Unspoken Rules

by Lora Inak

  ‘Is everything okay?’ the woman called out.

  Natalie waited for her heart to quieten. She took slow shuddering breaths, blinking away her stupid tears. What good was it to cry? It wouldn’t change anything.

  She nodded, picking up her tattered school bag off the wet footpath. Cradling it gently, as if it were a wounded animal, she walked the rest of the way home, barely conscious of the rain soaking her clothes. She had an unshakable feeling that her torn bag was a bad omen.

  The house was empty. She wondered where Mama was. Maybe with Aunty Jasmina. Aunty Jasmina had been a rock lately; always there when they needed her. Cooking them food, taking care of the laundry, driving Mama out for fresh air or for coffee. Aunty Jasmina was a good sister, and a great friend, and she made Natalie realise that that’s exactly the kind of sister she needed to be for Misha.

  Natalie trudged upstairs, changed into dry clothes and placed her bag onto her bed. She inspected the handles. Yep, totally wrecked. Irreparable. Mama would be happy, but she couldn’t believe it. She’d been so careful. Was all this God’s way of punishing her?

  She lay down on the bed beside it, stroking the faded leather, looking over Katelyn’s scrawl.

  I’m so keen, to be thirteen :) Thanks for the gum.

  That was the first one she’d ever written.

  Year eight, here we come. PS: I love JB.

  JB stood for Jacob Burke, a boy she’d met on a family camping trip to Wilson’s Prom.

  Natso, you’re almost fifteen, so stuff what your parents say. Come to my party :)

  This one had come after her parents had refused to let her go to Katelyn’s fifteenth birthday party.

  There were so many others, all representing a part of her years at school, her growing friendship with Katelyn.

  Reluctantly, she heaved herself off her bed and rummaged in her wardrobe. She found a backpack she’d been given as a Christmas gift three years ago. Plain black. No messages on it, no memories seeped into its fabric. She supposed it would do for a couple more months until school was over. Maybe she’d buy herself a new bag for uni—if she ever got to go. But she wouldn’t throw out her school bag. She couldn’t. It meant too much to her, broken or not.

  As she stuffed her textbooks into her new backpack, she wondered whether there was a deeper significance to the ruin of her school bag. It was something she’d had for so long—and now it was broken. Perhaps there was a message in that. Time to let go of the old and start with the new. Time to grow up and leave the life she’d had behind. High school was almost over anyway.

  She lay down for a few minutes, emotional and achy, but it didn’t help, so she went downstairs to grab a couple of painkillers. Mama’s handbag was on the dining table.

  ‘Mama,’ she called out. ‘Are you home?’

  Silence. Strange. When Mama was home, you knew it.

  Natalie picked up the landline and dialled Mama’s number. She could hear a faint ringing from upstairs.

  She must be in her bedroom, probably crying again. She hated seeing Mama like this. Natalie hung up and ran upstairs to investigate. The bedroom door was shut.

  ‘Mama,’ Natalie called, knocking gently on the door.

  No response.

  ‘Mama, are you in there? Do you want me to make you a coffee?’

  Natalie turned the doorknob. It was locked. She turned the knob again and pushed against the door. It didn’t budge. Her heart jumped to her throat. Why was the door locked? It was never locked. She thought of Misha’s story about the girl in the bathtub. Panic clawed at her chest.

  Perhaps she’d been mistaken. Maybe the ringing wasn’t from upstairs. She grabbed her mobile phone from her room and called Mama’s phone again. The ringing was definitely coming from in there.

  ‘Mama. Mama, open up.’ She rapped loudly on the door, her breath coming in jolts. ‘Open the door, please.’

  Silence.

  Her heart pounded wildly. Mama should have responded by now. There was only one reason the door would be locked, but she pushed that thought out. She had to. She couldn’t let it in. She’d lose it if she did.

  Think, Natalie. Think. She had to get into the room, but how? She wasn’t strong enough to kick the door in. Calling for help could take too long. Might be too late. She needed a key. No, she needed a ten-cent piece. She’d done it once before when the bathroom door had accidentally locked itself. All she had to do was use the edge of a ten-cent piece to turn the lock on the handle from the outside.

