‘Amani, you can’t just let this go on. It’s wrong. We can ask Ali and Nafisah for help. Nafisah will know what to do – she’s worked with some women’s charities before.’
‘No, Huda! You can’t tell her about this. I told you, you can’t tell anyone!’ There’s panic coursing inside me now. The truth is so close to becoming public, and I need to do anything I can to stop it. There’s no way I can have everyone knowing. People already make fun of me for who I am – imagine if Cleo and her coven got hold of this.
‘I’ll do anything,’ I beg her. ‘Huda, please. Just this once, please listen to me. I’ll do anything, anything you want. You just … You have to keep this secret, PLEASE, Huda.’ I’m full-on sobbing now, my body shaking again. What was I thinking, telling her everything? This is all my fault. She’s going to tell Nafisah, she’s going to put this out into the world. Everyone is going to know. People will judge. Cleo’s going to continue making my life hell. Social services are gonna take Ismail away.
‘Huda, please, I am literally begging you.’ There’s snot all over my face, tears streaming down my chin. My face is a hot wet mess.
‘OK, OK, shhh, Maani, calm down,’ she says, checking to make sure Ismail isn’t looking. ‘Stop crying, please. I can’t stand it when you cry.’
I sniff, trying to quell my tears. ‘Promise me,’ I beg.
She pauses, looking at me. I can’t gauge what her reaction is going to be – can’t tell whether or not she’s going to listen to me. After what feels like an age, she reaches up and wipes away the tears on my cheek.
‘OK,’ she says softly. ‘I won’t say anything. But … on one condition. You need to do something for me.’
10
I look at Huda, not knowing what to expect. I promised her I’d do anything, so I guess I can’t say no to whatever she’s about to ask me. And it’s true, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep this secret.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
She looks shy and uncomfortable. ‘OK, so I feel bad for asking. And look, I’d keep this secret anyway. I want you to know that. I shouldn’t have said “on one condition”, like I’m blackmailing you or whatever. I’m not. OK? But … but I would like your help with something.’
I nod. ‘Name it. Anything.’
She stares at me; I can see her brain ticking, trying to formulate the words. She bites her lip, like she always does when she has something big to say but doesn’t know how to start.
I grab her hand again, squeeze it. ‘Hey, it’s me. You can ask me for anything, you know that.’
She smiles. ‘It’s a bit … weird. And God, I feel so terrible asking right now. Maybe we should wait. Do you wanna talk more about –’
‘Huda, c’mon. Tell me. Please. I could do with being distracted.’ I strain my ears as the Spotify track comes to an end, trying to hear any sounds from downstairs. But with the door closed, and Ismail’s thumping music playing in the background, the few seconds’ pause between tracks isn’t long enough to tell for sure what’s going on.
‘OK.’ She sighs. ‘Look, I want your help. I need your help. Out of the two of us, hell, out of everyone I know, you’ve always been the shiny perfect one. You’ve been the good girl, the one who never gets in trouble, the one everyone loves. The one every parent wishes was their child. I want you to … to teach me how to do that. I want you to teach me how to be the perfect daughter.’
‘What?’ I ask, flummoxed. ‘None of that is true. No one thinks I’m … perfect.’
‘I do.’ She says this with no hesitation in her voice.
‘You don’t really think I can help you be perfect?’ I ask. ‘Huda, you’re … you’re amazing the way you are. You don’t need to become more like me. In fact, don’t become more like me. You’d be changing all the things I like about you, the things everyone else likes about you.’
She shakes her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s not good enough. I’m not good enough. Ali and Nafisah … I want to become the kind of daughter they can be proud of. Not the one who can’t keep her mouth shut and is always getting into arguments. I want to be someone they can … love. For real.’
It’s weird to see Huda so … open and emotional. I never knew she was filled with such anxieties, that she thought such negative things about herself. I’ve always seen her as the strong one in our friendship, the one who can go up against anything and win. But right now she seems so resigned, so defeated, so … like me.
