‘You’re planning to leave, aren’t you?’ he says.
‘What?!’ she squeaks.
‘The pay rise … You wanting to keep your own bank account … You’re trying to get enough money to leave me, aren’t you?’
‘What? No! That’s not –’ She squeals instead of finishing her sentence. Abbu’s probably got her by the wrist now.
‘You think I’m an idiot?’ he hisses. ‘I know what you’re doing and you’re not going to get away with it. Tell me the truth – did you say something to those teachers?’
Ammi whimpers. ‘No, I swear. I swear, I haven’t said anything to anyone. I’m not planning anything.’ She lets out another little squeal, but this one of relief. Her words have satisfied him.
‘You know you wouldn’t be able to cope on your own, right?’ he says. ‘Your stupid little supermarket job won’t support two kids. You’d be homeless without me. You’d be broke.’
Ammi doesn’t say anything.
‘So you go for this job, save up your money and leave, and that’s the life ahead of you. A life of nothing. You are nothing without me. You got that?’
‘Yes,’ she whispers so faintly I barely hear.
‘Good. Remember that. Now, about that form …’
The sound of paper being torn into pieces rips through the room.
‘I think it would be best if you quit your job altogether.’
‘What?! But –’
‘But nothing. This isn’t up for discussion. You can’t be selfish when you’ve got a family to think of. You’re handing in your notice tomorrow.’
This is normally the time during the fight that Ammi succumbs, goes all meek and agrees to whatever Abbu wants, because that’s the only way to make it end. But I know how much that job means to her, and I can tell she’s not going to take this lying down.
‘That’s not your decision to make,’ she says quietly but firmly.
‘What did you just say?’ he growls.
Oh God. I wrap my arms tighter around myself.
‘My job doesn’t affect anything at home. I make sure of it,’ Ammi says. ‘I cook, I clean, I look after the kids. I even … I even dealt with Amani’s school. You can’t tell me I’m doing anything wrong. I won’t go after the supervisor position, I’ll even give up that art course you signed me up for, but you can’t take my job away from me.’
‘I can do whatever the fuck I want,’ Abbu says.
Ammi lets out a pained noise; I can’t tell exactly what he’s doing to her, but it sounds horrible.
‘Stop it! Please! You’re hurting me,’ she pleads.
There’s a sound of a scuffle, and I hear the table scrape against the floor.
‘DID YOU JUST FUCKING PUSH ME?!’ Abbu bellows.
‘I didn’t mean –’ She doesn’t even manage to get her words out before the first blow comes. She lets out a cry, but that only seems to spur him on.
‘Think you can fucking push me around?’ He punches her so hard it sounds like he’s winded her. ‘I could have fucking fallen over, hit my head. I COULD HAVE DIED!’
Ammi’s breath splutters as she continues to try to reason with him. A few seconds later I hear her body fall to the floor.
‘Please, don’t!’ she cries, desperation lacing her hoarse voice.
But it doesn’t work. It never works.
The first kick comes.
Then the second.
Then the third.
‘DON’T.’ Kick. ‘FUCKING.’ Kick. ‘TALK.’ Kick. ‘BACK.’ Kick. ‘TO.’ Kick. ‘ME.’ Kick.
I can’t be here any more. I can’t stand it. Their usual arguments are never this bad. Even the dinner where he spilled food over her was nothing compared to this. I’ve never been close enough to hear the sound of his foot against her stomach, how her sobs sound up close. I’ve never felt more helpless than I do right now.
I need to get away. I need to leave right now.
I peer around the edge of the sofa to check whether I could make a break for it without being noticed, but somehow I become transfixed watching them. Part of me is telling myself to say something, to stop this RIGHT NOW, but the bigger part of me is screaming at me to run, to get as far away from this scene as I can, to keep burying my head in the sand. I’m the worst daughter ever. I know I should jump up and stop him, that if I said something, just showed myself, he’d back down.
He’s looking down at Ammi, who’s curled up in a ball, letting him do whatever he wants to her. She moves her arm slightly, and I see her face. There’s a cut on her head, already bleeding.
She’s looking right at me.
