Layla and I exchange looks of uncertainty. We don’t have a plan. In fact, it feels like we never have a plan. I’m still not even sure why I agreed to be at this party.
‘I wonder if she’s here . . . the girl he’s cheating on Maddy with.’ Layla conducts her own scan of the bustling yard.
‘Okay, I’m not getting involved in this one.’ Georgia throws her hands up in the air. ‘If this is what we came . . . L, is this what we came for?’
Please tell me this isn’t what we came for . . .
Layla shakes her head. ‘No . . . I’m just saying. I’m just wondering.’
I’m guessing, then, that Layla was the one who told Georgia about Daniel’s new secret. What else has she confided in her about, I wonder.
‘Layla Karimi and Georgia Walker? Never thought I’d see you two at a party at Daniel’s . . .’
Carina squeezes in between Layla and me, then puts an arm around each of us. ‘Do you guys want to hear something funny? Well, I mean, it’s not funny funny goss.’
I see Georgia give a subtle head shake. Layla, however, looks a little more curious than I feel. ‘Depends who it’s about,’ she says, taking me by surprise.
Carina darts her eyes around us, notices some potential eavesdroppers and ushers all three of us through the back door and into the kitchen of Daniel’s house.
‘Okay, promise you won’t tell anyone?’
The irony of her request.
‘This had better be good, Carina,’ I say.
She moves behind the kitchen bench, taking her stage, to face us. ‘It is. Okay. Apparently, the Cedar Army has an insider. Like, here,’ she says, motioning to the window overlooking the backyard. ‘One of us. Someone who’s reporting back on what we’re up to, what Daniel’s up to . . .’
‘What?’ I snap. I can feel Layla’s eyes burning into the side of my face. I can’t, I don’t want to turn, because I know what she’s thinking. ‘How do you know that’s even true?’
Carina taps the side of her nose. ‘What I will say is, whoever it is, Daniel is on a mission to find them out. And it won’t be pretty when he does.’
She skips out of the kitchen and into the raucous party, leaving us to stand in a daze.
LAYLA
CHAPTER 13
‘It’s not Shontel.’ Imogen is looking straight at me. ‘It’s definitely not her. It can’t be anyway, she hasn’t been to the beach – or anywhere – for weeks. It’s not like she’s around anyone to collect intel.’
I don’t want to admit that Shontel’s was the first name that popped into my head back in Daniel’s kitchen.
‘Well, we need to find out who this insider is before he does,’ George says, making the sensible point, always. This is why we’re friends.
Imogen is still studying my face.
‘I didn’t say it was her, Imogen. It could be anyone. And agreed, George. We need to get to them before Daniel does.’
I lower myself to take a seat on the edge of the footpath outside Daniel’s house. Music and roaring laughter are travelling down the driveway at high speed. I’ve got a headache, and I’ve only been at this dumb party for less than an hour.
‘Where do we even start?’ asks George, joining me on the concrete. ‘Especially if, like you said, L, it could be anyone we know.’
We look around at each other silently for a moment. Like we’re just checking. But then realise, no, it couldn’t be. It’s definitely not. And then our silent checks are interrupted by a not-so-silent turbo engine flying towards us.
‘Seriously, what is it with you people not checking your phones?’ Sufia’s boobs are practically hanging out of the passenger side of Phantom1 as it pulls up right at our feet.
‘What’s going on?’ I stand up.
‘Get in. Tayta’s in hospital. It’s not good.’
I look to both Imogen and George, then without saying bye, I grab the door handle and do as Sufia says.
Aunty Fatima found her, Sufia tells me on the way. All cramped up and spewing. Didn’t tell anyone she was feeling so sick. Never does. She mostly ignores the pain in her kidney area, and I mostly ignore her complaints about it.
She’s all puffy when we’re allowed in to see her. Puffed up around her creased eyes and her ankles look like mega cankles. Her hospital room already has some of Dad’s siblings in it, so I stand back, towards the doorway of the room, while they fuss over her and cry like they’re minor characters in a bad Lebanese soap opera. It turns out she’s not dying, but I reckon they just like the drama. The IV stuck into her arm will make her better. For now.
