Saba’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.
‘I know, but she’s so angry, and . . .’
Her voice faded as they stepped into the lift.
I waited till I was quite sure they’d really gone, then I walked slowly back to Baba’s room, feeling defensive and a bit silly.
Tariq and Malik were standing by Baba’s bed.
‘It’s so amazing meeting her!’ I heard Tariq say. ‘She’s really cute, isn’t she? Looks just like Safiya, but a whole lot younger. She’s just a kid!’
He saw me and came over.
‘Why did you run off? You missed the great family reunion.’
He was pretending to be cool but I could tell he wasn’t feeling it. I went over to the bed. Baba looked exhausted, and his eyes were wet with tears.
‘So now you’ve met your other self,’ he said in a shaky voice. He picked up my hand and squeezed it. ‘You brought her back to me, habibti, and I’m so proud of you. You and Saba are going to be dearest friends, I know you are.’
He didn’t seem to have noticed that I hadn’t been there. I had to turn away to hide how hurt I felt.
A nurse came in with lunch for him on a tray. She put it on the table by the window and pulled a chair up for him.
‘The doctor says you can get up,’ she said.
Tariq and Malik tried to help him get out of bed, but he waved them away.
‘I can manage fine,’ he said.
I could see that he meant it. He walked quite strongly to the chair, sat down and pulled the table towards him. The meal smelled delicious – a fresh salad, meatballs in tomato sauce and freshly baked bread.
He picked up the flap of bread and was about to tear it when he noticed us watching him as we sat perched on the side of his bed. He pushed the table towards us.
‘There’s too much for me. We’ll share it,’ he said.
‘No, no!’ Tariq bent down to pick up his backpack from the floor beside the bed. ‘Aunt Zainab gave us food to bring with us.’
Triumphantly, he produced some plastic containers full of falafel and salted cheese, then, with a guilty look at me, he pulled out a blue plastic bag.
‘Oh dear,’ he said, ‘they’ve got a bit squashed.’
I took the bag from him and looked inside.
‘Abu Ali’s cakes!’ I said. ‘He gave them to you, didn’t he? Said they were stale and he couldn’t sell them and his chickens were tired of eating them?’
‘Well – yes. It seemed sort of rude to refuse. I couldn’t say no.’
He caught my eye and we both burst out laughing. Suddenly, I felt much better.
Saba can’t share any of this, I thought. She’ll never take away everything we’ve been through together.
‘It’s all a bit weird, isn’t it?’ said Tariq, echoing my thoughts. ‘I mean Saba won’t ever be able to know us as well as we know each other. And she seems so young! You’re really grown-up compared to her.’
I bent my head over my cake to hide how relieved I was. Saba wouldn’t be able to take him away, however ‘cute’ she was. I’d be his first, real sister, whatever happened.
When we’d finished eating, Baba stood up, holding the back of the chair for support.
‘I’d like to sleep now,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you three go for a walk? Amman’s a beautiful city. This is your chance to explore.’
Malik shook his head.
‘I’m heading back to Azraq, Adnan. I’ve got a job fixed up for tomorrow. I only came to be with Tariq and check how you were getting on.’
I stepped forward.
‘And I’m going with Uncle Malik, Baba.’
He looked surprised.
‘Really, habibti? Already? But you’ve only just met Saba. Don’t you want to be with her? Why don’t you stay?’
I hadn’t properly prepared for this.
‘I just think – Saba needs a bit more time,’ I said lamely. ‘To get used to everything.’
‘That’s my Safiya,’ he said warmly, ‘thoughtful for everyone else, as you always are.’
I bit my lip guiltily.
‘Tariq’s going to stay with you,’ I said. ‘He’ll help you get back to Azraq when they let you out of here.’
‘The day after tomorrow, I think,’ Baba said, heading back to the bed. ‘I’m really fine now. All I need is to be quiet for a while and rest. I want to leave as soon as I can. I can’t bear to think what Hassan is paying for all this.’ He turned to Tariq. ‘Where are you staying tonight?’
‘With Uncle Hassan,’ Tariq said, avoiding my eye.
Baba yawned.
‘That’s good.
‘We’ll let you sleep, Adnan,’ said Malik, stepping away from the bed. ‘Allah yeshfeek. May God keep you well.’
‘Inshallah,’ said Baba.
I followed Tariq and Malik out of the room, and we stood together in the corridor.
‘Are you sure about this, Safiya?’ said Malik. ‘I thought you were longing to get to know Saba. Why do you want to rush away?’
‘It didn’t work out,’ I said shortly. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to get out of here and go home.’
It was the first time I’d called the tent home. Tariq winced at the word.
‘Some home,’ he said gloomily.
‘It’s what we’ve got,’ Malik said, ‘and it’s not that bad. When the winter’s over, it’ll be better.’
