‘I’ll wear my blazer,’ I say as I brush past him to a plate of pancakes. I take the food into the dining room and sit next to Ismail. Abbu follows me in. I can’t figure out how to act around him. He’s apologetic, I can see that. I got that last night. What happened was an accident. Despite everything, despite the way he is with Ammi, he didn’t mean to hurt me, I know that. But … but I still can’t help but blame him. If he was just … normal, this wouldn’t have happened. None of this would have happened.
Abbu sits down at the table with us. I look down at my plate instead of at him. The pancakes look delicious, but I don’t feel like eating them, knowing he’s made them just for show.
‘Did you get your biology result yet?’ he asks.
‘Nope,’ I say curtly.
‘Oh,’ he says softly. ‘It’s been a while. Maybe you should ask your teacher? I could call up the school –’
‘There’s no need,’ I say, finally looking up at him. ‘It’s only been a week. The teachers are busy.’
He nods, falling silent, picking at his breakfast. Him bringing up school has got something boiling inside me. I’ve spent all these years doing what he’s told me to do, ignoring what I want. But now I realise Abbu is never going to change. He’s never going to become a better person. He’s never going to treat Ammi how she deserves to be treated. He’s never going to let our family go on as normal families should. Nothing I can do will make him better. So why am I trying so hard to please him? Why am I forcing myself to fit into the mould of what he thinks a Perfect Daughter should be? Why am I giving up everything, while he just sits there selfishly?
It’s not fair. It’s not right.
‘Are you finished eating?’ he asks me after a few minutes of awkward silence. ‘I’m going to drive you both to school today.’
Ismail cheers, his mouth full of pancake.
‘I can walk,’ I say.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Abbu replies. ‘I had an event today but called in sick so we can spend some quality time together. Remember how us three always used to go out? I thought we could do something after school.’
Ismail cheers again. ‘Can we go to the cinema?’ he asks. ‘Ooh, and to the park? The duck pond?’
Abbu laughs. ‘Sure, we can do all that. And Amani? What do you want to do?’
I can’t even bear to look at him. Can’t endure this fake display he’s putting on. Is this how Ammi feels when he tries to make it up to her? God, I remember thinking it was real, the other day when he bought her that bread maker, and gave a fake apology. I’m such an idiot. He’s not sorry. He’s just trying to cover his back. Make sure no one sees my burn and asks questions.
‘Count me out,’ I say. ‘I walk to school with Huda. And we’re studying together tonight.’
‘You spend an awful lot of time with that girl,’ Abbu says, crossing his arms.
I focus my attention on my untouched pancake, pick at it. ‘Well, she is my best friend.’
‘I don’t think she’s a good influence,’ he says matter-of-factly.
My anger boils over. ‘What?’ I splutter. ‘You barely know her.’
‘I know enough,’ he says in a dark voice. The voice I would never dare talk back to. ‘And you walk with her every day. Today, I’m taking you.’
‘Can we pick Huda up on the way?’
He huffs. ‘Are you joined at the hip or something?’ His voice is rising again. ‘What – you can’t wait to see her at school?’
‘Can we pick up Kai too?’ Ismail asks. ‘He’s my new best friend.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I ask. ‘What happened to Rahul?’
‘He was an idiot. We broke up.’
‘Ismail!’ I chide again. ‘Where did you learn all these bad words from all of a sudden?’
Ismail ducks his head and shoves the rest of his breakfast in his mouth before I tell him off again. Abbu, of course, just sits there in silence. God forbid he do some actual parenting. My hand goes towards my sore arm again.
‘Can you write me a note for PE?’ I ask Abbu.
It takes a second for him to react, but then he starts nodding. ‘Of course. I’ll do it for a few weeks.’ He walks into the living room. ‘Why don’t you get your lunches ready? I’ll do this, and then we can leave.’
I’m about to ask about Huda once again, but I don’t want to push him. He’s getting me out of PE for the foreseeable, so that’s something. Huda, though. I haven’t heard a word from her since yesterday. I sent her a bunch of texts, but she hasn’t replied. I’ve been trying to think of something I can do to keep her onside, to make sure she knows yesterday was an accident. I keep reliving the scene in my head: Abbu towering over Ammi, Huda’s grasp on my hand getting tighter as things got worse.
