This Is My Truth

by Yasmin Rahman

  But no. Of course not. There’s no point getting my hopes up.

  ‘This test is stupid,’ I tell Huda. I quickly close down my page too, although the words are seared onto my eyelids. ‘You were right, we should have just skipped. I mean, there’s still time,’ I say quietly, making sure Ms Powrie isn’t looking.

  ‘That test pissed you off enough to skive?’ Huda laughs quietly. ‘Damn, you must really want to be a vet.’

  I stand up, grab my bag and start walking off. Huda follows. We pretend to be going to one of the stalls, and then, when no one’s looking, we slip out of the doors.

  32

  We practically run out of school and down the street, taking off our ties and blazers to blend in. I never do this – skip school, I mean. Precisely because of the anxiety that’s currently bubbling away in my stomach. It’s the easier alternative though. There’s no way I was going to hang around school, take part in that stupid careers fair, being reminded that I have literally no choice over what my future holds. I kind of envy Huda in a way, that she doesn’t know what’s coming. It seems like there are infinite possibilities for her.

  Nafisah’s working from home today, so the only option is to go to mine. Which isn’t ideal, but at least I know Ammi’s at work, and she usually goes to town before she has to pick Ismail up. Abbu said he’s got an interview today, for a vet job. It’s been nagging at the back of my mind since he mentioned it this morning. I know that if it doesn’t go well, it’ll be tense at home tonight. I’m just really hoping he gets the job – it’ll make things much easier if he has steady, predictable work.

  I slip the key into the front door quietly and turn it. We take our shoes off, and I make sure to hide them in the shoe drawer.

  ‘You got any good snacks?’ Huda asks, walking into the kitchen. ‘I’m craving Pringles.’

  ‘We’ve only got the barbecue flavour. You hate those.’

  ‘Ugh, why does your family have such bad taste?’ She opens the cupboard and pokes around. I like this about our friendship, that she can feel this at home at mine, even though she rarely comes here.

  ‘Blame Ismail,’ I tell her. ‘He’s the one who –’

  I’m interrupted by a sound at the front door. The sound of keys.

  ‘Shit shit shit,’ I whisper, closing the cupboard Huda’s opened. I stare at her, wide-eyed. ‘If my parents catch us, I’m dead.’

  ‘Can we get upstairs in time?’

  I shake my head, as the front door opens and voices become audible – it’s both Ammi and Abbu. I quickly push Huda over to the corner of the kitchen. There’s a bit of space between the fridge and the wall that we can both squeeze into and hide. If Ammi and Abbu go into the living room, then we can probably sneak upstairs, or maybe out of the back door into the garden. God, if Abbu catches me skiving, there’ll be hell to pay. I push Huda against the wall as far as I can. She makes an ‘oof’ noise as I squeeze in after her. I peer around the edge of the fridge. Their voices are distinct now. They’re coming this way. Crap.

  ‘I’ve told you a million times we should sell that piece of junk,’ Abbu says. His voice is at mid-level. I can tell they’ve been arguing for a while already.

  ‘I need it for work,’ Ammi says quietly. She grabs a pan, fills it with water and sets it on the stove. ‘I know it’s not the best car, but it does the job.’

  I take a sneak peek and see it’s her chai pan. She’s trying to soothe him. She opens the cupboard, thankfully on the other side of the room, and takes out some spices. Crap, that means they’re gonna be in here for a while.

  ‘It does the job?’ Abbu asks in a mocking tone. ‘Is that why I’ve just had to pick you up? What if you had called when I was in the middle of my interview?’

  ‘I’ll get it sorted,’ Ammi says quietly. ‘I’ll call a mechanic.’

  ‘And what about the next time?’ he asks. ‘What about when I’m not able to rescue you? What would you have done without me today? How would you have come back from your perfect little job?’

  Ammi mumbles something I don’t quite hear, as she stirs the chai with a spoon. I feel Huda move and suddenly I’m terrified. This fight is going to escalate, I can feel it. God, why didn’t we just go straight upstairs or, better yet, stay at school? We could have been far away from this. I could be somewhere where I’m not terrified that Huda is about to witness Abbu at his worst.

  ‘Answer me,’ he growls.

