing he’s got to a mother. All his immediate family are dead except for his sister.”

“Yes. I must meet with her.”

“Obviously. I might add I’ve never met her.”

“Oh.”

“The best people to speak to would be Emir and Maha, they’re Yusafs’ adopted children and his sister Aalia works a lot with them. I suppose she’s the nearest thing they’ve got to a mother now and they seem to like her a lot. At least that’s the impression they give me. If children like someone that’s usually a good pointer.”

“Is that her name; Aalia?”

“I think so. That’s what it sounded like to my western ear.”

“It means noble one.” Assim added.

“Well, I suppose if she’s anything like her brother, then she will be.” I finished.

“So,” Fatima pressed, “now he’s given you permission, will you tell us of Yusafs’ family?”

“There’s not much to tell really. As I said just now, they were in school in Iraq when their parents’ shop was blown up in a market suicide bombing. Both children were orphaned and their younger siblings, who were too young for school, were also killed in the blast. They ended up in a state orphanage because the family were too afraid to be associated with them. Some sort of political connection, I don’t know what. They came to Britain on some sort of charitable thing after Yusaf was badly beaten and his sister Aalia was gang raped by remnants of the insurgency. She was just turned thirteen. It’s pretty gruesome story and it’s a miracle they’re sane.”

A deathly silence settled on us as I dared to add.

“ So I’m afraid if its respectable family background you’re seeking, then Yusaf cannot offer you that. He can only offer, what
Churchill offered, that is blood sweat and tears.”
I could tell that Fatima was moved.

“And his sister is not married either.”

“Who would marry a girl who was so abused? You know how it is. Aalia has little confidence or trust in men. She dedicates her time to running the mosque and looking after Maha and Emir. Yusaf says she thinks of those two as her children.”

“But if Akilah marries Yusaf, she will automatically adopt the children, would Aalia be offended?” Asked Assim.

“I don’t know. Best to ask Yusaf or better still, speak to Aalia.”

“I have to do that anyway. Aalia is Yusafs’ only female relative.” Finished Fatima.

We carried on chatting and they wanted to know more about me. My background and my life. They were both surprised and amazed to learn that I was once a sea captain and yet still owned some ships, or rather part owned them, although the banks’ share was shrinking every month as Billy, Mac and I poured money in to pay off the mortgages. We all three knew that debt was an onerous burden. When I said this both Fatima and Assim smiled.

“Spoken like a true Muslim,” laughed Assim, “Fatima and I well remember the day we finally redeemed the mortgage on the take-away. A day of celebration and only few days later, Akilah graduated in law.”

I smiled for I could well imagine the sense of fulfilment that would have brought Fatima and Assim. Akilahs’ tinkling laugh brought us back from our reflections and I arose to order more coffee. I also ordered a large tray of pastries and cakes knowing that if we didn’t finish them, the children certainly would.

“By way of a small celebration,” I remarked as Fatimas’ eyes widened appreciatively at the sight of the chocolate delicacies amongst the pile. All women loved chocolate; that much I did know.

As we sat around the table, Akilah addressed me.

“Yusaf tells me that you know Her Lordship Judge Elizabeth Porter.”

I nodded and hunched my shoulders apologetically.

“For my sins, yes.”

“They weren’t sins Beverly. You adopted two beautiful little girls. I didn’t realise that she was the presiding judge. Yusaf was describing how you ended up with them. It’s one of the reasons he holds you in such esteem.”

“Yes; well, I was no saint about it. I didn’t want to at first but that was a long time ago.”

“But you did it and that was a truly Islamic thing to do.”

“I liked to think of it as perhaps a Godly thing to do.”

“Do you have trouble with Islam?”

“I have trouble with all faiths Akilah. They condemn me for what I am and I can do nothing about it. Ipso facto I walk my own path, plough my own furrow.”

“Yes. Spreading kindness and largess wherever you go.”

“I don’t make a song and dance about it. Just get on with my own thing.”

“And what about Chrissie? She’s afflicted like you.”

