CHAPTER 6

Billie chases me down the street, calling out, but I’m so mad-frustrated I can’t seem to stop. My head is filled with Auntie Balquis grassing me up to Mum. I can’t. Not when I’m this close to achieving my dream.

‘Please!’ Billie cries out. ‘I’m sorry. What more can I say? It’s too hot to be fighting and you’re sweating out your lovely dress.’

They’re right. My armpits are freaking Jacuzzis.

Billie manages to coax me back to the bus stop. There are a couple of red-faced women waiting under the shelter; one with a lace fan and the other using a glossy magazine to deflect the sun. It’s so hot, I swear my sweat is sizzling. Pulling out a tissue, I pat my face, freaking out at the pink-brown-black mess smeared on it.

‘Don’t worry,’ Billie says. ‘We can fix it when we get to the theatre.’

‘Forget it, hun. Even James Charles, Huda Kattan and Shaista Mian put together couldn’t fix this mess. Only one thing for it.’ I blitz my face with a make-up wipe, enjoying the cooling sensation of cucumber and aloe.

‘You’re going nude?’ Billie shrieks, making the two women glare at us.

‘Could you say that a bit louder, please? I think some pervy dudes on the opposite side missed it.’

‘Sorry, I just . . . I think I would have the mother of all panic attacks without my warpaint, even though I don’t have half your skills.’

‘It’s just pigment and fat,’ I say with a shrug. ‘An actor – a real actor – doesn’t need props. She creates in the imagination.’

We both crack up. After the horror of Auntie Balquis, it’s just what the doctor ordered.

A jogger with a shaved head and black running shorts pauses, plucking out an ear bud. ‘There’s been an incident on London Bridge,’ he says gesturing in the direction he’s come from. ‘It’s affecting buses and transport.’

‘Oh, for the love of . . .’ snaps one woman, dropping her magazine.

‘Pathetic!’ snipes the other, giving a flamenco crack of her fan. ‘It’s all that ruddy mayor’s fault. Never used to be this bad before he arrived. Thank heavens for Uber.’

‘Hey, thanks, yeah?’ I say to the jogger for saving us an endless wait in the sweltering heat.

He nods, gives a brief smile, then jogs on.

‘OMG that guy was flipping hot!’ Billie whispers breathlessly, fanning themselves.

Suddenly the world is closing in all around me, I’m struggling to breathe and I see no way out of the mess I’m in. ‘OK, I’m done.’ I cuss, not caring about the disapproving look I get from the lady waiting for her taxi.

‘Salma, we’ve still got three hours. Hopefully the buses’ll be running again soon.’ Suddenly, Billie gasps, placing their hand on their chest. I follow Billie’s eyes to the hemline of my dress.

‘Oh my life!’ I shriek, gaping at the massive tear in the skirt. ‘This cannot be happening. It was my wear-and-return dress.’

‘Calm down.’

‘I’ve had a knitting-needle-related wardrobe fail and you’re telling me to calm down? That old hag musta been knitting with knives!’

‘Relax, I saw a Fabulous Farah back there.’ Billie jerks their thumb over their shoulder.

‘You tripping? I don’t have cash to splash. I’mma have to buy safety pins and make do.’ Even as I say it, I realize fixing this mess is impossible. Forget cats, my dress looks like it was mauled by a tiger.

‘Look, this has seriously been one of the best days of my life. I’m Billie-one-mate. People like me don’t usually get to hang out with people like you.’

‘Like me?’

‘You’re beautiful and talented and you can defeat a gang of thugs without lifting a finger. You’re goddess tier. Me? I’m just an embarrassment to my mum.’

A large black Ford Galaxy collects the women who I guess have decided to share the fare.

‘You’re not an embarrassment to nobody,’ I say in solidarity.

‘Mum thinks God made men to be men and women to be women. She caught me trying on one of her dresses once and said if I ever did it again she’d put me in care.’

‘You serious? Who says that to their kids?’ I catch myself. Sometimes Dad said worse and I know a lot of people in my community would be exactly the same.

‘I tried to stop,’ Billie continues. ‘I don’t say I’m non-binary for the attention – I’d be so much happier if people didn’t notice me because most of the time when they do, they just look at me like I’m a freak.’

I put an arm around Billie. ‘Not gonna lie: I don’t completely get it but you’re definitely not doing it for the attention.’

Billie’s brow forms a map of worry lines, desperate for me to understand their truth. ‘Look, just like you knew you were a girl when you were little, that’s when I knew I wasn’t a boy or a girl. It literally has nothing to do with sexuality.’