A quick succession of footsteps is coming down the old lino floors of the corridor and I expect another sibling to arrive, but when I poke my head out, it’s a different, more unexpected, family member.
‘Mum?’ I step out and away from the doorway. I’m not sure how her appearance will go down in that room. ‘Um, how come you’re here?’
‘Well, your cousin turned up at the house looking for you, and when she told me —’
‘But . . . you don’t even like her.’
‘I have a heart that beats, Layla! For goodness sake, I do care about the ill, you know.’ She’s shaking her head at me. ‘And it is the middle of the night. You shouldn’t be at a hospital in the middle of the night without an adult.’
It’s like, eleven pm. Hardly the middle of the night. And I’m not without an adult; it feels like there are two hundred of them loitering outside that room.
‘Acute kidney failure is very treatable,’ she goes on. ‘So, don’t be worrying too much about it. Although I can imagine how they’re all carrying on in there . . .’
One of them leaves the carry-on to come out and say that Tayta has asked for me. I leave Mum standing in the corridor and head back in.
Tayta tries kissing my forehead as soon as I get to her bed, when I squish my bum onto it beside her. ‘Have you be good?’
I nod.
‘Don worry if good here.’ She waves her arms around in front of her. Then, putting her hands on her chest, she says, ‘Worry if good here.’
There’s sobbing all around me and I suddenly feel like joining in.
‘Ach, you worry . . . too much, habibi! I see your eyes.’
‘So, they’re not evil eyes?’ I joke, but Tayta doesn’t get it. Her own eyes go wide.
‘We get the sheikh, don worry!’ she says, pointing a bony finger close to my face.
She looks tired. Like she hasn’t slept in nights and nights. Her headscarf is tied loosely against her pillow and her greys are tumbling out. I’ve never seen her look so old.
I leave the room again and see Mum waiting in one of the uncomfy plastic chairs, and I notice she’s in her trackies. Then I realise, I’ve never seen Mum leave the house in trackies before.
It doesn’t feel as hot today. I mean, it still must be at least thirty, though.
‘Thirty-two, actually,’ says George, peering down at the weather app on her phone. ‘Is it ever not going to be hot? Do you reckon it’s just going to be summer forever?’
I really hope not. I never thought I’d want to be back in a classroom as much as I do right now. Away from the curse of this beach. Maybe someone put the evil eye on it, too. But then, as I look down to the river, I immediately regret wishing this summer away . . . because I realise there’s one thing I’ll be sad to farewell when it’s over.
‘I’m going to go in for a dip,’ I tell George.
She might be busy scanning the weather forecast for the next forever, but she’s not too busy to do a quick scan of my intended destination. ‘Don’t forget to check your bikini top.’
Jordan notices me before my feet even touch the water’s edge. ‘Haven’t seen you down here for a few days, LK . . .’
‘Haven’t seen you in this river ever . . . I don’t think.’
He chuckles and sends a splash towards me. He suddenly seems embarrassed, like he’s done something he shouldn’t have. ‘Yeah, it doesn’t look too clean.’
‘That would be a pretty accurate observation.’ I’m twirling the unclean water around me with the tips of my fingers. ‘My grandmother’s not been very well.’
‘Oh, shit, sorry. Is she going to be alright?’ His eyes appear to be fixated on my twirling.
‘She’ll live to see another curse. She’s out of hospital, so all good. It was just so hard seeing her there. I was pretty young when my other grandmother died, so I don’t remember what it was like. But I mean, if Tayta . . . I don’t know. Just gets you thinking.’
‘That life is too short?’ he suggests, finally looking up at me with those baby blues that definitely don’t match this water. ‘They reckon a newspaper back in the 1800s invented that phrase, you know.’
‘You are like a walking Google! Seriously though, how do you know so much random stuff?’
He’s twirling water now, too. ‘If you fill your brain with heaps of facts and things, there’s no room for any other, unwanted stuff to creep in, is there?’
Why have I never thought of that? ‘You are the smartest person I’ve ever met, Jordan Michael. And I’ve met Imogen Meyer, so that’s saying something.’
