‘You two look happy,’ says mum when we return from our walk. ‘Have you made peace?’
‘Alhamdulilah,’ I say.
Dad just smiles and pecks a kiss on her cheek. I watch him follow her through to the kitchen, and put the kettle on. He pushes himself into a corner and gazes at her. I know he’s contemplating how to break his news to her, but I can’t watch. I don’t want to be here when she responds, in case it’s another explosion and I find myself on the receiving end. I head upstairs to study instead.
‘What’ve you done now?’ asks Maryam, barging into my room half an hour later.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Mum’s crying downstairs.’
‘Where’s dad?’
‘Holding her in his arms.’
‘Saying what?’
‘That he loves her.’
I shrug my shoulders. ‘If you must know, I haven’t done anything. But dad has.’
‘Done what?’
‘He’s arranged to meet up with his mum. Next weekend. It’s all agreed.’
‘What, after mum’s lecture this morning? Are you crazy?’
‘It’s his mum.’
‘Yeah, and that town. You know mum’s terrified of that place. She’ll never allow it.’
‘She’ll have to because it’s all arranged.’
‘No wonder she’s crying,’ says Maryam. ‘I’d keep a low profile if I were you.’
‘What do you think I’m doing?’ I say, waving my textbook at her. ‘It’s between those two now.’
‘On your head be it,’ says Maryam, frowning at me the way mum always does, moments before wandering away.
Obviously I can’t focus on my studies now. My sister has distracted me with her interrogation. I grab my phone instead and fiddle with it for a few minutes. Should I or shouldn’t I? Finally I decide the affirmative and tap out a text message.
‘Hello.’
I tap a load of info about my dad arranging to meet my gran next Saturday, but I delete it all. There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t bring it out of my chest.
‘Is it Ibrahim?’ she replies.
‘Yes.’
‘How are you?’
‘I’m good.’
‘Did you get home safely on Friday? I was worried.’
‘Sorry, forgot to text. I’m fine.’
‘Good to hear.’
I’m just about to follow up with my news when there is a knock on my bedroom door. Mum doesn’t wait for me to reply before she pushes her way inside. My heart skips a beat when I see her.
‘Don’t panic, Ibby, I haven’t come to bite your head off.’
She stands beside my desk and gazes through the window.
‘Just wanted to tell you what we agreed,’ she says, without looking at me. ‘You, me and dad will drive up north next Saturday morning. Isa and Maryam will stay with granny and grandad. Dad’s trying to book us a Travelodge for Saturday night. Then back home Sunday.’
‘And you’re alright with it?’ I ask.
She doesn’t reply, but wanders over to my bed and sits down on the edge of it. I spin around to look at her, hoping she’ll say something, but she avoids eye contact. She doesn’t look happy.
‘Are you scared?’ I ask her.
‘What do you think?’ she mutters.
‘You’ll be okay, mum.’
‘I’m doing it for your dad. You already know what I think.’
‘Dad sounded so happy on the phone.’
‘Let’s hope it’s not a total disaster then,’ she says.
‘Why are you so pessimistic, mum?’
‘Because I’ve been worn down by the trials and tribulations of life, Ibby. Doesn’t mean I don’t have faith. Just means I wear my faith differently. I fully expect to be tested again, because that’s what we believe. It’s what the Quran says: “And We will surely test you until We make evident those who strive among you and those who are patient, and We will test your affairs.” Yes, so I’m just bracing myself for what comes next.’
‘You worry too much, mum.’
‘You haven’t walked in my shoes, Ibby.’
‘But we’re a happy family. Life is good.’
‘Alhamdulilah,’ says mum, ‘But only because we’re not up there. Moving down south was the best decision we ever made. I can’t face going back there. And I don’t want to. But as I say, I’m doing it for your dad.’
‘Maybe it’ll be good for you too.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ she mutters. ‘I’ve got everything I need right here. My parents, my hubby, my kids, my home. The only thing I left behind were my memories, and I don’t need them.’
‘What about old friends?’ I ask.
‘There’s only one I miss,’ she says. ‘We stayed in touch for a few years, but then life just got in the way. We lost touch.’
‘Is that…’
‘A beautiful Malaysian girl.’
‘Oh…’
‘She was my best friend all through school. Such an inspiration to me. Siti Noor. Her name suited her to a tee. Noor, as in light. Yes, I regret losing touch with her, but she got married, had kids and, well, you know? It gets busy. She was training to be a nurse last I heard. No idea if she stayed there or moved away.’
‘Maybe you’ll find her again, mum.’
‘Unlikely,’ she says. ‘There are nearly eight-billion people on the planet and seventy-million in the UK. The chances of ever meeting people we once knew again are next to nothing. You’ll realise this once you go out into the world. We’re just travellers passing through. Passengers, even.’
‘Well if Allah wills, you will…’
‘Inshallah,’ she says. ‘But as I say, next weekend’s for your dad. Let’s focus on that.’
‘Okay,’ I mutter, nodding.
At last mum gets up and smiles at me.
‘Your heart’s in the right place, Ibby,’ she says to me, ‘Just don’t get your hopes up too much. Keep your feet on the ground. We need to take it one day at a time. I can’t promise you that your dad won’t relapse, or change his mind. Just be prepared, Ibby. This week isn’t going to be easy.’
I watch as my mum exits my room and closes my door behind her. I ponder her words for a minute, but soon my phone is in my hands again.
‘I have some news,’ I text to Mrs Dhillon. ‘We’re visiting my gran next weekend. Me, my mum and dad.’
There’s no reply to that, and I wonder what the silence means. An hour later I add another message.
‘Do you know someone called Siti Noor?’
Five minutes later my phone pings.
‘Yes,’ she says.
‘Do you know where she lives?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you in contact?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you tell her my mum will be in town next week?’
There’s no response for half an hour. Then my phone pings again.
‘Yes.’
‘It’ll make her day,’ I write.
‘I’ll sort everything out for you,’ she replies.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
She replies with a smiley and a thumbs-up emoji. That’s where our conversation ends.