‘Wasn’t that scary?’

‘Why would it be? I was too young to realize enbys got hate just for being.’

‘That gets me so mad, cos you’re such a nice person! Like how does being non-binary affect anyone else anyway?’

Billie looks down at their hands, fingers knotted together. ‘It affects my mum. She gave me life.’

‘So? You ain’t some toy out of a Kinder Surprise she gets to play swapsies with. You’re the only person who gets to decide who you are. And a good mum would love you for it.’ My eyes drift to the sky, remembering a conversation I had with Mum last year. It was the moment I told her I was dead serious about being an actor.

‘If it’s what you want to do, I’ll support you,’ Mum had said, looking worried. ‘But you need to know it’s not going to be easy. Put yourself up on a stage and you’re giving everyone an opportunity to judge you. People can be cruel. Casting directors, reviewers, jealous actors, award judges and the audience – they’ll all have an opinion. Not to mention there are people in our community who think acting is un-Islamic. But if it’s what you really want, I’ll back you up. I just need for you to be prepared.’

My encounter with Auntie Balquis brought all this home. But I reckon there’ll be supporters as well as haters, people who’ve waited their whole lives for someone from the community to represent them. ‘Know what, B? We need to quit apologizing for being fricking fabulous.’

Billie starts to laugh. ‘Come on, Cinders! At this rate, it’ll be flipping midnight before you get to your audition. We’re going to Fabulous Farah and that’s that. I’ve got a credit card.’

A credit card: the magic wand that’s been missing my whole life.

Billie hustles me to the department store. After this crazy day and all the hoops I’ve had to jump through, I’m surprised that I still want to go. I realize I want this gig more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my whole life.

Fabulous Farah’s is the kind of shop I avoid unless there’s a massive sale on. Slate-grey mannequins with giant velvet flowers for heads stare blankly out of shop displays giving nightmarish vibes of Wonderland. At least Alice’s bitchy flowers had roots. I keep checking over my shoulder to make sure these monsters haven’t shifted from their pedestals.

The place is packed with high-class tourists, turning their noses up at everything. Billie grabs my hand and guides me over to a rack of evening dresses. ‘This is pretty.’

I look at the slinky black velvet number they’re stroking as if it were a pet. I pull a face. ‘I’m up for Cinderella, remember? Not Maleficent.’

‘I like Maleficent,’ Billie says as I move past the bodycons and maxis towards the skater dresses.

‘You an Angelina fan, huh?’

‘No, I like the cartoon one. She was boobless, taller than the men, and with a face that was harsher than your typical girl’s face. I related to her.’

I laugh. ‘You saying she was OG enby? Oh, look!’ I say, swiping a baby-blue dress off the clothes rack and holding it against me.

‘Way better than the one you’re wearing.’ Billie says then adds in a falsetto voice, ‘You shall go to the ball and you’re going to be lit.’

I check my watch, making sure there’s enough time, then grab the dress they were stroking. ‘Let’s go try them on.’

Billie stops stock still, causing me to knock into them. ‘We can’t! I mean I can’t. They’ll never let me—’ I place a finger over their lips.

I yank Billie along, fixing the shop assistant gatekeeping the changing rooms with a winning smile. ‘We’re trying on two dresses, thanks.’

The assistant’s eyes shift to Billie who is doing an impression of a beetroot.

‘You got a problem?’ I ask the assistant pointedly, sliding out my phone. ‘We’re shopaholic influencers. We’ll be reviewing our experience later to our ten thousand followers.’

‘Oh, I see,’ says the assistant looking rather flustered. She fiddles behind her counter and hands us tokens. I grab Billie and drag them to the changing cubicles.

‘I’m not supposed to be here!’ Billie says miserably, speaking in barely more than a whisper.

‘Nobody cares, B. Separate cubicles with separate curtains. Could anything be more private? Plus, I’ll be next door.’ Billie looks uncertain so I make a hand puppet out of the black dress, manipulating black velvet lips in sync with my words. ‘I’m so soft and just dying to be worn. Together we could place evil curses on spinning wheels and rule the world! Mwahahaha!’

Billie covers their face and giggles. ‘I’ve never done this before.’

Inside my cubicle, I pull on the dress, feeling the fabric whisper over my skin. Glancing in the mirror, I see a silhouette that makes me break out in a smile. Somehow the delicate blue makes my brown skin glow (though that might just be the diffused lighting).

