Look Both Ways

By Fiona Ballard

Salma leant forward and readjusted the rear view mirror whilst applying her cherry pink lipstick. Now seated in the driver’s seat she started the engine, her driving licence in her purse. Confirmation of a political editing post lay on the passenger seat. Yes, it had taken three years but she was proud to be behind the wheel. Briefly lost in her reverie, she recalled her journey to reach that point. Monumental changes had only strengthened her resolve to pursue her dreams, whatever the cost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Nov 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398464315

Fiona Ballard

Fiona Ballard grew up in Hampshire, Dorset and Malaya. Family travels exposed her to a plethora of cultural experiences giving her life changing skills and independence. Her writing experience began with a gift to enter a writing competition after her retirement from the NHS. She lives in Hampshire and Inscription is her second novel.

Book preview

About the Author

Fiona Ballard grew up in Hampshire, Dorset and Malaya. Family travels exposed Fiona to a plethora of cultural experiences giving her life changing skills and independence. Her writing experience began with a gift to enter a writing competition after her retirement from the NHS resulting in some positive feedback from the judges:

The story had voice and used vivid descriptions to bring it to life.

Her creative writing development to date includes:

www.ballardsbookshelf.com

Membership of the Portsmouth Writers Hub

Completion of Procrastinators, Beginners and Dreamers course

The Novelry Blogs with Creative Writing workshops

Member of Good Housekeeping Book Club

The potential audience for Look Both Ways might be found under drama/mystery or similar genres to Louise Candlish or John Boyne. It’s a gritty adult fiction read, full of facts but with a human story woven with threads that will resonate with many women across a global audience. Fiona has had first-hand experience of living within a multi-cultural family and this has only served to enhance her writing.

To date she has had three short stories published in anthologies and written six short stories that are collated as an eBook and paperback publications. Part of her childhood was spent living in Malaya, which has been the recent inspiration for her second book, a semi-autobiographical called Taking the Bandage. The next novel, Inscription, is due for release in spring 2023.

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to Mike who never lost faith. Thank you for your love and support throughout this journey.

Copyright Information ©

Fiona Ballard 2022

The right of Fiona Ballard to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398464308 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398464315 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

Thank you to Austin Macauley Publishers.

Prologue

Salma leant forward and readjusted the rear-view mirror, whilst putting on her cherry-pink lipstick, as the engine started. Now, seated in the driver’s seat of her new car with her first driving licence in her purse. On the passenger seat lay a confirmation letter from a political newspaper. Yes, it had taken three years but as an Omani woman she was chuffed to be behind the wheel. She hadn’t realised she had been staring into the mirror for the last ten minutes, lost in her own reverie, recalling her journey and how she had reached this point. The monumental changes she had made to her life had only served to strengthen her resolve to pursue her dreams whatever the cost.

Chapter 1 – The Fire

If you had to grab three things before hastily making an escape, what would they be: your dog, your iPhone, your keys? On the night of the fire, the ‘grab bag’ idea had never crossed the minds of the couple, Harry and Deidre, who lived next door to the inferno. Their minds were on other matters before going to sleep that night, not the subject of grabbing bags. What would Deidre’s grab bag contain anyway? A set of keys, a phone charger, a change of clothes, maybe spare glasses or contact lenses for Harry.

