"This is very kind of you, Barbara," Azhar had said with his usual grave courtesy. "However, in the circumstance in which Hadiyyah and I find ourselves..."
She'd appeared behind him then, having apparently heard their voices. She cried, "Barbara! Hello, hello," and she peered round her father's slender body. She said, "Dad, can Barbara not come in? We're having our breakfast, Barbara. Dad's made French toast and scrambled eggs. That's what I'm having. With syrup. He's having yogurt." She wrinkled her nose, but not evidently at her father's choice of food because she went on to say, "Barbara, have you been smoking already? Dad, can Barbara not come in?"
"Can't, kiddo," Barbara said hastily so Azhar wouldn't have to issue an invitation he might not want to issue. "I'm on my way to work. Keeping London safe for women, children, and small furry animals. You know the drill."
Hadiyyah bounced from foot to foot. "I got a good mark in my maths exam," she confided. "Dad said he was proud when he saw it."
Barbara looked at Azhar. His dark face was sombre. "School is very important," he said to his daughter, although he looked at Barbara as he spoke. "Hadiyyah, please go back to your breakfast."
"But can't Barbara come-"
"Hadiyyah." The voice was sharp. "Have I not just spoken to you? And has Barbara herself not told you that she must go to work? Do you listen to others or merely desire and hear nothing that precludes desire's fulfillment?"
This seemed a little harsh, even by Azhar's standards. Hadiyyah's face, which had been glowing, altered in an instant. Her eyes widened, but not with surprise. Barbara could see she did it to contain her tears. She backed away with a gulp and scooted in the direction of the kitchen.
Azhar and Barbara were left together eyeball to eyeball, he looking like a disinterested witness to a car crash, she feeling the warning sign of heat seeping into her gut. That was the moment when she should have said, "Well. Right. That's that, then. P'rhaps I'll see you both later. Ta-ta," and gone on her way, knowing she was wading out of her depth and mindlessly swimming into someone else's business. But instead she'd held her neighbour's gaze and allowed herself to feel the heat and its progression from her stomach to her chest, where it formed a burning knot. When it got there, she spoke.
"That was a bit out of order, don't you think? She's just a kid. When're you planning to give her a break?"
"Hadiyyah knows what she is meant to do," Azhar replied. "She also knows there are consequences when she goes her own way in defiance."
"Okay. All right. Got it. Written in stone. Tattooed on my forehead. Whatever you want. But how about punishments fitting the crime? And while we're at it, how about not humiliating her in front of me?"
"She is not-"
"She is," Barbara hissed. "You didn't see her face. And let me tell you this for a lark, all right? Life's hard enough, especially for little girls. What they don't need is parents making it harder."
"She needs to-"
"You want her brought down a peg or two? Want her sorted? Want her to know she's not numero uno in anyone's life and she never will be? Just let her out in society, Azhar, and she'll get the message. She bloody well doesn't need to hear it from her father."
Barbara could see she'd gone too far with that. Azhar's face-always composed-shuttered completely. "You have no children," he replied. "If one day you find yourself fortunate enough to be a mother, Barbara, you will think otherwise about how and when your child should be disciplined."
It was the word fortunate and all it implied that allowed Barbara to see her neighbour in an entirely new light. Dirty fighter, she thought. But two could play at that game.
"No wonder she walked out, Azhar. How long did it actually take her to get a reading on you? Too long, I'd guess. But that's not much of a surprise, is it? After all, she was an English girl, and none of us English girls play the game with all fifty-two cards in the deck, do we?"
That said, she turned and left him, enjoying the coward's brief triumph at having had the last word. But it was the simple fact that she'd had that word that kept Barbara in raging and internal conversation, with an Azhar who wasn't present,