Huda knows.
She knows my full, ugly truth now. I can’t hide it from her any more. She’s a part of this. I just need to talk to her. I need to play the best-friend card, remind her of her promise not to say anything. I need to make sure she hasn’t told someone already.
35
I look out for Huda on the way to school, but I don’t see her. The drive itself is super awkward after Ismail’s dropped off and his childish chatter disappears. Abbu and I aren’t used to spending time one-on-one. He tries to get me to think of things we can do tonight, or this weekend. I give little input, but that’s fine with him, since he loves the sound of his own voice. I cradle my arm against me, scared that I’m going to accidentally roll my sleeve up, or be forced to take my blazer off in class. I come up with the excuse in my mind that I was the one making chai and accidentally spilled it on myself. I’d seen the thing about using cling film for light burns on the internet so did it myself. That should cover all the bases if anyone asks.
Abbu pulls up outside the gates. I want to just get out and walk off, but I know he needs to dismiss me first.
‘I love you, you know that, right?’ he asks quietly.
I nod.
He pauses before continuing. ‘And you know that yesterday … won’t ever happen again, right?’
I want to ask him which bit. Whether he can promise the same about Ammi too, but I know it won’t make a difference. I know he’ll just lie, and a part of me is actually too scared to ask, too scared of his reaction. A part of me is scared to be in this car alone with him.
‘The bell’s about to ring,’ I tell him. ‘I need to go.’
‘OK. I’ll see you tonight.’
I open the door and step out.
‘Love you,’ he says again.
I close the door on him, pretending I didn’t hear.
I don’t see Huda before registration. We don’t have class together until second period, so I spend the first hour of school tuning out Monsieur Strachan talking about French verbs and focus instead on what I’m going to say to Huda when we meet in maths. Anxiety has been bubbling in my stomach all morning; she’s going to be so mad. It’s going to be hard to talk her round, but I’m determined. Determined but terrified. She could so easily ignore everything I have to say and tell someone about Abbu, about yesterday. If that happens, I’ll say she’s lying, make up something about her being jealous, but that would be it – the end of our friendship.
I’m nervous as hell as I walk to maths. I haven’t seen Huda in the crowd yet, and part of me is hoping that she’s not in school today, so I can avoid having to talk to her, having to sit next to her. But then I get into the classroom and there she is, sitting in her seat, my chair free next to her. Our eyes meet as I walk up. Neither of us smiles or makes any gesture of greeting. The words tumble in my head: what should I say to her, how do I even open up this conversation? How can I convince her?
‘Hey,’ I say as I sit down.
‘Hi,’ she says back.
At least she’s talking to me, I guess. She’s not mad enough to be giving me the silent treatment, so I guess that bodes well for the conversation we’re going to have.
But not here. Not now.
Mr Hawthorne walks into th
e room and starts droning on about probability. I don’t take any of it in. I’m trying to prepare what I’ll say to Huda. I’m so stressed about it, I start sweating. It’s a pretty hot day and the blinds are up, the sun shining right in on us. Almost everyone in the room has taken their blazer off. But I can’t, obviously. I fidget in my chair, flapping the underside of my blazer to get some air. Huda gives me a quizzical stare, before realisation dawns on her face. She looks down at my arm and I automatically move it, letting it hang down on the side that Huda can’t see.
After an hour of torture – both in terms of trying to learn maths, and the heat – the bell finally rings for break. I feel sick as the sound rings out, knowing what has to happen. I can’t avoid it any more.
‘Can we … talk?’ I ask Huda as we get up from our seats.
‘Ooh, having a bitch fight, are we?’ Cleo asks, suddenly popping up behind us. She’s got that trademark smirk on her face, the one that says she’s about to cause trouble. She’s obviously back to her old self.
‘No,’ Huda replies. ‘We were just wondering where that smell of shit was coming from, but now it all makes sense.’ She leans in to Cleo and sniffs.