It certainly was the last thing on Salma’s mind as she drifted off to sleep on that chilly February night. She had gone to bed as usual, around ten o’clock, following her strict bedtime routine. The bedroom appeared a little cool as she lay down in the corner on her lumpy mattress. She slept in the dining room, and thought nothing of it, as this was a regular place of slumber. Sleeping downstairs was at her husband’s request and she only ventured to his bedroom when he desired to wreak havoc on her body, summoning her for his weekly treat. Nobody outside the house had any inkling that she was a sex slave. Salma laid down in the hope that sleep would come quickly as it helped to ease the pain. Her legs and thighs are wearisome too from a four mile walk into town to collect the school uniforms for the girls. She uses that term (aching limbs) for her cover story, a euphemism for the after-effects of a bit of rough handling at the hands of her husband. Thankfully the washed-out pillow encouraged an instant sleepiness. She curled into her regular foetal position, as her slumbers take her away into the weirdest of dreams. Floating gently for a brief moment she was back at her childhood home in Darsait. Standing opposite her in a familiar bright yellow kitchen was her grandmother, adorned with her floral apron. She looked up at Salma holding a large china mixing bowl on the faded wooden table. Peering at her face with the strangest of expressions, she held out her wooden spoon laden with a vivid pink Turkish delight mixture for her to sample. But, as she turned her head to take the spoon to her lips, she smelt burning, was the stove alight…or maybe she was dreaming? She shot back to reality as the smoke now seeped through the floorboards from upstairs. But Salma was already unconscious in a dream-like state so had not heard her young girls screaming with terror. Nor did she remember anything but blackness, her dreams all but vanished. Her vivid childhood dream now consigned to her deepest memory bank for another night.

At two in the morning the neighbours next door were rudely awoken too by the sound of a shrieking fire alarm, and the crackle of some burning timbers. This combined with a stench of dense smoke filling their house, it confirmed that, ‘YES’ the house next door was ablaze. High-pitched yelling could be clearly heard through the paper-thin party wall where Harry and Deidre were curled up in their bed, deep asleep. Cooper, the dog, was in his basket in the depths of his own crazy canine dreams that usually involve bone-shaped biscuits and chasing pesky squirrels high up into the trees at the park. But on the night in question, and totally out of character, after Harry had turned out the light, Cooper started to bark. Something odd disturbed Deidre too, was it just the dog barking or a familiar smell of burning (but this time it was not Harry’s toast) permeating her nostrils? Unsure which one had brought her to her senses first but coming out of her own deep sleep with a start, she leapt out of bed and dragged on her dressing gown and slippers, before heading out on the landing. In an instant her strident voice could be heard, yelling out instructions to Harry.

Next door it’s on fire, there’s a smell of burning, and I can hear screaming. Quickly…we better get out NOW! her voice moving up an octave trying not to panic, the dog now at her side.

What? How do you know…wait a minute, muttered Harry. I can’t see properly, let me find my contact lenses, and I’ll need my teeth too.

Harry stands on the landing bleary eyed, stark-naked, trying to balance on one leg whilst putting the other into his underpants.

Why is Cooper barking? he mumbled rubbing his eyes.

I think it must be to do with the fire, said Deidre, and with that the dog, who had a keen sense of smell, decided to progress from a simple bark to a loud and lengthy howl. Perhaps a warning to the other dogs in the neighbourhood that something scary and out of control was afoot.

With the clock rapidly ticking down three minutes have already passed since Deidre’s first shout out. The landing wall now felt hot to the touch.

Come on, the tension rising in her voice as the house started to fill with smoke from the perished seal around the loft hatch. Covering their mouths and noses in the crook of their arms to avoid any further smoke inhalation, they headed swiftly down the stairs into the hallway.

Wait a minute, have you got the house keys? They are not hanging in the usual place? her voice muffled by the arm of her dressing gown covering her mouth. They move apace, grabbing the dog’s lead, wrapping Cooper’s blanket over his snout. Phew the house keys are already in the lock! Oh blimey, now the front door jammed, the wooden frame swollen from all the recent rain.

Why didn’t you fix it last week? shrieked Deidre.

Damn you, Harry! her voice rising again.

She yanked and cursed the blasted piece of wood that stood between them and the imminent reality of being burnt alive. Or worse, still succumbing to the smoke now pouring out of the loft towards them as they stood arguing in the hallway. The door thought better of it and relented itself. Another minute had passed, looking back over their shoulders they noticed the strange glow outside changes from dark grey to a shade of bright vivid orange.

