Desh by Kim Kellas Page A

it once and for all. I don’t want to go without your blessing.” When he realised there was no point arguing anymore, he gave up, though he still felt uneasy and begged her to at least text her passport details before she left.
    Shafia didn’t hold back when Aila called. “No way. You’re mad. You’ve let him push you too far this time, Ails. Not everything has to be a reaction to your Dad. Just this once, calm down and think.”
    But there wasn’t time. Before she could deal with the texts and missed calls that followed, the news came that Chacha had died, so she had to go straight to the house of the death in her mother’s place to say prayers and do whatever needed to be done. She joined in reading the thirty parts of the holy book until Khotham – the end had been reached and left just before midnight. The funeral would be held in Forest Gate after she flew out. That was for the men, so Mazid would go. She’d done her best.
    On her last night, Nessa shed copious tears. “Mum, come on. Pray there is a place for him.”
    â€œIt’s not Chacha it’s you, Shuna.”
    â€œI’m going back to try and make my marriage work. It’s what Dad wants, so you should be happy.”
    â€œI don’t think I’ll see your face again.”

Altered states
    So Aila faced the Biman desk again, handed her passport in and waited. The immaculate woman behind the check-in desk tapped into an unseen keyboard. When she glanced up at Aila’s face and quickly down and tapped again, Aila sighed audibly and shifted her feet. But then a man in a different uniform appeared and asked her to follow him to an office quite a long way from behind the check-in.
    â€œPlease don’t be alarmed, Miss Begum. I just need to ask you a few questions. As you may or may not be aware, your passport is flagged. Can I ask where you’re travelling to, today?”
    â€œSylhet.”
    â€œWhat is the purpose of your visit?”
    â€œI’m married. I’m going to see my husband and my in-laws.”
    â€œAre you under duress?”
    â€œWhat’s duress?”
    Every so often, her British brain went blank and, as he explained that duress included physical, psychological, financial, emotional or sexual pressure, she thought that pretty much covered her life at home, except of course the last, and she assured the officer that she wasn’t under duress.
    He handed her an information sheet and told her to ring the forced marriage office in Syhlet on arrival; she’d then be assigned a case worker and asked to check in on a regular basis to ensure she stayed safe. As Aila scanned the bland, sympathetically-worded paragraphs above the contact numbers in bold, she realised she should have phoned Tom. Of course her passport had been flagged.
    â€œYou have a one-way ticket. Do you intend returning to the UK?”
    â€œI don’t know. I think that was all my father could afford,” she said and then more questions were asked about how much money she had and where she would be staying, which Aila answered with the same blank calm. Her emotions were locked down, along with her British brain. When the interview ended, she followed the officer out and counted the footsteps.
    With her eyes on the ground, she continued to count to passport control and through the other side and got lost in the thousands when it came time to board. When she found her seat on the plane, she knew there’d be no turning back. While she dozed, she felt a blessing of hands and saw Nessa’s face; then she was back at Osmani airport dragging the black suitcase through arrivals.
    Her father-in-law held a sign and guided her, unsmiling to the car waiting outside, where he sat with the front with the driver, while Aila stared out the window behind them. It had been raining for three days and the whole area had taken a battering from an atmospheric tug-of-war that heralded the start of