Sharing a room with all my brothers and sisters was turning out to be a major hassle. If Feda was sleeping, she’d go into Terminator mode if we woke her up. She had a major exam coming up at the end of her residency and spent any minute she wasn’t at work or asleep studying like a maniac.
‘Don’t bother your sister,’ Dad said to me. ‘Don’t give her nervousness or stress or I be very upset.’
Things were still tense between Feda and me. She only spoke to me when she had to, and usually left the room whenever I walked in. I knew I’d messed up really bad, but I couldn’t find a way to make it up to her. With her exam coming up, none of us were allowed to linger in the room. Only Mum and Dad really saw much of her, when they made her special herbal tea or took her plates of sliced fruit.
‘She be good doctor,’ Mum said proudly to Aunty Salma. ‘Then Insh Allah she get married.’
Saturday after our second game, breakfast was served as usual under our vine-leaf-wrapped pergola. Uncle Charlie sat next to me and I knew he was going to ask me about the honey jars.
‘You forget, didn’t you?’ he said. ‘It’s okay. I leave some jars for next week.’
Mum and Aunty Salma had made some fresh manoush on the saj oven. The crispy warm dough with the perfect amount of lightly salted cheese melted in your mouth, and was always ten times better than anything you could get in the shops. Abdul and Saff fought over the last piece and Amira snuck some Nutella into hers before rolling it up, trying to hide the evidence.
‘It’s all over your mouth, I whispered.
‘Don’t think I can’t see, Amoora,’ Mum called out as she rolled the fluffy dough. ‘No more after this.’ She then tried to tempt Feda away from her books with a plate of freshly buttered, extra sugary pastries that were Mum’s specialty. It was a mix of sugar and butter with a dash of diabetes that my brothers and I drooled over. Dad slapped Abdul’s hand away from the plate.
‘This for Feda!’ he warned. ‘She studying, she need energy.’ Feda came out of the house, picked up the plate and flipped Abdul the finger before heading back to her room.
‘Can I please have one, Mum?’ I begged.
‘When you become doctor like Feda, I make you some.’
Ibby and PJ must have smelled the manoush cooking from their homes, because they both rolled in the back gate a few minutes later. It was good to see PJ looking more like his old self after his breakdown in the library. I knew things were far from resolved with his mum, but Mr Archie and Mr Ahmed were working with Grandma Ceci to find the best long-term solution, and I think sharing the burden with the rest of us had eased his mind a bit.
Ibby and PJ squashed themselves in on either side of Abdul, who now couldn’t move his arms.
‘I told Mum she made a mistake feeding you piglets years ago,’ Abdul said, trying to free his hands. ‘I can’t even reach my food.’
‘You don’t need to.’ Ibby took a piece of his manoush. ‘It’s mine now.’
‘Where Hussein?’ Mum asked me, turning over the bread. ‘Tell him to come.’
Tariq: Yo. Come over. Mum’s making manoush.
Huss: Can’t. Got to take Big Haji to the medical centre.
Tariq: Is she alright?
Huss: Yeah. Just a couple of check-ups.
Aunty Salma sat beside me and nibbled at my food. I don’t generally believe in murder, but people eating my food makes me homicidal. But I had to stay calm, since Feda wasn’t talking to me, I needed Aunty Salma’s help.
‘I need to lose a few kilos before I leave,’ she said in Arabic from behind her huge sunglasses. She always wore them when she had no makeup and looked like a D-list celebrity. ‘Very important to keep the husband happy.’
Ibby sat beside Mum and she taught him how to roll out the dough and stretch it into the air to get it just the right size to fit onto the dome saj. My brothers and PJ were in the yard, kicking the ball around while Dad watered the cucumbers and tomatoes. Uncle Charlie and Amira were messing around with their bees.
It was about as much privacy as I was likely to get. I turned to Aunty Salma. ‘I have a friend who said some bad things to hurt a girl. What should he do to fix it?’
She took off her glasses, her eyes wide open. ‘Is my nephew going to get married?’
‘What? I said my friend.’
