by Manjeet Mann
I’m sorry, Amber …
It’s OK, it’s not your fault.
I knew it was a risk.
Was everything OK?
I know your dad can be really strict.
Just the usual.
I’m embarrassed.
These two worlds colliding
and I’m in the middle, suffocating.
I’m sorry, Amber.
I should know better.
My mum tells me all these stories
about when she was dating my dad
and all the sneaking around they had to do.
Scary shit.
If only your parents were like Ravneet’s parents.
They know she’s dating Paul and they’ve invited him round to dinner.
Tara looks at me like she’s had the best idea.
Her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Maybe your parents could meet Ravneet’s parents
and they could knock some sense into
your mum and dad?! Tell them to chill out.
Yeah, right.
You should hear what
the aunties down the temple say about
Rav and her parents!
Same thing they say about my mum?
Er … I dunno,
I say.
Unable to hide the truth.
Wearing the lie on my face
like the make-up
plastered on the cool girls’ faces
because I know what everyone says
about David’s mum, Beena.
It’s OK, my mum knows.
Beena ran away from home
when she was sixteen.
She runs a women’s refuge
and a community centre,
helping women like her,
who have to run away
from abusive families or partners.
She has the biggest heart
of anyone you will ever meet.
But at the temple she is
talked about like she is dirt.
She may have run
miles from her home
but communities are small
and communities talk.
The school bell rings.
We walk up the steps
towards our form room.
I wish we could all hang out after school.
Yeah, me too.
Me three.
I’ll eat a cheeseburger for you!
Don’t use me as an excuse to stuff your face!
One day, guys, I’m gonna fly.
I’m gonna fly so friggin’ far away.
I’ll walk down the street
and go where I like,
and no one will care.
David looks at me
like he really believes it.
I’m sure he’s going
to put his arm round me.
Correction.
I want him to put
his arm round me.
He hesitates.
Taps me on the shoulder
and puts his hands
in his pockets.
Yeah. You will.
Tara heads to the science block
and I’m humanities.
See you at break!
Tara runs off.
Meets up with Sharon, Daljit, Martin and Steph.
They don’t like me much.
Tara told me they said I was hard-faced.
She told me to smile more.
Which I hate.
Makes me want to smile less.
Just me and David left
and I’m lost for words.
Cheer up. It’s gonna be OK.
My mum says if you want something bad enough
you can get it. Just got to work out a way.
Fancy coming to mine for lunch?
Yeah, that would be great.
I catch him staring at Tara.
Hey, if I can find a way to join the athletics team again,
we’ll be training to–
Sorry, I forgot to ask Tara something …
–gether.
He runs off,
catching up with Tara.
I’m on my own.
Try not to stare at
Tara and David deep in conversation.
That’s when I see her.
Gemma.
She tries not to make eye contact.
A voice in my head tells me to:
Leave her alone.
You don’t want to have that effect on someone,
I see it at home too often.
I can’t help it.
I’m angry she won’t stare back,
look me in the eye,
angry she’s being a victim,
and then something else takes over.
Travels into my veins,
into my bones,
changing me from the inside,
like I’m not me any more,
can’t hear the nice voice,
the voice saying,
That’s what Mum does,
Mum looks down,
Mum looks down,
Mum looks down.
Instead I’m smiling,
pushing past her
as we enter the classroom.
Bitch.
You wanna watch it.
Mr History Jones
splits the class in two.
He jumps between
the two sides,
pointing and yelling,
getting us to
shout out the long-
and short-term causes
of the European revolutions of 1848.
Unrest can be
simmering for
years.
Then one day
one moment
blows the lid.
One event
triggers
the downfall.
Something inside me
is waking up,
teasing me.
Are you ready?
it whispers.
It’s coming.
Be ready.
I sit impatiently
through English,
maths
and French.
In geography
we watch a video
about dabbawallas in India.
Most of them are illiterate
but they’ve got this amazing system
of colour-coding and signs.