  She ran to her room, and with shaking hands, rummaged through the top drawer. She found the coin and sprinted back. She couldn’t hold back the horrific thoughts anymore. They were clouding her eyes, squeezing her belly.

  Gripping the doorknob, she tried desperately to steady her hands. Her phone slipped and hit the floor, but she hardly noticed. She lined the edge of the ten-cent piece with the lock cavity and turned. Click.

  She pushed open the door and stumbled into the room, her chest ready to explode. Everything seemed calm. So still. The window was open and a cool breeze played through the tulle curtains. The afternoon sun streamed in and bathed Mama’s face in soft light. She lay on her bed like Sleeping Beauty, wrapped in sheets, eyes peacefully closed. One arm and leg hung oddly off the edge. Had she overreacted again? Thought Mama was trying to take her own life when all the while, she was just sleeping.

  But why was the door locked? Why was Mama in a dress? Shouldn’t she be in her nightgown? And there were empty whisky bottles on her bedside table; two pill bottles lying beside Baba’s pillow. The picture was wrong. It was so wrong.

  ‘No …’ she choked. ‘Noooooo.’

  She staggered over, her knees buckling. She grabbed Mama’s shoulders and shook. ‘Wake up. Mama … please … wake up,’ she begged, gasping for air.

  Mama was dying. She was dying!

  She stumbled back to the door. Hands shaking, she picked up her phone and called triple zero, swallowing down the bile in her mouth. Her eyes never left Mama as she answered the questions the operator asked her. She was afraid that if she looked away, Mama would disappear.

  When she finally hung up, Natalie ran back over, calling to Mama over and over again, praying the ambulance would get there before it was too late. Her Mama’s beautiful eyes stayed shut. While hers filled with buckets and buckets of tears.

  Chapter 23

  ‘How is she?’ Aunty Jasmina and Uncle Sami rushed into the hospital room.

  ‘Still asleep.’ Natalie got off the chair beside Mama’s bed and offered it to Aunty Jasmina. ‘They’ve put her on a drip and are monitoring her regularly.’

  Mama was going to be okay. The doctors had said so, but it didn’t make it any easier to see her lying in a cold hospital room with a tube sticking out of her arm.

  Jaw clenched, Natalie wondered if she’d ever be able to relax again. The last few hours had been pretty traumatic.

  ‘Are you girls okay?’ Uncle Sami laid a hand on Misha’s shoulder.

  Misha nodded, her lips quivering. ‘Natalie found her, and … and thank Allah because … because…’ She covered her face with her hands.

  ‘Oh, Natalie, my sweet girl.’ Aunty Jasmina wrapped her arms around her shoulders. ‘I don’t even know what to say to you. No child should see their parent like that.’

  Tears sprang to Natalie’s burning eyes. She tried to talk but found she couldn’t.

  ‘Where’s Baba? He should be here,’ Misha said, her voice high. ‘He left us. Does he even know what happened?’

  Uncle Sami gazed out the window, his lips tight. ‘No.’

  ‘Sami!’ Aunty Jasmina gasped. ‘Do you know where he is? Don’t you dare lie to me. You’re my brother, but I will kill you if you do.’

  ‘Ah … ’

  ‘Jesus, Sami. This is an emergency. His wife almost died. We need to let him know. How cou
ld you keep this from us? From Selma and the girls?’

  Uncle Sami ran a hand through his hair. ‘Selim needs time to sort himself out. He regrets what he did. He really does. I promised not to say anything.’

  ‘Oh you promised, did you?’ Aunty Jasmina snapped. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t bother him then. After all, he’s been through so much, poor man.’

  ‘He has been through a lot. Selma has been lying to him, gambling behind his back. Twenty thousand dollars is a hell of a lot of money. You know how people will talk, and Selim is a proud man. This has shamed him.’

  ‘What’s shameful is abandoning your family,’ Aunty Jasmina spat back. ‘What’s shameful is worrying about what other people say or think over what your family needs.’

  Uncle Sami shook his head. ‘He hasn’t abandoned them. He just needs time.’

  Aunty Jasmina fisted her hands and stood. She was shorter than Uncle Sami, but now she seemed to tower over him. ‘He’s had enough time. Call him right now and tell him to get his fat arse here. Gambling or not, she is still his wife.’

