I Can't Think Straight Read Online Free PDF Page A

blurred into a larger block of her life that she could not immediately grasp hold of. Reema’s appraising eyes flickered over Leyla.
    ‘And? Does he want to marry you?’
    Taken aback, she laughed. ‘I don’t know.’
    In fact, she suspected that he was very much interested in marrying her. She had not gained this awareness from any deep issuing of emotion on his part, but because it was commonly understood amongst their friends and family and wider community, that Ali had decided to ‘settle down’. And since she came from the same religious background as he, and since he had the advantage of money, business acumen and charm it would have been inconceivable for her to turn him down when he asked for a date. She herself hadn’t thought it reasonable to say no without meeting him, although she was surprised that he had even asked her. She was not sociable, and lacked enthusiasm for more than occasional invitations out. She was fit (she ran most mornings, around the quiet sprawling roads that surrounded their house), and slim as a result, but shopping for clothes bored and confused her, and so she never had the perfect outfit for any given situation, but would make do with the few good pieces that she had, and which her sister Yasmin had helped her pick out.
    It had occurred to Leyla after Ali continued calling her that perhaps he found her general gaucheness artless and appealing in some way.
    For his part, he had proved intelligent, articulate and adept, eager to learn, well-travelled and generous. And after several weeks she was indifferent to him, except as a friend; in that capacity she was deeply attached to him. As far as she could ascertain, he might be happy to stride into a marriage on the basis of this friendship, whereas she could not. And they were still together because while she suspected all this to be true, she could not bring herself to be presumptuous enough to take his intentions for granted, and so she could not speak of the marriage issue until he did. For now, therefore, they remained good friends and Leyla studiously ignored the fact that, in her mind, they seemed to be steering in different directions.
    ‘Tala’s engagement party was last week in Jordan. The best party anyone had seen in Amman for some time,’ Reema reminisced with a smile. ‘Tala’s the eldest. My middle one, Lamia, got married straight out of college. She’s very beautiful, though.’
    Leyla hesitated, unsure she had heard this last comment correctly, thereby giving Reema time to toss in another question.
    ‘What does your father do?’ Reema inhaled again, hungrily.
    Footsteps were moving quickly down the hallway. Leyla had an instant mental picture of a rich, well-dressed Middle Eastern daughter with immaculate hair, nails and make-up, accessorised and high-heeled to within an inch of her life. Instead, a tall young woman in jeans strode in and shook her head at Reema.
    ‘Stop interrogating the poor girl, Mama.’
    Leyla stood up quickly, watching as Ali grasped Tala in a bear hug and when Tala turned to her, Leyla held out a hand, friendly but formal. Tala regarded the hand with an air of amusement before leaning to kiss the girl on both cheeks. Leyla smiled and recipro-cated, not wanting to appear awkward, although she was. She had never learned how to decide when to offer a hand versus a kiss.
    Other people seemed to drift easily into the right method for the right person; there must be some intricate web of body language that Leyla had not grasped, or perhaps it was her innate reserve that held her back more easily than it urged her forward. Tala smiled, noting the indecision in Leyla’s movement.
    ‘Sorry to break your British reserve,’ Tala said. ‘But we always kiss in the Middle East.’ She paused and leaned forward conspirato-rially. ‘Usually just before we slit your throat…’
    Leyla smiled and took in the young woman before her. Tala wore a soft shirt, open at the throat to reveal a thin, plain