She turns to me; her face is sad, tired, bruised. ‘I don’t know,’ she says quietly.
That does it. The dam inside me breaks, all the guilt comes pouring out.
‘I’m so sorry, Ammi. I should have … I should have stepped in earlier, before he got so angry. Or maybe I shouldn’t have stepped in at all? I know you said it’s best to let him just get on with it. But … I was so scared, Ammi. There was this … look on his face. I’ve never been that scared of him. Of anything. I was just … I was frozen. I should have done something earlier. Something better.’
‘No, no, don’t be sorry,’ she says, reaching over and squeezing my hand. ‘I’m sorry you had to witness that. I’m sorry you’ve had to put up with this for so long …’ She takes a breath. ‘I’m so sorry he hurt you. I should have done better. I should have protected you. I –’
‘What? No. No no no. You need to stop blaming yourself, Ammi. None of this is on you. It’s on Abbu. I’ve realised …’ I take a breath. ‘I’m sorry I’ve put it all on you. I kept asking why you don’t leave, why you put up with it. When in reality none of this is on you. I should have been asking him these questions. Should’ve been asking why he can’t stop being such a … monster.’
She takes a sniffly breath. ‘Well, I just hope … that it’s over now. Today was the last straw, Amani. All these years … I told myself it was best for you and Ismail, that children are better off with both parents in their life. But to think he could … hurt you. I’ll never forgive myself for letting things go this far.’
‘It was all him, Ammi. Not you. You didn’t make him like this. You couldn’t have changed him. And anyway, it’s not on you to change him. It’s not your responsibility. I’m just … I’m glad he’s gone. I hope he never comes back.’
‘He won’t,’ she says firmly. ‘The police helped me to file an injunction. It’s going to stop him coming to the house, or near us wherever we are. At least until we get things sorted out.’
Nafisah clears her throat from the doorway. ‘I wasn’t listening, I promise,’ she says quickly when Ammi and I look over. ‘Well, OK, I heard that last bit. I just wanted to say that you all should come and stay with us for a few days. It might make you feel a bit safer. He doesn’t know where our house is, does he, Amani?’
I shake my head. Huda’s family moved about a year ago, and Abbu’s never dropped me off or picked me up from there.
‘Are you sure, Nafisah?’ Ammi asks. ‘We’ll be all right here, with the injunction and everything.’
‘Don’t be silly, what are best friends for?’ Nafisah says. ‘Huda’s going to be thrilled, eh, Amani?’
Oh God, I’m going to be living with Huda? Only this morning, we had a huge argument; I said some super horrible things. Things I didn’t even really mean. I was just angry. She tried to apologise, and I bit her head off.
And now we’re going to be living together.
During the drive to Huda’s house, I try to come up with things to say to her. Ismail’s chattering away excitedly next to me about how he’s going to play Monopoly with Huda every day. He made sure I brought my camera equipment so we can make more videos together. The excitement of the move finally got him to stop whining about Abbu, so Ammi and I don’t even try to get him to shut up now. I’d have thought his voice would be a great distraction, but I’m fixating on what I’ll say to Huda, and how she’ll react. When Nafisah tells her we’re going to be sleeping in the same house – Huda and I in the same room, probably – will she get angry? Will she shout? Say that she doesn’t want to share her space with a bitch like me?
We pull up, and it’s too late to think about it. Time to go live it. I take a deep breath and help Ammi unload the car.
‘Huda?’ Nafisah calls as soon as she opens the front door. ‘Why have you been ignoring my calls? I’ve got a surprise for you!’ She says it all sing-songy, as if this is something Huda is going to like. Little does Nafisah know.
I follow Nafisah up the stairs with our bags. Panic builds in my stomach with every step.
‘Huda?’ Nafisah calls again. She knocks on Huda’s door and then enters.
Deep breath. I can do this. Well, I have no choice. I step in too.
The room’s empty.
Nafisah and I look around. The wardrobe doors are open, the hangers inside mostly bare. Huda’s laptop, which she keeps on her desk at all times, is gone, as are the photo frames that are normally there.