‘Oh. My. God.’

My ears perk up and I hastily knock on the thin cubicle wall. ‘You all right, hun?’

‘They use fake mirrors in changing rooms, don’t they?’ Billie’s voice is tender and frail.

‘What, like hall of mirrors? That what you mean?’

‘Yeah, warping the glass to make you look good. I think that’s what they’ve got in here,’ Billie says with a heavy sigh.

‘You need a second opinion. Budge up, cos here it comes!’ Billie starts to protest, as I knew they would, but I thrust myself behind the curtain anyway.

‘Fam . . .’ I say, startled.

‘I look stupid, don’t I? I’ll take it off . . .’ Billie drops their eyes, undoing the zipper.

‘Don’t you dare!’ I say, slapping the hand away. ‘You got the drip, B.’ I watch their face light up. ‘You look good cos you feel good. And you’re feeling good cos you’re expressing whatever fabulousness is hiding inside. Amirite?’

Billie nods, unable to take their eyes of their reflection in case it’s as fleeting as a puff of smoke. ‘Omigosh!’ Billie says, placing a hand on their chest. ‘You look incredible.’

‘Two pretty people and a mobile phone? Must be TikTok o’clock!’

Calling up the app on my phone, I record us lip syncing to Don’t Cha, struggling to keep straight faces. I lose it when Billie starts voguing.

‘Don’t think I’ve ever had this much fun!’ Billie says, fanning themselves. ‘OK, let’s buy your dress and get out of here before somebody reports us.’

My smile falters as reality sets in. ‘I’m afraid to look at the price tag . . .’

‘My mum’s paying so who cares?’ Billie giggles then flips the tag. ‘Sixty. No problem.’

‘Are you sure?’ Even though it feels a lot longer, I’ve only known them a hot minute. Dipping into Billie’s bank of mum seems wrong.

‘Positive. Now give me some space so I can switch back into my civvies. But you keep that dress on. We won’t have time for you to change again.’

‘B, buy the black dress. You know you want to,’ I say, sliding out of their cubicle.

‘Nah,’ Billie says sadly. ‘One dress I could explain away as a gift for “my girlfriend”. Two and Mum’d arrange for Reverend Johnson to come round and perform an exorcism.’

It breaks my heart. Poor Billie just wants to be themself and the person closest to them keeps judging them for something that’s not even their fault. In a way, Billie reminds me of Muzna. I find that I no longer feel betrayed or hate her for giving me the silent treatment. Her note said her parents were forcing her. Mum’s never done that to me. We discuss things and maybe she gets the last word but at least she always listens to what I have to say.

I take my phone out, wondering whether I should give her a call and fess up about going to the audition she banned me from. I discover I’m too chicken.

Billie guides me over to the counter. ‘Can you ring it up while she’s wearing it, sort of thing? We’re late.’

The sales girl looks flustered than asks me to turn around so she can scan the barcode and remove the tag.

‘It might take me a year or two, but I’mma pay you back, B,’ I swear.

Billie hushes me, taking out a platinum credit card and promptly drops it twice.

‘You all right?’ I ask.

They nod but I can’t help noticing a sweaty sheen has formed over their upper lip and they keep blinking like a clockwork doll. The lady places my ripped dress in a bag and we walk out.

HONK! HONK! HONK!

The store alarms go off, security scanners lighting up like the emergency services in traffic. I nearly jump out of my skin as a large security guard saunters over.

‘Nothing to worry about!’ Billie says waving at him. ‘The lady at the till forgot to deactivate the tag is all.’ What the heck is Billie chatting about? She did deactivate it.

‘Come back in, please,’ the guard says in an intimidating baritone.

I’m about to do just that when Billie yanks my arm. ‘RUN!’ And with that, they make a mad dash out of the automatic doors. I’m frozen in bewilderment, trying to figure out what’s going on.

‘Oi!’ roars the security guard. One look at his furious face, his outstretched hand and I run for my life.

Billie’s waves to me from the top of the escalators, before shoving people aside as they scuttle down.

‘B!’ I call after them, slipping through the shoppers like butter through a knife. ‘What the hell? You paid for my dress, right? Let’s go back and clear this up.’

‘Can’t!’ Billie squeaks. ‘I stole the black one. I didn’t mean to. I just . . . I couldn’t buy it and I couldn’t say goodbye either.’

‘Oh, Billie!’ I glance behind and see the wide-shouldered security guard struggling to get through the shoppers thronging on the escalators.