Taking tiffins early in the morning
from wives in their homes
to bicycles,
trains,
and to their husbands’
workplaces for lunch,
and then all the way back again
by the evening.
Everyone in class agrees
how brilliant it is,
and I say,
That’s what my mum does.
Mr Geography Jones looks confused,
takes a moment to collect his thoughts.
Your mother makes your father’s tiffin box?
No, she colour-codes everything in the pantry,
cos she can’t read the tins.
Oh. Does she have a problem with her eyesight?
No, she can’t –
I’m regretting opening
my mouth …
– read.
A deadly silence,
followed by an eruption of laughter.
Even Gemma’s got a smirk on her face.
Mr Geography Jones just stands there staring,
looking slightly horrified.
I don’t get it.
A minute ago,
everyone was saying
how brilliant
the dabbawallas were.
David lives in a house
on a tree-lined street.
His house has high ceilings
which makes it feel like
there’s more oxygen.
Breathing feels easier,
and my brain feels lighter,
as we relax on a sofa
tha
t’s bigger than my bed.
Beena is home, which always makes me happy.
You have to try and rise above it.
That doesn’t help, Tara!
You wouldn’t be saying that if it was you!
Tara’s just trying to help …
A sudden stab of jealousy
pierces my stomach.
Hey, hey, what’s going on?
Beena walks into the lounge
with a tray full of sandwiches and juice.
Why all the shouting?
I tell her about class,
about the dabbawallas,
the embarrassment.
I wouldn’t have said anything,
but everyone kept going on about how brilliant they were
and – I don’t know – I felt proud …
You should be.
I know a lot of women in your mum’s position.
It’s so weird people can’t read and write in this day and age.
David screws up his face like
he’s trying to make sense of it all.
I notice Tara nudge him in the ribs.
Ow! What?
Tara rolls her eyes.
I feel instantly guilty
for snapping at her earlier.
They’re a product of their environment is all.
It’s a complex situation,
Beena looks at me
with the warmth
I used to get from Ruby.
Try and get your mum to come to the community centre.
We’ve just started running another English class.
It would be great for her to meet new people.
I’ll ask her.
David tells me you’re on the athletics team again.
Yeah, I’m not sure I can this year.
Dad doesn’t approve.
You can if you want to.
Easier said than done.
This is your life, Amber. It’s your one chance. I’m not saying it’s easy, believe me, I know, but nothing worth doing ever is.
You don’t know my dad.
I think I do. Sounds exactly like my situation when I was growing up. Don’t let anyone get in the way of your dreams. Sooner or later you have to make a choice. What life do you want to live? What kind of woman do you want to become?
She’s that girl.
Fell in love at fifteen girl.
Pregnant at sixteen girl.
She’s that girl.
The one who everyone talks about girl.
The one who can’t shake off her past girl.
The one everyone fears girl.
Because she’s not ashamed girl.
The proud girl.
Despite her past girl.
The one they wish would disappear girl.
The fighter girl.
The one who can corrupt girl.
Holds her head up girl.
Sticks her middle finger up girl.
Laughs too loudly girl.
Doesn’t know her place girl.
Should know her place girl.
Takes up space girl.
Proudly stands tall girl.
Not moving for no one girl.
Not apologizing for nothing girl.
Owning her right to be here girl.
Not cowering girl.
Lifting up others girl.
Giving the voiceless a voice girl.
Despite everything she survived girl.
And boy does that scare some folk.
means that the person you are
is a direct result of how you grew up.
The environment that you were brought up in
influences the decisions you make now.
Your environment makes you who you are.
Tara and David have grown up with books and computers,
with parents who take an interest in their studies.
This means they are more likely to become successful.
Mum and Dad were brought up in a poor village.
Now they are illiterate. Unable to get good jobs,
which is why we live where we live, why Dad drinks
and why Mum believes she isn’t worth more.
Ruby and I have grown up in a home where violence is the norm.
This means we may be at greater risk of depression
and of being violent ourselves. Because of where we live we are less likely to have successful careers or go on to higher education.
