CHAPTER 5

We walk up the high street, towards the bus stop.

‘You said most actors are out of work,’ Billie says. ‘So why do you even want to do it then?’

‘Because I can’t help it.’ I search for better words but come up short. ‘In spite of all the backlash I might get, the lack of money, the online trolling, I just know I need to do it. Acting makes me feel alive. I definitely don’t want to do sensible. Mum spent her whole life doing that and it made her miserable. But she does it anyway cos she’s got a kid and Dad’s debts to pay off.

‘I want to be the girl who takes risks and owns her life. Not the girl who dies wondering if things could’ve turned out differently, y’know?’

‘I wish I could be as brave as you . . .’ Billie says looking away. ‘You asked me earlier why my mum hasn’t helped me with the bullies. It’s because I haven’t told her. I mean, I tried back when I thought I might be gay and she went ballistic. She started quoting the Bible at me and said she wouldn’t speak to me again until I apologized.’

‘Apologize for being gay?’ I ask in disbelief.

Billie nods. ‘Every day I leave home looking like a boy. I pop into the loos at McDonald’s, spray my hair and put on my make-up. Then I go to school and get bullied. I have to wash it all off before I go home again.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

We walk in mutual silence, worrying about letting down the people we love.

‘You said the play is a modern take on Cinderella. What’s modern about it?’ Billie asks trying to brighten the mood.

I brush a spiral curl behind my ear. ‘To be honest there’s not that much info on their website. It’s definitely legit though cos Edwina Hirsch is an absolute legend and she’s the prime judge. What I do know is it’s set in high school. No magic, no helpful animals. Cinderella has to think her way out of a bad situation. The quirky nerds like her, but the popular kids don’t. Oh, and the prince isn’t royal either. He’s just some dude called Prinz who ends up becoming prom king . . . and I’m guessing he asks Cinderella to be his prom queen?’

Billie claps their hands together. ‘Promise me!’

‘What?’

‘That if you get this role, I get a free ticket on opening night! It sounds sick.’

We board the bus, pressing Zip cards to the electronic reader and tripping down the aisle. Spotting a couple of seats in the middle, we crash down on them. I notice a blue sign asking us to give them up if an old person, a pregnant woman or person carrying a baby is in need. I make a mental note to do that.

‘Salma, beyti?’

I stiffen recognizing that awful husky voice. Glancing back, the horror becomes real when I see Auntie Balquis and her bougie shopping bags spread across two seats, a hideous smile plastered on her plum-painted lips. Stubby fingers coil over the rail, displaying eight gleaming rings like twenty-four-carat-gold knuckle dusters. I cower from the most powerful and gossipy of all the aunties in my neighbourhood. The two houses next door to us belong to her extended family, fused into one great big palace of gossip, drama and extravaganza.

‘Asalaamu alaykum, Auntie-ji,’ I say meekly.

‘Where are you two girls going in the middle of a school day?’

I consider hitting the emergency door release and booking it. ‘Er, work experience.’

‘Dressed like this?’ She rotates her hands and thrusts them at me in despair. ‘You look like you’re going to a party. That dress is far too tight and I can see your shameless legs.’

‘There’s nothing shameless about her legs!’ Billie snaps. ‘She’s beautiful.’

Auntie’s pencilled eyebrows shoot to the black roots of her honey-brown dyed hair. ‘Hai, hai! It’s a boy in make-up. Is this transvestite bothering you?’

Billie flushes.

‘Billie’s my friend,’ I say in weak defiance, my insides shrivelling.

Rudely switching to Urdu in company, she says ‘What sort of friend is this? You must be very careful around such people.’

I reply in Urdu. ‘So just cos my friend is wearing a bit of make-up you think they’re dangerous? You know what you are? A bloody hypocrite!’

‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

I turn away, biting back my reply. Everyone knows not to mess with Auntie Balquis – she’s like a feminist fantasy gone wrong. She switches back to English. ‘Anyway, where are you going and don’t lie to me about work experience.’

‘She’s going to an audition for Cinderella and she’s going to nail it!’ Billie says proudly.

I glower at Billie but it’s too late. The cat’s out of the bag.

‘Audition? You want to become an actress? A kanjari? Your father must be spinning in his grave!’ She pulls her phone out of an oxblood leather handbag the size of a small suitcase. ‘I’m going to tell your mother.’

Panic sets in. ‘She works in A&E. Don’t you think she has bigger things to worry about?’

‘Bigger than the honour of her daughter?’ Her kohl-encircled eyes give me a chastising glare.

‘Are you OK?’ Billie asks, noticing me welling up.

I wipe a tear away. ‘I wanna get off this bus.’

‘Come on, let’s go.’

Heading for the doors, my dress gets caught on an old woman’s knitting needle. ‘Mind out!’ she snaps, attacking my dress with violence. I yank myself free of her knitting, stumbling off the bus.

Auntie Balquis shakes her head. ‘Poor Tariq being misled by a harlot. Your father’s curse on you!’

‘I don’t get it,’ Billie says out on the pavement. ‘All day I’ve watched you be nothing but fierce. Now you let that opinionated cow walk all over you?’

‘You don’t understand.’

‘Why, because I’m white?’

I’m done. ‘Actually yeah. Everybody in my community looks up to Auntie Balquis. She’s like the matriarch or something. Nobody crosses her. Ever.’

‘Well call me an insensitive white person but she was flat-out bullying you. Why would anyone look up to a witch like her?’

‘She’s rich. Most of us have been on hard times at some point in our lives and she’s been there to lend money. Interest free.’ I frown, clutching my forehead. ‘Only it’s not. The price is your soul. Mum borrowed cash to pay off some of Dad’s loans. We still owe her.’

Billie folds their arms tightly. ‘Lending money doesn’t give someone the right to look down on people or control their lives.’

‘See? Told you, you wouldn’t understand.’

I walk off, leaving Billie looking hurt.