‘Make for the toyshop over there!’ Billie says gesturing with a flick of their chin then sprints off.

‘What have you got me into?’ I cry. Threading through the tourists, my heels hammer the floor like mini pickaxes as I run. The security guard barrels after us. Elbowing a path for myself, I make it to the toyshop but Billie is nowhere to be seen. A yelp has me spinning round. The security guard is clutching Billie by the scruff of their neck, yelling at them. I bite my lip, shrinking back into the crowd. I could make tracks, save myself, get to the audition on time: after all I didn’t steal anything.

But just as I couldn’t leave Billie to the mercy of Imran’s gang, I can’t leave them now.

‘Hey, wait up!’ I call as the security guard is frogmarching Billie back to Fabulous Farah’s.

We sit together on one side of a table in a room that is so nondescript it’s a couple of cushions short of a padded cell. Sunlight floods through the blinds behind us, charring our necks. On the other side of the table, shunning the chair, stands the security guard, spreading his hands wide, glowering at us. Billie is snivelling, all smudged lipstick and running mascara. I’ve learned never to show my feelings, but on the inside I am shook.

‘Clever!’ barks the security guard. ‘Pay for one dress, steal another.’

‘No one was teefing nothing,’ I explain. ‘My friend forgot to put the other dress back is all. Easy mistake, innit?’

‘What? Stuffed it in his backpack and zipped it up by mistake?’ The sarcasm is real. ‘You know, I could call the police and have you both arrested.’

Billie gasps, wringing their hands together.

‘But you wouldn’t do that, would you?’ I suggest, giving my prettiest smile. ‘You seem like a nice guy who wouldn’t wanna spoil a coupla teenagers’ lives. Specially when they owned up that they made a dumb mistake and they are so, so sorry.’

The guard taps his lips thoughtfully then places a pad down in front of us. ‘Pick up that pen. I want your full names and your parents’ numbers. And no funny business!’

‘Oh, please don’t!’ Billie begs. ‘My mum is literally worse than the police.’

The guard cocks an eyebrow. ‘So you’d rather I call the cops then?’

I shake my head. ‘No, we wouldn’t.’ I scribble on the pad. ‘There. That’s both our names and numbers. We are sorry, you know?’

He snorts, turning the pad his way, looking from one to the other, flexing his jaw muscles. ‘Wait here.’

The moment the door clicks, I grab Billie, yanking them to their feet. ‘Help me get this window open!’

Billie doesn’t need to be told twice. Shoving aside the blinds, we turn the handles and push it open. Practically falling over one another, we leap out of the window and make a bolt for freedom.

‘We’re free!’ Billie shouts as we exit the alleyway, running along the back of the building and across the road. ‘Squeeeeeee!’

‘Hold that squeee ’til we’re on the bus!’

Two minutes later, we’re safely hidden at the back of the bus and the driver is en route to the Fortuna Theatre. ‘Honestly, B, what the hell were you thinking? In what world is stealing a dress not a crime?’

Billie covers their face in shame. ‘I was more afraid of coming out to my mum as non-binary than getting a criminal record for stealing. How messed-up is that? I guess I just wanted to do something crazy to prove I can make decisions. But I’m sorry I got you into trouble.’

My frown thaws. ‘Guess you ain’t had it easy, hun. It’s not for me to tell you to come out. But I’ll tell you this for free: Auntie Balquis is gonna blab to everyone on my street that I’m going to be an actress. She’ll get it twisted, make it sound dirty and link it to the fake selfie my fake boyfriend took of some faked-up stuff that never happened. But once it’s out there, I don’t have to care any more. I’ll be free!’

‘But suppose you get excommunicated by your community?’

The bus jerks to a stop.

‘Then I’ll just have to find my own way. The world is big enough for everyone, B. Worrying about stuff is the worst. That’s the thing that kills you.’

Billie considers this then hugs me. ‘You’re right. Thanks, hun. Craziest day ever?’

‘Amen!’

‘Everyone off the bus!’ the driver calls, making my heart stop. ‘I’ve called an engineer for repairs, but it’s gonna take a while for him to get here.’

Outside, on the pavement, I’m wondering why everything keeps going wrong. Auntie Balquis said Dad would curse me from beyond the grave for shaming our family. As stupid as that sounds, could that be what this is?

‘I don’t have lizards for footmen,’ Billie says, taking out their phone, ‘mice for white horses, or even a pumpkin for a coach, but I’m maxing out my credit card and calling you an Uber.’