‘Amani, are you OK?’ she says.
I lift my head up, plastering on a fake smile. ‘I’m fine, miss. I’m just running late.’
‘I was actually hoping to have a chat with you in private.’
Panic bubbles in my chest. If she keeps me talking for much longer, I’m going to dissolve into tears, I know it. Huda’s opened the dam, and I’ve only just managed to close it, temporarily. If Mrs Farook prods, everything’s going to come flooding out again.
‘I’m really late, miss. Mr Juckes is going to give me detention if I don’t get there soon.’ I avoid eye contact with her, turning my head this way and that, trying to plan an escape route.
‘It’s OK, I’ll sort it out with Mr Juckes.’
I look up at her. Her eyes are soft and kind, her smile just there. She’s one of the few teachers that everyone likes. No one has a bad thing to say about Mrs Farook. Which means, when she asks you for something, you literally can’t say no without seeming like a bitch. I look at her, then at the path behind her, the one that leads directly to the secret exit through some bushes. I’m so close, but she’s looking at me so intently that all I can do is nod, and say, ‘OK.’
Mrs Farook takes me into the room the counsellor normally uses. There’s a sofa against one wall, which she points at for me to sit on. I do. She takes the chair opposite and puts the folder she’s been carrying down on the tiny table between us, next to the box of tissues.
‘Listen, Amani. I know you students think us teachers are dinosaurs who don’t know how to use the internet, and that we don’t see what you guys are doing on there, but the school has a responsibility towards you. We have to monitor what people are looking at, to make sure it’s not anything bad. And … well, I’m sure you’ve seen all that’s been going on lately, with the … the blog posts.’
Oh God. She knows. She’s seen.
‘Yeah, I can see from your face you know what I need to talk to you about. I just want to make it clear that you’re not in any trouble here, OK? This is a safe space, and you can trust me. I’m the school’s Designated Safeguarding Lead, so it’s my duty to look out for you and make sure you’re safe. At school and elsewhere.’
I’m paralysed. This is literally the worst thing that could have happened. I thought it couldn’t get any worse than my best friend betraying me, but now … Mrs Farook has that look of pity in her eyes. Her gaze moves to my arm. Luckily I’m still wearing my blazer.
‘It’s my job to follow up any accusations that have been made. That’s all this is. Please know that you can talk to me about anything. I have your best interests at heart, and I’m trained for all kinds of situations. I’ve dealt with all kind of situations. I’m here to help, Amani, with anything that’s going on at home –’
‘It’s all lies!’ I blurt. ‘The blog, everything it says. It’s lies. It’s all been part of the prank war. You know that happens every year, right? I swear, it’s not true. You heard about Stacey Lineham, right? The blog lied about her mother, and then everyone created a fuss for nothing. That’s what’s happening here too.’
Mrs Farook bites her lip and shakes her head a little. ‘Yes, well, that was unfortunate, what happened with Stacey. But we had to follow that up, Amani. You can see that, right? We have to follow things like that – and like this – up. Otherwise we wouldn’t be doing our job.’
‘Is that what you’re going to do here?’ I ask. ‘Are you going to call social services?’
I try to keep the panic out of my voice. I know the key to a good lie is confidence. I’ve had to tell so many lies about this in the past that you’d think I’d be a pro by now, but this … this whole situation has rattled me. It’s new, it’s unpredictable. I have to keep on track if I want things to go my way.
‘At the moment I’m just hoping we can have a little chat about home, what things are like, how you’re feeling and so on.’
OK, good. There’s still time. I have to convince her everything it said in the blog is bullshit. I can convince her. My whole life, my family’s life, depends on what I say in here.
