This Is My Truth Read online

  There’s some teacher training thing going on, so we get the afternoon off. Huda begs me the entire way home to come round and do more Perfect Daughter stuff. I can’t say no to her. I never can. She hasn’t brought up our fight from this morning again, which I’m glad about. But all this blog business has been playing on my mind. I can’t help but think about someone out there sitting with a bunch of secrets that don’t belong to them, just deciding when and how to leak the next one. Huda doesn’t have the same anxieties though, obviously.

  ‘Did you see what Suzie posted on Twitter?’ she asks as she pours me a drink in her kitchen. ‘She put up this whole essay about how you can’t trust anyone, everyone’s a snake, etc., etc. It’s like, hello, we all know you’re talking about your best friend.’

  I say nothing, but that doesn’t stop Huda.

  ‘I had a nosy, and she’s unfollowed Imogen too. Taken all the photos of them together off Instagram. I so wish I could hack into their DMs – I’m sure there’s shit going down there.’

  I sip the drink Huda hands me.

  ‘I can’t believe they haven’t had a bust-up at school though,’ she continues, making herself a weird cocktail of lemonade and some purple syrup. ‘They sit next to each other in almost every lesson – that must be awkward as hell. Have they moved seats? Hey, you’re in their form. What’s the sitch?’

  She looks at me, and I just raise an eyebrow.

  ‘What?’ she asks.

  ‘You’re gossiping,’ I say. ‘I thought we agreed that wasn’t very Perfect Daughter?’

  Huda rolls her eyes. ‘It’s not gossiping,’ she clarifies. ‘It’s just … talking. A discussion. Between friends. It’s not … malicious.’

  ‘You’re enjoying their misery.’

  ‘Only because they deserve it! You can’t deny that. Especially with how they’ve always treated you. I just wish Cleo would show her face again so she could be humiliated too. Can’t believe she’s getting away with being off for so long.’

  ‘Do you think Stacey deserved it too?’

  ‘Well, yeah. Don’t you remember all that stuff she said to me in Year Seven? About how Nafisah and Ali only fostered me because they’re broke? Guess now she knows how it feels when someone talks shit about your parents.’

  There’s anger rising in me now. I want to tell her it’s all bullshit. That this blog is getting out of hand and needs to be stopped. I want to tell her that I’m terrified whoever’s writing it will find out my secret. But I know if I do, it’ll result in another argument. And I’ve realised that even though Huda can’t be my person, someone I can talk to about Abbu, about how I feel about the future, about how terrified I am constantly, she’s still my best friend. I love having her on my side, in my life. I need her in my life.

  ‘Whatever,’ I say, mentally wiping away all the anger and sadness. ‘Anyway, aren’t we supposed to be focusing on you? I’ve come up with the best Perfect Daughter lesson for today.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Huda smirks. She doesn’t notice the turmoil inside me, and that hurts more than anything.

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘The ultimate one. It’s gonna be hard.’

  ‘I’m up for a challenge.’ She raises her chin defiantly.

  I take another sip of my drink, enjoying the feeling of making her wait for it. She’s staring at me expectantly, and the whole situation makes me laugh into the glass, causing me to dribble.

  ‘You’re such a child,’ Huda says, grabbing a tissue and offering it to me.

  I cough-laugh as I start patting the parts of my scarf that are now sprinkled with lemonade. ‘Interesting you should say that.’

  Huda cocks an eyebrow at me.

  ‘OK, so …’ I say, ‘I’ve realised the one thing that would mean the most to Ali and Nafisah, the thing you can do that’ll make them the happiest.’

  ‘What is it?’ Huda asks, her eyes widening.

  ‘Accept the baby.’

  It takes her a few seconds to get it. Realisation dawns on her face, before being replaced by a frown.

  ‘I know you’re feeling anxious about it,’ I say. ‘It’s a scary thing, I get it. But like it or not, that baby is gonna be a big part of their lives. And the best way to move forward is to get on board with it. Even though you’re scared of the baby taking your place, you have to … you just have to show them that, even with the baby, there’s a place for you. You have to make them understand that there’s room for both of you. You have to show them you can be not just a Perfect Daughter, but a Perfect Big Sister.’

