This Is My Truth

by Yasmin Rahman

  ‘Another Burn Blog post?’ I tease, craning my neck to see her screen.

  ‘Holy crap! Nafisah’s having the baby!’

  ‘What?’ I ask. ‘But she’s not … she’s only eight months, isn’t she? Is something wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Huda says quietly. ‘Ali just texted to say they’re at the hospital. Fuck. Something must be wrong. Oh God, what if I caused this?’ She looks at me, wide-eyed. ‘What if I made her stress so much that it’s hurt the baby?’

  60

  Huda rushes off to get a bus to the hospital, while I walk back to hers. I spend the journey praying that Nafisah is OK, that the baby is OK. The idea that something could happen to either of them terrifies me. That family deserves something good; Huda deserves something good, after everything she’s been through.

  When I get to Huda’s, I have to ring the bell. It feels like forever before I see movement on the other side of the door. The glass is frosted, but I can see the blurry version of Ammi pop her head out of the living room. She doesn’t approach though, and I think maybe she can’t see me, so I give a little wave. Finally she comes up to the door, but opens it just a minuscule amount, leaving the chain on. She peers through the gap and I see her face transform from fear to relief when she sees it’s me.

  ‘Ammi, are you OK?’ I ask, slipping in as soon as the chain’s off.

  ‘Yes, yes, everything’s fine,’ she says. Her voice is shaking though, and I realise she’s home alone and must be terrified. She pulls me into a hug before I can say anything else. ‘I don’t hug you enough,’ she says with her cheek against my shoulder. ‘I’m gonna change that from now on.’

  I melt into her hug, still keeping it loose so as not to hurt her, realising she just wants to let the moment pass. ‘That sounds like a good plan.’

  ‘So you’re on study leave now, eh?’ she asks when we finally pull apart. ‘Did Huda tell you Nafisah’s gone into labour?’

  ‘Yeah, is everything OK? She’s not … she still had time, didn’t she? Is something wrong?’ I follow Ammi down the hall.

  ‘Sometimes these things just happen,’ she says. ‘She’s thirty-six weeks, so it’s not that scary. Inshallah everything will be all right.’ We walk into the living room, where Ammi has started blowing up balloons.

  ‘I know Nafisah and the baby probably won’t be back today,’ she says. ‘But I thought it would be nice to liven the place up. I was working on the mural in the nursery earlier but got a bit tired. Hopefully I can finish it by the time they come home. I thought I’d decorate downstairs a little for Ali and Huda. Do you want to help?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Ammi and I fall into a rhythm; she blows up more balloons and I hang them up. Ali and Nafisah aren’t into gender stereotyping, so the balloons are all different colours. Ammi gets up from the sofa to hand me a neon-orange one, and accidentally knocks into the table. She hisses in pain, and a second later a glass smashes on the floor. Ammi lets out a little scream and falls back onto the sofa, wrapping her arms around her head in a protective manner. I can make out a look of pure terror on her face. Shit. Shit shit shit.

  I quickly climb down from the ladder and rush over to her.

  ‘Ammi, Ammi, hey, it’s OK. It was just a glass. I can clean it up. It’s OK. You’re OK,’ I babble, not knowing what to say, what to do.

  She moves her hands and looks up at me, and there are tears streaming down her face.

  I kneel on the floor next to her and take her hand. ‘I’m here, OK? You’re safe. It’s just … it’s just us.’

  She breathes deeply and smiles a wobbly smile. ‘Sorry, I think I’m just a bit … jumpy.’ She pauses for a minute, just breathing heavily. I give her space to recover.

  ‘I … need to tell you something,’ she says eventually. ‘The police called earlier.’

  ‘Oh.’ My heart sinks. ‘What … what did they say?’

  ‘They’ve released him on bail. But … there are rules. He can’t come near us. We’re safe, don’t worry. The injunction should go through soon, so he’ll have to stay away permanently.’

  ‘Where …? Where is he going to stay, do you know?’