Cleo’s face immediately turns sour. Her cheeks redden and she stomps off.
Yet again Huda has the perfect comeback. I can’t laugh today though.
Huda and I walk out of the maths block in silence. We pass a group of boys playing football on the field. I notice Ezra’s there, which confuses me because I thought he’d still be in isolation for the assembly presentation incident. He turns his head and we lock eyes. He scowls, and I immediately look down and continue walking. Cleo’s sitting on the grass too, with some girls I’ve never seen her hanging with before, but luckily they’re around the corner from our bench. I sit down in my usual place, and Huda sits next to me. Everything about this moment, on the surface, is the same as it would be every day. And yet the silence says everything. Huda, who is usually blabbering away by now, hasn’t said a word. I guess it’s up to me to start things off. But I can’t just jump into it, can I? I have to sort of … soften her up. I have to make it seem like I’m not just here to get her to keep my secret again.
‘Um … How are things at home?’ I ask cautiously. ‘Any more progress on the Perfect Daughter plan?’
‘Well, they spent this morning gushing over Nafisah’s baby blanket so they can give it to their kid when it’s born, so I’m gonna say no,’ she replies curtly.
‘That’s not … that’s not necessarily a bad thing,’ I tell her. ‘I mean, that doesn’t affect you.’
‘Yeah, exactly. None of it does. I could just not be there, and nothing would be different. They practically ignored me all morning, cooing over this tatty yellow cloth.’
I sigh. ‘Huda, I get how you’re feeling. But I don’t think things are going to get better until you get that they’re allowed to be excited. They’re allowed to want to pass on their childhood items to their baby. That doesn’t mean they care any less about you.’
‘You’re full of shit, you know that?’ Huda spits. She turns her body so she’s straddling the bench, facing me.
‘Me?’ I squeak. ‘I’m just saying –’
‘You spout all this advice, acting like you’re so wise and knowledgeable, and yet you’re so … you’re so blind when it comes to your own situation.’
Well, that escalated quickly. ‘I’m not … blind to anything,’ I mutter. It’s the opposite, I want to tell her. I see everything. I hear everything. I’m aware of everything. That’s the problem. Maybe I should show her the video I’ve been putting together – the compilation of all the videos I’ve taken of myself on the Bad Nights to acknowledge what’s happening.
Huda laughs harshly. ‘Shall we swap roles?’ she asks. ‘Shall I give you some advice?’ She doesn’t wait for me to answer before continuing. ‘Amani, you have to speak out now. You have to tell someone what’s going on. You –’
‘I told you I can’t!’ I interject forcefully. ‘And you promised you wouldn’t either.’
‘Things were different when I made that promise,’ she says. She grabs me by the wrist and gently moves my blazer sleeve up. She spends a few seconds staring at the bandage I wrapped over the cling film so no one would think it weird if they saw it. My mind is calling out for me to pull my arm back, to hide it from her again. If she doesn’t see it, it’s not there. ‘It’s getting worse, can’t you see? How can you continue to ignore it after what happened yesterday?’
‘That was an accident,’ I say, yanking my arm away. A twinge of pain shoots up my arm. ‘It wasn’t his fault.’
‘And what about what he was doing to your mum just before that? Was that an accident too?’
My face heats up.
‘I don’t understand why you keep protecting him. Nothing is going to get better if you stay quiet.’
‘You think I haven’t looked into it?’ I say angrily. ‘You think I haven’t thought about telling someone, getting my mum to tell someone? They’ll split my family up, Huda. I read a case study about it – how if they think … someone … is going to hurt the children, they take them away. They’ll see my arm and jump to conclusions. It’s the last thing I want, Huda, for my family to be broken up. You must understand that, considering everything –’
‘I get that part, I do,’ she says. ‘But it wouldn’t be … forever. They’d bring you all back together once your dad’s locked up.’
‘You want him to go to jail?!’
‘Well, yeah. It’s what he deserves.’
‘What the fuck, Huda! He’s my dad. Yes, he isn’t always the best person, but he doesn’t deserve to be in prison. I can’t believe you said that.’