‘My home life is fine,’ I tell her, trying to calm my voice. ‘Great, I mean. My dad … he’s amazing. He’s on TV, did you know? Creature Clinic. I don’t know if you’ve seen it. It’s about animals and, like, getting kids to understand them. He really loves what he does. The kids on the show love him too. He gets loads of fan mail. I’m planning to become a vet – maybe not on TV, but I’ve learned so much from Dad. He’s a great role model. And … he loves my mum. Like, really loves her. Just the other morning he surprised her with this fancy bread maker she’s been wanting for months. Woke up early to gift-wrap it and everything. It was so cute. My mum was so happy. She’s been baking bread for us all ever since. He does that a lot – buys her nice things. He makes her breakfast in bed. That’s not something that someone who … who does what the blog says would do, is it? He’s a great dad. A good husband. And the thing about the burn? That’s a lie too. I mean, not a lie, but … it was my fault. I was making tea and spilled the water on my arm. You can ask my parents, they were there. It was totally my fault.’ I run out of breath and have to pause. My heart’s pounding so hard she must be able to hear it. But I need to convince her, I have to.
‘Amani, do you want some water?’ Mrs Farook asks, reaching out to put her hand on me. She puts pressure on my arm, not knowing that’s where the burn is, and I do all I can not to wince. ‘You’re … you seem to be sweating quite a lot. Do you want to take your blazer off?’
I shake my head. ‘No, no. I’m fine. I just … I’m upset. I just … I don’t like that someone’s spreading this vicious lie about my family. It’s making me really upset.’
‘Oh, Amani, here, take a tissue if you need it.’ She pushes the box towards me and I take one out of politeness. Maybe I could use it as a prop to make my story more convincing. I wipe the corners of my eyes and let out a little sniff. I’ve had my head bowed down the whole time, but part of me really wants to look at her, look right into her eyes and see if she’s buying this.
‘I’m sorry this is making you upset. And trust me, we’re going to find who’s behind that blog. They will be punished.’
Should I grass on Huda? I could get her in so much trouble. Mr Bach was talking about suspending people for pranks. Maybe she’d even get expelled – barred from taking her exams. That would serve her right.
‘Can you think of anyone who could be doing it?’ Mrs Farook asks. ‘Anyone who would want to hurt you?’
I want to tell her so bad. It would be so easy. And yet, I can’t. If I take Huda down, she’ll definitely tell everyone what she saw first-hand. And then it’ll be my word against hers, and I’m betting the school would believe Top Student Huda over me.
I just duck my head and shrug. ‘It doesn’t matter though, right? Whoever’s doing it is lying – that’s all that matters. Can I go?’
Mrs Farook puts her hand on my arm lightly again. ‘Almost done here, I promise, Amani.’
I fiddle with the bottom of my tie – pick on a thread that’s come loose.
‘I’ve been having a look at your records,’ she says, picking up the folder on the table. ‘There’s been a bit of a dip in your grades this term. Mr Cavanaugh’s noted that your mocks and practice exams haven’t gone well. And you’re planning to take all three sciences for A level, is that right?’
Oh God. Why won’t this end? Why won’t she just let me go? I can feel the dam I’ve built inside myself collapsing. The tears are gonna come.
‘It’s … it’s just … it’s the stress of school building up. That’s all it is. The pressure of practice exams, mocks, predicted grades. All the teachers keep saying how important GCSEs are, that they decide our future and whatever. It’s just the stress of that, I swear. It’s nothing … else. Nothing outside of school.’
I pause and look at her, right in the eyes. I can’t tell whether she believes me, so I do that thing you do in exams where if you don’t know the an
swer, you just blurt out lots of surrounding facts.
‘Home is actually … the best part of my life at the moment,’ I say. ‘I have a little brother I adore. He and I, we … make films together! Just silly things with his toys. But it’s a nice hobby we have. Mum joins in too. She paints the backgrounds and makes props. She’s so good at art. And Dad … well, he’s our biggest cheerleader. I show him the films and he’s always so proud. It’s just … It’s nice to go home from a tough class to them. It’s just … a nice environment, y’know? My parents are really supportive of everything I do.’
There’s a sick bubbling in my stomach now. It’s not just nerves any more. I feel terrible about all the lies I’m spouting. It’s fine when you tell the occasional fib to divert attention, but when it all comes spewing out like that, it makes me feel physically sick.
But this is important. This is to keep my family together. I need to convince her, by any means necessary.