  She ducks her head, looking down at her trembling hands, twisting her wedding ring, and I immediately feel like crap. ‘God, sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Forget –’

  ‘No, no, don’t be silly,’ she says. She squeezes my hand. ‘Amani, I want you to know you can ask me anything. You can talk to me about anything. It’s such a … a weird time. I know everything that’s happened affects you too. But … I want to keep you in the loop. You’re old enough, mature enough, to have dealt with … with everything, so it’s only right that you know what’s going on. You can ask me anything, OK?’

  I nod, feeling tears creep up in my eyes.

  ‘He’s listed his address as his brother’s house in Birmingham. At least we know he’ll be far away.’

  I nod, satisfied. We’re safe.

  ‘Is he …? Is he still going to be a part of our lives?’ I think back to this morning, how keen Ismail was to bring Abbu in on our family hug.

  ‘Do you want him to be a part of your life?’ she asks slowly.

  I look at her, right into her eyes. ‘No,’ I tell her. ‘I hate him for what he’s done. I hate him for the way he is. I’ll never be able to forgive him for any of that, for what happened yesterday. But … you saw how Ismail was this morning. He knows what Abbu can be like, but he looks up to him too. I think it’s going to be hard to cut him out completely.’

  She nods. ‘I don’t know how we’re going to get around that. Or how we’re going to move forward. But we’ll take each day as it comes. There’s so much to think about, but we’ll figure it out as we go.’

  ‘That sounds good,’ I say, putting my hand over hers and squeezing. ‘I’m glad you’re getting the injunction. I just want you to be safe.’

  ‘Thank you, moyna,’ she says, pulling me in for another hug. It’s awkward, since I’m on the floor and she’s on the sofa, but nice nonetheless.

  ‘I’m going to look for a therapist for you and one for Ismail,’ she says as she pulls away with a wince. ‘I think it would be good for you both to have someone to talk to.’

  I smile at her. ‘Make sure you find someone for yourself too.’

  ‘The police have put me in touch with some support groups and charities. I’ll give them a call tomorrow. But for now –’ she unrolls a long silver banner saying ‘Congratulations!’ – ‘let’s get this up.’

  61

  Huda is officially a big sister! Nafisah gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Well, I say healthy – they’re keeping her in for a few days as a precaution, since she was early. Ammi and I pack some balloons in the car and go to the hospital. Our little chat earlier raised a lot of emotions. I think the baby’s come at just the right time – it’s given her something else to think about.

  I text Huda for an update, but she hasn’t messaged me since she left for the hospital. I’m starting to get worried. Maybe she freaked out and did another runner after seeing Ali and Nafisah with the baby. But Ali would have told us … unless he was too preoccupied with the baby. It’s all I can think about as we get in the lift, as we walk down the corridor to the maternity ward. Did Huda even come to the hospital? Or did she run off again? Why isn’t she answering her phone?

  I’m scared enough that I consider telling Ammi about my worries, but then the next thing I know, we’re walking into a side room. The balloons obscure my view for a few seconds, but when I push them aside, I see why Huda’s not been answering my calls. She’s sitting in a big blue chair next to Nafisah’s bed, the baby in her arms, a look of adoration on her face. I’ve never seen that expression on her.

  ‘Congratulations!’ Ammi says as she walks over to give Nafisah a hug.

  ‘Thanks, Shirin. How you holding up?’ Nafisah asks.

  Ammi and Nafisah get into a conversation as I walk on over to Huda.

  ‘Well, hey there, big s
ister,’ I say.

  She looks up and a grin spreads over her face. ‘Look how cute she is, Maani.’ I look down at the little bundle in her arms. She’s tiny and red.

  ‘Everything OK with her?’ I ask.

  ‘Just a touch of jaundice,’ Huda says, looking back down at her and stroking her cheek. ‘They’ll shine some special light on her and it should go in a few days. Nafisah says it’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘It’s a good look on you,’ I tell her. ‘The big-sister act.’

  ‘It’s so weird,’ Huda says quietly, still looking down at the baby. ‘Just … from the moment I saw her … I know it’s cheesy as fuck, but … she’s just so …’ Huda looks up at me now. ‘She’s my sister, Maani. She just … feels like my sister. I already love her so fucking much. I didn’t realise it would be like this.’

  ‘That’s great! But good big sisters don’t swear in front of their siblings,’ I say with a laugh, trying to hide the tears that are threatening to come out, watching how happy Huda is. ‘Trust me, I know. I’m the best big sister.’