She laughed. ‘Okay. Does your friend really like her or is he just playing?’
‘Nah, he really likes her. More than any other girl he’s liked before.’
I explained what this ‘friend’ had done.
‘He’s lucky he didn’t get a slap. My advice would be to say sorry first, but more than that, he has to prove he’s sorry.’
‘But how?’
She tapped her long nails on the table. ‘His actions. If he wants her forgiveness, he has to be patient and work hard.’ She then told me about a guy she really loved back in the day, but because she was poor, his family never accepted her. ‘Turns out he wasn’t that good either, and got married two weeks after he said he was in love with me. I know you think I’m all fake with plastic surgery but your aunty did make the boys in the village work for her.’ She smiled, but with sadness in her eyes. ‘How life changes, right?’
‘I don’t think you’re fake,’ I protested. ‘You’re actually alright. Better than alright. I said some crap stuff that I shouldn’t have.’
She nudged me with her elbow. ‘And are you nice to me now only because I helped your friend out?’
I felt terrible that she saw right through me. She’d been here for weeks, and it was only when I needed something that I took the time to get to know her. ‘I’m sorry, Aunty. I’ve been a bit of an ass, I know.’
‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I still love you. But you know, you’ve said a lot of stuff you shouldn’t have. Not just to me, or to this girl you – sorry, your friend – likes. Maybe you should be more careful before you say things. One day, “sorry” may not be enough.’
I knew she was talking about Feda. ‘I’m trying to do better.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I see that. And trying is good, it’s very good. Try harder, and Insh Allah things will get better.’ She winked at me, then went to sit under the mulberry tree, trying to catch some sun.
I carried some plates to the outdoor kitchen, when Feda reappeared with her empty plate. As usual, her eyes slid right past me.
‘How’s the studying going?’ I asked.
‘Fine. Need to get back to it.’ She stood impatiently, waiting for me to get out of the way.
I looked down at my plates, then over at hers. Try harder, Aunty Salma had said. Actions, not just words. I reached over to take her plate from her, and watched her frown in confusion out of the corner of my eye as I washed it. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again.
‘Yallah, Tariq,’ Dad called from the garden. ‘I drop you at your friends.’
The moment passed, but for the first time, I felt a little hopeful that I could mend my fences with my big sister.
Mr Archie had already called Dad to let him know that Aaron and I would be spending more time together outside of the comp. Since it was the weekend, it was abaya-and-green-and-gold-kangaroo-thongs day for Dad. We drove around Aaron’s Shire neighbourhood, windows down and Dad’s thick white beard flapping in the cold breeze.
We stuck out like a sore thumb, and I could sense the stares from the people around us. When we finally turned into Aaron’s street, it was lined with tall trees, shiny new cars and mansions by the water. The air smelt like Matt’s hair, the salty, fresh tang of the ocean.
‘I go down and make sure everything is okay,’ Dad said, parking the car.
‘No, Baba. I can walk myself.’
He ignored me and went over to the passenger door of the van. It gave a loud screech, and a couple walking their dog stopped in their tracks.
‘We okay. We okay,’ Dad said with a smile and a wave. ‘Just very old car.’
We stood in front of a large black iron gate set into a high sandstone wall that wrapped around the property. This place looked more over-the-top than the Prime Minister’s house. When the gate opened, we made our way down the long, pebbled driveway. White rosebushes ran along either side, interspersed evenly with perfectly cut oval topiary bushes. I could smell the freshly mown grass as I stared up at the windows, reflecting the sun and the sea. Although Cronulla was really close to Bankstown – a fact that I loved to tell people who boasted about being from the Shire – it might as well have been a different planet.
‘This house very nice,’ Dad said. ‘Imagine all the vegetables you grow here. You can feed lots of people.’
A short Indian woman opened the door. ‘Hello. May I help you?’
‘Uh, yeah, I’m here to see Aaron?’ I couldn’t help but turn the statement into a question as I wondered whether this woman was Aaron’s butler. I mean, come on! Who has a butler?