  Huda’s silent for a few seconds. She fiddles with her fingers, looking down. I can’t tell whether I need to explain it more to make her understand, or whether she just needs a bit of silence to process it.

  ‘It’s weird,’ she says finally. ‘I’ve literally never even considered it – that I could be the baby’s big sister.’ She smiles a little.

  ‘You’re gonna love being a big sister,’ I tell her. ‘You can play games, have fun, be best friends when you feel like it. It’s sort of nice to just have … someone look up to you.’ I pause for a few seconds, consumed by memories of Ismail – the way he comes to me when he’s confused or needs something, the tickle fights we have, the way he hugs just my legs sometimes. I can’t wait for Huda to have that.

  ‘The baby is going to love you, Huda. It’s gonna be so much better for having you in its life. Just like I am. Ha! You’re basically my sister already.’

  Huda laughs. ‘Let’s hope the baby’s less annoying as a sibling than you are.’

  ‘Oi!’ I screw up my tissue and chuck it at her.

  ‘You make it sound like … like everything is always sunshine and flowers. It’s not going to be like that though, is it?’

  ‘Well, no …’

  ‘There’ll always be a difference between how they view me and the baby,’ she continues solemnly. ‘It’s nature, innit? I’m just some rando they get paid to have live here, while the baby is their actual literal –’

  ‘You’re not some rando,’ I butt in. ‘Sure, money might have played a part in the beginning, but they’ve chosen to keep you for four bloody years! The money can’t be that good to put up with you if they didn’t want to.’

  ‘But …’ She trails off.

  ‘Look, Huda … you put me in charge of making you the Perfect Daughter, right? Well, that means you don’t get to question anything I say. And I say that this baby won’t change anything, at least not for the worse. But only if you do your part. This baby is innocent, Huda. Your fears about Ali and Nafisah are your thing. And I understand where it’s coming from. God, I really do. But the best way forward is to get excited. You’re going to have a little brother or sister! If Ali and Nafisah see that you want to be in the baby’s life, that you want to help out with things, then your position in the family is fixed. OK?’

  Huda just stares, a slight smirk on her face. ‘Nice TED Talk there, Amani.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Let’s hope it got through your thick skull. Now, c’mon, let’s go.’

  ‘Go where?’

  ‘We’re gonna sort the nursery.’

  28

  The nursery isn’t as big a mess as I remember. There’s boxes of stuff everywhere, like when I last saw it a month ago, but now there’s actually a gap in the middle, where I sit and assemble the changing table. Huda suggested we build the cot, but I thought that was maybe something Ali had been looking forward to doing himself. Men and their weird egos. Ammi was supposed to be doing a wildlife mural for the main wall, but all she’s managed so far is a pencil sketch. We leave that wall free and put a decal with a cheesy quote about love on the opposite one. We rearrange the room, putting the cot box in the corner for Ali for later, and build all the furniture we can. Huda lays out the rug in the middle of the room, and I line up the stuffed toys on the windowsill. We chat as we clean and organise, and after a few hours the room almost looks like a finished nursery.

  ‘I’m beat,’ Huda says, lying down on the rug in a
star shape.

  ‘No time to rest – we’ve still gotta get rid of all this packaging.’ I kick her leg lightly, but she doesn’t move. Instead she closes her eyes.

  ‘Huda, c’mon,’ I say. I give her another nudge.

  She just rolls over onto her side, still pretending to sleep. Or maybe actually falling asleep. I’m about to give up and lie down next to her when the email alert on my phone goes off.

  ‘Ooh, is it another blog?’ Huda squeals, sitting up with a jolt.

  ‘Who needs alarms when you can wake people up with email alerts, eh?’ I say, sitting down next to her and taking out my phone. She leans over to look.

  It’s not another post. Just a notification to say I have a new YouTube subscriber.

  ‘Aw, man,’ Huda says, deflating. ‘I got all excited.’ She gets out her phone and starts swiping away. ‘I’m gonna check the website, just in case.’

  ‘Do you think this whole blog could be fake?’ I ask casually. ‘Like, do you think the person writing it has a vendetta against certain people and this is their way of getting revenge? Just making stuff up?’

  Huda shakes her head. ‘Nah, I don’t think so. Even if the people were chosen for a reason – which I guess is possible, because so far they’ve all been pricks – I don’t think the secrets are lies. No one’s defended themselves yet, have they?’