Imogen. I’ve forgotten about her. I’ve been so busy with Tayta and her kidneys that I’ve forgotten to even check in with her. And our plan. Plus, the new plan. So many plans and not enough brain space to house them all.
‘I need to go,’ I say, suddenly dipping down into and out of the water quickly so I at least look like I went for a swim.
‘Yeah, I should probs head back to the job.’
As we drag our legs through the thick water, I decide that maybe it would be okay. I’d be okay, if summer did last forever.
But the happy thought doesn’t get a chance to stick around. George is trying (badly) to hide her laughter when I get back.
‘Enjoy your nip – I mean dip – with Jordan?’ she asks, nodding towards my chest.
I look down and see one slightly tangled bikini top and one extremely exposed nipple.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, when Imogen lets me in. Which is actually what George should have said after letting me go see Jordan with a rogue nipple.
My cossie – now untangled – is still wet. I don’t know how Mrs Meyer feels about wet cossies on the lounge, so I stand awkwardly in the middle of the living room while Imogen takes a cushioned seat.
‘It’s fine, you didn’t miss anything,’ she says, sounding a bit snappish. ‘Hope your grandmother’s better?’
She is, I tell her, droplets trickling slowly onto the plush rug underneath me. ‘Anyway, um, is there any news on the Cedar’s insider?’
‘No one tells me anything. Well, except for Carina, but you already know what she does.’ She pauses, watching river water drip down my legs. ‘I know that to you and your friends it looks like I’m in the circle, but I’m not. I’m very much outside the circle, now more than ever.’ Letting out a sigh, she lifts her gaze to my face. ‘Can you sit down or something?’
I spread out my damp towel on the other lounge before taking a seat. ‘Could Shontel . . . ask Nasser?’
‘She doesn’t want to get involved. And do you blame her? Anyway, even if he did tell her, I don’t know that she’d want to tell us. She’s pretty keen for all the Daniel punishment to be dished out.’
No, I don’t blame her. And I’m sorry for bringing up Shontel’s name, as always. It just feels like we’re short on options. As always. Until I mention the inevitable . . . ‘Sufia would know. For sure.’
‘I bags not being the one to ask her.’
‘Yeah, you and me both.’ As her cousin, I know it has to be me. But given our track record lately – with me politely requesting Cedar secrets and her basically spitting in my face like an angry camel – there’s more chance of Beirut hosting the next Commonwealth Games than Sufia divulging this tidbit. ‘It’s not like I’m in their circle, you know. I’m not in anyone’s circle. Pretty much on the outside wherever I go.’
Imogen looks from the floor to me, as though she has something to say. But when too many moments pass and no words come out, I stand and excuse myself. ‘Wish me luck,’ I say, tracing my puddles back to the front door.
Smiling weakly, she follows and watches me walk down the path. I’m almost at the mailbox when she calls out to me. ‘She’s launching it on Wednesday.’
Looking back, I see Imogen leaning against the doorframe with her arms folded across her chest.
‘Her crime-stopping program. She’s hosting some launch for it. Feel like crashing it?’
‘Count me in,’ I say, and then continue dripping through the gate.
There’s a familiar voice on the other side when I’m jiggling my key. A man’s voice. I hesitantly swing open the door.
‘You’re home from the beach already?’ Mum says over his shoulder.
Mr Hyman turns around. ‘Hi, Layla!’ A man’s voice that’s normally confusing my brain with algorithms and Pythagoras’ theorem is now standing in my house assaulting it with images of adults hugging. And touching while they’re hugging. Ew.
‘Don’t worry, we’re just on our way out. Gary got us tickets to the movies. I haven’t been to the movies in ages!’
My hand is still attached to my key, which is still attached to the inside of the lock. Gary Hyman.
‘There are plenty of leftovers in the fridge for you and Noah to heat up for dinner. Just be careful, that microwave is doing something funny.’
My only concern right now is that my mum and Gary Hyman aren’t planning on doing anything funny tonight. I’m still connected to the door as they slide past me, neither of them meeting my eyes as they rush out to Gary Hyman’s car parked out front. For their date.
I call George for moral support.