She left, then returned with a woman that I recognised as Aaron’s mum. She was reading a letter, with a few more tucked under her arm. She wore a different sharply tailored pantsuit from when I last saw her, but the red lips, the cropped blonde hair and the cold expression hadn’t changed.
‘Hello. You must be Tariq,’ she said, before holding her hand out to Dad.
He put his hand on his chest. ‘Salaam. Sorry, sister, but I don’t shake woman hand.’
She smiled briefly. ‘No need to apologise. We all have our own customs.’
I signalled to Dad that all was good now and he could leave.
‘I need to speak to his mum first,’ he said in Arabic. ‘I want to get to know the family too, so I know when you come and go that you’re safe here.’
‘Is there a problem?’ Aaron’s mum asked.
‘No, no, sister. I just explain to my son that I like to speak together with you, and then I go. I don’t let my son go any place before I talk to parents.’
Aaron’s mum smiled again, and the expression still did nothing to warm her distant eyes. ‘As much as I would’ve loved to have tea with you, Mr Nader, I’m afraid I have a busy schedule. We work very hard around here,’ she said dryly. ‘And today is no exception. Maybe another time?’
‘And we sit around all day?’ I grunted. I was embarrassed as hell by Dad sticking around, but I wasn’t going to stand around and let her insult him. ‘It’s the best part of being on Centrelink.’
Mrs Furner pursed her lips, her face tight as Dad told me off.
‘You speak that disrespectfully to anyone and I will slap the words right back into your mouth,’ he growled.
Obviously Aaron was too chicken to tell me that he didn’t want to hang out and so he sent his mum to blow us off.
‘So sorry, sister,’ Dad said to her with his hand back on his chest. ‘Tariq, he smart but dumb. He talk dumb a lot.’ She looked a little shocked that he would talk smack about me in front of other people. ‘I thought your son told my son to come.’
‘I did.’ Aaron came around the side of the house. ‘Hello. I’m Aaron,’ he said, shaking Dad’s hands. ‘Sorry, I was in the yard.’
His mum nodded at Dad, then turned to go. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’ She disappeared back into the house. Aaron shook his head and invited my dad to come in.
‘No thank you, I have to go,’ Dad said. I knew he was embarrassed by my rudeness and Mrs Furner’s brush-off. He kissed my head and walked back to the gate.
‘Shut up,’ I said, seeing Aaron trying not to laugh. ‘It’s what dads do.’ As the words left my mouth, I remembered that dads were a sensitive topic. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ I added quickly.
‘All good, bro.’
Aaron’s house was like something out of the movies: the black-and-white chequered tiles, two grey marble staircases that connected under a gigantic crystal chandelier. Paintings hung on the walls, and huge floor-to-ceiling windows took in the ocean view. Aaron led the way to where a white-and-gold motorcycle gleamed between the staircases.
‘You have a motorcycle in your house?’ I asked, too scared to touch anything.
‘It’s my dad’s,’ he said. ‘I mean, it was my dad’s.’
‘I wasn’t rubbing it in, you know, before with my dad.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll show you around so we can get to what we need to do so Archie doesn’t kill us.’
Mrs Furner reappeared and reminded Aaron that some places were off limits.
‘Don’t worry, we Arabs don’t steal everything we see,’ I joked, trying to make up for my rudeness earlier. She didn’t really find that funny, just glanced coldly at me once again and walked away.
‘Don’t bother,’ Aaron whispered as we moved through the open living room. From here, I could see the pool overlooking the water. Everything sparkled and shone and looked like they had price tags way beyond anything we could afford. It was the first time I had been in a house without family pictures or hanging flower pots.
He opened the fridge and threw me a can of Coke. ‘Don’t let my mum get to you. She’s like that with everyone. Not just –’
‘Not just Muslims?’ I asked.
He snorted. ‘Yeah, she pretty much hates everyone. She’s an equal-opportunity hater.’
‘Sure,’ I replied sceptically.
He grabbed a basketball from a cupboard hung with coats.