  Huda laughs. ‘You were. Now I’m taking the crown.’

  ‘Oh, that’s an idea!’ I get my phone out of my pocket and load up the camera. ‘I’m gonna make a film about this. You trying to become the Perfect Big Sister. Let me get a shot of this first meeting.’ Huda laughs as I point my phone at her. ‘Anything you want to say to your little sister?’

  Huda looks down at the baby. ‘Hi there, little sister. Welcome to the world. It’s really nice to meet you. I’m going to look after you. You and me against the world.’ She looks up at the camera with a grin. ‘When you watch, and understand, this film, sometime in the future, please can you tell Amani that I’m a much better sister than her?’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ I say, laughing.

  ‘Oh, Amani, good, you’re already filming!’ Ali says from behind me.

  I turn and focus the camera on him. ‘How does it feel to be a dad then, Ali?’

  ‘I’ve been a dad for almost five years already, duh, Amani,’ he says, winking at Huda.

  Huda beams. I catch it on film.

  ‘OK, I need you to record this for me, yeah?’ he says excitedly. He turns to Nafisah’s hospital bag that’s on the bed and starts rummaging through it.

  ‘You want me to record you looking through a bag instead of the baby?’

  ‘I do have a nice butt,’ Ali says. ‘Make sure you zoom in on that.’

  ‘Oh, gross!’ Huda says. ‘The baby’s only a few hours old and you’re already embarrassing her.’

  Ali turns around to face us, holding a small bundle of black material in his hand. He’s got the biggest grin on his face. ‘Shirin, can you take the baby for a second?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please!’ Ammi doesn’t need asking twice.

  Huda hugs the baby closer to her. ‘Noooo! Five more minutes!’

  ‘I need to give you something,’ Ali says. ‘You’ll need your hands for this.’ He wiggles his eyebrows and waves around the rolled-up black item.

  ‘Ugh, fine,’ Huda says. She gets off the chair and hands Ammi the baby. I catch a few seconds of joy on her face before turning back to Ali. I step back so I can get him and Huda in the frame.

  ‘Right, you ready?’ Ali asks. He’s so excited, it’s adorable. He hands Huda the black cloth. She takes it and unravels it. It’s a T-shirt.

  ‘Oh my God!’ she says, her entire face lighting up.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask impatiently. ‘Show the camera!’

  Huda turns the T-shirt around, the grin still plastered on her face. The shirt is black, with a drawing of four stick figures – two adults, one child and one baby. There’s an arrow and the words ‘BIG SISTER’ in big, bold letters pointing to the child.

  ‘We bought matching ones,’ Ali says. ‘Mine says “Dad”. We’re gonna wear them and get professional photos done. It’s gonna be so cheesy.’

  ‘Put it on! Put it on!’ Nafisah says from the bed.

  Huda laughs and slips the T-shirt on over her school shirt. She sticks her arms out and does a twirl for the camera.

  ‘Suits you perfectly,’ Ali says softly. He smiles at Huda, who just grins back at him. ‘Now, we could do with some snacks. Go and show that top off.’

  Huda can’t stop staring at her reflection in the lift. She even smiles back at people who notice her top and give her a smile. It’s adorable.

  ‘Sorry,’ she says to me as we get out on the ground floor. ‘I’ve been so wrapped up with the baby, I haven’t even asked how your mum is.’

  ‘She’s putting on a brave face, pretending to be strong for me and Ismail. But I think she’s terrified.’

  ‘And you?’

  I shrug. ‘It just … feels weird. Everything’s changed so much. I’m scared about how we’re going to cope, like money-wise and everything. I feel like those worries are blocking out the relief, and that annoys me. I should be happy, right?’

  ‘Feelings are feelings, they’re not right or wrong, remember?’ Huda says. ‘Your life’s been turned upside down in, like, the space of a day. It’s natural to have conflicting thoughts. But honestly, try not to worry too much. Things will work out. Your mum’s got that promotion at work. And you know Nafisah and Ali will help you guys out however they can. I guess it’s just about taking things one step at a time.’

  ‘Look at you, all wise and mature,’ I say. ‘That’s literally what Ammi said earlier.’

