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on his clothes. Last night had gone well; better than expected. He was proud of what he’d done. Taking control. Being fearless. Being driven by honour. Protecting their family from the shame Laila had brought or was about to bring onto them. And Tariq? He’d let him down; hesitated and had been unable to do what he was supposed to. But perhaps that was only to be expected from his brother’s son.
    Sighing, Mahmood turned to face his niece. He scowled as he saw her roll over. ‘Laila. It’s time you got up.’
    Laila groaned. Her face was hurting and she’d spent most of the night spitting blood out of her mouth. She was exhausted, but most of all, her overriding sense was fear. A thought flashed through her mind. Ray-Ray. She span round, feeling the twinge in her ribs. She’d only discovered her bruised swollen side in the middle of the night after she’d spoken to her mother. Laila guessed that when she’d been knocked unconscious her uncle had kicked her.
    ‘Ray-Ray? What happened to him … what did you do?’
    The tears ran down her face, making the scowl on her uncle’s face deepen.
    ‘Please uncle; please tell me he’s all right.’
    ‘Have you no shame?’
    ‘Please.’
    Mahmood looked at Laila. The thought that she’d be someone else’s problem soon made his heart soften slightly. ‘You don’t have to worry about him anymore. That life is over. You have a new one Laila. Today, we’ll be taking a trip.’
    ‘A trip?’
    Mahmood bristled. He hated when she questioned him and challenged his authority. It was for this reason the whole marriage had to be arranged so quickly.
    ‘Yes, Laila. A trip. A trip to Pakistan.’
    The scream which left Laila’s lips was heard all the way up the street.
    Leeds Bradford International Airport heaved with the rush of excited laughing outbound holidaymakers and inbound sullen tired ones. Businessmen and women distanced themselves from the crowd, sitting with laptops precariously near their over-frothed cappuccinos. Honeymooning couples, families and security guards filed past, wrapped up in their own world, blind to Laila and her agony as she sat in her full burka, her face covered, with only her almond eyes showing.
    The airport was overly hot as signs dotted around the airport apologised for the breakdown of its air conditioning. Laila could feel the sweat running down her back, changing from hot to cold as the heat of the July day mingled with the chill of her fear.
    Her head was pounding and she felt ill, though no one could tell. No one could see her light brown skin become pallid and ashen, nor could they see the strain and bruises which were both imprinted on her face. All they could see was a person head to toe in black.
    Laila’s eyes darted to the right, but her view was blocked. She looked the other way but that too was blocked. Both ways blocked by the sides of her burka, making her think of the horses she saw on match day wearing their blinkers, stopping them from seeing what was really going on around them.
    A sense of panic started to creep over Laila; starting from her feet and slowly wrapping its way around her body, tightening her breathing and her chest. A cloying, nauseating feeling stuck at the back of her throat, causing her breath to rasp and making her feel as if she was being crushed by a heavy weight. She pulled at her burka but it was unrelenting; tight and unforgiving around her neck. The sense of claustrophobia was overwhelming.
    It was the feeling of claustrophobia and panic which made Laila get up and run, scraping back the metal chairs and turning heads. She didn’t know where she was going but she had to get out of there. She couldn’t just sit there waiting for the hand of fate to happen. Maybe if she could get to a phone, perhaps then she’d be all right. But who would she ring? She knew it would be impossible to call her friends; they’d be as frightened as she was. Terrified the same fate would fall to them.
    As the