White Teeth

sacrifice was nine tenths of parenting. She even suggested a meeting, between herself and the Chalfens, but either Clara was paranoid or Irie was doing her best to avoid it. And there was no point looking to Archibald for support. He only saw Irie in flashes – when she came home to shower, dress or eat – and it didn’t seem to bother him whether she raved endlessly about the Chalfen children (They sound nice, love), or about something Joyce did (Did she? That’s very clever, isn’t it, love?), or something Marcus had said (Sounds like a right old Einstein, eh, love? Well, good for you. Must dash. Meeting Sammy at O’Connell’s at eight). Archie had skin as thick as an alligator’s. Being a father was such a solid genetic position in his mind (the solidest fact in Archie’s life), it didn’t occur to him that there might be any challenger to his crown. It was left to Clara to bite her lip alone, hope she wasn’t losing her only daughter, and swallow the blood.

But Alsana had finally concluded that it was all-out war and she needed an ally. Late January ’91, Christmas and Ramadan safely out of the way, she picked up the phone.

‘So: you know about these Chaffinches?’

‘Chalfens. I think the name is Chalfen. Yes, they’re the parents of a friend of Irie’s, I think,’ said Clara disingenuously, wanting to know what Alsana knew first. ‘Joshua Chalfen. They sound a nice family.’

Alsana blew air out of her nose. ‘I’ll call them Chaffinches – little scavenging English birds pecking at all the best seeds! Those birds do the same to my bay leaves as these people do to my boy. But they are worse; they are like birds with teeth, with sharp little canines – they don’t just steal, they rip apart! What do you know about them?’

‘Well… nothing, really. They’ve been helping Irie and Millat with their sciences, that’s what she told me. I’m sure there’s no harm, Alsi. And Irie’s doing very well in school now. She is out of the house all the time, but I can’t really put my foot down.’

Clara heard Alsana slap the Iqbal bannisters in fury. ‘Have you met them? Because I haven’t met them, and yet they feel free to give my son money and shelter as if he had neither – and bad mouth me, no doubt. God only knows what he is telling them about me! Who are they? I am not knowing them from Adam or Eve! Millat spends every spare minute with them and I see no particular improvement in his grades and he is still smoking the pot and sleeping with the girls. I try and tell Samad, but he’s in his own world; he just won’t listen. Just screams at Millat and won’t speak to me. We’re trying to raise the money to get Magid back and in a good school. I’m trying to keep this family together and these Chaffinches are trying to tear it apart!’

Clara bit her lip and nodded silently at the receiver.

‘Are you there, lady?’

‘Yes,’ said Clara. ‘Yes. You see, Irie, well… she seems to worship them. I got quite upset at first, but then I thought I was just being silly. Archie says I’m being silly.’

‘If you told that potato-head there was no gravity on the moon he’d think you were being silly. We get by without his opinion for fifteen years, we’ll manage without it now. Clara,’ said Alsana, and her heavy breath rattled against the receiver, her voice sounded exhausted, ‘we always stand by each other… I need you now.’

‘Yes… I’m just thinking…’

‘Please. Don’t think. I booked a movie, old and French, like you like – two thirty today. Meet me in front of the Tricycle Theatre. Niece-of-Shame is coming too. We have tea. We talk.’

The movie was A Bout de Souffle. 16 mm, grey and white. Old Fords and boulevards. Turn-ups and handkerchiefs. Kisses and cigarettes. Clara loved it (Beautiful Belmondo! Beautiful Seberg! Beautiful Paris!), Neena found it too French, and Alsana couldn’t understand what the bloody thing was about. ‘Two young people running around France talking nonsense, killing policemen, stealing vehicles, never wearing bras. If that’s European cinema, give me Bollywood every day of the week. Now, ladies, shall we get down to business?’

Neena went and collected the teas and plonked them on the little table.

‘So what’s all this about a conspiracy of Chaffinches? Sounds like Hitchcock.’

Alsana explained in shorthand the situation.

Neena reached into a bag for her Consulates, lit one up and exhaled minty smoke. ‘Auntie, they just sound like a perfectly nice middle-class family who are helping Millat with his studies. Is that what you dragged me from work for? I mean, it’s hardly Jonestown, now, is it?’

‘No,’ said Clara cautiously, ‘no, of course not – but all your auntie is saying is that Millat and Irie spend such a lot of time over there, so we’d just like to know a bit more about what they’re like, you know. That’s natural enough, isn’t it?’

Alsana objected. ‘That is not all I’m saying. I am saying these people are taking my son away from me! Birds with teeth! They’re Englishifying him completely! They’re deliberately leading him away from his culture and his family and his religion-’

‘Since when have you given two shits about his religion!’

‘You, Niece-of-Shame, you don’t know how I sweat blood for that boy, you don’t know about-’

‘Well, if I don’t know anything about anything, why the bloody hell have you brought me here? I’ve got other fucking things to do, you know.’ Neena snatched her bag and made to stand up. ‘Sorry about this, Clara. I don’t know why this always has to happen. I’ll see you soon…’

‘Sit down,’ hissed Alsana, grabbing her by the arm. ‘Sit down, all right, point made, Miss Clever Lesbian. Look, we need you, OK? Sit down, apology, apology. OK? Better.’

‘All right,’ said Neena, viciously stubbing out her fag on a serviette. ‘But I’m going to speak my mind and for once just shut that chasm of a mouth while I do it. OK? OK. Right. Now, you just said Irie’s doing tremendous in school, and if Millat’s not doing so well, it’s no great mystery – he doesn’t do any work. At least somebody’s trying to help him. And if he’s seeing too much of these people, I’m sure that’s his choice, not theirs. It’s not exactly Happy Land in your house at the moment, is it? He’s running away from himself and he’s looking for something as far away from the Iqbals as possible.’

‘Ah ha! But they live two roads away!’ cried Alsana triumphantly.

‘No, Auntie. Conceptually far away from you. Being an Iqbal is occasionally a little suffocating, you know? He’s using this other family as a refuge. They’re probably a good influence or something.’

‘Or something,’ said Alsana ominously.

‘What are you afraid of, Alsi? He’s second generation – you always say it yourself – you need to let them go their own way. Yes, and look what happened to me, blah blah blah – I may be Niece-of-Shame to you, Alsi, but I earn a good living out of my shoes.’ Alsana looked dubiously at the knee-length black boots that Neena had designed, made and was wearing. ‘And I live a pretty good life – you know, I live by principles. I’m just saying. He’s already having a war with uncle Samad. He doesn’t need one with you as well.’

Alsana grumbled into her blackberry tea.

‘If you want to worry about something, Auntie, worry about these KEVIN people he hangs around with. They’re insane. And there’s bloody loads of them. All the ones you wouldn’t expect. Mo, you know, the butcher – yes, you know – the Hussein-Ishmaels – Ardashir’s side of the family. Right, well, he’s one. And bloody Shiva, from the restaurant – he’s converted!’

‘Good for him,’ said Alsana tartly.

‘But it’s nothing to do with Islam proper, Alsi. They’re a political group. And some politics. One of the little bastards told me and Maxine we were going to roast in the pits of hell. Apparently we are the lowest forms of life, lower than the slugs. I gave his ball-bag a 360-degree twist. Those are the people you need to worry about.’

Alsana shook her head and waved Neena off with a hand. ‘Can’t you understand? I worry about my son being taken away from me. I have lost one already. Six years I have not seen Magid. Six years. And I see these people, these Chaffinches – and they spend more time with Millat than I do. Can you understand that, at least?’