  ‘What can I say?’ She shrugs, looking down at her top. ‘Becoming a big sister has changed me.’

  ‘It has!’ I agree. ‘You’ve been smiling way too much. It’s like Huda 2.0.’

  She jabs me with her elbow as we walk into WHSmith. ‘I mean … I know that things aren’t going to magically become perfect – for either of us. But the only way is forward, right? The only thing we can do is to keep going. Keep trying.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say softly. ‘And when things get too scary, at least we’ll have each other.’

  ‘For sure!’ Huda says. She turns to me with a smirk. ‘Unless you start a new Burn Blog, then you’re on your own.’

  RESOURCES

  If you have been affected by any of the issues raised in this book, please consider reaching out to the organisations listed below.

  Childline

  A private and confidential service for young people up to age nineteen. Counsellors available to talk about anything.

  Call free on 0800 1111

  or talk online at www.childline.org.uk

  The Hideout

  Help and information for children and young people experiencing or witnessing domestic abuse at home.

  www.thehideout.org.uk

  Refuge

  Help for women and children who have experienced or are experiencing domestic abuse, including information on what to do if you’re worried about someone else.

  Call free on 0808 2000 247

  www.nationaldahelpline.org.uk

  Become

  Help and advice for young people in care, or care leavers.

  Call free on 0800 023 2033

  or email advice@becomecharity.org.uk

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  They say Book 2 is one of the hardest books you’ll have to write, and dear God are they right. This book has been a journey and a half, and for sure it would not be what it is without an incredible cast of people who put up with me and helped me out along the way.

  First and foremost, my brilliant editor, Emma Matthewson, who pulled apart this idea in its initial state and made me really think about the story I was trying to tell, made me realise what the heart of this book was. Thank you so much for your unflinching belief in me. It bewilders and motivates me on a daily basis. I’m so privileged to be able to work with you.

  Hellie Ogden, my brilliant agent, for being there to calm me down from all the ‘I CAN’T DO THIS ANY MORE’ moments (and believe me, there were a LOT). Also to Rebecca Carter, who helped get this book moving when I was at rock bottom.

/>   Mega love to all the team at Hot Key Books, in particular Talya Baker, who will always, always go above and beyond to help out, and writes the best copy-edit notes, that I actually look forward to receiving. Thank you for all you do. Also shout-out to Sophie McDonnell for the most amazing cover I could have asked for, Emma Quick for all the brilliant TikToks, PR guru Molly Holt, and Jane Hammett for her eagle-eyed proofreading.

  Aisha Bushby, who has been by my side every step of this publishing journey, and is always there to listen to my worries and constant moaning. Thank you for being my go-to soundboard and helping me figure out so much of this book, and let’s be honest, so much of my life, in gen. I love you.

  Lucy Powrie, who gifted me a Dale Winton cut-out and made me the happiest gal ever. Thank you for being the bestest pal and always being available for ghost hugs and embarrassing photo stickers. Thank you for validating my struggle with this book, and always checking in. Love you lots. (Also hi to your mum and Daisy!)

  Nizrana Farook, for being an absolute gem. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more pure person. Thank you for letting me vent always, for reading terrible drafts of this book and for being my ‘Asian/Muslim opinion’, since I’m such a coconut.

  Hanky Tooke for all the motivational messages interspersed with loud wailing and email-summoning chants, and obvs the fun videos of your cat being a dick.

  Big up the MAWYP gang for being amazing cheerleaders, and the Stroops groupchat for just being there – in particular Rachel Huxley, who was this book’s first reader, and is just generally the sweetest. (And yes, she did give me permission to call her a bitch in the book.)

  Thank you to Katya Balen for all the photos of your beautiful derp of a dog and your annoyingly rational replies to my daily freak-outs, and to Sarah Juckes for sharing my penchant for darkness and allowing me to be my full morbid self. To Holly Jackson, for listening to my pitch for this book and recommending me Pretty Little Liars, which I became immediately obsessed with; Joseph Elliot, for all your help on the ins and outs of being a children’s TV presenter (please have a cat attack your chin and live out this book’s funniest scene in reality); and Struan Murray for your chemistry expertise, which I then completely wrote out of the book (because of personal spite? Who knows?).