Like Mother, Like Daughter Ch. 03

Copyright © January 2022 by CiaoSteve

CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work. This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

Author's Notes

This is a third chapter to "Like Mother, Like Daughter." There may be references back to the original, so I would recommend having a quick read to know the background.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"All I ask, Amina, is that you think about it. It's too early to call it the end. As I said... where there's a will, there's a way... I just need to find it. Tell me, Amina. Tell me you'll at least think about it."

Peter was always so positive. He got what he wanted, one way or another. This time though, he'd bitten off a little too much. He needed to find out for himself, rather than being dumped over a cup of coffee.

"I'll think about it, Peter. Believe me though, it's no easy one."

Peter laughed.

"That's me all over," he responded, "in for a penny, in for a pound, however difficult the challenge may be. Give me some time, I'll have an answer."

I smiled back at the young lad. Peter was always the optimist. Deep in my heart though, I suspected this would be the end. He'd shown me another side. He'd rekindled the fires that had died so long ago. He'd made me believe in myself and enjoy life once more. For all of those, I would be eternally thankful.

As Shakespeare once wrote... parting is such sweet sorrow. He had his life ahead of him, and I... I had the most wonderful memories to cherish forever more.

As Peter left the house, I suspected he was leaving my life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That had been three weeks ago, and since that last meeting in my kitchen, I hadn't heard anything from the young Peter. That wasn't quite true. I'd heard from him, but nothing suggesting that he still held a flame for me. Peter still messaged, but much less often, and most definitely without the explicit edge that he once had.

I hadn't wanted it, but I had become resigned to it happening. What we had was great while it lasted and left me with memories I would cherish for the rest of my life. Now though, it had become clear that Peter had reached his own conclusion. More so, it had become clear that we had arrived at the same end point.

Good as it might have been, it was just too difficult to keep this relationship going.

I sat there, in the very kitchen where Peter had last taken me to my special place, staring down at a pile of dirty laundry. As I pondered loading the next load into the machine, reality set in. I was back to being Neelam, Neelam Khan... wife of Zeeshan Khan... mother of four children... keeper of the family home.

I wouldn't go looking for love again. I wouldn't even welcome it on if love came looking for me. My life may have been mundane, and utterly predictable, but it was safe and secure. Peter was a chapter in a well-read book, one of my favourite books to be precise, but now a finished book ready to be put back on the shelf.

I heard the letter box clang shut. Glancing down at my watch, I commented to myself that he was late today. You could normally set your watch by the time the post arrived, but not today. I didn't set my watch by it, and I didn't even get excited by it.

The post was just as dull as my daily life. There'd be the odd official looking letter for Zeeshan, the monthly bills, and then a plethora of junk mail. It was rare, unless it happened to be a birthday, that there was anything more interesting. Reluctantly, I trudged to the front door and picked up the bundle of letters.

"Bill," I commented to myself, chucking a white envelope on the kitchen table.

"Zeeshan," went with an A4 sized envelope, stamped on the top with Inland Revenue.

"Junk," was my final muttering as I tossed a couple of more colourful envelopes to one side.

There were four letters, and absolutely nothing to get excited about. Zeeshan took care of all family affairs, and I... I just took care of the junk mail. When I said took care, I meant to say that I chucked them in the recycling.

Once or twice, if the glossy pictures on the outside appealed, I might have taken a quick look, but always they ended up in the same place. Today's junk mail was no different. There was one for a local takeaway--can you believe it; they were trying to entice me of all people with their supposedly home-made curries--and another which advertised some adult learning classes. I dropped both into the recycling box without any intention to look inside. It was only as they landed, that I noticed the name on the latter.

I picked the letter back up and stared at the name.

It was addressed to Amina Khan. Nothing was ever addressed to my daughter. If they had a name, some didn't, then nine times out of ten they said Zeeshan Khan. The others would usually be addressed to myself, and very rarely there would be an odd letter for one of our sons.