‘I hide them around the house so she doesn’t throw them out.’ He dribbled the ball a few times and walked out through another glass door. ‘It’s homework, homework and more homework for my mum. That’s all that matters.’
If I thought the inside of his house was extravagant, the outside was a whole other level. Soft green grass, tall palm trees, a basketball half-court, covered jacuzzi and the ocean.
‘Bro, I wouldn’t leave my house if I had all of this,’ I said taking aim for the hoop. ‘You really do have it all.’
He picked up the ball and took a shot himself. ‘The only part I care about in this medical centre is my dad’s car collection.’
I looked around to see if his mum could hear us.
‘Relax. She’s probably left already. She said she had some meeting.’ As he walked towards the garage, he ducked out of view of the cameras mounted high on the wall.
‘I thought you said she’s out,’ I said, following him.
He stopped. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’
He opened the garage door and switched on the lights. Each light shone on a new car. There were four lights in total. My heart skipped a beat.
‘Bro, is that an Audi R8 V10 Spyder?’ I asked in a hushed, reverent tone. I had only ever seen them in weddings, doing burnouts.
‘Yeah, my dad was a collector,’ he said. ‘He went around the country buying and selling cars. And if he wasn’t doing that, he was watching me play footy on the weekends or going to the Bulldogs match.’
He walked to the back wall and uncovered a framed and signed Bulldogs jersey from the 2004 Grand Final. He pointed to a signature just under the collar. ‘That’s Hazem’s there.’
‘If I showed this to Ibby or PJ, they’d probably lose their minds. They’d knock you unconscious and take the jersey.’ I took a few pictures on my phone. ‘Just need some evidence to make them freak out.’
One wall was filled with pictures of Aaron and his dad, either with racing legends or doing father-son things like fishing and more fishing.
‘Bro, how big is that Jewfish?’ I exclaimed. ‘You’re a Jew fishing for a Jew.’
‘I never thought about it that way,’ he said, laughing. ‘Anyway, my dad was Catholic.’
‘What? Is that even allowed?’ I asked.
‘I mean, my grandparents weren’t thrilled about it, but Mum was a bit of a rebel,’ he said. ‘It’s hard to believe she broke any rules when now I can’t even leave my shoes in my room in case she has a heart attack.’
‘Man, my mum lets us do anything as long as we don’t touch her plants.’
‘Wanna swap mums?’
I shook my head. ‘Relax, yeah? We’re just getting to know each other.’
Aaron walked over to the only car under a cover. ‘Dad would watch me play footy on the weekend and then we’d go for a drive in this.’ He unveiled a blood-red 1963 Ferrari 250 GTO. I nearly swallowed my tongue. ‘Nought to sixty in three seconds,’ he noted, opening the car door for me to sit.
I took a few pictures inside the car. ‘Bro, if Huss saw this, he’d lose his shit.’
Aaron’s face changed. ‘I don’t want to fight with him, but when he stuffs around on the field, man, it pisses me off.’
‘You have to admit that you do stuff to piss us off, too.’ I got out of the car.
‘Like what?’
‘You’re heaps cocky. Like when I lost captaincy, it was like you won the lottery.’
He grinned. ‘Hey, man, if the roles were reversed, you’d be cocky, too.’
I helped him cover the Ferrari while we sniped about who started what.
‘There’s no point in arguing anymore,’ I told him. ‘I’m here cos Archie expects a lot from us. My school is in deep shit and it’s not helping that we keep fighting.’ I filled him in about the men in suits.
‘But Huss still argues with Ahmed and Archie? He even –’
‘Huss and I have been brothers since before I can remember.’ I needed to be clear about where I stood with Huss. ‘Yeah, he pushes people’s buttons but he’s loyal and he’s always had my back.’
Aaron rolled his eyes. ‘If he’s still shitting off Archie and Ahmed, it doesn’t sound like he’s got your back when it comes to keeping the school open.’
‘Let’s just talk about how we’re going to win games and work on some set plays, especially with Hunter and his team.’ It felt wrong talking about Huss behind his back. ‘If there was one thing we can agree upon, it’s that Hunter needs to be taught a lesson and we’re the ones to do it.’