‘That’s good to hear,’ Mrs Farook says. She smiles at me, and I think it might be a real, honest smile. The lies might be hurting, but they’re also working. ‘What about at school? Do you feel like you have a support network here? Good friends?’
My mouth opens to gush about Huda. But then I remember what she’s done, and the pain runs through my body all over again. The bubbling of the lies is joined by the bubbling of my anger. I can’t let that come out in my tone, and if I mention Huda, Mrs Farook will totally cotton on.
‘I’ve got a really great best friend,’ I tell her. ‘I don’t think you’ve ever taught her? Maggie Chan. She’s in my form. We sit next to each other at registration, and have a few classes together. She likes making films too. We go round each other’s houses a lot. She’s … she’s really great. Real funny, and a great … support.’
Mrs Farook smiles again. I relax a little; her smile has that effect. I’m guessing she hasn’t noticed that Huda is basically the only person I hang around with at school. I start to get antsy. It feels as if she’s been interrogating me forever. I think I’ve given her the right answers, or at least good enough answers. I don’t see how she could take anything I’ve told her and turn it into a reason to go to social services.
‘So … can I go now?’ I ask. ‘Is this over? Can we just … move on?’
‘Sorry, Amani, just a few more questions.’ She shuffles through the papers in her folder.
I fiddle with the thread on my tie again. There’s a nervous tingling running all through me. This can’t be normal. If she believed me, she would have let me go as soon as I said everything was fine. Maybe there’s no convincing her. Maybe they’ve made their minds up already, like they did with Stacey and her mum. Maybe … maybe keeping me here is all a scheme.
My phone starts ringing, the noise making me literally jump to my feet. I’ve been poised to get up this whole time, and the noise makes my body spring into action.
‘Amani! Is everything OK?’ Mrs Farook looks up at me.
I slide out my phone from my blazer pocket. ‘Missed call: HOME.’ They’ve already done it. Social services are already there. Mrs Farook brought me here to distract me, so I couldn’t go and warn Ammi what was happening. Oh my God. I can’t believe this is happening.
‘Amani?’ Mrs Farook says again.
‘I have to go,’ I mumble, before grabbing my bag and making a run for it.
41
I’m breathless by the time I turn into the alleyway to take the secret way home. I practically sprinted out of school because I was convinced Mrs Farook would follow me out, like literally run out after me. I know leaving the meeting like that was a bad move, but there’s no way I couldn’t. I call home again, but it’s engaged. I try Ammi’s mobile, but it goes to voicemail. I’m too scared to call Abbu. He’s going to be so mad. God, what if Ammi’s in trouble and that call to me was her cry for help?
I try her mobile again. Try the landline. No change.
I run through the alleyway, all the way home. I’m expecting there to be police cars outside our house when I round the corner, but there’s just both my parents’ cars in the driveway, like normal. Although there is a random fancy purple car parked on the road. Fancy enough to belong to someone who works for social services.
I stand on the doorstep for a few seconds, steeling myself. I listen for Abbu’s voice, a screaming match between him and someone accusing him of … that. But it’s quiet. Maybe he’s on his best behaviour. I unlock the door and slip into the house. It’s … normal. The TV is on in the living room, and I can smell Ammi cooking in the kitchen. The living-room door opens, and Abbu appears. I examine his expression, looking for anger, for him to tell me this is all my fault, but there’s just confusion written there.
‘Amani? What are you doing back from school so early?’ he asks.
I peer behind him, into the living room. It’s empty. I breathe a sigh of relief. They’re not here. The school hasn’t called them. Maybe my answers did satisfy Mrs Farook. Now my answer needs to satisfy Abbu. I’ve already lied my arse off today, so what’s one more?
‘Um, it was … It’s a revision afternoon. No classes.’
‘Oh, right,’ he says. ‘Well, go upstairs and revise then. Your Auntie Kameela and your cousins are coming round for dinner, so get as much done as you can before they arrive. I’m sorry we couldn’t go out, like we had planned.’ He pauses for a second, watching me. ‘How’s …? How’s your arm? Did anyone see it?’
‘Everything’s fine,’ I lie. All that running has made it throb even more.
