‘That’s bullshit!’
‘Amani! Language!’
‘I’m sorry, but it really is. You can’t just … you can’t just stay in an abusive relationship because you’re worried what other people will say. Our relatives aren’t the ones living this. They’ll move on to the next scandal soon enough. But you … Ammi, if you don’t leave … You can’t put up with this the rest of your life. It’s not fair to you, it’s not fair to us.’
‘Do you have any idea what will happen if you or I went to one of your teachers and told them about this? Told them the whole truth? They’d probably take you and Ismail into care, especially after the burn. Your father – he would just deny everything. You’ve seen how he can twist things, how he behaves when we’re around other people. You think they’d believe me over him, with his confidence? He’s an actor, Amani. He’ll talk his way out of it. Even if he didn’t, these types of cases never end well. And it’s not like your grandparents would take us in. We’d have no money, nowhere to live; we have no choice but to stay with your abbu. And you know things would be much worse if this actually came out … Amani –’ she sighs, looks me right in the eyes – ‘you think you’re the only one who’s imagined this future? A future where we can all just be … normal, happy. I’ve been imagining this other future for years. I’ve been over every single scenario in my head, and it never ends well. We’ve got it good at the moment. Your father is … He’s a decent man when we don’t anger him. We just have to learn his ways. You’ve seen how he is when there’s no drama going on, when we just … stick to his rules. We can live a good life like this. Please, Amani, for me. Just … leave this alone.’
I don’t say anything. I don’t know what I could even say. She’s weeping now, and I can feel the first few tears sliding down my cheeks too. I had no idea she was carrying all this inside her. I’m so stupid. Of course she’s thought about all this. It’s not like she enjoys what he does to her. If Ammi says we’re stuck, then I guess we’re stuck.
‘Now, are you finally going to let this go?’ she asks quietly. She sits up, turns to face the front, wipes her eyes. ‘And while you’re at it, I think you need to have a word with Huda. Stop her from spreading any more of these vicious rumours. Doesn’t this count as cyberbullying? You should tell Mrs Farook about that instead. That’s the real crime here.’ She pauses for a few seconds. ‘I’m surprised at Huda though. You two have been friends for so long. I can’t believe she would do something like this.’
My instinct is to defend her. I’ve always defended Huda. But there’s no defending this.
‘Anyway,’ Ammi says, putting her seat belt on, ‘I assume you’re not going back to class, so I might as well take you home.’
I wordlessly put on my seat belt too, feeling more despondent than ever.
Abbu’s there when we get home, and it only occurs to me then that I have no excuse to be back from school this early. Sure enough, that’s the first question out of his mouth.
‘Why are you both home so early?’ he asks. He’s directing it mostly at Ammi, though. I run her schedule through my head and only now realise that she’s supposed to be at work this afternoon. I try to think up an excuse that would exonerate both of us. An emergency of some kind. I quickly grab my stomach and put on a pathetic face.
‘I wasn’t … I wasn’t feeling well,’ I mumble.
‘Stop it,’ Ammi hisses at me.
I look up at her, shocked. That was the perfect lie to cover us both. She went to pick up her sick child; Abbu can’t have a problem with that. And since he hates her job so much, he’d probably be pleased she skipped. Ammi frowns at me before taking a breath and looking at Abbu, who just seems confused.
‘The school called me in,’ she explains carefully. ‘They wanted to discuss Amani’s grades. They’ve been slipping recently. Quite badly, I might add.’
What? Why is she telling him?! I feel my ears heat up because I know he’s going to be pissed about this. I expect her to finish there and let him get on with his shouting, but she surprises me by continuing.
‘The school thought this dip in her performance could be something to do with … her home situation. There’s been some stupid rumour going around the school, and on the internet, spread by Huda, that … that there’s something untoward going on at home. They asked if you were abusing me.’
Oh. My. God. What is she doing?
I look at Dad.
His jaw drops.
Fuck.