Aaron agreed just as Abi the Indian butler walked into the garage. ‘Hunter is at the front door. He says he wants to talk to you.’
‘Speak of the devil,’ Aaron said. ‘Tell him I’m busy.’
‘Should I ask him to come back later?’ Abi asked hesitantly.
‘Please tell him that where he’s concerned, I’m always going to be too busy.’ He waited until she left before turning to me. ‘I don’t want to be around him ever again, I’m done.’
‘To be honest, I didn’t believe you until you put it on him in the toilets. I know we have our beef, but that was alright, man.’
‘Riley and I have been hanging out these last few weeks. He’s actually really funny, man. It makes me wish we hung out from the very beginning, not just when we were playing footy at school.’
‘Straight out, I don’t know how he’s so nice to you and treats you like nothing ever happened.’
‘I asked him. I asked him why he forgave me and you wanna know what he said? He said it was because he’d never want to let hate seep in his heart like it did to me and Hunter.’
‘That’s deep, man.’
I heard the sound of high heels clacking on the ground just as Aaron’s mum walked into the garage.
‘Hunter has been waiting for you outside.’ She folded her arms. ‘And didn’t I say this place was off-limits?’ she asked coldly.
‘Hunter can get fucked,’ Aaron said, equally coldly. I stood there awkwardly and wondered what would happen to my face if I ever spoke to my mum like that.
‘Watch your language,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t think I know you anymore. First the firecrackers at camp, and now this. You’ve always been friends with him. What’s going on? Hunter’s inviting you to his place and wants to put things behind him. I wish you’d be mature enough to do the same.’ By the sounds of it, Aaron hadn’t mentioned the bullying and Hunter had made himself out to be the innocent party.
‘I said I don’t want to talk to him!’ Aaron yelled. He stormed off and left me in the garage with his mum. I wanted to leave, but she stood in the doorway, her arms still folded, glaring my way.
‘I thought this football competition would help him to deal with his anger and his grief,’ she said. ‘Clearly, I was wrong. He still storms out and won’t listen to a word I say.’
I wanted to suggest that maybe that was because she didn’t listen to him, but I was an Arab boy in a white woman’s garage, so I kept my mouth shut. She breathed deeply through her nose a few times, then finally left.
I found Aaron’s room with Abi’s help. He sat on a couch beneath the window, spinning a basketball on his finger. The shadows under his eyes looked deeper than ever.
‘Six months today,’ he said, not meeting my eyes.
I stood in the doorway. ‘Your dad?’
‘Yeah. I know she’s upset and angry, but she can’t keep taking it out on me. She’s a psycho sometimes.’
I couldn’t tell Aaron that he was a psycho sometimes too. I’d been in his house for about an hour and I could see why he called the place a medical centre. Even though my mum would lose it when we went near her plants, we were basically free to do whatever we wanted. Abdul and Saff spray-painted the back of our garage and my parents didn’t say anything. Amira used Dad’s tools and built whatever she wanted in the shed. Uncle Charlie had a swarm of bees in his section of the garden, and Feda took up most of Dad’s closet space with her textbooks.
‘Maybe she’s dealing with your dad’s death in her own way,’ I tried to console him. ‘She lost a husband, too.’ We stared at each other and I realised that it was the first time we’d had a conversation – a real conversation – without calling each other out. The moment stretched out into an awkward silence, so I moved to a safer topic. ‘Alright let’s talk strategy and come up with some stuff so Archie doesn’t kill us.’
We agreed on most set plays and the things we needed to change for our next game. Huss’s laid-back attitude was one of them but I warned Aaron to stay out of it and promised that I’d talk to him. I knew Huss would listen to me if I told him that I needed him to step it up and start taking things more seriously.
Three hours passed before I called Dad to come and pick me up. As I waited by the door for him, I could hear Mrs Furner on the phone yell at some guy named Mr Paten.
‘If you can’t get your act together, consider our deal finished.’ She didn’t raise her voice, but the threat was crystal clear.
God help Mr Paten.