‘That’s gross in so many ways,’ she says. ‘Like, imagine if you were going on a date to the movies and then you saw them there . . .’
‘I know, right.’ But while I’d like to keep dreaming that someone would actually want to go on a date with me, there is another reason I’ve called George. I fill her in on Mrs Meyer’s new mission against crime in the area.
‘So, it’s a mission against the Cedars, then?’ George replies, and I’m so glad I can always count on her to know my exact thoughts.
‘Yeah, pretty much.’ I sag into the couch and prop my legs up on the coffee table in front of me. ‘And Imogen’s really pissed about it.’
George doesn’t respond, but I can hear her crunching into something. Like an apple, maybe.
‘You know what, I never thought we’d ever be fighting on the same team, Imogen and me. It’s weird, but good weird. It kinda feels like, I don’t know . . . like I’m not alone in this.’
‘You’re never alone, L!’ George exclaims down the phone after finishing her bite. ‘And this isn’t just your fight. I mean, sure, you’ve got some connection to the Cedars, like you’re related to literally all of them or something, but do you think just because I’m not Leb that I don’t want shit to be put right for them, either? Of course I do.’
Of course she does, I remind myself. Yeah, she can be a fence-sitter and she’s defs not the biggest fan of the C-word (as in confrontation), but George isn’t the one who abandoned her friends for a douchebag. She’s not the one who keeps trade secrets from me. And she’s not the one racking up disappointments. I wish I could say that about everyone else around here.
There’s no housework at Tayta’s today. And no cooking for an army, either. Just me doing a crap job of making tea while Tayta sits in front of a soapie sent via satellite from Lebanon. She’s pretty engrossed when I hand the cup of tea to her, so hopefully she doesn’t notice that it’s terrible.
‘This man, Layla,’ she says, pointing at the TV. ‘He is no good.’
I look at the screen, at a guy wearing a burgundy satin shirt standing in a poorly lit cafe set. I wish I could understand just one word of what they’re saying, especially the woman who’s screaming from the table with a face full of –
what I’m sure isn’t supposed to be – drag-queen makeup.
‘Why, what has he done?’
She finally takes a sip, squinting her eyes a little at the taste. At least she doesn’t spit it out. ‘He takes money from her husband, but he loves her. He loves another woman, he tries to kill her husband. All the trouble in the village . . . all from this man!’
I think I know how the woman with the full-on blush feels. The domino effect from one guy and the stupid things he’s done. If Jordan was here, he’d probably tell me when, how and where the domino effect was invented. I’ll ask him later. If he’ll ever look me in the eyes again.
Tayta is hurling abuse at the TV in Arabic now. It distracts us from the unusually quiet entrance Sufia has just made into the living room. After kissing Tayta hello, she looks to me. ‘Hey, cuz, figured you might be here.’
‘Does that mean you were hoping I was here?’
She flops down next to me and rolls her eyes at the TV. ‘Does she still watch this shit? Anyway, yeah, I just thought I’d see if you were here.’
‘Becaaaause . . . ?’
‘Because . . . your friend’s mum, whatever-her-name-is Meyer . . . what’s the deal with this crime-watch thing? Do we need to be worried?’
‘I don’t know, Sufia,’ I say, checking if Tayta is listening. She’s not; she only has ears for the bad man in the village. ‘Are you doing something that might be considered criminal?’
Her chastising eyes are glued to the scene in front of us. ‘Don’t be an idiot, Layla. You know what I mean.’
I do know what she means. She wants to know if they’re a target. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure of anything yet.’
‘What do you mean yet?’ she says, swinging her head to face me. With it comes a strong whiff of a vanilla-ey perfume that she must have sprayed in her overflowing hair.
To tell Sufia or not to tell Sufia about the launch event tomorrow . . . One part of me wants to lie to keep it peaceful so that Sufia doesn’t march in there and cause drama and embarrass me. But then there’s the other part that wants to stop the lies between us. Even the innocent ones. ‘There’s this thing. Tomorrow. It’s kinda like an introduction . . . for the crime-stopping program. To give people info about it.’
Half My Luck Page 11
