Monday, 29 March 2021
‘So does anyone actually know what’s wrong with dad?’
I can’t help spraying these words across the room on my way in. I can’t help flinging the door closed behind me either. ‘So he just blew up in my face for no reason again. Bit my head off.’
Isa looks up from the book he’s read a hundred times already and just sneers at me. ‘Like we didn’t already know,’ he barks back, ‘We heard everything.’
I don’t expect penetrating insight from my little brother. At twelve, he never has anything useful to contribute. No need, for he’s mastered the art of rolling his eyes at me, which he thinks makes him look extremely smart. How I love being belittled by a kid nearly six years younger than me. Of course, at fourteen, Maryam’s not much better. From her place in front of the family computer, perfecting her slides on covalent substances, she has already dismissed my fury with a shake of her head: ‘Well mum did say not to disturb him.’
So this is my life. Everyone treats me like I’m a fool these days. Maryam’s turning into mum, all timid and submissive, completely incapable of thinking for herself. She’s so gullible that she’s taken to tiptoeing around the house like a complete coward. No, it’s worse than that: she’s taken it upon herself to enforce these new rules of ours on their behalf. I can’t help losing my temper with her too. ‘Don’t you start,’ I snap back at her.
‘Mum told you to leave him alone,’ she says.
‘Like this is normal. When’s he going to come out? He’s can’t lock himself away forever.’
Instead of offering a thoughtful response, my sister gives me the silent treatment. She does this to me all the time, knowing full well it will wind me up way more than a full-blown argument.
‘Are we going to walk on eggshells in this house forever?’ I ask, but she just returns to cycling through the daft animations on her presentation. ‘Well, are we?’ No, I’m not going to get a response from her; these two are a lost cause. ‘Yeah, well I’m not. It’s getting too much. He needs to snap out of it.’
Naturally, Maryam’s response to that is to shake her head at me yet again. How predictable. And my brother? He just glances at me wearily and copies his sister, returning to his Alex Ryder adventure as quickly as he left it. They’re hopeless, these two. Dad’s been shut away in this bedroom for days now. Mum says he’s feeling a bit down. Fine; we all feel a bit down sometimes, but we don’t shut ourselves away for a week. He has a family here. Maybe we have needs too.
I find mum in the conservatory, pounding hard on the treadmill, the belt rumbling around so fast that the windows seem to vibrate all around her. I don’t need to see her face to know she’s upset; her hammering feet are evidence enough. From the door, I watch her intently for a while. Her shoulders and the back of her neck glisten with perspiration, her grey-black hair tied up in a bun. Her gaze is fixed on the woodland across the valley, far beyond the rooftop at the end of our garden. The more I watch her, the more her trainers seem to thud against the rubber track beneath her. Yes, she knows I’m here. Quietly, I shuffle forwards and come to a standstill at her side.
‘I told you to leave him alone,’ she howls without even looking at me, her eyes still fixed straight ahead.
Perching on the edge of the windowsill, I gaze at my mum’s face. It’s all twisted with a bitter rage, sweat dripping down her forehead. I can tell that her pace is too quick for her, causing her pain, but she keeps it up as if to emphasise her disquiet.
‘I only wanted to tell him about something that happened at college today,’ I tell her. ‘Nothing that warranted him going ballistic.’
‘You could’ve spoken to me.’
‘It was a man thing.’
‘About a girl?’ she asks, her eyes accidentally flitting towards me.
‘It doesn’t matter what it was about. Not something I’d discuss with you. Sometimes I need a dad. But where is he? He just stares aimlessly at nothing. I didn’t even say anything bad to him. I just said, “Dad.” Tried to get his attention, and he blew up in my face. Exploded.’
‘Which is why I expressly told you lot not to bother him,’ pants mum breathlessly. Mum has never mastered talking and walking at the same time, let alone sprinting like this.
‘But why?’ I demand. ‘What exactly is wrong with him?’
Mum jabs at the controls in front of her, reducing her speed a notch. ‘That, Ibrahim, is none of your business.’
‘Really? I’m his son. I deserve to know what’s happening. Is he ill? Has something happened? Has he lost his job?’
She jabs at the button again, slowing to a jog, the sweat dripping down over her eyebrows now. She blinks awkwardly, wiping her face dry with the back of her hand. ‘He’s just feeling down,’ she says at last.
‘But why?’ I ask. ‘Is it lockdown?’
‘That may have something to do with it.’
‘But it’s not like he’s the only one it’s affecting. We’re all going stir-crazy.’
Mum has slowed to a brisk walk now and has taken to measuring her pulse, her heavy breathing brought back under control. ‘Just be patient, Ibrahim,’ she says.
‘Like you, mum? How many years are you going to put up with this? It’s not fair on you.’
‘I chose this life, Ibrahim,’ she tells me, ‘so I accept everything it throws at me.’
‘You shouldn’t have to.’
‘Please, Ibrahim, leave it.’
‘You deserve better,’ I say.
‘Okay, enough,’ she shouts, flashing those bright white teeth at me.
‘You always get cross when I tell you the truth,’ I bawl back at her.
No, but she can yell louder than that. ‘Just… just leave me,’ she cries at the top of her voice. ‘Get out!’ she bellows furiously. ‘Go away!’
Yes, this is my life in this house. This is what it’s like every single day at the moment. I hate it. Seriously, I can’t stand it. I just want to run away, get out. Leaving my mum, I slam the glass door shut behind me. Then I slam the kitchen door shut too for good measure, shaking the whole house. Perhaps they will get the message if I slam every single door on my way out.
‘Good one, bro,’ says Maryam, catching me in the hall. ‘So now you’ve upset both of them. Well done. Way to go.’
‘Shut up! You’re as bad as them. I hate this stupid family.’
At the front door, I kick my feet into my shoes, and yank it wide open.
‘Where are you going?’ she asks, following after me.
‘Grandad’s.’
‘We’re not allowed,’ she says. ‘Covid rules.’
‘Stuff the rules.’
‘It’s to protect them.’
‘I’ll stand in the garden if I have to,’ I tell her, pulling the door closed behind me. ‘This house is doing my head in. I’m out of here.’