I suck in a breath.
Her eyes widen. I’m somehow paralysed.
‘RUN!’ she mouths at me.
I should do it, I know. But her expression … the fear in her eyes. I can’t leave her like this; I’d never forgive myself. I need to be brave. I need to be brave for her. I can stop this. I’ve done it before. I need to stop it NOW. I look up at Abbu; there’s an animal look on his face – it scares me to my soul. At dinner the other day, he looked as if he was enjoying it. Now it’s just pure anger. I know me just saying something isn’t going to be enough to make it go away. I need to do something.
He raises his foot again, but before he can kick her, before I even know what’s happening, I’m charging at him.
‘STOP!’ I roar as my hands connect with his back. I push him hard enough for him to stumble. But he doesn’t fall. He whips his head around and there’s that look again, the one of pure rage – eyes wide, teeth bared.
His eyes don’t really focus on me. Before I know it, he’s got his fingers digging into my upper arm.
‘GET OUT OF HERE!’ he shouts. He digs his fingers so deep I gasp in pain, and then … and then he shoves me.
But I spring back. I reset my balance as he turns back to Ammi, who’s struggling to get up off the floor. I grab his arm again, try to do it as hard as he did with me.
‘Abbu, please, stop!’ I beg. Why isn’t he listening? Why isn’t he stopping? I had the power last time. Me being there helped last time.
‘Amani!’ he shouts. He turns to face me, and I don’t even get to see if his expression has changed before he slaps me. The force of the blow makes me lose my balance again and I stumble back, falling on the sofa.
He hit me.
Abbu slapped me.
49
‘GET AWAY FROM HER!’ Ammi’s voice suddenly rises above everything. Next thing I know, she’s in front of me, shielding me from Abbu, who’s standing there, panting, glaring at her.
‘You fucki—’ he starts. He looks as if he’s about to lunge at her, but Ammi raises her hand. She holds her hand palm out towards him – the same gesture she uses on Ismail to get him to stop running. It works on Abbu too. I stand up, right behind Ammi. She uses her other hand as a barrier between me and Abbu, protecting me.
‘You touch her again, and you’ll regret it,’ she says with a confidence I’ve never heard from her. She’s never stood up to him like this.
‘You fucking bitch!’ He lunges at her again.
I scream, and cower. Ammi shoves the table towards him and it connects with his leg, wiping him out. There’s a crash as he falls to the floor with a grunt.
‘Amani, quick!’ Ammi says. She grabs my hand and pulls me along. I don’t know what’s happening, or what to say, so I just let myself be pulled. It’s like I’m not even in my body any more, not in charge of my movements.
Ammi pulls me towards the front door, then turns her head to look back at Abbu.
‘Shit!’ she says. ‘He’s coming.’
Ammi swore.
I’ve never heard her swear before.
‘YOU FUCKING BITCHES!’ Abbu screams from the living room. The sound of his feet is thunder.
‘Amani, quick!’ Ammi says. We’re too far away from the front door. But not from the downstairs bathroom. She quickly shoves me inside, pulls the door behind us and locks it.
Within se
conds, Abbu is pounding on the door so hard I’m sure he’s going to actually break through. He’s yelling non-stop – I can barely register the actual words over the pounding in my ears.
‘Oh God,’ I say without meaning to. ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God.’
I look to Ammi, hoping she’s got some sort of plan, but she’s just staring, eyes wide, face streaked with melting mascara.
‘Ammi …’ I say. I grab her hand and squeeze it. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. I don’t realise how badly I’m shaking until our hands meet.
‘YOU DUMB BITCH, GET OUT HERE RIGHT FUCKING NOW.’
More terrifying bangs on the door.
‘He’s going to break it!’ I squeak. ‘He’s going to get in here. Ammi, what do we do?’
I look at her, hoping she has a plan.
‘Do you have your phone on you?’ she asks me quickly.
I nod, and fumble in my blazer pocket. I unlock it and hand it to her.
She taps on the screen with a trembling hand. She brings the phone to her ear. ‘P-police, please,’ she says in response to a voice on the other end.