  Mama stirred, moaning.

  Ashen-faced, Uncle Sami pulled out his mobile phone and left the room.

  ‘I’m sorry, girls.’ Aunty Jasmina slumped back into the chair and took Mama’s hand. ‘We’re all anxious and stressed out. When you called me with the news, I had trouble breathing. She’s my little sister. The thought of her …’ She paused, taking a tissue from her handbag and wiping her eyes.

  Misha wrapped her arms around Aunty Jasmina and leaned her head on her shoulder. ‘We’re so glad you’re here. You give us strength.’

  Natalie watched her sister. How was she coping? On top of her terrible secret, Misha was dealing with all this. Natalie was ashamed to admit that her sister was stronger than she’d ever given her credit for. She’d thought Misha fickle and shallow. Now she knew better.

  ‘You know,’ Aunty Jasmina said, her eyes far away, ‘Selma was always such an emotional and wilful child. She wasn’t naughty, no. It’s just that, she was so independent. She was intent on doing things her way. She knew her own mind. As a teenager, while the rest of us prepared for marriage and children, she dreamt of earning her own money, seeing the world, painting the Eiffel Tower in Paris or the pyramids in Egypt. She was such a free spirit. Mama was worried about her, and then, when she tried to run away with that poor artist, Baba put his foot down.’

  Mama had tried to run away? Natalie hadn’t heard that part of the story.

  ‘What did he do?’ Misha asked.

  ‘He locked her up. In her room. For a week. That’s how long it took for Selma to settle down and see reason.’

  Natalie gasped. ‘Like a prison?’

  ‘I suppose in a way. She was given food and allowed to use the bathroom, but yes. Her freedom was curtailed. She begged me to get a message to the boy, but Baba caught us and put an end to that.’

  Natalie’s heart ached for her mother. For the young hopeful girl she was. For the love she had for this boy and for the love she’d lost. She knew all about lost love. She wondered how Mama had felt, trapped in that room. Yearning for her love, desperate to get a message to him. Knowing that now, she’d have to give him up. Natalie knew how hard that was too. To have the choice taken from you. To be forced to live by other people’s rules. Look where it had gotten her mother. If Natalie followed the path she was expected to, would she be lying in a hospital bed someday too?

  ‘Then what happened?’ Misha pressed.

  ‘Baba was rich, so he paid the boy to leave town. After that, he made a match for Selma with your baba. And the rest is history.’ Aunty Jasmina kissed Mama’s hand and rose. ‘Enough dredging up the past. I’m going to make sure Sami calls Selim and get a coffee. I’m so tired.’

  ‘Can I come for a coffee too?’ Misha stood, rubbing her leg.

  ‘Of course, my habibi. My shout. I’ll buy you a big piece of cake too. I know you love cake. God knows you two need something nice.’ She stroked Natalie’s head. ‘Do you want to come?’

  ‘No thank you.’ Someone had to stay in case Mama woke up.

  Arms around each other, Misha and Aunty Jasmina left.

  Natalie turned back to Mama. What if she hadn’t found her in time? What then? Would they be at the morgue right now? She shuddered.

  Part of her was so angry, and the other part, so sad. Wasn’t suicide a cry for help? If only she’d seen it earlier. Forced Mama to see a doctor. But she was too wrapped up in her horror about Misha’s sickness, her heartbreak over Chris.

  She stood by the window for a long while, staring at the rain beating down on the moonlit car park below. Thoughts churned in her head, her emotions ran free. For too long she’d bottled them up, but she was sick of holding back. Sick of trying to hold it together.

  ‘Natalie?’

  She spun around. Azeem stood in the doorway.

  ‘What?’ she squeaked.

  ‘I saw your Mama’s name on the patient board.’ He seemed so grown up in his shirt and tie, his stethoscope looped around his neck. ‘I read over her report.’

  Natalie nodded, her throat tight. If he read the report, then he knew everything. No point pretending. ‘I found her … in her room. I thought she was sleeping at first.’ She wiped her tears with her sleeve.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I can’t even remember calling the ambulance. It was all so, so horrible.’

  He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. At first, she resisted, but the warmth and comfort of his embrace felt so good she melted into his arms. Maybe she could love a community boy if it was someone like Azeem. It would make her life so much easier. But her heart already belonged to Chris.

