‘Maid,’ I correct. ‘And that’s fine. I didn’t want one, besides we both know—’
‘No, you don’t understand,’ she repeats, this time clapping a hand over my knee. ‘Just shut up a minute, will you? Someone must’ve had the chocolates delivered, rather than bringing them along.’
‘Along for what?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you, if you’d only close your gob for five feckin’ seconds. Tonight... it’s your henna night.’
‘My hen night?’ I sit up. ‘We’ve already discussed what a bust that night would be. I didn’t want strippers wiggling their wangs in my face, even if you could get them out here!’
‘Not hen.Henna. Layat al Henna, I think it’s called. The night of the henna. I tried to say to Mishael you weren’t up for a hen night and I dunno if she misunderstood, or what, ‘cos the next thing I know I’d been roped into organising a henna night. Me? I mean, I’m more likely to get you drunk and sort out a few rude games, but a henna night! I’ve had to rope in help.’
‘Like with the tattoos and stuff?’
‘Yup. It’s a bit like a wedding shower, as far as I can tell, but there won’t be any cucumber cock carvings.’
I begin to laugh. ‘So the chocolates?’
‘I think maybe someone must’ve sent them, but honestly, I haven’t a feckin’ clue. Alls I know is, there’s a bunch of women coming later, bringing all the stuff we’ll need.’ She looks over at the chocolates again. ‘We’ll just have to turn the tower around so’s you can’t see the missing bit. I can’t believe I didn’t realise that’s what they were for. I’m such a feckin’ eejit.’
It’s gone eight o’clock when the bell to the suite rings, our female butler beating Niamh to the door and allowing half a dozen women in black abayaat to stream in. Following closely behind is a very regionally glamorous Mishael; regionally glam due to the red and bronzejalabiyashe’s wearing. The high-necked and ankle grazing dress may offer full coverage, but here’s no doubting its stylishness. Dark red silk, it’s clasped at the waist and wrists by bronze embroidered cuffs.
‘So early this henna night,’ says one of the women as she trudges in.
‘Ya’allah!’ says another from beneath the gold-coloured mask that many of the older women in the region wear in the place of a face veil, orniqab.
‘Ladies, you can set your things over there.’ Mishael directs the dark cloaked women, simultaneously greeting us with a small wave.
The strangers begin to gather around the dining table, bringing baskets, cloths and small cones from their voluminous bags.
‘Those are the henna artists,’ Mishael says. ‘No, don’t close the door. There’s food to come in.’
And sure enough, trollies filled with an array of dishes are wheeled in. I can’t rightly see what they contain, but they certainly smell fab.
‘Come now, let’s get you into your dress,’ Mishael says, holding up an expensive looking garment bag.
I look down at my current attire. I thought I looked okay. I’ve changed into a clean dress. Brushed my hair. Even slapped a bit of make-up on my face.
‘You look beautiful, as usual, but I thought you might like to go native tonight.’ She says this with a tinkling laugh, no doubt in response to my questioning face. ‘I don’t know what you’re giggling about. There’s a dress here for you, too, Niamh.’
By the time we exit the bedroom, kitted out in our robes—mine white and gold, Niamh’s blue and silver—the party seems to be in full swing. There are more than a dozen women here, and I’m a little bemused until I spot Sadia, my old classroom assistant, by the table, stuffing her face with food.
‘Missus Kate!’ She claps her hands to her cheeks. ‘Soon to be the Missus Kai,marsh’allah!’
‘Sadia! Great to see you, and just Kate, please. How are you—how are the girls?’ God, I miss my class of little rat-bags.
‘Oh, they miss you Missus K—I mean, just Kate. We all miss. The new teacher, she is a most angry person. Always with thesit-down, sit-down.’ Sadia’s expression is mockingly stern. ‘All except for Sadia, who is for the verk, verk, verk! Please,’ she adds imploringly. ‘Come back soon.’
‘I’m trying to.’ And hoping to.
‘All right, cinders,’ says a familiar voice. ‘Stop hogging the bride.’
‘Hala! How are you? It’s so good to see you!’ The last time I’d heard from my fellow teacher, we were arranging to go out for lunch. Around the time I still had a job.
‘I was beginning to wonder,’ she says, half laughing. ‘You didn’t return any of my calls.’
‘When did you—maybe you rang when I was back in Aus?’
‘And you kept all this quiet, girl! Snagging a groom!’ She leans in conspiratorially. ‘And one as fit as him!’