‘It’s weird, I know,’ she continues, all fast. ‘But ever since the baby … God, I know it sounds pathetic. But I just … I’m scared. This baby – it’s their own flesh and blood, y’know? Not just someone they took in out of pity. They’re gonna love the baby so much more than me. And that’s fine. Like, of course, it’ll be their kid. But I need to … I need to rise up to that level, y’know? I figure if I’m the best version of me I can be, if I can make myself the perfect daughter, then they won’t get rid of me. I’ll be enough for them. They’re the best carers I’ve ever had, Maani. I can’t lose them.’ She sighs sadly, before looking up at me with the biggest, widest, wateriest puppy-dog eyes I’ve ever seen on anyone.
I want to say something meaningful to her, something that’ll make her see sense, see that her fears are unnecessary. That she could never be not enough, that this baby will never take her place. But once again, she cuts in before I manage to get my words together properly.
‘Please, Amani. Teach me how to be perfect.’
11
She’s late. Huda’s always here at 8.10 on the dot. She’s usually the one waiting for me. But I’ve been standing on the street for a whole two minutes. My foot has been tapping non-stop, partly because it’s cold and partly because I’m nervous. I’m nervous Huda will go back on her word. That she’ll tell someone about Abbu. Maybe that’s why she’s late, maybe she’s gone to school early to tell a teacher, or she’s told Ali and Nafisah. Maybe she’s avoiding me? When she left mine last night, we didn’t really say goodbye properly. It was awkward, and she was obviously feeling so vulnerable, I didn’t want to push her. I thought we had an understanding, but now I’m wondering …
‘Hey,’ Huda says, so suddenly that it makes me jump. My heart jolts, sending adrenaline spiking through my body.
‘Crap, you scared me,’ I say.
‘Sorry,’ she says quietly. She gives me a tight smile before looking down at her feet. It’s weird. Normally we’d already be talking away, speaking over each other, about whatever we did last night, things we saw on the internet. I’m scared that she’ll bring up my parents, and am about to distract her, but then she starts speaking again – seriously, it’s like she’s psychic all of a sudden.
‘How was your mum? What happened after I left yesterday?’
‘Nothing,’ I reply as quick as I can. ‘She’s fine. Everything’s fine.’
I know it’s stupid. I know that now it’s no longer a secret, I should be able to talk to Huda about it. I know I can talk to her about it, and that she will listen, and isn’t that exactly what I’ve been wanting for so long? I could tell her how awkward dinner was last night, that I couldn’t stop staring at the red mark on Ammi’s face, wondering where else on her body there were bruises. I could tell her that everything went back to normal this morning; Abbu went out to meet some of his old vet buddies, Ammi made us breakfast as normal. I could tell Huda how nervous I was all morning, waiting for someone to come knocking on the door to take Ismail away, to break up my family. But if I talk about it, that makes it real. I’d much rather push it to the back of my mind. Which means pushing something to the front.
‘So, come on then, tell me – how am I going to turn you into a Perfect Daughter?’ I ask, forcing a smirk into my voice.
She looks at me for a second, and I can tell she knows what I’m doing, knows that I’m deliberately changing the subject. And I just say in my head, Please please please …
And thankfully, like the good friend she is, she smiles at me a little and plays a
long.
‘I’m not sure of the details yet,’ she says.
‘You know I think it’s a stupid plan, right?’ I ask.
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ she says, rolling her eyes.
‘You don’t need to change yourself. Ali and Nafisah love you as you are. You think they’d let someone they don’t like live with them? For four years?’
‘For the right money, sure.’
‘Huda. C’mon …’
‘I know, I know what you’re gonna say, Amani. But it’s not … You just don’t get it. OK? You can’t get it. You could tell me a million times that I don’t need to do this, but it’s not gonna convince me. Anyway, you already agreed to it, so no backsies.’ She sing-songs the last line, which means we’re definitely past the awkwardness.
I laugh. ‘OK, OK. Amani the Daughter Whisperer at your service.’ I salute her. ‘Awaiting your instructions.’ It’s obvious she’s not going to take no for an answer, and if it makes her feel better, why not?
