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

to clarify when I said the plan went almost perfectly.’

‘Where is Raheed?’ Mum yells into the phone.

There’s a long pause. Then Mr Kostiki clears his throat.

‘We don’t know. The children followed each step of Huda’s plan wonderfully. Kholoud met me at the school office, and let the others know what was happening when she came home from school. Omar made Amel a pot of my special sleepy tea. The twins agreed to take it to her in her room, so she didn’t become suspicious. But …’

Mum clutches her chest, and I grab her to stop her from falling to the floor.

Mr Kostiki doesn’t finish his sentence.

‘She was already gone,’ Omar tells us. ‘And she took Raheed with her.’

The Journey Back Home

My eyelids feel so heavy. They want to close, but I haven’t been able to sleep all night, and not just because of Huda’s snoring. Raheed is missing. I know the police are out looking for him, and I know Aunt Amel wouldn’t hurt him, but I also know that he belongs with us. His family.

I glance over at my sister. Her face is pressed into the pillow, and drool dribbles from her mouth and glistens in the moonlight. The bedroom door opens and Dad comes in, carrying a small bundle of folded clothes. I can tell he’s surprised to see me sitting up on the bed, awake already. He opens his suitcase and shoves the clothes inside. Then he zips the suitcase shut and pulls it up onto its wheels. Mum comes in and hands him a small leather bag.

‘The passports and tickets are in here,’ she whispers.

Dad nods and then turns to me. ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes, Baba.’

‘Okay, brave boy – grab your bag.’

I can’t hear Mum’s sob over the sound of Huda’s snoring, but I can tell she’s crying from the way her shoulders shake in the gloom.

Dad puts his arm around her. ‘We’re going to find him.’

Mum doesn’t say anything, so Dad keeps talking.

‘Just focus on your mum. You can’t leave her. Huda will be here to help.’

I hear a car pull up outside, and its headlights flash through the open window. We creep into the living room, where Jido and Tayta are still sleeping. I can see the outline of the mulberry tree in the garden. Birds are starting their morning song. It’s so warm already that I don’t even need to wear a jumper. Dad gives Mum a kiss on the forehead and tucks the small leather bag under his arm. He walks out to the taxi.

By the ancient wooden door, Mum holds my face in her hands. ‘You took care of your sister, like you promised you would. Now your dad is going to bring Raheed home.’

My throat hurts. I know if I speak I’ll bawl. So I nod.

I kiss my mum’s wet cheek, but just as I’m about to follow Dad out the door, my grandma stirs and sits up in her bed.

I run to my grandma and wrap my arms around her. ‘I love you so much, Tayta. I’m going to miss you.’ I look into her light-brown eyes, then kiss her on the forehead.

‘Allah maak, ya ibni.’ Her delicate voice is so precious to my ears. I want to remember her calling me my boy forever.

Jido softly snores on his side of the bed. I wish I had time to snuggle up beside him and lean into his cosy body.

Instead, I make dua. ‘Oh Allah, please let us find Raheed safe and sound. Oh Allah, please help my grandma get better. And please let me come back here really soon. Ameen,’ I whisper.

The taxi driver beeps. So I kiss my jido on the head and race out the door.

It feels like deja vu.

‘The flight crew would like to welcome you to Melbourne’s Tullamarine International Airport. We will be arriving at the gate momentarily. Please remain in your seats with your seatbelt securely fastened until the aircraft has come to a complete stop …’

I open my eyes, expecting to see Huda next to me. But instead I see Dad.

‘You okay?’ he says. It’s been so long since anyone asked me that.

‘I’m all right. Just worried about Raheed.’

Dad nods but doesn’t say anything.

We get off the plane and clear passport control as quickly as possible, then take the Nothing to Declare customs queue and, at last, make it through the arrivals gate. Happy-looking groups of people holding balloons and welcome home signs have gathered around the gate. Their eyes are wide, their faces eager, as they await their loved ones’ arrival, and I feel a pang in my chest. I imagine me and my siblings gathering like that, one week from now – in some sort of happy parallel universe, where Aunt Amel was the best babysitter ever.

I wish everything had turned out okay. But it hasn’t.

I take a deep breath. I’m not sure where we’re heading – to the police station or home. Or perhaps we’re going to drive around and look for them. I can tell from the lines on Dad’s forehead that it’s not the right time to ask. I think about my baby brother Raheed’s sweet, chubby cheeks for the billionth time. Why did she take him?

Just at that moment, an announcement comes over the loudspeaker. ‘Calling remaining passenger, A. Boogie, for flight JFQ 771 to Wellington, departing at 4:20 p.m. Please check in at desk 57, then proceed to gate 14 immediately. We repeat. Please check in for flight JFQ 771 to Wellington, immediately.’

Something in my brain clicks.

Wellington was in our geography test last term. It’s the capital of New Zealand …

And that very first morning with Aunt Amel, when we all stood in the kitchen and she gave each of us a task, she said: ‘It’s not exactly the New Zealand ski trip I’ve been dying for, nor even the two-day day-spa at Daylesford, but I’ve always made the best out of any situation…’

On top of that, she’d listed Raheed’s