50
Ammi quickly gives our address, and the call handler assures her that help is on the way. They keep Ammi on the phone, talking to her over the noise of Abbu banging on the door and shouting threats, and everything spills out: how this has been going on for years, how Abbu wants to control her, stop her from working, how he … how he hit me. Ammi’s crying and shaking, curled up in the corner of the bathroom, between the wall and the sink. I kneel in front of her, not knowing what to do, how to help. I feel so useless. Abbu’s voice is as loud as ever, his blows haven’t got weaker, even though we’ve been in here for, like, ten minutes.
‘Please hurry!’ Ammi says down the phone again. ‘The back door’s unlocked. They can come through there. Just please …’ She sobs.
I tear off some toilet tissue and wipe her face. She makes eye contact with me, and there’s so much vulnerability in her expression – she looks like Ismail after a Bad Night. I hold the tissue up to her nose and she blows. We both flinch when there’s a different loud thudding outside. But not on the bathroom door; somewhere further in the background.
‘I think they’re here,’ Ammi whispers into the phone.
There’s a commotion outside. Voices, lots of them, deep and growly, and then, above them all, Abbu.
‘WHAT THE FUCK?’ he shouts. ‘I HAVEN’T ASSAULTED ANYONE! THAT LYING FUCKING BITCH!’
There’s another thud at the door; Ammi and I yelp. The call handler says something to her, but we can’t tear our eyes away from the door. The last blow sounded like something had splintered. More shuffling. More deep voices. More of Abbu yelling. His voice sounds like it’s moving further away though.
There’s silence. Eerie, scary silence. Even the call handler has stopped speaking.
Then two gentle knocks on the door. Ammi and I yelp again.
‘It’s the police,’ a voice says. ‘It’s safe. You can come out now.’
I look at Ammi – her face is wet and sticky. There’s a bruise already blooming on her cheek, and a bleeding cut on her head. Her eyes are wide, bewildered. She looks right at me.
‘We’re safe, Ammi. It’s over.’
51
Ammi’s in the living room talking to the police. She’s … she’s actually doing it. She’s done it. She’s told someone. Someone official now knows the horrible truth of our family. And Abbu’s not here to deny or twist the truth, or to scare her out of speaking up. The police have taken him away. Arrested him for assault.
Abbu’s been arrested.
Abbu hit me.
He would have done worse, maybe, if Ammi hadn’t stepped in.
This whole afternoon has been so surreal. I still can’t believe Ammi’s talking to the police about Abbu. They’re going to talk to me next. I wanted to sit with Ammi while she spoke to them, but she said there were things she had to say that she didn’t want me to hear. My hand keeps inching towards the door handle. The truth is, I’m scared. I’m scared this is going to be a repeat of Ammi’s meeting with Mrs Farook. That she will lie and insist everything’s fine. That she’ll protect Abbu once again. I’m scared this isn’t the end at all. That I’m getting my hopes up for nothing. But then I have to remind myself that Ammi called the police herself. She’s doing this on her terms now. And I have to respect that.
There’s a knock at the front door, and the sound makes me jump. My mind immediately races to the idea that it might be Abbu. That he’s escaped the police and come back to finish Ammi and me off. But of course, if that were true, there’s no way he’d be knocking.
Through the frosted glass, I see a woman wearing a blue headscarf, turban-style, and a smaller figure next to her.
‘Salaam, Nafisah,’ I say, opening the door. ‘Thanks for picking Ismail up.’
She launches herself at me, pulling me into a hug. Her belly is so big it makes the hug awkward, but still lovely. I close my eyes and relax a little.
‘Oh my poor baby, what’s happening, are you OK? Why is there a police car outside?’ She pulls away too soon, holds me by the upper arms and inspects me, just like a typical auntie.
‘Where’s Abbu?’ Ismail asks grumpily.
I look down at his face, just so thankful that he wasn’t here today. That he didn’t witness what I just witnessed. I try to wrap him in a hug, but he pushes me away.
‘Where’s Abbu?’ he asks again. ‘He was supposed to pick me up. He always picks me up on Tuesdays!’