She laughs. ‘Excellent. Although Daughter Whisperer sounds pervy. We can think up a better title for you. How about for now you just sort of … watch me? And let me know anything I do that seems wrong. Basically, let’s go with WWAD – What Would Amani Do?’
‘Ha, well, Amani would totally buy her best friend breakfast when she gets to school. A fried-egg sandwich sounds good.’
‘It’s a shame Amani’s best friend doesn’t like egg,’ Huda says, scrunching her nose.
‘Hmm, you’re right, chocolate is much better.’
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out. Someone has tagged me in a post on Instagram. The preview is small, but it’s a photo. And it looks very familiar. I know I shouldn’t, but I open up the post and look at the new meme of Abbu. The photo is of the moment the cat grabbed his beard. The text below reads ‘How to get all the PUSSY!’
It’s weird – I had completely forgotten that people were making fun of him, were making fun of me for it. I guess there are more important things going on. Still though, it stings. Seeing this stupid, yet hurtful, meme that Struan Dunn, a boy I’ve barely said three words to in my whole life, has decided it’s OK to tag me in.
‘Rude much?’ Huda says. ‘I’m talking to you and you’re just gawping at your phone.’
‘This is what Perfect Daughters do, duh,’ I say, putting away my phone. The sting of the meme is overshadowed by the fact Huda and I seem to be back to normal. It’s nice. Normal is good. It means I can relax a little.
‘No criticising. That’s your first note for improvement.’
‘What?’ she squeaks. ‘I wasn’t criticising, I was just pointing out that you were being super rude. That’s more a bad thing about you than me!’
‘Oof – saying mean things about your best friend, that’s another note for you.’
‘Shut up,’ Huda laughs. She nudges me with her elbow so that I lose my balance.
‘Oh, again, right there!’ I exclaim, stepping back in line with her. ‘Endangering someone’s life. That’s major points taken off.’
‘Endangering life?!’ she screeches. ‘It was a nudge!’ She’s laughing though, and so am I.
‘You know what?’ I say, trying to contain my laughter. I spin my backpack round to the front and pull out a small notepad. It has a pen slotted in the wire loops at the top. I take the pen out and flip the notepad open to a blank page. ‘I’m going to start making actual notes. So, first you insult me, and then you try and kill me –’
‘Kill you how? You’re the one with the terrible balance. If you die by stumbling off a flat pavement, that’s on you, boo.’
‘Called me boo,’ I say slowly, writing it down in the notepad. ‘That’s an offence too.’
‘You’re an offence,’ she laughs. She snatches the pad out of my hand, and I reach to get it back, but she’s always had longer arms.
‘You want your nerd notebook?’ she asks. ‘Come get it!’ She takes off, sprinting down the street with my notebook raised in her hand.
‘You’re being the opposite of perfect right now!’ I yell as I set off after her. ‘I’m so putting this on the list!’
12
We debrief at break time. Huda and I meet at our usual bench by the field and I take my notepad out of my bag with a flourish. Huda rolls her eyes.
‘Adding that to the list,’ I say with a smirk.
‘Oh my God, stop,’ she whines, throwing her head back. ‘This is unbearable!’
I laugh. ‘You’re the one who asked for it.’
‘I know, I know,’ she says. ‘OK, hit me. What’s on there?’
I decide to go all theatrical again. I’m enjoying this a bit too much. I exaggerate my movements as I lick my thumb, like old people do, and then reach over to turn the page.
‘Weeeeell,’ I say, dragging the word out. ‘Let’s have a look-see.’ I’m giggling so much, I can’t even get the words out.
‘C’mon, be serious, please,’ Huda says quietly.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ I say, composing myself. ‘OK, so from the top: you shouted at five different people on the way to school today. Four of them you swore at.’