44
I can’t believe it. She’s just blurted it out. It’s not like he was pressuring her; Abbu would probably have accepted my story about feeling ill. Or she could have stopped at being asked in to talk about my bad grades. I would have happily taken the heat for that, rather than tell him the truth: that Huda’s spilled our home life all over the internet.
‘They asked you what?!’ he exclaims. His eyes are wide, his body rigid.
I brace myself for an explosion.
‘It was all so stupid,’ Ammi says nonchalantly. ‘Huda spread some vicious rumour about us to the whole school. She was bullying Amani. And the school obviously had to follow their safeguarding procedures and make sure there was no truth to it.’ She pauses, and Abbu waits. He’s staring at her as intensely as I did when she came back from her chat with Mrs Farook. The stare that says he doesn’t know what her answer was in the meeting, the one that says he’s hoping to God it goes his way, but he’s also scared it won’t.
‘Of course I reassured them that it was all lies,’ she says finally. She stares back at Abbu, and only now do I notice the slight shaking of her hands. She notices me noticing and occupies herself taking off her jacket and shoes.
‘Of course,’ Abbu replies slowly. ‘So what … what exactly did they ask?’
She shakes her head a little as she takes off her hijab. ‘They repeated the things Huda’s said and asked me if there was any truth to it. I told them we were all very happy, and that nothing was going on. I think that Huda’s jealous of your life, Amani. I know it must be tough, growing up in care like she did. But that’s really no excuse to take a wrecking ball to our home, to our family. I don’t want you spending time with her any more. And please do not invite her into our house again. She is not welcome here.’ She looks at me, glares at me. It hurts hearing Ammi saying all these horrible things about Huda. I get that what she did was wrong, but that’s no reason to attack her like this, to bring her background, her upbringing, into it.
Abbu turns to look at me. They’re both deflecting onto me rather than looking at the big picture – that the school were suspicious, that they looked into it, are maybe still looking into it. But right now, their anger is directed at Huda, and therefore me.
‘Is this true?’ he asks. ‘Huda’s been spreading these lies?’
I want to point out it’s not lies. All she’s been spreading is the truth. In a stupid manner, but it’s the truth. How dare he try to pin all the blame on her, when he’s the one in the wrong? He’s the one who’s been beating his wife, terrorising his family for years. But of course, I can’t say any of that. All I can do is follow Ammi’s lead.
‘We had a … a fight, and I think this was her way of getting back at me. I’m sorry, Abbu. I’m sorry she’s done this.’
‘People these days,’ he huffs. I look into his eyes and … I swear there’s a little bit of fear. He … he’s scared. Scared the truth is going to come out. Scared everyone will find out what kind of man he really is. And if he’s scared … that means … maybe, maybe, the answer to all our problems really is for everyone to find out. I guess that boat has sailed now though. We were offered one opportunity, and we didn’t take it.
‘You let people into your house, feed them, treat them like your own, and this is how they pay you back? I can’t … I’m just shocked. I thought you were a better judge of character, Amani.’ He turns to Ammi and smiles. ‘At least you managed to put the school right. Who knows what could have happened if this went any furth
er.’ He reaches out, puts his arm around her and … pulls her in for a hug.
He’s hugging her?!
I don’t think I’ve ever seen my parents hug. I’ve been brought up to believe that intimacy and affection are things to be done privately. It’s why I always look away when Ali and Nafisah hug, or kiss each other on the cheek. But now, when it’s my parents hugging for the first time I’ve seen in my life, I can’t help but gawp. I’m looking so closely that I can see the surprise on Ammi’s face. I notice the way her whole body tenses, and she hesitates before returning the hug. Maybe it’s not just in public that Abbu doesn’t show affection.
He pulls away, and he’s still smiling. ‘I knew you’d be able to handle yourself in a situation like that,’ he tells Ammi. ‘The teachers, they … said nothing more is going to happen, right? They’re punishing Huda for spreading the lies?’
Ammi nods quickly. ‘They said they have to file a report, just to show, officially, they’ve done the right thing. They … promised there’d be punishment.’
