Huda and Me H. Hayek (reading fiction txt) 📖

but there’s Raheed’s little head, poking out.

I have to hand it to Huda – she’s made sure Mum and Dad have all the proof they need. No wonder she wasn’t worried about them not believing us, when I asked her about it on the plane.

Mum’s hands are shaking. ‘Aunt Amel made you all do these things?’ she whispers.

Huda nods.

‘How could she do this?’ Mum asks, but I know it’s not a question we can answer.

Mum pulls us into her arms again and holds us. Dad keeps flicking through the photos, staring at each one again, his eyebrows creased.

‘She carried Raheed around like a sack of potatoes in that shopping bag?’ he asks us, shaking his head.

‘We saw him from the window before we left. He’s okay. Aunt Amel actually likes him,’ I say.

‘He’s the only one she likes,’ my sister adds.

Mum takes a deep breath. Her eyes are darting back and forth between both of our faces. I can tell she’s thinking quickly. She looks up at Dad. He’s shaking his head, like he still can’t quite believe what he’s just seen and heard.

‘Need to call them!’ Dad suddenly blurts out. ‘Where’s the phone?’ And he bolts out of the room, through the door he just came from.

There’s movement from the bed. I glance over and see my grandma has woken up. She says something to Mum, but I can’t make out what. Her voice is so soft, so frail, so gentle.

I don’t know how Mum hears her question, but she does. ‘My children, Mama,’ she replies. Then she realises she’s spoken English and says it again in Arabic.

Across the dim room, and despite my grandma’s deep wrinkles and exhausted eyes, I see a slight smile. She lifts one of her hands, carefully and with what looks like a lot of effort. She wants us to go to her. I’ve never seen someone so old before; I’ve never seen someone so sick before. It scares me a little, but I know this is my mum’s mum, and I know I love her already. I’d do anything to make her feel better.

Huda doesn’t hesitate like me. She walks straight over and rests one of her hands on my grandma’s. With her other hand, she holds my grandma’s face – just the same as how Mum held us a moment ago. Huda strokes my grandma’s cheek.

‘Tayta, it’s me, Huda,’ she whispers.

My grandma looks up at Huda but doesn’t say anything.

I stand by the foot of the bed, beside my grandpa. I shift my feet, unsure what to do.

‘I’m sorry you’re unwell,’ Huda tells my grandma. ‘I will make dua to Allah that you feel better.’

I wish I’d thought of that line. But as I stand there silently, I start making a dua that she’ll get better. Huda leans down and kisses my grandma on the head. Then she gently tucks a few loose grey hairs back into her scarf. I look over at Mum. Tears are streaming down her face.

‘This is Akeal, Tayta,’ Huda tells our grandma. Then she leans in really close to her ear and whispers something.

Tayta chuckles. I bet Huda said something bad about me. My sister is back to her old tricks. I know it’s time to step forward, so I take a deep breath. I touch my tayta’s other hand, which is resting on her belly.

‘Tayta, ana Akeal.’ My grandma moves her head slightly to get a look at me. She smiles. Even though she’s wrinkly, tired and sick, I can tell she would have been beautiful when she was younger. She has the same smile as my mum.

She says something, but I can’t make out what because it’s hard for her to get the words out. Her breaths are short; it’s like she’s struggling to get air. She begins to cough dryly, wincing as it takes over her body. My tayta is so thin and frail that I worry she might snap.

Mum rushes to the sink and brings her a glass of water. She kneels beside the bed and lifts my tayta’s head to help her to take a sip. As the cough settles, Mum strokes her mum’s forehead.

I now realise that my mum is the best at everything. She’s the best mum. Dad always says she’s the best wife. And now I know she’s the best daughter.

Outwitted

‘Tayta needs to sleep, come on,’ Mum says to us.

Mum stands and tells Jido to call for her if he needs anything. Then she follows Dad to the next room.

Huda gazes at my grandma. She softly recites a short surah from the Quran and cups her hands together, lifting them just below her chin to make a prayer.

‘Oh Allah, please make Tayta better so we can all pick mulberries together.’

She kisses our grandma on the cheek and then smiles at our grandpa. I do the same, because I’m not sure what else to do.

We follow Mum and close the door behind us. Dad’s pacing up and down with Mum’s phone in his hand. Orange curtains hang from the window, and a matching orange quilt is draped over a bed. There’s a small bedside table, and an old wooden wardrobe in the corner.

‘I’ve figured out why it wouldn’t connect this whole time and fixed the setting,’ Dad says. ‘But they haven’t answered.’ He rubs his hands over his head.

Huda butts in. ‘That’s coz Aunt Amel has your phone, Dad. But it’s okay. The kids aren’t with her anymore. They’re with Mr Kostiki now.’

I stare at Huda. So do Mum and Dad. ‘How could you know that, Huda?’ Dad asks eventually, his eyebrow raised.

‘It was all part of our grand plan,’ Huda says proudly.

Our plan?

She has the decency to pause and throw me an apologetic look before she keeps talking.

‘My and Mr Kostiki’s plan. We didn’t want to tell the big kids what we were up to until Akeal and I were in the air – in case they tried to stop us. Plus, you know