  I hear a small squeal and I’m guessing he’s grabbed Ammi. I feel Huda flinch next to me, with an intake of breath too. I go entirely still. I need them to stop. Oh God, please stop. I can’t, I can’t watch this. Not again. Worse than that, I can’t have Huda witness this.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ammi whimpers. ‘I didn’t … I didn’t …’

  Stop. Stop. Stop. Dear God, please make this stop right now.

  ‘It’s your fault, you know that, right?’ he says. ‘That car was working fine last time I drove it. And then you get in and it just stops working? You ruin everything.’

  ‘The … the engine light’s been on –’

  ‘Shut up,’ Abbu demands. Harsh. Brutal. Absolute. ‘Things always go wrong with you around. If I don’t get this job, it’ll be your fault. We won’t be able to pay the mortgage. Everything will fall apart, because of you.’

  She doesn’t answer, just sniffles quietly.

  ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ he insists. ‘Say it.’ He must squeeze Ammi harder because she cries out in pain.

  ‘You … you’re right …’ she weeps.

  ‘About what?’ he presses, his voice deep and growly.

  ‘You’re … you’re right about … everything,’ she says, sobbing throughout.

  ‘And that stupid job, the one that’s responsible for your car breaking down,’ he says, his voice somehow turning more menacing, ‘are you finally ready to quit that?’

  ‘W-what?’ she asks. ‘What’s that … got to do with anything?’

  I peer with one eye around the corner of the fridge again. The chai is boiling now, and there’s steam rising, but through it I see Abbu twist Ammi’s wrist. She lets out a yelp. I suck in a breath. In the tiny space we’re hiding in, somehow Huda finds my hand.

  ‘The car wouldn’t have broken down if you hadn’t driven it to work.’

  ‘I … I drive it to work all the time … Nothing –’

  ‘Shut up!’ he shouts.

  ‘I … I just –’

  The sound of the slap reverberates around the room. Huda gasps, and I feel her angling her body to try to see what’s happening. I can’t have her see. I can’t have her actually see what it’s like. Last time she just heard the shouting from upstairs. If she actually sees Abbu put his hands on Ammi … I can’t … THIS CAN’T HAPPEN. I need it to stop. I need to MAKE it stop.

  ‘Don’t you dare talk back to me!’ Abbu bellows. He twists Ammi’s arm again so that it’s behind her back, and pushes her up against the counter. She’s crying hard now, her sobs mixed with cries of pain.

  ‘Please …’ she begs.

  Hearing Ammi like this, so helpless, so defeated – I can’t just stand here and watch. The other day, at dinner, Abbu stopped when I told him to. When I reminded him I was there. He heard me. Maybe I can do the same again.

  ‘Do you know how much it’s going to cost to fix that car?’ he growls. ‘Huh? And whose pocket is it going to come out of? Are you going to pay for it, with the pitiful amount you earn sitting on your arse at a till?’

  I see his arm move, and another yelp comes out of Ammi.

  ‘I … I can pay for it …’

  ‘Everything you get is because of me.’ Abbu presses against her harder. His lips are by her ear now. ‘You got that, you stupid bitch?’

  Ammi sobs.

  ‘I said, “You got that?”!’ He twists her arm so hard she falls to her knees.

  That’s it. Enough. I can’t let this happen.

  ‘STOP!’ I shout, jumping out from our hiding place. I rush over to
Ammi.

  Abbu jumps at my voice. He lets go of Ammi and twists his body wildly. His arm connects with my body, making me stumble backwards. I crash into the stove, knocking the pan of boiling hot chai.

  It spills over my forearm, burning my flesh.

  I scream.

  33

  I’ve never felt pain like this before. Scorching, searing, blinding jolts are running up my arm, all the way through my body. All I can do is scream.

  ‘Oh my God, Amani!’ Abbu says.

  He grabs my upper arm and leads me over to the sink. ‘Quick, put some water on it.’ He turns the tap and pulls my forearm under the stream. The cold water on the burn stings like hell for a second before it starts to soothe. Ammi rushes over.

  ‘Amani, are you OK?’ Ammi and Huda ask at the same time.

  ‘Huda? What are you doing here?’ Abbu asks, only now noticing her standing behind us.

  Huda opens and closes her mouth, trying to figure out what to say.