‘What’s going on?’ Nafisah asks, looking around, as if Huda’s about to pop out suddenly. She walks towards the bed, where there’s a bright green Post-it note stuck on the white pillow. I follow and read the note over her shoulder.
Nafisah, Ali,
I know I should explain, but all I can say is sorry.
Huda
‘What?’ Nafisah says. Her head whips up. She looks at me, then at the empty wardrobes. ‘Has she … has she run away?’
My heart constricts. Run away? Would Huda really take such a huge step?
‘Oh God, where could she have gone? Has something happened? Is everything OK at school?’ Nafisah starts babbling, the panic rising in her voice.
I should tell Nafisah that Huda and I aren’t on speaking terms right now, that I have no idea what’s going on in her life, that the last time we spoke I shouted at her. But I can see how upset Nafisah is – her frown lines and her creased watery eyes. I can’t add to her stress. It’s not safe, with the baby.
‘Why don’t you come and sit down?’ I say, leading her to the bed. ‘I’m sure everything’s fine. You know how Huda is. She’s probably just out doing something, hanging out with someone. Look, I’ll call her.’ I try her phone. It just rings and rings.
‘She’s taken her clothes, Amani. That’s not normal. I know she’s not the type to constantly update me on where she is and when she’ll be back, and that’s fine. We give her her freedom, but this … with the note and the missing clothes. What else could it mean?’
‘Maybe … maybe she went to … do laundry?’ I suggest. ‘And the note was … um … sorry for not doing it earlier?’
Nafisah just gives me a look.
‘Look, Nafisah, it’ll be fine. This is Huda we’re talking about. She’s going to be OK.’
‘Was she … upset or anything? Anything going on that would make her want to … to run away? You know her better than anyone, Amani.’
I should tell her. I should tell her about the Perfect Daughter plan. About how Huda’s feeling threatened by the baby, about how worried she is that Nafisah and Ali won’t want her around after it’s born. I should tell Nafisah about the blog, about how Huda and I have fallen out. It’s the best way to find Huda, to give Nafisah all the information. But it’s also the one thing that Huda would want me NOT to do. I know she betrayed me by spilling my secret because she thought it was the best thing to do, but I won’t make that mistake.
‘Nafisah, I’m sure we’re worrying about nothing. I’ll go out and look for her. You stay here. Where’s Ali?’
‘I called him before we left your house; he was at work, but he’s on his way home now.’
‘OK, good,’ I say, getting up off the bed. ‘You stay here with Ammi. I’ll go and look for Huda. I’m sure she’ll come home soon, laughing at us all for freaking out over nothing.’
‘I hope so,’ Nafisah whispers. ‘I couldn’t bear for anything to happen to her.’
I wish I could capture it on film – Nafisah’s face filled with worry, the love in her voice as she talks about Huda. It’s something I wish Huda could see, could understand.
‘I’ll find her, I promise,’ I say.
53
I go to school first. I scurry around, checking all the loos, the canteen, and the bench we always sit at. I bump into a man in a hi-vis jacket who asks me what the hell I’m doing and don’t I know the school is closed. I run away without answering. After that, I try our usual hang-out places. There aren’t many, since nowadays we just go to her house, but I think back to
where we used to go when we were younger, in the vague hope that maybe she’s gone there. There’s a park we visited every sunny day the first few summers of secondary school. It was a tiny, crappy park. The swings got wrapped around the top bar almost every week, the spring horses were too small for us to actually get on without falling off, so we spent all our time on the roundabout. It had seats that our butts barely fit into, but we’d sit there for hours, spinning it slowly with our feet. We’d just sit there and talk. About anything, everything.
Being at the park brings back those memories. But it doesn’t bring back Huda. There’s no one here. The sky is starting to get darker now. It’s going to get harder to find her. Nafisah is more likely to panic. She’s already had to call the police, and Huda’s social worker, because of fostering protocol. Think think think, Amani. Where could Huda be? I made a promise to bring her back, and goddammit I’m going to keep that promise. I go over to the roundabout and take one of the seats. Well, try to. My butt doesn’t even fit in there now, so I sit on the arm rest. I reach my leg out and kick off, letting the roundabout spin slowly.