She doesn’t say that the school don’t know it was Huda. I don’t know why she’s keeping that part from him, but I go along with it. It’s such a precarious situation, I’m scared of putting a foot wrong. I don’t want her pressuring me to tell on Huda. As much as I feel like I want to tell on her, to get her in trouble and ruin her life like she’s done to me, I know I never could.
‘OK, good,’ Abbu says, nodding lightly. ‘Let’s hope this doesn’t get out beyond the school. You know what a fuss people in our community would create if they heard.’
‘It won’t,’ I butt in. ‘Everyone’s probably … forgotten about it already. There’ve been … a few rumours like this. There’ll probably be another one tomorrow, and everyone will be obsessed with that instead.’ I find myself needing to reassure him that it’s over. If he goes digging or thinks something bad might be happening … it’ll just get worse.
It hits me then. Why Ammi blurted out the truth as soon as she got home. She knew it would be a million times worse if he found out some other way. She could have lied as much as she wanted, but if the school contacted Abbu directly, or he heard about it on the grapevine, he’d be madder than ever at Ammi. She chose the lesser evil.
‘That’s good,’ Abbu repeats, almost absent-mindedly. ‘I mean … good that they’ll forget. It’s a shame this sort of thing happens on such a regular basis. Teenagers these days, they need to learn how to be nice to other people. Kindness is a lost art form, it seems. Eh, Shirin?’
She jolts back to attention, looks at him and nods. He smiles at her again, and I almost expect him to pat her on the head for being a good little girl.
‘I was thinking, actually,’ he says. ‘Shirin, you know how you were saying you wanted to take on some extra hours at work?’
Ammi nods slowly. ‘Um. Yes? You said it … it wouldn’t work, that … that it would affect the kids.’
‘Oh, nonsense,’ he says. ‘As long as it’s during school hours, I don’t see why not.’ He’s smiling even wider now, full-on beaming almost. But not in a natural way. It’s eerie.
‘Oh … Are you sure?’ she asks.
‘Yes, I’m sure. When I get this job I interviewed for the other day, I’ll have more of a steady schedule, so you can do more hours. Oh, and you wanted to do an art course too, right? Let’s find you an even better one than that community-centre one you were thinking about. It will be expensive, I know, but you’re worth it. I’ll pay, of course.’
I didn’t even know Ammi was looking for more hours at work, but I guess it makes sense. Less time in the house. I know that feeling all too well, with the amount of time I spend at Huda’s. It only really hits me now.
I’ve lost my best friend.
Despite what she did, she really was … my person. She was the one I’d always run to when things got too bad at home. Without her, without her house to escape to whenever I need a break … where am I going to go? I’m going to have to just put up with it. Put up with the tension between my parents. Put up with my constant anxiety that a fight is about to break out.
But …
But maybe not.
Now that Abbu’s almost been caught, now that he knows he’s not completely untouchable, maybe … maybe things really will change here. I mean, he’s just agreed to something he was adamantly against earlier. Maybe this scare will zap some sense into him?
Or …
Maybe not.
I mean, I have been burned like this before.
45
The notice board reads 10. Almost single figures now. My heart starts beating super fast, and a wave of anxiety washes over me. There’s so little time left of school, left before study leave. Before … I’m stuck at home. All. The. Time. The weekend was so awkward. Abbu was being overly nice to Ammi – they even went out for dinner together, leaving me to babysit. I spent most of yesterday in my room, finalising my media studies coursework. Watching it back, it seems so stupid. So pointless. Of all the things I could have created, I made a stupid trailer for a horror film. I should have gone deeper, like Maggie with the video of her sister. I should have done something better. I tried working on some YouTube videos too – I feel less pressured to make them ‘good’ because they’re mainly just for me and Ismail – but it still felt like everything was terrible.