  ‘Wait, why are you both here? Shouldn’t you be in school?’

  I let out a little groan, partly to steer the conversation away from Huda, and partly because, holy shit, being burned really, really hurts. The cold water’s starting to get too cold on my skin, so there’s two types of pain to struggle with now. I pull my arm away and the air hits it, causing the stinging to start up again.

  ‘It really hurts,’ I whimper. Tears have sprung to my eyes, and there’s a huge red blotch on my forearm.

  ‘Go sit down at the table,’ Ammi says. ‘You need to keep putting cool water over it for a bit. I’ll bring a big bowl over.’

  I spare a glance at Huda as Abbu silently leads me to the dining room. She’s just standing there, staring at my arm, her face frozen in shock. She’s seen. She’s seen the worst of our family. The worst of Abbu. I’ve gone all these years hiding it from her, hiding it from everyone, and now somehow she’s found out accidentally, while looking for Pringles. This is a nightmare. She got so huffy last time, when she just heard the shouting – what is she going to be like now?

  Ammi comes over with a huge bowl of water. She sits next to me, holds my arm over the bowl, and starts scooping the cool water over it with a cup. The water’s warmer than the water from the sink, and this feels less painful.

  ‘Is that better?’ she asks. I nod.

  ‘Moyna, I’m so sorry,’ Abbu starts pleading, hovering over me. ‘I didn’t see you there. I swear, I didn’t mean to …’

  His words are empty. I’ve heard them so many times before, said to Ammi. The desperation in his voice is new though, and it tugs at me. It’s stupid, but I feel bad for getting in his way.

  I look down at my arm. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem that bad. I think only a small portion of the boiling liquid caught my skin. It could have been much worse. Or maybe I’m just thinking that because the water is easing the pain.

  ‘Maybe she should go to the hospital?’ Huda says.

  We all turn towards her, no doubt the same fear striking in all our hearts.

  ‘No,’ I say, at the same time Abbu says, ‘There’s no need for that.’

  We’re both thinking the same thing. The hospital will ask too many questions. We all know how things work around here. Huda, though … Huda could break all that apart.

  ‘Honestly, it’s not even that bad,’ I tell her, trying to put a bit of lightness into my voice so she’ll back off. She needs to back off. How do I get her to back off?

  ‘It may seem strange, but keeping it wrapped up in this will help,’ Ammi says, beginning to wrap my arm in cling film. ‘It’s OK, Huda, I know how to take care of her. I do first aid at work.’

  ‘How often do people have boiling chai thrown over them in Morrisons?’ Huda spits.

  We all snap our heads up at that.

  ‘I didn’t throw it over her,’ Abbu says fiercely. ‘It was an accident and she knocked against the pan.’ He glares at Huda for a second before returning his gaze to me, face loosening. ‘I’m so sorry, Amani. Are you OK?’

  ‘It was an accident,’ I repeat, looking earnestly at Huda so she knows it really was. ‘I’m sorry for coming up behind you unexpectedly, Abbu.’

  ‘Wait, you’re apologising to him?’ Huda is aghast. ‘That’s not –’

  ‘I think it’s time you went home,’ he interjects forcefully. He stares Huda down.

  Huda, of course, stubborn cow that she is, doesn’t seem intimidated at all.

  ‘Actually, Amani and I were going to go upstairs to study.’ She stares him down. Oh God, why does she have to be like this? Can she not read the situation? Abbu’s already in a terrible mood – her egging him on isn’t going to help; surely that’s obvious. If she stays here, talking back to him, it’s just going to get worse. I know it seems like worse isn’t even possible right now, but I’m not prepared to test that theory.

  ‘It’s fine, Huda,’ I tell her. ‘Maybe you should go home. I’m … I’ll be OK.’

  She turns her gaze to me now, mouth slightly open, as if she really expected me to go against my dad for her. Her brow furrows and I’m scared that she’s going to say something else to antagonise Abbu, and also terrified that she’s going to tell someone about what she saw here today. Last time she heard the fight between Ammi and Abbu, I swore her to secrecy, but I can’t really force her to promise right now, while my parents are both still watching on.

  ‘Huda, please …’ I say, trying to force some hidden meaning into my voice. We’ve been best friends for years; she should be able to pick up on what I’m desperate to convey. ‘Just go home.’

