‘I think I know what we could do with the slam in a few weeks’ time,’ Jamila told me as we sat between the shelves at the back of the library, away from the other pairs. ‘But the audience will only buy it if you guys dig deep and show how you really feel. The outside world needs to connect with you on a human level and see past the stereotypes of the Angry Arab or the gang affiliations in Punchbowl.’
Watching her speak so passionately about our school and what we could do to keep it open gave me hope. We swapped numbers, and she said that if I had any ideas, I could message her.
‘Don’t get too excited, it’s for the slam,’ she said.
I smiled. ‘Of course, the slam.’
I saved her contact under ‘No damsel in distress’.
Things with Jamila were moving forward so well, but when it came to everyone else, it felt like I was mired in the mud. I stayed awake for hours every night playing out in my mind the different ways I could try to fix things.
We had a close game against Team B on Friday. Huss and I shook hands before the game and even made some small talk, which felt like a huge step forward.
‘I’ll come over tonight and see Big Haji,’ I said as we strapped on our boots.
‘She’s doing better. Been in and out seeing the doctors,’ he said. ‘She keeps asking about you.’
He left as soon as he saw Aaron walking our way.
PJ had some slips during the game and lost the ball a few times. I had to keep him calm and reassure him that his mistakes were simple to fix and that he needed to keep his cool. If PJ was angry, it only made him play worse, so I needed him to get back on track and work with Ibby to push us forward. That didn’t go down well with Huss who pointed out that I was a lot softer on PJ than I was on him.
‘Why didn’t you tell him off, ay?’ Huss asked, shaking his head. ‘Did Aaron tell you not to?’
I wanted to reinstate him as the goal kicker, but he still strolled lazily across to make tackles on his line, which put us in a dangerous position and jeopardised the game. We needed all three wins for our school and nothing was going to get in the way of that, not even Huss.
We finished the game against Team B with a close victory when Lee made a break in the last minute and flew down the line to score. While the rest of the team cheered and celebrated, Huss packed up his gear and left. It had become his pattern after every match, and I was getting sick of it.
I hadn’t forgotten my promise to go and see Big Haji after school. But it was the last Friday before Aunty Salma was to go back to Lebanon, and when Amira asked me to join them for some bonding time, I couldn’t say no. Amira painted Aunty Salma’s face with makeup as we chatted about what she would do when she got home. I finally bit the bullet and said what had been on my mind all week.
‘Aunty, I need to make it up to Uncle Charlie after what I said to him.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, as Amira smeared glittery shadow over one eye.
‘He’s been avoiding me, though. Can you help me, please?’
‘He’s awake right now, and he’s in the shed,’ she said. ‘And don’t worry, I gave him a heads up.’
I stared at her. ‘But I only mentioned it to you just now.’
She winked, the eyeshadow sparkling and shimmering. ‘You think I’ve spent all this time with your family and I don’t know you, Tariq? Go, before he runs away again. Make things right.’
I peeked through the shed window and saw Uncle Charlie sitting, blank-faced, with a cup of tea. The lines on his face deepened around his eyes like he was lost in thought. It hit me that since most of us had grown up, we rarely spent time with him in his shed. It must have been so lonely being on his own.
‘Can I come in, Khorloo?’ I said.
He opened the door before walking around his kitchenette, trying to find something to feed me. ‘I have halloumi. I have eggs. I cook for you now. Give me moment.’
‘It’s okay, Uncle,’ I said. ‘I just wanna talk.’
He sat back down and poured me some tea. ‘It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.’
‘No, it’s not okay, Uncle. You should’ve punched me in the face.’ He smiled gently. ‘You good boy, Tariq. I sorry if I make you embarrass. Very sorry.’
I didn’t like that he was apologising when clearly I was in the wrong. ‘You don’t make me embarrassed. I make myself embarrassed. You do a lot for me and I don’t deserve it.’
‘It’s okay, Tariq. Everyone make a mistake. We should forgive and try to learn.’
I’d never stayed long enough in the shed to notice the tapestry hanging above his head, of what looked like an old Arabian desert town. He saw me looking at it, and wordlessly stood up, took out a photo frame from his bedside drawer and placed it on the table. It was a black-and-white photo of a woman, one hand on her round stomach. By her side, much younger and with no moustache, stood Uncle Charlie.
I picked up the frame and studied it. ‘Who was she, Khorloo?’
‘She was my wife,’ he said. He took a few deep breaths. ‘I was at work then one day I come home and I find her.’
He stopped.
He drank the tea.
He stared at the photo in my hands and smiled. ‘I not tell people cos is very hard for me to say.’
As much as I was trying to process that my uncle was actually married long ago, I didn’t want to bring him any more pain by forcing him to share his story.
‘It’s okay,’ I said, handing him back the photo. ‘You don’t have to tell me.’
Uncle Charlie held the photo close to his chest. ‘They kill her and the baby in war when I away. I try to make her alive to help her breathe but it was too late. She die.’
I was stunned. I knew the civil war in Lebanon in the seventies had been brutal but I didn’t know it had directly affected our family. ‘Khorloo…I am so sorry.’
He stroked the photo once, twice. ‘I never marry anyone cos I have only love for her.’
I couldn’t believe that Uncle Charlie had been holding on to so much grief and never mentioned it. I hated talking about my own feelings, but I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to keep that much bottled up inside and still go above and beyond every day for my family.
I had no words, and the truth was, words were the last thing he needed. I hugged him tightly and let him know that he was like a father to me.
‘Will you tell me about her?’
He smiled. ‘She very funny, Tariq. So funny. Always laughing and joking. You know, she love bees?’
‘No way?!’
‘Yes, she wanted to have her own bees, so she could have honey every day.’
And in Uncle Charlie’s cramped shed, the tea long gone cold between us, he told me all about the woman who had been my aunt, who would have been an amazing mum, and whose memory still lived on in his heart.