Chapter 6
Uncle Aziz’s hand was on my shoulder. His brow furrowed with worry.
“Here, have some chai.” Aunty Rashida handed me one of her posh flowery china mugs.
“Thanks, Bari Ammi, but I don’t drink tea,” I said.
She looked at me as if I was extraterrestrial. “Okay, I’ll get you some water. Don’t cry, beti.” She stroked the top of my head before leaving the room again.
Would Mum and Dad be angry with me for persuading them to let me go to the concert? I acted as if I was all grown up and could handle myself. But what did I know? We were so lucky to have got away uninjured. What if we’d had better seats at the front? I shuddered and rubbed my arms.
I needed to message Sukhi and Lisa, to check if they were okay. But it felt awkward to ask for a charger right now. What if Sukhi and Harpreet were still waiting for their mum? I closed my eyes to block the thought.
“It’s a good thing you came here,” Aunty Rashida said as she entered the room again. “All the roads around the concert hall have been closed, so your ammi and abu wouldn’t have been able to get to you.” She handed me a tall glass of water.
“Thank you,” I said, taking a sip, watching Uncle Aziz glued to the news. He ran his hand over his bald head.
“I’ve just spoken to them. They’re on their way.” Aunty Rashida stood in the middle of the room, observing me. “They’ll park somewhere and walk here.”
My poor mum and dad. And then the thought struck me that someone might attack Mum because of her hijab.
“I’ll go to them. Tell them not to come,” I said, getting up from the sofa.
“No, no. You can’t go out there, Aaliyah,” said Uncle Aziz, still facing the TV screen. “They will come here and get you.”
“As-salaamu alaikum. Where is she?”
It was Mum. She was crying.
I put my glass of water on the mantelpiece and rushed out of the door. “Mum!”
“Oh, Aaliyah!” She pushed past Aunty Rashida in the front doorway and wrapped her arms around me, burrowing her face into my head. I don’t think I’d ever been happier to see her.
“Aaliyah, my baby.” It was Dad. His arms wrapped around me and Mum. I was safe. “Allah shukar. Well done for making it here …” His voice broke. He sounded like he’d been crying.
Inside the front room, Mum and Dad sat on either side of me on the three-seater sofa.
“I was going out of my mind,” said Mum, squeezing my hand tightly. “I couldn’t connect to your phone or Sukhi’s mum’s. The police didn’t have any information. We thought we’d lost you.” She broke into tears again.
“I tried to call you,” I said. “But the network was down and I couldn’t get through, then my phone died.” I rested my head on her shoulder and closed my eyes, taking in the sweet, floral scent of her perfume.
“How did you get here?” Mum asked. “Have the girls gone home?”
My stomach rolled. “Uhhh … I ran here in a panic … They’re still at the —”
“Were they with you the whole time? No one got separated or injured?”
My tear splashed on to Mum’s hand. I’d left Sukhi and Lisa. Even though Harpreet was technically an adult, I really shouldn’t have.
“Shhh … it’s okay.” Mum stroked my face. “I texted Lisa’s and Sukhi’s mums, but they haven’t got my messages. I’ll try them again once the lines clear. Thankfully Rashida Baji got through to the house phone soon after, otherwise I’d have had a heart attack worrying about you.”
“My phone’s dead. Can I try and send Sukhi and Lisa a message from yours?” I asked Mum.
“Yes, yes — check they’re okay.” Mum unlocked her phone and handed it to me. I went into Messages and then realized I didn’t know Sukhi’s or Lisa’s numbers by heart. Ugh. What if Darren had got angry at Lisa for being my friend after I left? Why did I run off without checking Sukhi had found Harpreet? I closed my eyes and dropped my chin to my chest, the shame rising inside me. I’d been so stupid.
I looked around for Uncle Aziz’s phone and saw it was newer than mine. I couldn’t even ask for a charger because it wouldn’t work on my phone.
The room grew silent, the clock ticking the only sound.
“So was it a Muslim?” said Dad out of nowhere.
I sat up straight. Dad looked small tucked into the sofa next to me, repeatedly rubbing his thighs, lines across his forehead.
“No one knows yet, but they’re already speculating. It’s only a matter of time,” said Uncle Aziz. His recliner clanked open.
“God willing, it won’t be,” said Mum.
“Of course it will be! It always is nowadays!” said Dad. “A bomb at a concert full of little kids? It’s going to be some nutjob claiming he’s doing it for ISIS or Al Qaeda or some other sick group.” He rubbed his forehead with two fingers as if he had a headache.
My heart plummeted. If he was right, it would give people like Darren more “proof” that all Muslims were bad.
The doorbell rang at 11:45 p.m. We jolted in our seats. Aunty Rashida left the room. What if it was the police, looking for witnesses or something?
“Where is she?” It sounded like Yusuf.
“Oh, Yusuf!” Mum cried as he came through the door and released my hand to jump up and hug him.
“As-salaamu alaikum,” he said to everyone in the room. “All right, everyone? Dad.” Yusuf nodded at Dad.
“You all right, squirt?” he asked, bending down to rub and mess up my hair. He always did that even though he knew it annoyed me.
“Gerroff,” I said, shoving his hand off and pushing into Mum’s shoulder, forcing a tearful smile. It was so good to see him.
He sat on the beige carpet in front of the fireplace, his head down, pulling on the carpet pile. He shifted and looked at me on the sofa. “Seriously, you all right?”
A lump formed in my throat. His protective-brother face reminded me of the time he’d had words with Luke Branstan in Year Three when he kept running off with my woolly hat. He would’ve sorted Darren out. He’d never have let him scream at me.
“Yeah,” I said, as a fat tear rolled off my lip. And suddenly I couldn’t stop crying again.