  Abbu and I wait, frozen, to see what Huda’s next move will be. Ammi’s still focusing on my arm. The tension of it all hurts way worse than the burn.

  Please please please … I’m saying in my head.

  Huda finally hears me. She scowls and storms out of the kitchen. A few moments later, I hear the front door slam.

  34

  I barely slept last night. I kept replaying the scene over and over in my head. The way Abbu had Ammi bent over the counter, her arm twisted behind her. The growl in his voice as he said those horrible things to her. The pain of the boiling chai on my skin. It plays in my mind now too, as I sit on my bed, letting Ammi check my wound. We didn’t speak about what happened yesterday, of course. Abbu apologised a lot, and then I hid in my room. Part of me was waiting for Ammi to come in, for us to be alone like we are right now. But she didn’t. She just sat downstairs with him while I cried myself to sleep.

  ‘Is that too tight?’ Ammi asks as she wraps fresh cling film around my arm.

  ‘Why aren’t you angry?’ I blurt.

  She looks up, confused. ‘Why would I be angry at you?’

  ‘At him, not me,’ I say through gritted teeth.

  Her head snaps back down. Her hands move quicker now, carefully wrapping my wound.

  ‘It was an accident, Amani. Your father … he apologised …’ she almost whispers.

  ‘It wouldn’t have happened at all if he hadn’t been … hurting you.’

  ‘Amani, please. Not now. You’ve got school –’

  ‘We never talk about it, Ammi. We need to. You need to see –’

  ‘Amani, stop!’ She looks up at me. Her face is hard, but her eyes betray her – they’re already red. ‘We are not discussing this. It was an accident. You shouldn’t have been there. He … It’s better to just let it happen. You shouldn’t have interfered.’

  ‘But, Ammi –’

  She gets up off the bed quickly. ‘Enough, Amani,’ she says firmly. ‘Go downstairs and have breakfast. I’m going to shower.’

  And then she leaves. Just like that. I hear the bathroom door shut shortly after.

  I get dressed and pack my schoolbag, seething with anger. At Ammi and her refusal to address what’s happening; at Abbu; and weirdly, at myself. Ammi was right – this wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t butted in, hadn’t skived yesterday. I could have just carried on living in denial. And then I wouldn’t have
to worry about Huda knowing either.

  When I cross the landing, I can hear Ammi sobbing behind the bathroom door. My heart constricts, and I want to run in and console her, but she’d just brush me off, push me away. Pretend she wasn’t crying in the first place. I leave her to it and go downstairs. There’s a waft of cinnamon in the air. An undertone of Nutella too, which makes my mouth water. I hear movement in the kitchen – the sound of a pan setting down on the stove.

  Pancakes. Of course. The Morning After Ritual. Abbu’s go-to method of apologising. I hadn’t expected this. I thought it was reserved for the worst nights with Ammi.

  I drop my school bag by the stairs and walk into the kitchen to find Abbu standing behind Ismail, helping him flip a pancake, a smile spread over both their faces. But it leaves me cold. I’m immediately hit with a flash from yesterday. Abbu standing here, Ammi pressed up against the counter, crying out in pain.

  Abbu turns around and looks right at me. I find my hand impulsively reaching over to my injured arm. His eyes follow.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asks. ‘Is it hurting? Do you need a new dressing?’

  I shake my head. ‘It’s fine. Ammi wrapped it up well.’

  ‘Maani, look!’ Ismail exclaims. He tries flipping the pancake, but it falls on the counter.

  ‘Goddammit,’ he curses.

  ‘Ismail!’ I chide. That’s the first time I’ve heard him say anything like that.

  He looks up at me. ‘Sorry,’ he mutters. He steps off the stool that Abbu’s placed by the stove, snatches his dropped pancake and goes to the dining-room table, where his breakfast lies half eaten.

  Abbu doesn’t say anything to him, which annoys me. He’s never the bad guy around Ismail.

  ‘Maybe you should wear a long-sleeved shirt?’ he suggests, still staring at my arm, which admittedly looks strange wrapped in cling film.

  That’s what he has to say to me? After everything? Ammi’s upstairs sobbing and he’s focusing on making sure no one finds out the truth.