  ‘Azeem?’ Misha stood beside Aunty Jasmina, mouth agape.

  Azeem pulled away quickly.

  ‘Do you know this boy?’ Aunty Jasmina peered back and forth between them.

  Misha silently shook her head, then spun around and ran out, her sobs echoing down the desolate hallway.

  ‘Shit.’ Azeem stood rooted to the spot, miserable. But Natalie smiled. Her sister was being melodramatic, acting more like her old self. Misha knew she would never make a move on Azeem.

  Natalie gave him a little push. ‘Go after her.’

  ‘You don’t understand. She doesn’t want me. She told me so.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. She does want you. Why else would she act like that? She’s just worried that you won’t want her.’

  Azeem blinked. ‘Won’t want her? I’ve called and left messages every day, told her how much I love her and miss her.’

  ‘There are things you don’t know. And it’s not something I have the right to tell you. But, I think you deserve to know.’

  It was crazy for Misha to hide her pain from him. Hide the way she felt. Hide the truth. Wasn’t honesty the best policy? And then, it dawned on her. She’d done just that with Chris. Hidden her feelings, told him half-truths, carefully skirted around his questions. She hadn’t respected him enough to trust him with the truth, hadn’t believed in him enough to share her life.

  She’d been a fool.

  Azeem threw his hands up. ‘Now I’m totally lost. Is it about your mama? Because, if it is, I don’t care about that. I mean, I care, but it doesn’t change the way I feel about her. ’

  Natalie wished that was all it was. ‘No. It’s not about Mama, it’s …’

  Should she tell him? It wasn’t her place, but all Misha and Azeem needed was a push in the right direction. ‘I can’t say anymore. Just go. Find her. Ask her. Press her if she tells you nothing is wrong. And if she opens up to you, please don’t let it change the way you feel. She still loves you. She just needs to know that you will too, no matter what.’

  ‘She still loves me?’ His face lit up.

  ‘Seriously. Are you really still standing here?’ She
gave him another push.

  Azeem lunged towards the door, nodding to Aunty Jasmina before running out.

  ‘I’ve seen him at our church.’ Aunty Jasmina took a seat beside the bed. ‘What is this about “things he doesn’t know”?’

  ‘It’s a long story, Aunty.’ Natalie sat on the edge of Mama’s bed, eager to change the topic. ‘Did Uncle Sami call Baba?’

  ‘Selim is on his way.’

  ‘Good. He should be.’

  ‘Habibi, listen. I can see you’re angry.’ Aunty Jasmina laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘And you have every right to be, but when he gets here, maybe it’s best you don’t push him too much. Not right now.’

  ‘He didn’t even call. Not once.’ She was weathered, like worn denim.

  ‘He should have called,’ Aunty Jasmina agreed. ‘But men are funny creatures. They don’t know themselves or understand their own emotions. Try to be a little understanding.’

  Understanding? That’s the last thing Natalie intended to be. She’d rehearsed what she’d say to her father when she saw him. It started with: Why didn’t you call? Don’t you care? But Aunty Jasmina had a point. This wasn’t the right time. Not here. Not now. Besides, most of her pent-up anger had dissolved sometime between finding her mother dying in bed, and watching her being put into the ambulance.

  ‘I’ll try.’

  Aunty Jasmina cupped her face. ‘You are your baba’s girl, yes, but there are times you remind me of your mama.’

  Natalie raised her eyebrows. That was a first.

  ‘Don’t give me that look.’ Aunty Jasmina smiled. ‘When Selma was your age, she was just like you. Independent, free thinking, ambitious. It’s just that, at that time, our culture didn’t allow for girls to be more than wives and mothers. It’s different now.’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Your baba isn’t perfect, but would he lock you in your room? Would he stop you from taking art classes, dance classes, doing sports? Would he forcefully marry you to someone you didn’t want?’

  ‘No.’ Baba wasn’t like that.

  ‘Then it is different now. Better. And when you have children, it will be even better for them. This new country has given us that. Given women and girls in our community a chance for a better education, given us more choices.’ She gently stroked Natalie’s head. ‘You are an ambitious and clever girl, and our community needs people like you, to shake things up. Change the ways things are done.’