  She has a point. No one’s denied any of the rumours. Not even Cleo, and that alone shocks me. I guess now she’s lost her coven, she’s got no one to do her dirty work for her, no one to spread the message that she’s innocent.

  ‘It’s starting to scare me now,’ I admit. ‘Whoever’s writing it doesn’t seem to care what it does to people’s lives. You can’t just … make accusations without any proof. This type of thing could have … real consequences.’

  ‘You weren’t complaining when it was Cleo and her coven,’ Huda points out, finally looking up from her phone.

  I know she’s right. And that’s the thought I’ve been having since this all started – questioning whether I’m a terrible person because I enjoyed Cleo’s humiliation but feel bad for everyone else, but this is … it’s different.

  ‘That’s not the same,’ I tell Huda. ‘It’s getting too personal now. Exposing a family secret like Stacey’s mum … what’s next?’ I pause before continuing, unsure how she’ll take this. ‘This blog is … It’s too much, Huda. Whoever’s writing it is ruining people’s lives. They need to be stopped. They deserve to be punished.’

  ‘What are you on about?’ Huda asks. ‘The blog’s doing a service, getting revenge on people who’ve been dicks. They’re the ones who need to be punished. And the blog is doing that. It’s basically karma. You can’t argue with karma.’

  ‘And what about when they get to you?’ I ask. ‘You’ve said some horrible things to people. You think it’s gonna be fun when this blog spills one of your deepest, darkest secrets?’

  She whips her gaze to me, stabs me with her stare.

  ‘I don’t have any deep, dark secrets.’

  I give her a look but don’t say anything. I want to though. I want to remind her that there’s so much of her life she refuses to share with anyone. She never mentions anything about her life before Ali and Nafisah fostered her when she was twelve. Never mentions anything about her birth parents, or even whether she knows anything about them. Her whole childhood is shrouded in mystery. There’s no way she doesn’t have secrets.

  There’s a weird atmosphere between us now. I know I can’t make her see things from my angle, and that she won’t budge on her standpoint. That’s another thing about Huda – she’s stubborn as hell. Part of me wants to tell her that’s something we need to focus on in her Perfect Daughter lessons, but most of me is too scared of the fallout that would come. Another thing about Huda is that she has a temper.

  The front door opens. Our heads snap towards the noise, then back to each other, and then around the room.

  ‘Shit, they’re back,’ Huda says, hopping up.

  I get up too. There’s still rubbish all over the floor, and we need to push the changing table back into place.

  ‘I’ll finish off in here, you go bring them up.’

  She nods before leaving the room. I hear her thunder down the stairs, then muffled voices. I quickly pick up all the rubbish, stuff it in the bin then push the changing table into the corner of the room. It takes a lot more strength than I’d anticipated, and by the time Huda brings Nafisah and Ali up to the room, both with their hands over their eyes, I’m out of breath.

  ‘Don’t peek!’ Huda says with a laugh. ‘I mean you, Ali.’

  ‘How dare you accuse me of such a heinous crime?’ Ali asks, fake offended.

  Nafisah reaches out with one hand in front of her as she walks – her other hand is on her bump. ‘Y’know, Huda, it’s really not a great idea to make a heavily pregnant woman walk around with her eyes closed.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Ali adds as they shuffle forward. ‘Her belly’s a mile wide. It’ll knock things over before you know it.’

  Nafisah gives Ali a shove, and he laughs.

  ‘Almost there,’ Huda says.

  ‘Please let it be a new jacuzzi,’ Ali mutters.

  ‘Sorry to disappoint,’ Huda says with a laugh. There’s a tinge of nervousness in her voice, which makes me smile. This moment means so much to her. I can’t wait to see her face when they say they love it, which they will. They’d be monsters to not love what she’s done.

  Nafisah and Ali are both at the doorway to the nursery. I take out my phone to film the moment.

  ‘OK, you can look … now!’ Huda announces.

  ‘Ta-dah!’ I exclaim as they open their eyes.

  Nafisah smiles at me, opens her mouth to say something, probably a joke about how me being here isn’t a surprise, but then her eyes drift beyond me to the rest of the room, and her words never come.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Ali says. ‘Did you guys do this alone?’