I glanced at the envelope itself. It had a university logo on one side, opposite from my address. It wasn't one I knew well, somewhere in East Anglia, but it did look legitimately academical. Across the bottom of the envelope, in large letters was the legend 'Never Too Late for Learning.' I was intrigued. Yes, I knew it was only junk mail, but something about it grabbed my attention.

I ripped open the envelope and pulled out the contents. There was a glossy prospectus highlighting all their adult learning courses, along with a compliment slip, which I found myself reading.

'Dear Mrs Amina Khan, Thank you for your enquiry. As requested, I have the pleasure of sending you our prospectus of adult learning opportunities. You will find a wide choice of evening or weekend courses, either as remote learning, on campus, or as a hybrid mix of both. Please do not hesitate to contact us if you need further information. We hope you will find something suitable and look forward to meeting you on one of our many courses.'

Yes, there you go... junk mail. I hadn't requested anything and, if I had, I would hardly be using my daughter's name, would I? Nobody uses Amina's name except--I thought for a minute before continuing--me, my daughter, her friends, and...

"Peter!" I shouted, grabbing my phone.

Was this his doing? I was all fingers and thumbs as I bashed away at a message and hit send.

'Peter, was it yule who red vested a training courtesies brochette to Amina?'

Message sent, and with the prospectus now sitting atop the kitchen table, I went about making coffee. I wasn't sure what to think. Part of me was confused as to why Peter would have done such a thing, if indeed it was him. Part of me was furious that the lad might have the cheek to even think about doing it, and worst still, doing it without telling me his intentions.

Even the memory of the last time I offered him coffee, right here in this kitchen, and what he offered back in exchange, did little to calm my nerves. It was just as well that I only had twenty minutes to wait before my phone burst into life.

It was a message.

It was from Peter.

'My beautiful Amina. Missed you every day we've been apart. I feel the fury in your typing, so I guess you've seen my idea. And yes... I did red vest the brochette, as you so nicely put it. Think about it Amina. It's the perfect excuse to get away for a weekend. Zeeshan's not going to refuse you if you tell him you want to broaden your learning, is he? Pick a course. Pick a weekend. When Zeeshan says yes, let me know and I'll sort out the rest.'

I was still digesting what he had sent, when a second message arrived.

'Oh, yes, the course is just an excuse to get you up here. I have my own thoughts on what to be teaching you. There's so much to learn. The only question is what cums first... you or me?'

Peter had some real cheek. When he said he had a plan, I didn't imagine anything like this. What did I have in mind; a shopping trip, some sightseeing, a lame excuse to meet a previously unheard-of friend? I was never going to get any of these past Zeeshan. Some weekend learning, at a university to boot, was a different proposition.

I found myself leafing through the brochure, occasionally stopping at a page of interest. There were so many options. By the time I'd finished, I could even see myself enjoying several of them.

Peter's idea might not have been as far-fetched as it first appeared. I should take Peter up on his plan, but maybe I should call his bluff and simply go to college. It would give me another purpose and make him realise there was more to this mother than just being his plaything, albeit being Peter's plaything wasn't all that bad. Peter was right that I had a lot to learn, and he had been an exceptionally good teacher so far.

The ball was in my court. All I needed to do was convince Zeeshan.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The chance to work on Zeeshan came at the weekend. The boys were off at an end of summer party, and it was just the two of us at home. I'd made his favourite mutton curry, knowing how much he couldn't resist it.

Dinner over, we settled down for an evening in front of the box. It was now or never.

"Zeeshan?" I asked.

"What is it, Neelam?"

"You know what you were saying. How... now that the children are getting older... you keep telling me I should find something to do for myself. Something to... how did you put it... broaden my horizons," I continued.

"Yes," Zeeshan agreed, before adding, "within reason."

"Well, I was thinking to go back to college."

There, I'd done it. I'd dropped the bombshell, and now waited to see if it exploded on me. There was a pause, a painful silence as I looked Zeeshan in the eyes. Finally, it was Zeeshan who spoke.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "That would be a big commitment."

I didn't show it, but inside I breathed a huge sigh of relief. It wasn't a yes, but most definitely wasn't a no either.