They darted out into the freezing February night where their breath could be seen drifting as cool vapour floating away on the breeze. As she looked across at her husband, Deidre smiled a secret smile to herself, now at least the old man could see where he was going with his lenses in situ. She stood holding the trembling dog, wearing only her pyjamas, her pink candlewick dressing gown and moccasin slippers. The shivers were partly shock and partly due to the crisp air. In the panic to get out of the house she had forgotten to pick up her mobile phone from the bedside table. No matter, she would simply ask one of the firemen to nip back in and retrieve it. But as she glanced towards the small terrace of four houses, she was unsure if the house would still be standing in many more minutes, she tried not to dwell on that thought.

As Harry and Deidre settled on a low wall opposite, piercing screams and the sound of young children coughing could be heard.

Why were they still in the house? shouted Harry, as still nobody had emerged. Had anyone called the emergency services? The family inside were unable to contact the emergency services, they had no idea how to use the international dialling code and had only one charred mobile phone between them. So, Harry reacted swiftly, stabbing at the three numbers on his phone screen, 9-9-9, with a trembling right hand. He was just over his recent heart scare which had given him such a shock and left him with a tremble, so he really did not need any more stressful events. Deidre recalled it was only last month the builders had finished the work on the rear kitchen extension, including the roof replacement. It looked like it might all be gone in a flash, with a few grand of savings washed down the drain. She tried not to think about it as it was just too painful.

None of the immediate neighbours had known the names of the stricken family inside the house. The neighbourhood was a little distant as nobody bothered to introduce themselves. The smoke alarm was now barely audible above the racket of the raging inferno inside, as the windows started to pop out of their melting PVC frames in the front bedrooms, landing with a crash in the small forecourt below. The South westerly breeze was gaining momentum, propelling the ominous orange flames, almost urging them on as they licked their way along the front roof timbers and soffits.

Harry and Deidre’s house would be the next casualty to take on the fight of the flames. The neighbours realised the only male occupant was vainly tackling the fire himself trying to douse the ferocious flames in the back bedroom, with just a bucket of water and a bath towel instead of dialling 9-9-9. But he didn’t know how. Within minutes, the fire was beyond manageable and took on a vice-like grip. Emerging from the smoke, a male figure, his face blackened, coughing and spluttering with just a few minor burns to his hands. Mercifully carrying two of his three children with scorches to his arms. One appeared to be a screaming terrified baby aged about eleven months, the second child five or six. Where was child number three? The house finally surrendered itself to the strength and power of the flames as the first-floor ceilings crashed through to the ground floor below. Grey smoke was billowing across the night sky just as the fire brigade swung noisily into the street pulling up outside the blazing house. The first three firemen jumped out of the cab and headed inside, their breathing tanks strapped to their backs, and started to put out the fire.

The eldest child appeared wandering forlornly and slightly disoriented, she had been old enough to get out of the house on her own in her bare feet and pink floral pyjamas. Deidre took charge of her and kindly wrapped the dog’s blanket around her shoulders, leaving Cooper to tremble. Where were her parents though? Looking to reunite the child with a responsible adult, she spotted a figure she assumed was the girl’s father through the chaos of people, water hoses and a cacophony of sounds. Sitting opposite on the other low wall with his head in his hands sobbing. Maybe this was the him? The middle child was struggling to hold onto the frantic baby, the children were reunited as the older girl took charge. Who were they?

They’re not locals, thought Harry to himself.

Salma thought she was either dead, in which case she was a ghost, or she was still in the dream in her grandmother’s kitchen. Wait…her body was being manhandled by firm hands and she was too weak to resist, those hands did not have the rough touch of her husband’s. As they rolled her gently onto what felt like a board but in fact was a stretcher, whilst drifting in and out of consciousness. She was much too weak to fight off the strong hands. Why was there a plastic mask being forced over her mouth, and someone pinching her nose? Aware of the pungent smell of smoke, her brain would not respond, as in the distance she could hear a man’s voice telling her to breathe gently but where had he come from, as he wasn’t in her head earlier. Her mind settled on a jumbled mess of confused thoughts mixed with reality. The outline of the man, barely visible, was wearing a green uniform. For some reason her eyes were stinging, as she drifted back off to sleep, landing deeply into the scene of yet another dream, with her face turned to one side covered by an oxygen mask.