I look at Nafisah, and she frowns. I only gave her a very brief explanation when I called her earlier, because I didn’t think I could tell her everything over the phone. With Ismail, though, I don’t think I could ever tell him the truth. The full truth anyway. So instead, like I always do, I try to distract him.
‘Hey,’ I say, bending over so we’re eye to eye. ‘How do you feel about helping me make another –’
‘I want Abbu!’ Ismail screams. He throws his bag down on the ground and it hits me on my toes.
I jump up, yelping in pain. ‘Ismail!’ I say. ‘That really hurt!’
He doesn’t say anything, just stands there with the grumpiest look on his face. He huffs and crosses his arms, looking down.
Nafisah looks from me to him. She squats down to his level and gives him a poke in the side. ‘How about you and I bake some cakes? Eh? Chocolate ones?’ she asks him.
‘No!’ Ismail replies, actually stomping his foot. ‘I WANT ABBU!’
‘Ismail, baby, c’mon …’ Nafisah tries.
‘I hate you, you bitch!’ Ismail yells in her face.
I’m too shocked to respond. Even Nafisah is stunned. We just stare with our mouths open as Ismail runs upstairs and into his room.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell Nafisah. ‘I really don’t know what’s happening with him.’
‘Don’t be silly, not your fault.’ She groans as she gets up. I reach out and help her. ‘Oh, thanks, sweetie. God, I can’t wait for this baby to come out so I can move like a normal person again.’
‘Not long now, eh?’ I ask.
‘Four long weeks,’ she says.
I’m about to say how she should enjoy this time while she can, but she stops me with a pointed stare. ‘You wanna catch me up now?’
I pause. What do I tell her? She’s seen the police car outside, she knows Abbu’s not around, I don’t know how much longer I can keep the truth from her. And, come to think of it, Ammi probably needs her best friend right now. Someone outside of the family she can talk to.
‘Let’s get some tea,’ I say, leading her to the kitchen.
52
Nafisah tries ringing Huda to come and help look after Ismail, but she doesn’t pick up, which I’m glad for. Though I sort of do wish she was here right now. She’s always been the person I’d go to in a crisis, and it feels weird to be going through all this without her even knowing. I stick on Frozen 2 upstairs on my laptop and Ismail sits watchi
ng it with a pile of snacks. It feels like I’m rewarding him for bad behaviour, but none of this is his fault, and honestly, it’s probably the only way to keep him occupied. The police finish speaking to Ammi and she comes out of the living room, puffy-faced and sniffling. I hug her right away; she yelps – maybe in surprise, maybe from pain.
‘Are you OK?’ I whisper in her ear.
‘Yes, moyna, I’m … I’m OK.’
‘I’m so proud of you,’ I blurt.
She laughs a little as she pulls away. ‘I think I’m the one who’s supposed to say that.’
‘Works both ways,’ I tell her.
‘They want to speak to you now,’ she says after a second of silence. ‘They’ve said I can sit with you. Just a few questions. If you don’t want to, then –’
‘No, it’s fine. I can do this.’ I take her hand and squeeze.
We sit side by side on the sofa as DC Burns asks me to go over what happened today, to describe how life’s been at home. It feels weird … I’m hesitant to say anything. After all, that’s been the motto for years: never tell anyone anything, pretend it’s not happening, just get on with it. But now, this woman is asking, and Ammi is holding my hand, encouraging me to go on. It’s like my entire world has been turned upside down in the past few hours.
But I do it. I tell them everything.
The police finally leave a few hours later. Nafisah, Ammi and I do our prayers together. I say an extra prayer thanking God for saving us today, asking Him to protect us all. We’re all exhausted – Ammi in particular. She said she didn’t want to go to the hospital to get checked out, but I see her wince every time she moves. Nafisah gets up from her prayer mat and goes to the loo. Ammi and I stay sitting on ours in silence. It’s an awkward silence. A silence filled with things we should say, things we need to say. On any other day, we’d pretend the awkwardness didn’t exist. But it’s not an ordinary day.
‘Are you OK?’ I pluck up the courage to ask. ‘Like, really OK?’
This Is My Truth Page 25
