Time to Let Go by Christoph Fischer Page B

the driving lessons he gave her twenty odd years ago. She started to get really angry at him for not calling her back.
    Edgy, nervous and pre-occupied, she arrived at the Indian restaurant. She was greeted by a doorman in a traditional Indian costume. She had to go down several flights of stairs to get to the reception area of the restaurant, where Karim was already waiting with a glass of water.
    “Sorry I’m late,” Hanna apologised.
    “Did your mother give you any more trouble?” Karim asked. He was also dressed casually, with black jeans and a white woollen jumper.
    “More my father than her.”
    “Well, I am glad you could make it,” he said and shook her hand, then he sat back down at his stool by the bar.
    “This is such a beautiful place.”
    “Yes, I agree,” she said, grabbing the seat next to him. “I love the Hindu statues everywhere and those silk outfits the staff are wearing. I love all things oriental,” she said.
    Karim was looking to the floor and didn’t reply.
    “Oh, I am so sorry,” Hanna apologised. “What a stupid thing to say. My mind is all over the shop today. I hope I haven’t offended you.” She feared that this meal, not a date anymore in her eyes, would be as awkward and as stilted as the first meeting between them.
    “Not at all,” Karim said with a gentle grin.
    “You never got to tell me about your family background,” she said. “I’d actually love to hear about that.”
    “Oh well, my family fled from Iran before the Islamic revolution in 1979. We were brought to the UK by one of my father’s British business friends. I was four years old when we left and I cannot recall much about the country. All I remember is the plane and the airport but anything before then seems a blur,” he said. “My father had enjoyed close ties to the British oil industry from the days when the Iranian oil plants had not yet been nationalised.”
    “And you never went back?”
    “They would not let me back in. Not that I would want to. I know it sounds odd but I almost resent being associated with a nation and people I have so little in common with. Many think that it is my heritage but really, I am British. My parents always lived a very westernised and modern life under the Shah, which was why they left when it became clear the government was going to change. The images you see of Iran on TV these days have nothing to do with the place my family left behind.”
    “I see. Well, I wish I knew more about Iran. I work as an air stewardess but we don’t fly there, so I have never been.”
    “It seems to be an interesting profession. I had a colleague once who left to become a flight attendant. Her training as paramedic helped her a lot in the interview, she said. You probably know a fair bit about medical situations, too?”
    Hanna shrugged un comfortably and was saved by a waiter who took their drinks order.
    “You don’t drink?” Hanna asked Karim, who had ordered a bottle of still water. “Is that for religious reasons?”
    “No, that is for professional reasons. If there is an emergency at work I could volunteer to help.”
    “Why don’t you tell me more about your family?” Hanna asked.
    “Ok ay, well, my mother is one of the loveliest people you will ever meet,” Karim claimed. “She had a stroke three years ago but she is still the most patient and kind person imaginable. She has only physically recovered a little, and still struggles with it. Our family life revolves pretty much around her care now. She is doing well, all things considered, and never complains.”
    “I am sorry to hear that. How badly affected is she, if I may ask? Can she speak and walk?”
    “Her speech came back almost immediately. Fortunately she never developed real problems with that, which is very lucky because my mother likes to talk a lot. If there is such a thing as divine intervention then the gods had mercy on her and left her the thing most precious to her heart.”
    “I had no idea