"Oh no, Zeeshan. I'm not thinking of doing a degree or anything like that," I clarified, at the same time pulling out the prospectus from where I had hidden it under a cushion. "Look... here, Zeeshan... there are so many options."

"I see," responded Zeeshan as he flicked through the brochure. "What did you have in mind?"

I grabbed the prospectus back from him and opened it at the middle.

"Painting," I announced, excitedly. "Look, Zeeshan, most of it I can do from here with the occasional weekend masterclass. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Painting?" Zeeshan asked.

"Yes, painting," I replied, before clarifying myself. "Well, not only painting, but I've always wanted to give it a go. There's an introductory session in three weeks' time. Please say yes, Zeeshan?"

Once more there was silence. I looked him straight in the eyes, trying to be as appealing as possible.

"Well... I guess... okay... if that's what you want to do... I'm sure painting is within--"

"Thank you, Zeeshan," I interrupted, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you so much. I know I'm going to love it."

"Hang on," Zeeshan commented.

My heart dropped. Had he already changed his mind?

"Where is this place?" he added.

I tried as best I could to keep a pleading look on my face. I was hoping Zeeshan wouldn't have worried about the finer details, but you never kept anything from my husband.

"Norwich," I responded sheepishly. "But... it's only a couple of hours by train and they provide overnight accommodation if you need it. I've already asked, as that was my worry too."

"I see," came a contemplative response. "Well, in that case, why don't I come with you?"

"What?" I asked, taken aback by his surprising, yet understandable response. I couldn't have Zeeshan tag along if my ulterior motive were to get some time with Peter, could I? There again, was there a way to stop him, if he insisted on coming?

"Sure... Norwich is a lovely place, so let's make it a weekend. We've not had one for a long time," Zeeshan replied.

I was trying as best to think on my feet.

"Don't you think it's better I do this one on my own? I've no idea what it'll be like, and we might not get a lot of time together."

"No worries. We'll have the evening and can grab a meal," Zeeshan responded.

"But, what about the boys?" I asked.

"Oh, you said yourself, they're growing up now. I'm sure they can manage for one night. You know lads... it'll be takeaway pizza all round."

I was starting to lose hope. How could I tell Peter? Can you imagine his response when I announced I was coming, but not alone? It really would be the final nail in the coffin for any relationship, however wrong it might be.

"Please, Zeeshan. Let me do this one, get the lie of the land, and then you can come the next time?"

"The next time?" Zeeshan asked.

"Yes... looks like they run these masterclasses every few weeks. If I like it, I'll try some more," I explained, before adding, "if it's okay with you, Zeeshan."

"I see..." Zeeshan started to reply before interrupting himself. "When did you say the first one was?"

"Twenty-fifth," I responded. "Three weeks' time."

"Twenty-fifth?"

"Yes... Saturday twenty-fifth."

There was a pause as Zeeshan considered this extra snippet of information. Instead of responding, he picked up his mobile phone and opened his mailbox. I watched as Zeeshan took a quick look at his calendar.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"You could say so. I've got a business meeting that day," Zeeshan responded.

"So, I'd better not go?" I replied.

"No... no... it's just that you'll have to go alone, that's all. I'll join you next time if you do another."

"Oh, Zeeshan," I responded, a smile on my face as wide as the Cheshire Cat's, "you are the best."

Once more I took him by surprise, planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

"That's enough of that," he responded. "Now, go get it booked, before I change my mind."

It summed my husband up. There would have been a time, in the dim distant past, where a peck on the cheek led to so much more. In fact, it was simple kisses like that, which had resulted in three sons and a daughter.

Until recently, I hadn't even realised how much I missed those days. That was, until I had met Peter. Now... now I had yet another opportunity to rekindle my hidden desires, and this time there was no risk of being caught.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The three weeks passed very quickly and before I knew it, I was already washing my brushes at the end of the masterclass. Peter's idea had been a revelation. I'd never had such fun in a long time. I should rephrase that. I'd never had such publicly acceptable fun in a long time. I'd had fun of course, but that had involved a state of undress and a most satisfying happy ever after.