It’s been four days since Huda released the blog about me. Four days since the entire year started gossiping about me. Four days since I’ve spoken to Huda. I feel so lost without her by my side. Something funny will happen and I’ll go to text her, and then remember how angry I am. Then I get angrier, because it’s been four fucking days and she hasn’t even reached out. Not even just a ‘sorry’. I’ve seen her around school, and she’s been sitting in her usual seat in class, but I can’t bring myself to go and sit next to her, or even go up and talk to her. She’s in the wrong, so she should make the first move. Though I am tempted to tell her how much trouble she’s caused. How the school interrogated Ammi. But maybe she would get a thrill from knowing she had that effect.
I so wish I had the guts to grass on her. Life would be so much easier if I could be as much of a heartless cow as she is. Get her suspended. Or worse. I wish I could be that evil. But maybe it’s a good thing I’m not; it proves Abbu’s cruelty isn’t genetic.
School is still hell. I thought all of the blog stuff would have blown over by now, but people are still making stupid comments, maybe because there hasn’t been another blog post since. Not Cleo though. It’s weird – after everything, all those years of bullying me, she seems to finally be over it. She doesn’t make any comments as I walk into registration, even though we accidentally make eye contact. I guess she got fed up of the attention it drew to her. It also looks like the Burn Blog really did break up her coven. The three of them still sit at separate tables.
What’s new, though, is Maggie. She’s basically become Huda’s replacement. She sometimes talks back to people for me (though never with the same quality of comebacks as Huda used to). I sit with her at lunch too now, and even in the classes Huda is in. She’s asked a bunch of times why we’re fighting, but I’ve just given her lame excuses.
‘God, things are getting so boring round here,’ Maggie moans, slouching down in her chair after answering her name on the register. ‘It’s been forever since anything happened. Why can’t there be another blog post already? Or a prank? Someone needs to liven things up around here. Ooh, maybe I should start something.’ She sits up in her chair, eyes bright.
I laugh. ‘Like what?’
‘I dunno. Something cool. We should do something better than anything that’s happened so far.’
‘What’s this “we” business? I never agreed to anything.’
‘Oh, you will,’ Maggie says. ‘Remember what Mr Voake said? We have to “make our mark on the world”.’
I laugh. ‘He meant with film, not pranks!’ The bell rings for first period. ‘C’mon,’ I say. ‘Maybe media studies will inspire you.�
��
Just being in the media studies room brings me peace, makes me forget everything else. Our last few lessons have been free periods for us to finish our final projects. Mine’s technically done, but something’s been bugging me ever since Maggie showed me her film – the one about her sister who died. It moved me so much I cried. That’s what media should do, I think. Make you feel something deeply. I definitely can’t say that about my project. I wonder if I should do something deeper. Something more personal. For a moment I consider submitting my Bad Nights compilation, but the thought of writing a reflective commentary on it makes me want to be sick.
‘How about “A Day in the Life”?’ Maggie asks me as we sit at the computers. She’s been trying to help me think of new project ideas all lesson.
‘My life isn’t interesting enough for that.’
‘YouTubers do it all the time, and they live boring-ass lives. Yours would at least have me in it. This face will guarantee you a good mark.’ She flutters her eyelashes.
I laugh. ‘How about I follow you around? “A Day in the Life of Maggie Chan”.’
‘It would feature a lot of sleeping,’ she says, slouching in her chair and scrolling down the page of some gossip article she’s reading.
I scan through the stuff I’ve filmed already, trying to find a way to repurpose it into something meaningful. ‘It has to be something unique,’ I mutter. ‘Something that only I could make.’
‘Why don’t you do something about the Burn Blog?’ Maggie asks.
‘What?’ I turn to her, but her eyes are still glued to the article.
‘Like, what it felt like to be attacked like that. How the lies made your life hell. Have the emotional stuff but also bring in the mystery of whodunnit. I’d so watch that.’
I mull over her words. My gut reaction is obviously NO WAY – I’m hardly going to spread the stuff the blog was saying even more. But then I think about my Bad Night videos – how filming them helps me deal with what happens at home. I could take myself out of it completely, fictionalise it, and focus on the concept of someone anonymous doing this. The impact it’s having …
This Is My Truth Page 22