Huda, where are you?
What’s happened to make you do this?
As I spin, I think about all the good memories that happened here. That time Huda set up a treasure hunt for my thirteenth birthday, making me dig through dirt to find a friendship bracelet she’d bought, the time we created a mini Olympics using the park equipment and Huda even made medals out of tin foil.
I don’t even notice when I start crying.
I’ve missed Huda a lot.
I try to put myself in her mindset, to figure out what could have made her run away. Could it have been our fight? I did say some truly awful things to her. She wanted to apologise, and I pushed her away. I remember she looked so upset in assembly, and then she reached out to me. She’s going through some stuff, it seems like, and she came to me, like I would have done to her, and I shouted at her and stormed off. God, I’m such a terrible person. It’s my fault she’s run away, and so I have to be the one to bring her back. No matter what.
I think about the situation like I would plan a detective film. The trick is to examine the clues that are obvious first. Clues: Huda has taken some of her clothes. She’s left a note saying ‘I know I should explain, but all I can say is sorry’. I could look into what the ‘sorry’ means, but since I haven’t exactly paid much attention to her life lately, I probably wouldn’t be able to guess without talking to her carers, and they’re already worried, plus I can’t ask them questions without telling them about the Perfect Daughter plan. Any other clues? Not that I can think of.
I close my eyes as I spin. I try to picture Huda, wherever she is right now. She’s probably got a backpack for her clothes – she wouldn’t want to lug around a suitcase. I don’t think she has any other close friends she could go and crash with. Would she go to a hotel or something? Nah, she wouldn’t want to waste her money if she’s planning to fend for herself.
Ugh. This is so frustrating. I just wish there was a way I could know exactly where she is. Some way I could pinpoint her location right away.
Oh my God!
That’s it!
I sit up on the roundabout, almost sliding off as I do.
I know how to find Huda.
I take out my phone.
54
It was Huda who first suggested we set up ‘Find my Friend’ on each other’s phones. She painted an imaginary situation where I’d been kidnapped by Asian aunties trying to marry me off to someone back home and she needed to come to save me. But as I spot her sitting on the bench on the empty train platform, I don’t think she remembers that day, or that I have access to her location.
The barriers are open, so I walk through and up to her. She’s hunched over her phone, looking at her photos, scrolling through, pausing on one, then scrolling again. The photos are of all the people in her life – Ali, Nafisah, me. I even spot one of the two of us with Ismail.
‘Where you off to then?’ I ask her.
She startles, almost dropping her phone as she looks up at me. ‘Amani … how did you …?’
‘Next time you try to do a runner, turn your location sharing off,’ I say as I take a seat next to her.
‘I’m not … I’m not doing a runner …’ she mutters.
‘Just going out to do some laundry then?’ I ask, nudging the backpack on the floor with my foot.
‘Why are you even here?’ she asks, moving the bag under the seat. ‘Why do you even care where I go, what I do? You hate me.’
‘I don’t … hate you, Huda … I could never. You just … you hurt me.’
‘I hurt everyone,’ she says, tears now stinging her words. ‘That’s all I do, hurt people, make things worse. It’s better for everyone if I leave.’
‘Shouldn’t we get to decide what’s better for us?’ I ask. ‘Nafisah’s at home going crazy, worrying where you are.’
Huda turns her head to me. ‘Really?’ She looks sad. ‘That’s not … that isn’t what I wanted. I thought she’d be better off without me.’
‘Literally why would you think that?’
‘Like I said, I’m a terrible person. Just look at how I messed your life up. It’s not long before I do the same to everyone else.’
‘What’s the plan then?’ I ask her. ‘Where you off to?’
She shrugs. ‘I was waiting for the late trains so I can sneak on without paying. I’m gonna take the next one.’
