Falling in Love with a Spy

By Mary Ali

This book is essentially a story about love. It is also a story about how Mary’s experience in war torn Afghanistan, for it was in Afghanistan that she found a love which she would never forget.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jun 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728389875

Mary Ali

Mary’s profession and passion before writing is Nutrition and Teaching. A graduate from Leeds Beckett University in 1984 with a BSc (Hons) Dietetics with State Registration in Dietetics. In 1992 she was awarded MPhil Nutrition from King’s College London. She worked extensively in the U.K. and internationally in Clinical Nutrition. In 2013, her CELTA, from University of Cambridge lead to a second career in Teaching English as a Foreign Language. In 2017, in Afghanistan, she realized the value of this skill particularly for girls and women

Book preview

Summer 2014, Northern Ireland, UK

CHAPTER 1

Arrival at Waterview

She had made it. It was a gloriously sunny day, an achingly beautiful view from her new apartment. That had been the no brainer on renting Waterview. It was on a private road, a wide glass vista on the Black Loch. But it sure did not look black on this warm August afternoon in 2014. The loch was shimmering blue in the precious sunshine of Northern Ireland. Shades of truly emerald green patchwork fields, the Sperrin mountains in the far distance greeted her to her new home. Large black crows flew in and out and landed for breaks on the ancient ewe tree.

She had finally escaped from the dark, end of terrace house in the village where she had first rented on her arrival from London. It had been on a crossroads, the Stop sign right outside the door. There was a pub across the road which had been a major issue, a drunken brawl had broken out on the night of her arrival from London. Garden furniture had been damaged. Friendly neighbours, on the following morning, had gathered to reassure that this was a very rare event, the pub brawl and that she was most welcome to the neighbourhood.

But Waterview really was aptly named. And this was an another new fresh and warmly welcomed chapter in Mary’s life.

The day of the actual move had been stressful but everyone had gone now. The kitchen clock ticked, the silence was palpable. She took a deep breath and put the kettle on. It was time for a mug of Earl Grey Tea in her favourite china mug. The unpacking could wait. There was thankfully no NHS job waiting to be dealt with on Monday morning. She was at 52 officially retired on ill health grounds. Breast cancer in 2009 had finally lead her to lay down her NHS dietetic pen in 2013. It had been a nightmare negotiating the gamut of obtaining the NHS pension but in the end she got it. After thirty years of an international career, paying taxes, and at times a deeply traumatic life, she finally accepted it was time to take time out.

Her sons were still in Pakistan. Abe was 13 now. Caleb was 11. Her hopes had been raised around the time of Abe’s birthday in April. There had been a couple of skype calls to the boys. It was such a wonderful feeling for a few days to think that maybe, just maybe she could have a life where there would be even one skype call a week where she could see her amazing sons. But after a few calls when she and Abe had sorted out which games he wanted for his Ninteno wii and a new football, the skype calls just vanished. She had long passed the point of trying to work out what happened. It would all end in more stress for her and achieve nothing. And at the back of her mind there was always that quiet, at times menacing voice warning,

Stress is not good for cancer. It had come for her in 2009. It had come for her sister in 2012. And then for another sister in 2015.

Mary drove the fifty miles to the Eid prayers in Belfast. It was a large gathering of muslims from many countries. Ramadhan had ended. Pakistanis, Maylasians, Somalis, Sudanese, Saudis. Everyone dressed in their best. A riot of colour, from the shalwar chameez in bright pinks and purples to the long elegant silk dresses of the Maylasian sisters. It was Eid, a joyous happy occasion, a family occasion. But Mary as usual was without family. And it was all the more painful to see the children, hard to be reminded that her sons were thousands of miles away. After the prayers Mary left to find the office for DHL. She had packed the games and football for Abe’s birthday. She called him as she stood shivering on the chilly day to confirm that his package was on its way to Lahore. And the main achievement in 2013 was the first Ramadhan she had fasted since 2009 when cancer had driven away the joy she loved from checking out of the world for a month during the day. Yes, it was hard, you got tired, there was weakness, there was a pain in her back as the day worn on from sheer tiredness of doing the ordinary things of daily life, but there is a zone that is impossible to describe, a mental and spiritual place. Allah, God says the devils are chained up in Ramadhan. Yes, they are. Nothing annoys or irritates or stresses you like it might on other days. You really don’t have the energy to be bothered. And then when it is the time to break the fast you have the joy of knowing you can have a cup of tea and dates waiting which are highly nutritious and immediately get your blood sugar levels back up. And then prayer and then dinner. Fasting taught Mary patience, humility, and gratefulness to Allah that she had a meal at the end of the day to eat. Many, too many humans, babies, children die of hunger every day.

CHAPTER 2

Message from Afghanistan

Arriving home later in the afternoon, Mary as usual was greeted by an empty house. Most of the time everything in its place, but no one home. It had been years now that she lived alone. As usual she soon switched on her laptop, made a cup of tea and settled down to check emails. There was a message from someone on the Muslims for Marriage website. As soon as she saw that the man was from Afghanistan, despite the extremely good looking photo, she was on the point of pressing the delete button. But strangely she didn’t. She sent off a quick polite message to say that there was no point in even opening the door to a possible marriage as there was no way she was going to Afghanistan and even if she could she was not going to sponsor a non EU muslim to come to the UK. No way was she going to even go near that pit of misery. She had helped enough lame ducks in her time in the name of islam with a clean heart only to be cast aside when these so called born muslims had achieved their own agenda. Cancer and