It was difficult to say exactly what made it fun. For sure I enjoyed the painting, but the one thing I did find out was that I didn't really have an aptitude for the finer arts. Maybe that would come in time, but for now I was more abstract than impressionist. That said, I couldn't wait for the next masterclass.

Then there was the other side of why I found it so much fun. It was the freedom; to do what I wanted, to be the true me. It may only have been a night, but not having Zeeshan around was like the shackles had been released. I'd already ditched the hijab as soon as I had arrived in Norwich. I had nothing to hide after all, and the only reason for wearing it normally, was to keep Zeeshan happy.

What else had I learned? Oh yes, I'd learned that having fun became infectious. The day had been great and now I was hopefully up for an even better night, and another masterclass, of a different kind.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Peter's place was on the edge of the town centre. It would be the best part of an hour's walk and I did have an overnight bag to lug around as well. When I added it all up, that would be hard work, and an hour more that I wouldn't be with Peter.

Instead of walking, I headed for the bus. I reached the stop moments before the bus was due to leave. It was going to be a twenty-minute ride with just a few minutes' walk at the other end. It was the weekend, but still the bus was busy.

I climbed on board, paid the fare, and glanced down the gangway. There were a couple of seats at the back. Quickly I walked the length of the bus. As I did, I glanced at the other passengers. They all had one thing in common. They were all much younger than I was; younger and most definitely prettier. I sat down and my mind suddenly turned to Peter. Yes, they were all around Peter's age. Once more, as the bus pulled away, I was left pondering the same old thought.

'Why me?' churned over and over in my mind.

Half an hour later there was something else on my mind as I finally made it onto Castle Street. Peter had given me directions, yet still I'd managed to lose my way through the myriad of city centre streets. By the time I reached his place, I was breathing heavily, partly from my efforts to make up time, and partly from the realisation that I would soon find out the answer to the question I had been pondering all this time.

For a moment I stood outside. I glanced up at the building. Yes, carved in big letters above the door were the words Castle House, so it was the right place. It wasn't at all what I expected from student digs, but there again, Peter wasn't what I expected of the average student.

Set in the middle of a shopping street, Castle House was more modern and much larger than I had anticipated. The ground floor suggested new build, but the upper floors had the air of a refurbished warehouse building, with large multi-paned windows giving views right across to the castle itself. Here I was, expecting some rundown terraced house but instead I found myself standing outside the entrance to a plush-looking apartment block.

I took a deep breath.

'No turning back now,' I whispered to myself as I opened the door and walked into the lobby.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am. Can I help you?" came the voice of a security guard come receptionist sitting at a large desk.

I walked over to where he was sitting.

"Ermm... yes... I'm here to meet Peter..." I started to say.

It was then that I realised it. I didn't even know his name. I had an idea it was Browning, or Brownlow, or something of that ilk, but I couldn't be sure. How remiss was it of me? I'd invited the young lad into my life. Well, he'd invited himself into my life, but I'd let him into my house on a couple of most enjoyable occasions. I'd even fucked him twice, but still the young lad was just... Peter.

"Peter?" the guard said.

"Yes..." I responded, "this will sound strange but I'm not sure of his surname. I know it starts with Brown."

I was a little embarrassed, standing here asking for a lad who was half my age, and not even knowing his name. I found myself looking down, breaking eye contact with the guard. What must he be thinking of me?

"I see," the man replied. "What about your name then?"

"Khan," I smiled, "Neelam... sorry I mean Amina... Khan."

"Let me see. If he's expecting you, then this Peter of yours should have added your name to the list as a visitor. Is that Neelam, or Amina, or both?"

"Amina... definitely Amina. It's my middle name you see, but Peter prefers to use it."

It was a little white lie, but I could hardly say I was using my daughter's name to cover up my identity, nor that I was here to hopefully have a fun-filled weekend with somebody young enough to be my son. As I stood there watching the guard leaf through his register, my mind was already thinking about the weekend, and the sort of fun I hoped was on the cards. There was one other thing on my mind. How thick were the walls? I wasn't quite planning to be giving a performance for the whole block to listen in on.