Why was she lying motionless on a stretcher? The firemen found Salma lying face down on the dining room floor overcome by the smoke fumes. As the fire took hold, she was deep asleep on a mattress in the back room. When the ceiling collapsed in the living room, it missed her sleeping body by inches. Apparently, the girls screamed, Mama, Mama, as they spotted their mother on the stretcher wrapped in blankets as the ambulance crew passed by. Her husband remained seated on the wall, he must have been in a state of shock as he was unable to engage or offer any words of comfort to their offspring; appearing disconnected and somewhat distanced from their little family.

The second waiting ambulance took everyone to the same local Accident and Emergency department to be checked over. It appeared they had lost everything. Deidre looked to confirm this theory just as dawn broke over the begrimed houses, displaying the charred smouldering roof timbers. The outline shell of the house was still standing propped up by the stability of the terrace of houses on either side. There was nothing left. The neighbours, the police, the fire service were still unsure of their names.

Deidre and Harry Booth had been given the ‘all clear’ by the fire fighters, allowing them to venture back inside. Wet sooty footprints were left behind by the firemen, as the house had been heavily doused in water. Losing track of time, as night had now slipped into early morning, but no one had really noticed. They opened the windows to try and release some of the acrid after-smell of the smoke that seemed to be lingering within every corner of the house. It was far worse than Harry’s usual morning saga of simply burning his toast. Heading straight upstairs to change out of their damp smoky nightwear into some warm dry clothes, jeans, jumpers, and trainers. Deidre took charge and started a to-do list. Lists always gave her a reassuring sense of security and calm. Number one-to notify their insurance company and number two-speak with the landlord from next door.

Moving through to the new kitchen they found a large residue of filthy fire water had gathered itself in the form of a grey sludge down the edge of the newly laid white floor tiles. The loft hatch on first inspection appeared scorched and the insulation completely melted away, exposing some charred roof beams above. Fortunately, the steel loft ladders had survived the heat and were still intact. They all had such a lucky escape, this meant for once the neighbours were all in agreement. The reality of the situation had been stamped clearly on their eyeballs as the aftershock began to set in. Deidre went to sit down in the lounge, feeling a little wobbly on her legs, as Harry made her a strong cup of tea and some toast, without burning it. Thankfully, Cooper had been safely deposited out of the mess, at a neighbour’s.

Salma’s house next door was known locally as the ‘house of doom’ but they never really knew why. Mill House was a tenanted property that belonged to a rather unsavoury character from somewhere across the county near Exeter. Over the years he had found himself involved in a couple of angry exchanges with the locals. The fire report released by the fire brigade concluded that the cause of the fire had been inconclusive. So, not an excessive use of incense burners as Malik had thought. He had been instructed to salvage their belongings within a brief forty-eight-hour window. The black bin bags were cast out on the pavement as the dustbin men would be completing their weekly collection the following day. Their house would take six months to rebuild so Malik would need to find them some other accommodation from the city council. He identified himself to the police as Malik Akram but more importantly to the story, who were they and how did they end up living in Crabtree, so far away from their Muscat home?

Later that day, after releasing the children from their hospital check-up, Malik had a burn to his left hand, now neatly bandaged. He decided to descend on his friend Jamal’s house with the three tearful children in tow. Feeling a little out of his depth in terms of babysitting his offspring, shrugging his shoulders, he looked pitifully to Jamal and his eldest daughter Zainab for some simple basic guidance. The local council would be in touch later to assist in some emergency but temporary accommodation.

Salma’s poor little ones were still in a state of shock from the fire evacuation, missing their mother, it was the first time they had all been separated. They were unusually quiet as Malik tried to encourage them to eat some toast with strawberry jam and drink a little water. Staring at him with a quizzical eye, trying to identify this stranger who was attempting to engage with them. Baby Nahla burst into tears every five minutes, unable to comprehend what had happened. Zainab took over the role of mother temporarily, just until they could all be reunited. Malik had never looked after his children, the role of ‘father’ had not come easily to him, and he preferred to leave any parenting to Salma. This resulted in the father-daughter bonds being a little remote on an emotional level.

