I confess my ignorance about the history of India and Pakistan. Over the years, I have watched news broadcasts about war and unrest in that part of the world, never really understanding the reasons for the sectarian violence. That’s where reading comes in, not just history text books but novels like this one which help you to look behind the headlines, not at the world of politicians but of ordinary people and their sometimes devastating experiences. I didn’t realise when I started reading Hidden Fires that such an education awaited me but I’m glad it did, visceral and gruesome as it occasionally becomes.

Yusuf, a widower, lives in Bradford and attends prayers at the mosque every day; his granddaughter, Rubi, a modern, mixed-race teenager, lives a very different life in Manchester, with her sick mother and her social worker father. Although his department is child protection, it seems he always has time for everyone else but does not realise that his own child needs him too. Rubi’s parents married for love but it was not a conventional marriage for either ‘the white Catholic Michelle’ or ‘the brown Muslim Hassan’ and although they have managed to surmount the issues it raised over the years, and two cultures have merged, it is not always easy for Rubi.

The narrative opens on the night of the Grenfell Tower disaster and the images on screen unlock terrible memories for Yusuf although it is some time before we fully understand why. He is ‘visited’ by someone he has tried hard to forget: ‘not thinking of you is essential’.

This is a touching novel which explores family relationships, resilience, emotional suffering and longing, love and desire - which is not always of a romantic nature.

Tragedy strikes when Rubi’s maternal grandmother, who lives in Spain, dies suddenly and given Rubi is in the middle of her exams, her parents leave her in the care of her paternal grandfather while they journey abroad to ‘sort things out’. Rubi is filled with horror; she barely knows her grandfather and ‘the house is so old-fashioned’. She longs for the safety of her own room ‘with its twinkling lights’ but as with Yusuf, the truth is only slowly revealed and we only come to realise why her safe place is so important to her, as the novel progresses.

At first, the cultural chasm seems too broad to span, but as so often happens, a closeness develops between the generations: Rubi has the chance to look at her grandfather, ‘really [look] at him’, and she realises he is ‘old and much weaker’ than she remembered; she comes to understand that he needs more help than he is prepared to admit. He realises that all is not as it seems with his granddaughter, that she, too, is hiding something but neither is prepared to open up.

Rubi has her issues. She has already had to change schools after being seriously bullied for being the wrong colour and the wrong size, and the toll this has taken on her is only slowly revealed. The razor blade she keeps hidden is not to protect herself. Even at her new school, she has only found a place among ‘the leftovers’, the people no one else wants to be friends with, and even among them, the friends with whom she shares everything, Rubi feels she is the odd one out.

I didn’t realise when I started reading Hidden Fires that such an education awaited me but I’m glad it did, visceral and gruesome as it occasionally becomes.

Yusuf has known horrors which he has kept hidden and secret for years but, during the course of the novel, he finds he can no longer do so. His memories of the partition of India and Pakistan are deep seated and painful. Revealing them is not easy but Rubi is curious as she witnesses the unsettling behaviour of her grandfather. He appears outwardly to have coped well following the death of his beloved wife, Zareena, but his nightmares suggest otherwise. His mind is not what it was but his children live far enough away not to notice and anyway, any interference on their part is not well received.

Rubi also has her fears locked up inside, her insecurity and loneliness hidden by the outward appearance of rebelliousness with her all-important make-up and statement outfits. She dwells on her problems with the bullies; the text messages which still appear, intimidate and upset her. She longs to be loved but knows she is ‘too fat and too ugly’. Her parents are consumed by their own lives and problems so she prays that in time, Yusuf will love her as she has come to love him.

Neither Rubi nor Yusuf will speak their thoughts at first but slowly barriers are lowered and they bond as an understanding is reached and real love blossoms.
The chapters alternate between Yusuf, his son Hassan and Rubi: three generations each trying to cope with their different lives, each trying, in their own way, to reach out to the others. And there are lessons to be learned: family is important, sacrifices must sometimes be made and the one who appears to need most help can sometimes teach those who did not realise they needed a lesson. There is a hidden strength to be found, if only we look.

She longs to be loved but knows she is ‘too fat and too ugly’. Her parents are consumed by their own lives and problems ...

The trimmings: the food, the clothes, the customs and culture, the prayers, even the musical tastes might be different but human frailties and failings, misery and guilt, anger and love span any divide because, at heart, human emotions are the same. Lest we forget: there is so much we should remember and hopefully, learn from, even though the time always comes when we have no choice but to surrender.

This is a touching novel which explores family relationships, resilience, emotional suffering and longing, love and desire - which is not always of a romantic nature. There is both humour and pathos; it is both heartwarming and heartbreaking. The need to know their secrets and sympathy for the principal characters forces you to read to the end.


Hidden Fires is published by HQ