“Not quite, she’s transsexual as is Martina, they’ve got solutions albeit not perfect. SRS won’t help me. I’m not quite a full transsexual.”

“That must be confusing and painful.”

“Confusing; yes,- painful; not really. It gives me an interesting extra dimension to my life. I don’t understand it but I know I can’t change it. It’s taken me over forty years to realise that I can’t change it. Now I embrace it. Four years ago I lived outwardly as a man, now I am as you see me and happier for it.”

“But all the other stuff in your life, that’s good. Yusafs told me about it.”

“Is that all you talked about while you were alone. I thought you were supposed to be discussing your own lives.”

“You’re one of Yusafs closest friends; I tend to judge people in part by the company they keep for it tells a lot about them. You are transgendered and that makes you a very unusual friend.”

I smiled disarmingly to reassure her that I was not offended.

“So, now you know all about me, are you happy for Yusaf and me to remain friends?”

Her jaw dropped with dismay as she realised what she had led me to think.

“Oh I’m so sorry, it’s not like that! Of course I want you to remain friends. I will value our shared friendship. You can bring so many answers to the many questions of gender I sometimes face in court.”

Her father Assim let out a little snort of disapproval.

“Huh, there speaks my daughter still full of ambition.” Akilah flashed him an angry look.

“Yes! And also ambitions to give you grandchildren! Don’t forget, I’m your only child. You have no son to imbibe with ambition.”

“Quite right darling!” Fatima added as she scolded her husband. “You remember mister, she’s your only daughter and she’s every right to make her own way. There’ll be no brothers to look out for her after we’re gone.”

“I’ll be there, I hope,” Yusaf added as he moved to smooth the waters.

Fatima did a double take. She had only just remembered her beloved only child was getting married. The arguments about Akilahs’ future must have been a regular parental chestnut between Fatima and Assim until this happy occasion. Fatima had not yet adjusted to always having to protect her daughter from her fathers’ ambitions to get her married off to some respectable, wealthy family. Now there was a match made by God. Their daughter was marrying one of the most esteemed Imams in England and it was a true love match. She could ask for no better and here she was scolding her long suffering husband. She stood up with a huff and scolded herself as she leant over and kissed her husband full on the lips. A totally un-Islamic thing to do in public especially for her generation.

“I’m sorry darling. This is not a day to squabble.”

Then she turned to outstare several older Muslim men who were playing back-gammon on another table and who had turned to stare censoriously.

“What are you looking at!!?” She scolded them. “We’ve been married for thirty years and this is England not Saudi Arabia.”

To emphasise her feelings she kissed her husband again. The men on the other table turned away to avoid further scolding. I felt a little sorry for them and turned to Yusaf whose shoulders were heaving with silent laughter while he had had tears of mirth in his eyes but said nothing. This was Fatima’s battle and she was winning it all on her own. When she finally plopped down in her seat again, Akilah smiled at her.

“Well done mum! You were magnificent!”

Assim just spread his hands and chuckled.

“Her sister in Pakistan is just the same. What could I do? It was one or the other.”

Akilah grinned proudly.

“Well I think you picked the right one dad. Now I know where I get it from.”

Thus we settled around the table to chat at more length about wedding arrangements. It seemed like only moments later that the shopping herd returned laden with booty.

We returned home early and Maha had the exquisite delight of saddling up Sian’s favourite hunter to take a wild, summer evening gallop around the Field. Sian and I watched with some trepidation as Mahas’ headscarf and burkah streamed out behind her like the train of some Arabian princess while the hunter galloped at full stretch. Sian took a photograph for posterity and we decided to keep it for Maha as a surprise. Truly the picture was an ‘action shot’ that would have done credit to the finest photographer. One day when Maha was older, Sian told me she would present it to Maha as a reminder of the day she was cured.

Then, as we called her in, Maha returned ecstatic with joy as Sian's camera clicked away. It was one of my most rewarding moments and Sian had recorded it for Posterity. Maha was whole again in body and soul, thanks to the lady in blue.