Page 49 of A Wish For Wilma
‘I’ve a tray of Moroccan tagine I made a while ago,’ said Jinnie. ‘I can heat it up and make some couscous.’
‘Will it serve six?’ asked Dhassim.
Jinnie frowned and counted heads. Herself, Sam, Wilma, Dhassim and Aaliyah made five. She doubted Gus was about to join them, so…
‘Ah, your little frowny face is so sweet,’ said Dhassim, ‘but it will lead to wrinkles in later life. Am I right, Aaliyah?’
Jinnie glanced at Aaliyah. With skin so smooth you could glide down it on a baking tray, Aaliyah and ageing weren’t on speaking terms. Not that Jinnie sought immortality. Only normality: a normality that still seemed a zillion light years away.
‘Now that we have dealt with Dhassim’s gross incompetence,’ said Aaliyah, ‘we can finally —finally— be together as a family. Even if Daddy dearest is dimmer than a low-watt lightbulb.’
Before Dhassim could defend himself, the room shimmered and the lightbulbs flickered on and off.
‘Mama! Papa!’ DJ appeared, looking even more grown-up. He sported a goatee beard to rival Dhassim’s meagre offering.
‘My baby!’ Aaliyah swooped in for a cuddle, her head nestled in DJ’s armpit. Dhassim joined in, attempting to envelop them both in an awkward embrace.
Coming up for air, DJ rushed to Wilma’s side. ‘Oh, this is the perfect day! Everyone I care about is here, under one roof and about to partake of delicious food.’
‘How did you know— Oh, never mind.’ Jinnie accepted a hug from DJ before heading off to defrost the tagine.
As the microwave counted down the minutes, Jinnie calculated how many days remained until her own baby joined the world. She hoped for a natural birth, but knew she’d beg for pain medication if it came to it. With a due date of January 4, she didn’t have long to go.
‘Stay safe in there, little one,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t wait to meet you, but please don’t come too early.’
CHAPTER30
Wilma’s bungalowfelt eerily quiet. After the meal — she was still picking couscous out of her teeth — she’d pleaded exhaustion and Sam had driven her home. With no DJ around and little chance of seeing Gus, she’d hoped to relish the peace, but the silence weighed heavily on her. Not comforting, but oppressive: a dark blanket that dampened her mood and made her yearn for human company.
Ten minutes later, she strode towards Sadiq’s shop, intent on buying chocolate, wine and maybe some ciggies.
‘What a pleasure to see you, Wilma.’ Sadiq held the door open for her as she wheeled her bag inside. ‘It has been a while, I think. How are things with your granddaughter and the baby?’
‘Good, all good,’ replied Wilma, casting her mind back to her last visit when she’d stocked up on nappies and dummies. Little did she know then that DJ would be more in need of shaving foam and razors in a matter of days.
‘And it will be Christmas soon!’ Sadiq beamed with pre-festive joy. His shelves groaned under the weight of mince pies, puddings to feed one or a dozen and boxes of crackers vying for space with cards, wrapping paper and tinsel.
‘Excuse my ignorance, but do you actuallycelebrate Christmas?’
Sadiq gave a Santa-worthy chuckle. ‘We Muslims see things differently. For me it is a time of togetherness, sharing food and company. There is no pressure to buy and wrap hordes of gifts, or cook a turkey with all the trimmings, or worry about how your presents will be received.’
‘So no turkey?’ Wilma couldn’t argue with that. Rob always prided himself on carving the bird, but Wilma secretly favoured the stuffing and accompaniments.
‘My wife is Scottish and prefers a nice piece of beef, while I am rather partial to Yorkshire puddings with gravy. Not this stuff’ — he waved a dismissive hand at packets of instant Yorkshire pudding mix — ‘but the real McCoy. Home-made batter poured into piping-hot fat. Puffy, fluffy and impossible to beat.’
‘Sounds perfect.’ Wilma didn’t know yet what the plan was for Christmas Day. Normally the whole family gathered at Rob and Kath’s, but this year…?
Wilma picked up a basket and put in two bars of fruit-and-nut chocolate, a decent bottle of Chianti and a four-pack of kitchen roll. Standing at the till, she gazed at the shuttered cabinet concealing the cigarettes and other tobacco products. Temptation behind a screen, threatening to derail her recent abstinence.
Sadiq, ringing up Wilma’s purchases, followed her gaze. ‘You have not bought cigarettes or vaping liquids for some time,’ he commented. ‘Unless you have shopped elsewhere, of course.’
Wilma packed her stuff into the trolley. ‘Aye, I’m trying to stay off them. I’ve had enough of the lectures and dirty looks, plus most mornings I sounded like a lung was coming loose.’
‘Stay strong,’ said Sadiq. ‘I used to smoke sixty a day until my wife threatened to leave me. Although that may also have been because of my half-bottle of whisky a night back then.’
‘And here’s me thinking you didnae have a vice to your name,’ said Wilma.
Sadiq laughed. ‘Everyone has a vice, Wilma. Sometimes our demons choose us, other times we choose them ourselves. I live a clean life these days — with the occasional smoke and a wee nip of Cardhu when Eilidh’s away.’ He gave her a broad wink.