I look up at the electronic schedule board. ‘The next train terminates here,’ I tell her, trying to stifle my laughter.
‘God, whatever. There’s no need to make fun. So I don’t know what I’m doing. Nothing new there, right? You don’t need to take the piss.’ She starts crying then, sobbing and covering her face with her hands.
‘Whoa, whoa, calm down. I’m not making fun. Just … just talk to me, Huda. What’s going on?’
‘What’s going on? What’s going on is that I’ve driven everyone away. First you … with the blog. I … I’m sorry about that, Amani. I honestly, truly am. And not just because I want us to be friends again. I realise now that I was wrong, that I never should have done that. It wasn’t my place to tell everyone that. Not after promising you I wouldn’t. I fucked up.’
I say nothing. I don’t know what to say. My instinct is to say I forgive her, tell her whatever it takes to make her come back home. But I’m still not over what she did. I do feel bad though, for the fight earlier, for saying all those horrible things. I’m about to tell her that when she cuts me off.
‘I was being selfish,’ she says. ‘I thought that putting the truth about your dad out into the world would … would save you. I wanted to protect you. I thought I could be the one to save you, to save your family. I thought if I could get that right, be the hero … I thought …’ She sighs. ‘I thought that Ali and Nafisah would see I’m a good person, that I can do good things. I thought they’d decide that I was worth keeping in their lives. I … I honestly thought I was doing the right thing.’
‘I know that,’ I tell her. ‘I can actually … I can sympathise with that. I kept … I kept pushing Ammi to tell someone about Abbu, to speak out. I kept putting it all on her, and that wasn’t fair. I should have known she’d speak out when she was ready. I should have given her that power. Well, I guess she did have it in the end.’
‘Wait, what do you mean?’
‘Oh God,’ I laugh a little. ‘So much has happened, Huda. Today’s been ridiculous. But we can talk about that later, when you’re back home.’
I stand up, but she doesn’t.
‘I can’t, Amani. I can’t go back. I can’t take back all the bad stuff –’
I sit back down, reach over and pinch her arm.
‘Ow! What are you doing?’
‘Stop being so pathetic,’ I tell her. ‘So you did some bad things. And now you’re feeling bad. That’s normal, Huda. Now you apologise and hope everyone forgives you. That’s how life works. You d
on’t run away over something so stupid, OK? Let’s go.’
She stares at me for a second before breaking out into a smile. ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ she says.
‘Me too,’ I say, knocking her shoulder with mine. ‘Now, c’mon, let’s go home.’
She shakes her head. ‘It’s not just you I’ve pissed off though. Things with Ali and Nafisah are … they’re never going to be perfect. There’s too much going on there.’
‘Who needs perfect?’ I ask. ‘Huda, you’ve been trying so hard to become this “perfect” version of yourself that you haven’t even stopped to think that Ali and Nafisah might actually love you just the way you are. They don’t need you to be weirdly polite, or cook amazing food, or know how to build a changing table. They just want you to be you. You’ve been with them for almost five years now, and you’ve all been happy. This baby isn’t going to change that.’
She goes to butt in, but I stop her with my hand. ‘Things will change, of course they will. Babies do that. But it’s not like they’re going to completely forget you, throw you out like mouldy pizza or whatever. I felt like this just before Ismail was born, that he’d disrupt everything, make everything terrible, but … but oh my God I love that kid more than anything.’
‘But it’s not –’
I stop her with a hand again. ‘I’m not done.’
She closes her mouth and watches me. There’s a look of awe on her face. I’ve never been this firm with her.
‘You keep saying that you released the blog about me because you thought that it was better out in the open, that you wanted me and Ammi to speak out about it. Well, aren’t you being the biggest hypocrite? You do realise that everything could be fixed if you’d just talk to Ali and Nafisah. You know they’d hate to hear you’re feeling like this. They’re good people, Huda. You know they are. And I know that you love them, that you love living with them. Why would you give that up without even fighting for it?’
‘Can I speak now?’ She asks after a moment’s silence.
‘You may.’
This Is My Truth Page 26