  ‘It was mostly Huda,’ I say.

  She flicks her eyes to me for a second, uncertain, before looking at Ali and Nafisah, who both have huge smiles on their faces.

  ‘Huda,’ Nafisah says quietly. She breaks down into tears and wraps Huda into a huge hug. ‘This is so wonderful. I can’t … I can’t believe you’d …’

  ‘It’s no jacuzzi,’ Ali says. ‘But it’s … wow. Yeah. You built that changing table by yourselves?’ He looks over to Huda, who’s still being squashed by a weeping Nafisah. Huda raises her head above Nafisah’s arm and nods.

  ‘We were going to do the cot too, but Amani thought that’s something … you would want to do,’ Huda explains.

  ‘Oh my God, I can’t with the cuteness,’ Nafisah wails, wrapping Huda into an even tighter hug. Huda’s smiling so wide, it’s infectious.

  ‘That’s … that’s really sweet of you,’ Ali says. His voice is cracking.

  ‘Ali’s gonna cry,’ I tease.

  ‘Well, I’m not dead inside, am I?’ he says with a laugh, wiping his eyes.

  It’s such a beautiful moment to witness. Ali and Nafisah are both so overwhelmed, but in a good way. They’re all so … happy. Watching this scene, seeing the smile on Huda’s face, it’s like … like watching a picture-perfect moment of what a family should be. It makes me confident that Huda has no reason to worry; there’s no way Ali and Nafisah would give up on her. There’s too much love there.

  I end the video and Huda drags them both over to show off the details – the decal we’ve put on the wall, how we’ve organised the toys, and even suggesting where to put the cot once it’s been built. I step to the side and let them have this moment together. Watching them makes me feel all warm inside. I feel tears rising too, and at first I think it’s because of the emotion in the room, at how adorable and heart-warming this situation is. But then I realise … this whole scene, this is exactly what I want. I want my family to be like this. I want my parents to be like this. It strikes me then, the irony of it all. This
whole time I’ve supposedly been teaching her how to become perfect, but Huda’s already perfect. This whole family is. The jealousy rising within me is so unfair, so unexpected, but also so present.

  I want this.

  More than anything, I want this moment to be recreated with my family.

  29

  The bittersweet warmth of the scene at Huda’s house lasts the whole journey home. Ali drops me off, passing on some more heartfelt thanks before he drives away. I make sure to tell him it was all Huda’s idea. He hasn’t stopped grinning. I try to push away the bad thoughts in my head. The ones that yearn for Abbu to be more like Ali. I counter those thoughts with memories of when Abbu has been like Ali. The times he made a fort in the living room out of duvets and cushions for me and Ismail. How he got us Nerf guns and we had a battle. The time when he told me I was going to be a big sister, the way he smiled at Ammi, how he doted on her through her pregnancy, held her hand to help her out of cars, and wouldn’t let her carry the shopping. Those were truly perfect family moments. We have had them, and I’m convinced we will have more. We can be a perfect family too.

  Ammi and Abbu are in the living room when I get in. I stand and wait by the door, listening, trying to assess the mood, see the state of things. The TV is on, as always. But there are voices above it too. I strain my ears, trying to determine their tone, and thankfully things are light-hearted. I even hear Ammi laugh at something Abbu says. I guess his heartfelt apology from earlier really did do the trick. I go upstairs, change out of my uniform and do my prayers. Afterwards I sit at my desk and finish editing the Frozen video I made with Ammi, Ismail and Huda the other day. After I’ve uploaded it to YouTube, I work on my media studies coursework – my fake apocalypse film trailer. I still need to finish writing the commentary. I open up the project but … but my heart isn’t in it. For some reason my heart is tugging me towards the folder of videos I’ve got saved from all the Bad Nights. The videos I take of myself while it’s happening. I don’t know if it’s the fear of whoever’s writing the blog getting hold of them, or what, but I suddenly have the urge to watch them all. I plug in my phone to the laptop and start transferring the videos. There are 262 clips. That’s 262 nights when Abbu has been shouting at, or hurting, Ammi. And those are just the times I had the chance to film. My laptop says it’s going to take twenty minutes to download all the videos, so I lock the screen and go downstairs for a snack.