Abbu nods and returns to the living room.
I pop my head into the kitchen. Ammi’s stirring one of the many pots on the stove. She doesn’t even notice when I open the door, she’s that engrossed.
‘Salaam, Ammi,’ I say.
She jumps a little, then turns to me. Her expression changes from frustrated concentration to pleasant and almost happy. ‘Amani, you’re back early.’ She turns to stir a pan.
‘Revision afternoon,’ I explain, though I don’t think she’s really bothered. ‘Um … did you call me earlier? I had a missed call from home, then tried calling back but no one picked up.’
‘Huh?’ she says distractedly. ‘Oh yes, sorry, I accidentally called your number instead of Kameela’s. Your auntie and cousins are coming for dinner. Can you give the upstairs a once-over with the hoover?’
‘Sure.’
Everything’s normal here. Nothing is different. Neither of them has any idea about the blog, about our worst nightmare coming true. I wonder whether to tell Ammi, to warn her about any repercussions. I watch her as she cooks, preparing for her sister’s arrival. We never have people over to the house. Ammi’s probably already stressed to the max, so I shouldn’t add to that. Especially not after that talk with Mrs Farook. I’ve convinced her, I know I have. There’s no point worrying Ammi even more over something that isn’t going to happen. So instead I grab the hoover from the cupboard and take it upstairs.
Abbu is on his absolute best behaviour at dinner. He’s being so charming and considerate, I almost can’t believe it’s him. If anyone saw him like this, they would never in a million years believe the rumour … the truth … that Huda’s spreading around. Ammi seems happier than I’ve seen her in a while too. Ismail’s having fun, finally having kids his own age here at home. Me? I’m on edge. I can’t eat anything without feeling sick. Even though it’s been hours, there’s still a part of me that’s terrified someone is about to storm through the doors. Scared that at any moment social services will turn up, point their fingers at Abbu and accuse him of … all that stuff. Then he’ll be humiliated, and both Ammi and Auntie Kameela will blame me for everything. It doesn’t help that my phone has been going crazy. Texts and DMs and tweets. Everyone’s talking about me, saying horrible things. The meme of Abbu has gone viral within our school circle again, but this time people have edited it into more … crude versions. I don’t look at all of them, but I’m too scared to block everything. I’ll admit, a teeny tiny
part of me is waiting for Huda to get in contact. For her to admit she’s gone too far, like she knows she did with Stacey’s mum, to say she’s sorry and offer to help fix the mess she’s caused. She’d know just what to do, how to stop everyone from talking shit, probably even how to sweet-talk social services – she’s had so many dealings with them that she’s probably an expert in how they work, how they think.
Auntie Kameela gossips all through dinner. About anyone and everyone. I tune out most of it, but my ears perk up when she mentions Aisha, the woman who left her abusive husband.
‘She finally went back,’ Auntie Kameela says. ‘After her mother stopped eating and drinking and begged her to return, to save their reputation.’
No one says anything.
‘It’s only right, na?’ Auntie Kameela continues, oblivious. ‘What marriage doesn’t have these kinds of problems?’
I notice Abbu giving Ammi a secret, stern look. Ammi isn’t facing him, but I can tell from the rigidity in her posture that she’s aware.
‘Hopefully Raffi forgives her for breaking apart their family. If he can forgive her, then inshallah they’ll get through it. What was she even thinking, trying that?’
I want to give Auntie Kameela a kick under the table. Everything she’s saying … it’s Ammi. Ammi, if she had the courage to leave. This is how they’d talk about her. How her own sister would talk about her. Everyone would slag Ammi off until she’d feel there was no other option than to go back to Abbu. Just like Aisha.
We move into the living room after dinner. Abbu sits watching TV as Ammi and Auntie Kameela chat quietly. I’m tempted to make an excuse about revision and go off to my room. It has been such a long, weird day, and I’m worried about how tomorrow is going to go. But I want to be a good daughter. I make tea for everyone and even bring in biscuits. Ismail runs up to Ammi and yanks a chocolate biscuit right out of her hand.
This Is My Truth Page 20