Malik found the illicit world of cybercrime far more interesting and far less demanding than giving his undivided attention to his three small girls. Perhaps if Salma had produced a son, Malik would have shown more interest; ‘one day,’ he fantasises. But then his memory returned to eighteen months ago…and he dismissed it as quickly as it foolishly popped into his mind.

Responding to Jamal’s persistent nagging, Malik rang the council and chased the emergency accommodation. After spending two hours on the phone to the emergency housing team, he managed to secure his family a temporary house in Clarence Row, wherever that was; he would have to look up the address later. The emergency housing officer had arranged to meet him at the new address at five o’clock to hand over the keys and collect a signature. He also took a phone call from the hospital but failed to pay too much attention to it as he continued to fidget with his fingers. His burnt arm was now aching and starting to itch under the bandage, while his left knee bounced nervously. His mind had been clearly on other matters. The hospital explained that Salma required a little more oxygen to help overcome the aftereffects of smoke inhalation. The doctors had decided to keep her in hospital for a couple more hours just until her breathing returned to normal.

Jamal kindly made up some food boxes to tide them over, and went off to the local supermarket to buy some essentials. A set of new bed linen with pillows and towels and some basic toiletries. With Jamal’s help, the family headed across town to their new home; he was such a good friend, Malik thought. He showed his appreciation in the usual Omani fashion: a kiss on both cheeks but not actually touching the skin. Jamal returned the gesture. As he waved goodbye to his friend. He believed Malik to be such a lucky guy to have a wife and three beautiful daughters. If only he knew?

By late afternoon, Salma was feeling much better so she discharged herself from the hospital and took a taxi to Clarence Row where Malik was waiting outside to pay the driver. With little sign of emotion from her husband, she could not explain how overjoyed she felt to be reunited with her little family. The first thing she noted was the bareness of the rooms and the coldness, making her shiver after the warmth of the hospital. Firstly, they must turn up the heating to maximum to take the chill out of her bones. The girls were overjoyed to have their mother back, and busily fussed around offering some water to drink and a new quilt from one of the beds, tucking Salma up on the sofa. She asked Malik to stock up on food essentials as the cupboards were bare. They had lost all their food supplies in the fire. Jamal’s kind donations would soon be gone, knowing the girls’ healthy appetites. If only Malik would step up and take charge as she was feeling too weak to handle everything on the domestic front. Her breathing had been still a little erratic.

Chapter 2 – Malik and Salma

The family home in the North east corner of Oman was out on a thin peninsula of land surrounded by water and known as Bashwar, a suburb of Muscat. The house, overlooked the Arabian Sea. As a young child Malik loved to watch from the living room window the distinctive one or two masted Dhow sailing ships fishing, casting their nets out at sea. Built with a double pointed bow and stern, and traditionally used for trading purposes between Oman, Africa, and India. Malik knew all these facts off by heart; as a young boy he dreamt of pirate ships, and drew them in his book with all their finer details. The close family unit consisted of Mum and Dad (Leena and Jassim) and one older brother, Rashid. The young brothers were born close together, and became inseparable as they grew up. The sprawling family home looked from a distance like a holiday beach villa, with a large open wooden veranda, and deep-set windows that cast a pearly tumescent light across the living room, purely from the reflections of the sea. The soft sandy beach started its trail at the bottom of their garden, but frequently found its way into the house as the fine grains settled comfortably between the living room floorboards. Small puddles of wet sand could be found in the corner of the shower at the end of the day.

The garden was Leena’s pride and joy, bursting with fragrant shrubs like the pink and orange honeysuckle that grew over a lattice archway. The path led down to a blue painted gate with a squeaky latch. It was the perfect magical gateway to happier times and adventures. The boys spent most of their early childhood playing contentedly on the beach comforted by the knowledge that if they looked up their mother would be seated somewhere nearby reading her book, watching them. During this