‘They all deserved that!’ she cries. ‘Stacey Lineham’s just a general bitch who was taking up the entire pavement. I was basically doing my duty as a citizen telling her to get out of the way. And those boys … You can’t say that wasn’t justified. They were trying to take a photo up that girl’s skirt. I should’ve kicked them all in the balls for that. Worse, even.’
‘OK, yeah, point taken about the boys. Though you could have dealt with it better.’
‘How would you have handled it then? What’s the Perfect Daughter method?’
I shrug. ‘Not threatening to cut their dicks off, that’s for sure. These things are best dealt with by adults. Tell a teacher.’
‘You think a teacher is gonna do shit?’ she asks. ‘Do you not remember Mr Hawthorne yesterday? Completely ignoring Cleo’s cyberbullying and telling me off for swearing instead?’
‘The police then. I mean, upskirting is actually a crime.’
She shakes her head. ‘Oh, Amani, you so don’t understand the way the world works. You can’t put your trust in anyone official. They don’t care.’
‘You’re wrong – that’s what they’re there for. It’s literally their job to help.’
‘Would you go to the police about your dad?’
This is so unexpected that it makes my heart stop. I turn to look right at her, and she’s got this neutral expression on her face. How can she think it’s something she can just talk so casually about? Something that can be solved so easily?
‘That’s … It’s not the same,’ I tell her.
‘Why not? Why wouldn’t you go to them? They’d be on your side, isn’t that just what you said? That it’s their job to help?’
‘This,’ I tell her firmly. ‘This is another thing you do. You don’t let things drop when the other person clearly doesn’t wanna talk about it.’
‘OK, fine, noted,’ she concedes. ‘Although I still think you should tell someone about what’s happening at yours. Your mum – at least you should talk to her.’
‘OK, fine, noted,’ I parrot. Although inside we both know that’s never going to happen.
I flick the page of my notepad.
‘You also spat on the ground. Twice. It’s gross. Especially when you did it during PE. People fell in the grass playing hockey. Someone could have fallen in your spit. What if they’d landed face first?’
Huda snickers, which makes me roll my eyes.
‘You’re the one who asked me for help. If you’re really serious about changing, then you need to pay attention.’
She says nothing for a few seconds, then sighs loudly. ‘I just … I didn’t realise there was so much. I’m scared I’m too broken to fix.’
‘Hey, don’t be silly. There’s nothing broken about you. I still think this is a stupid idea. These are the things that make you you, the things I love about you. Exc
ept maybe the spitting, and the constant swearing. Telling creeps off though – I’m totally on board with that. I know it’s coming from a good place.’
‘Like you say though, I need to find better ways of going about it.’ She sits completely still for a second, gazing out to the field. There’s not much of break left, and the boys are getting all het up, trying to win the football game they’re playing. Out of the corner of my eye I see Cleo and her coven walking towards us. Well, I’m hoping they’re going to the humanities block behind us. I’m hit with a wave of anxiety, remembering the video played in registration yesterday, the meme from this morning.
‘Hey, Amani,’ Cleo says in a sickly-sweet tone, stopping in front of us.
I wait for her to say something about Abbu, or to show me a new remix video of his TV fail, or maybe she’s here to just show me the same meme I got sent this morning.
‘I just wanted to say I really like the way you wear your headscarf,’ she says.
What? I frown. Her words seem … nice. Has she …? Has she maybe turned a corner? Maybe all of the times Huda shouted at her for being mean have finally worked and she’s now trying to make friends with me.
‘Yeah,’ she continues, her tone turning nasty, her face lighting up. ‘It really does wonders for your big fat head.’
Her friends giggle.
Suzie pipes up. ‘Yeah, but, like, you sit in front of me for English, so can you keep your head down a bit? I can’t see the board because it’s so fat.’
‘You’d think you’d be used to looking at fat things by now,’ Huda pipes up. ‘Considering you have to look at your fat nose all day long. What happened? Did you get stung by a bee there or something? Or did you Botox it to match your fat arse?’ She says this all so quickly and seamlessly that I go very quickly from worrying about the size of my head to being impressed with her comeback speed.
This Is My Truth Page 7
