Hail, Holy Queen

A little less conversation, a little more action? Remembering that the Christmas holiday is as good as time as any for a party, for a walk, for a smooch.

Silver Bells  © Billy London


“Oh come on!” Karim closed his eyes tightly and hoped that when he opened them his aunt wouldn’t be heading in his direction.

“Hello bite!” She called.

He forced a grin to his face. Nothing, nothing about this entire rigmarole made him feel better. Christmas meant little than nothing to him, except a closed office, no ties and Warcraft on twenty four hours. So desperate for a break that didn’t involve fending off the female members of his family who wanted to nail him down so badly it enraged him. He’d tried marriage and it had been a disaster. His wife had been more interested in bleaching her skin and spending money in Selfridges than settling into his family. His father clocked Ayesha for the shallow creature she truly was, beneath the expensive makeup and silk hijabs.

The talaq couldn’t come fast enough and he seemed to be back home  his old bedroom staring up at the stars his mother painted on his ceiling when he was five. “Dream of beautiful things,” she whispered to him every night. He missed her terribly. More than that he missed her way of charmingly deflecting the Auntie Delegation.

Pakoras to hand, Aunt Bena beaded inside. “You should go in as well, Karim. Your bride to be is just in that car.”

Really? He though, his eyebrows lifting with interest. Not that it was a done thing, but he really wanted to talk to this sacrificial lamb in person before she lost herself on the altar of marriage.
“Do you know how many girls I was introduced to before I met your mother?” His father demanded, fed up of Karim’s grumbling. “Fifty six. Fifty. Six. So calm down and embrace your own culture. You did it your way and look what happened.”

Making his way to a silver Mercedes, Karim knocked on the window. He saw her hair, uncovered first. She had cropped hair, dark plum waves sculpting her scalp, blending into her deep skin. He caught the expression of her companion who shrieked. She turned first, not lifting her hijab into place before she grinned at him. She pointed to her lap, mouthing “Christmas cards!”

He smiled, echoing the one on her face. Okay Dad. He thought. Doing it your way. “Can we talk Lujayn? Just at the end of the street for five minutes?”

She rolled down the window. “Didn’t hear you babe,” she said lightly. He repeated himself, feeing the flush of giddiness in his cheeks from her casual affection.

“That’s alright, isn’t it Auntie?”

“No it’s not!”

“Five minutes will make zero difference,” Lujayn dismissed, putting the cards into a sleek bag before lifting her scarf loosely over her hair and exiting the car with the kind of elegance he saw in films in slow motion.

He held out a hand to help her and she placed her fingers in his palm without hesitation. At that touch, he felt such responsibility for her happiness and her security he wanted to fight someone to prove himself.

“Sorry I still have about twenty cards to write,” she said, tucking her hand into his elbow and strolling with him.

“That’s kind of you.”

“I know it’s not our religion but every time I’ve sent Eid cards, I get those weird little “oh, you really are Muslim” looks. So awkward. Christmas cards are “inoffensive”.”

“At least you make the effort.”

“Does that mean I’ll have to when we’re married?” She teased, nudging him. His stomach disappeared at being married to the creature on his arm.

“You seriously want to do this?”

“Why not? I have to do something with my crush on you. May as well be your wife.”

“Wait, your what?”

Lujayn burst out laughing, “I refuse to believe you didn’t know! We went to the same school! You were three years above me. Summer term you and the boys would play football in these best tops and you had the best shoulders. It was before you cut your hair so it was down to here.” She gently touched the middle of his back. “Everyone knew I was obsessed with you. And then you got married and that was it.”

Karim couldn’t close his mouth. “You have to be lying.”

“Haram,” she reminded him, a dimple showing in her cheek. “Well babe, now you know.”

“Do you call everyone babe?” he asked, tickled and pleased that she used it for him.

“No, but if you’re going to put a ring on it, I should be allowed to call you something nice. Or do you prefer Karim?”

“Whatever you want to call me,” he assured her. They came to a halt just outside of the magnificent display of Christmas lights. They danced a vivid, silver display over Lujayn’s cheekbones; silver just like her name. He wondered anew why someone with skin as deep and as beautiful as hers would want to change it so drastically they didn’t look like themselves anymore.

“You want to ask me something?” she pressed. “You’re just staring at me.”

“I think you’re far too beautiful for me.”

“That’s nice to hear,” she teased. “There should be some balance in our relationship. I’d feel better if you continued to think that way.” She gently prodded him in the stomach. “Do you still play football?”

“Every Saturday with my local team.”

“And do you still write poetry?”

Wow she really did have a crush on him to remember that’s what he did in his spare time and what he won an award for in his latter years. “Lujayn you’re shaming me today. I’ll write something for you. You can have it with your dowry.”

She looked down at her hands and he took them in his own, before tucking them under his arms to warm. Her fingers flexed against his ribs and the cold began to seep through his tunic. “Karim. You’re not going to try and change me, are you?”

“Why would I try?”

“You’d be surprised,” she said quietly, a sadness creeping into her eyes. “And I like Christmas okay? Anyone who doesn’t like presents and an excuse to have lots of food is miserable and they don’t deserve nice things.”

“Am I a nice thing, then?” he asked, leaning into her, irresistibly drawn to her amazing aura.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re standing in the shadow of the biggest mistletoe shaped lights this side of Las Vegas. I thought you liked Christmas?”

She darted forward and pressed the swiftest, sweetest kiss to his lips, much to her aunt’s immediate screech of her name.

“We’ll do Christmas properly next year.”

She had no idea…