‘And I can’t believe you’re being so pathetic about this.’
‘Oh, I’m pathetic now, am I? For wanting to keep my family together? You’re such a hypocrite. That’s literally all you’ve been trying to do for the past few weeks.’
‘I’m not the one living with an abuser.’
I suck in a breath. I can’t believe she went there. I came over here to attempt to reason with her, but she is … unbelievable. There’s no point even trying.
‘Are you going to go back on your promise?’ I ask her sternly. ‘If you’ve ever cared for me, you won’t tell anyone. I’ll never forgive you, Huda, I’m telling you.’
She sighs, looks down at the graffiti on the part of the bench between her legs and rubs her thumb over a badly drawn heart, but doesn’t say anything.
‘Huda …’ I prod.
‘Fine, fine,’ she relents. ‘I won’t say anything. I don’t go back on my promises, you know that.’
My entire body relaxes. It’s going to be OK. Huda may have said, and may believe, some hurtful things, but at least she’ll keep quiet.
‘But if I’m not going to say anything, you need to,’ she adds.
I look up at her.
‘Amani, you can’t keep going on like this. It’s OK to ask for help. There’s so many people to help you. Teachers, counsellors … hell, the police. I’ll come with you, please, let’s –’
‘Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said?!’ I half shout. ‘My family is going to be ruined if this comes out, Huda. My mum will be, like, ousted from her family, from our community. No one’s going to take her side. They’ll tell her to stay with him and put up with it, and she’ll have no other choice. And it’ll be worse after that, Huda. You think he won’t get worse if everyone finds out and nothing happens? He’ll just get more … brazen.’
‘Isn’t that what’s already happening?’ Huda asks. ‘He hurt you, Amani.’
‘It was an accident!’ I shout. One of the boys playing football actually looks over, and I have to look down at the heart on the bench too.
‘Amani,’ Huda says quietly, ‘if you won’t speak out for yourself, then at least do it for your mum. It’s not fair to leave her to suffer as she is. Not when you can help.’
‘Just stop!’ I say, gett
ing up off the bench. She’s got me so angry that my body is shaking. I can’t sit there and listen to her any more. ‘You have no idea what it’s like to be in my position, or in my mum’s position. So stop pretending you do. Get off your fucking high horse, Huda. It seems so simple and easy to you because you’re not the one going through it. It’s not up to you to tell me what to do, what’s best for my family. You don’t get a fucking say.’
‘Amani, you know I’m saying the right thing,’ she pleads.
‘No, the only thing I know is that you’re being a really shitty best friend right now.’
‘And I think you’re being a shitty daughter.’
I laugh harshly. ‘Weren’t you the one asking me to teach you how to be the Perfect Daughter?’
‘Obviously I chose the wrong teacher. Even I know what you’re doing is wrong.’
‘Oh yeah, because you know everything, don’t you?’ I say. ‘Huda the genius. Not just top grades at school, but in life lessons too! You should start up a business, y’know? Telling people how they should live their life. It seems to be what you like doing best.’
‘I don’t care about anyone else’s life, Amani. I care about yours.’
‘Funny way of showing it,’ I sneer. ‘If you cared about me at all, you’d understand that speaking out isn’t an option. You’d let this go.’
‘Let it go?’ she scoffs, standing up too. ‘You want me to just ignore the fact that your dad’s an abusive piece of crap? He hurts your mum, he hurt you, and one day he’s going to hurt Ismail too.’
I feel the heat rising up in my body. I’m filled with anger, and there’s a flash in my head of what I want to do right now.
I want to punch Huda.
The realisation, the vivid image in my mind of me hitting her, shocks me. I can’t … I can’t let myself become this.
I can’t follow in Abbu’s footsteps.
Huda’s staring at me, waiting for me to reply, trying to make me understand. But I can’t be here. I grab my bag and run off towards my next class, cutting across the field. I spot Cleo whispering to her new friends while looking at me, and an image of me stomping over to confront them builds in my mind. I don’t, of course.
This Is My Truth Page 18