This is all part of a bigger problem with the system. There are stories of exceptionalism. People who break away from the system.
Can I break away?
If so,
how?
We drag
our feet
back to school.
I notice Gemma
hanging out by the canteen and
the embarrassment comes flooding back.
Stupid cow.
I’ll teach her to laugh at me again.
Just leave her.
Tara’s right – let it go.
But she deserves it
after what she did.
I notice a look they give each other.
A look that indicates
they’ve spoken about this
and I wonder how many other secret conversations
they’ve been having behind my back.
I slowly make my way home.
Raised voices.
I hear them before
I reach the front door.
My dad’s voice booms
through the estate.
It vibrates
the walls.
Windowpanes tremble
with thunderous tones.
Mum makes a sound that pierces
like a bolt of lightning.
I dread opening the door,
knowing the storm that rages inside.
The lady next door threatens to call the police.
I ignore her, hoping she will.
Oi, you hear me? Every bloody day!
She doesn’t have to live with it.
I am left with the aftermath,
the debris, fixing cuts, wiping tears.
Holding Mum till she stops weeping.
A sound that chokes me.
I can take the shouts and screams,
but the weeping, the weeping paralyses me.
I step inside, quietly creep upstairs.
I feel guilty for not intervening.
I’m disgusted at my weakness.
What kind of woman do you want to become?
The words play around in my head.
Mum screams,
something breaks.
What kind of woman do you want to become?
I put a pillow over my head
and block out the sound.
I continue reading
about incredible
men and women
risking their own lives
for a better life.
Tonight it doesn’t
ignite my fire.
Tonight it doesn’t relate.
Tonight I feel
stupid.
Tonight I feel
useless.
Tonight I feel
foolish for thinking
we could ever
escape.
The woman
tells me
to inform Dad
why the benefits
are all changing.
It’s not really a cut.
It’s all your benefits
in one lump sum.
But I don’t get it
because there will be
less money than
we get now.
But her thin lips
say that it’s pretty much
the same
and
we just have to manage
our money better,
she says,
looking at a
screen
and not
at us.
Can y
ou manage that?
she asks.
She smells of cigarettes.
It’s making me feel sick.
Her narrow eyes fix on me.
We can manage,
I say quietly.
She tells me she can refer us to
the money advice service,
to help with ‘money management’ and
does Dad want to sign up?
Are the classes in English?
At the moment, yes, she says.
Then no, I say.
So I can put down he’s declined the referral?
Well … he can’t speak English so he won’t understand anything …
She rolls her eyes
while typing on the computer
and mumbling something
about checking with the council
and how they might do budgeting classes
for our lot.
She scribbles something on
a piece of paper
and I’m worried
I’ve said something wrong.
Is that alcohol I can smell on his breath?
I shrug my shoulders
and shake my head
at the same time.
I try and hold back tears
but my chin starts to wobble.
She looks at me with her small eyes.
She breathes on me with her cigarette breath.
She doesn’t hide the thin-lipped smirk painted across her face.
Dad tells me
I’m useless.
He accuses me of
not translating properly
and,
What’s the point of school
if you can’t do these basic things?
If they’re so basic, why can’t you do them yourself?!
The words come out
without thinking.
His eyes are blood-red.
His face screwed up
like he’s waiting to spit out
something rotten.
I’ll break every bone in your body,
don’t think I won’t,
he hisses.
I stare back.
I’m terrified
but I
stare right back.
Well, you have a dentist’s appointment in two weeks
so you’ll need me for that.
I walk ahead,
not quite believing
what I just said.
I’m either really brave or
completely stupid.
I daren’t look back.
I catch a glimpse
as I turn the corner
up the hill.
I see him standing,
staring at me.
Even from this distance
I can see his body is enraged.
I copy Tara’s maths homework during break.
Didn’t get much homework done
after last night.
Dad came home super late
and used Mum as a punchbag,
for everything he hates about himself.
I yawn through classes.