‘Come on,’ said Tariq. ‘I’ll walk to the bus station with you.’
The phone in my pocket buzzed. I handed it to Tariq.
‘I forgot to give it back to Baba,’ I said. ‘You’d better take it back to him now.’
Tariq looked at the screen.
‘It’s a message for you. From Saba.’
‘Delete it,’ I said. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Malik and I hardly said a word to each other as the bus trundled eastwards out of Amman, into the cold, bleak desert region of Azraq. He spent most of the time, anyway, scrolling through his new phone.
‘How much did you pay for that?’ I asked.
He laughed.
‘Nothing. I did a job for the guy in the phone shop. It’s an old one but it’s nice. Look.’
He passed it to me. I looked at it briefly and gave it back. Maybe, one day, I’d have a phone of my own again. In the meantime, I wasn’t interested in Malik’s.
It was dark when we got back to Azraq. I’d been so tired on that long bus ride back from Amman that I’d dozed most of the way. Saba, Uncle Hassan, Aunt Israa and Baba had danced through my head in a strange, surreal whirl. The walk from the town to the tent seemed endless and I had to admit I was glad to be wearing Saba’s old shoes, which fitted me perfectly.
A light was on in Uncle Yasser’s house. He must have been listening out for us, because as soon as I opened our gate he heard the hinges squeak and came running out.
‘How is Adnan? I’ve been so worried! Those crazy drivers in Amman! So dangerous! Tariq called to tell us the news. He said it was only concussion, but you never know with head injuries!’
He looked really upset. I wanted to hug him.
‘He’s going to be all right, honestly, Uncle Yasser,’ I said. ‘He’ll be home in a day or two.’
‘Alhamdulillah! But, Safiya, how did you manage? Where did you go? On your own, like that, in a strange city! I haven’t been able to put you out of my mind!’
I’d dreaded this moment. I’d have to tell him how deceitful I’d been. There was no keeping anything secret now.
‘You must come and tell us all about it,’ he went on. ‘Zainab has cooked one of her lovely dinners. We can’t let you go to bed without having a proper meal.’
‘Thank you, Uncle,’ I began, ‘but . . .’
‘It’s very kind of Um Fares,’ Malik interrupted firmly, taking me by the elbow and steering me towards the house.
‘You might as well get it over with,’ he whispered. ‘Anyway, aren’t you hungry?�
��
And I had to admit that I was starving.
It was strange to find myself the centre of attention as we sat round the tablecloth to eat. Aunt Zainab didn’t approve of girls pushing themselves forward, and had always frowned at me when I’d tried to say anything with Uncle Yasser and Baba around. Anyway, I’d been pricked so often by her sharp tongue that I’d learned it was best to keep my mouth shut. But Uncle Yasser wanted to hear everything from start to finish and wasn’t going to let me leave out a single detail. First he kindly asked about my appointment with Dr Hannan.
‘Fancy Amman doctors!’ Aunt Zainab sniffed, before I even had time to draw breath. ‘A waste of time. If you hadn’t scratched that little rash . . .’
Uncle Yasser stopped her with a wave of his hand. I spun the story out for as long as I could while trying to think out what to say about Uncle Hassan and Saba. I went into every detail of the accident.
‘You see?’ Aunt Zainab said triumphantly. ‘It’s what I’ve always said. No common sense. Adnan’s supposed to be a brilliant lawyer, but when it comes to simple things like hailing a taxi . . .’
‘That’s enough, Zainab!’ Uncle Yasser said sharply. ‘So what did you do next, Safiya? The ambulance took Adnan off to the hospital and you were left standing there in the street on your own?’
Malik sat eating quietly, his eyes on his food, while Lamia listened eagerly, looking from me to her mother and father as if she was trying to work out which side she should be on.
‘I’d have got into the ambulance,’ she said boastfully. ‘I wouldn’t have let anyone stop me. I wouldn’t have let my Baba out of my sight.’
‘Of course you wouldn’t, my pearl,’ said Aunt Zainab.
I refused to be put off.
‘It all happened very quickly,’ I went on. ‘A woman – she was really kind – came and asked me if I knew anyone in Amman, then she called a taxi and went with me to – to my uncle’s house.’
Now for it, I thought. I’ll just have to tell them the truth.
I could see the first question hovering on Aunt Zainab’s lips, but before she could get it out, Lamia said, ‘You’re not supposed to go off in cars with strangers. She might have been a kidnapper. She might have sold you to people traffickers. She might have murdered you.’
Malik laughed.
‘It would have to be a brave kidnapper. Safiya would get the better of any of them.’
‘So this woman who helped you out,’ said Uncle Yasser. ‘Who was she?’
‘I don’t know, Uncle,’ I said. ‘She was just walking past when the accident happened.’
He slapped his knee delightedly.
‘There, you see? I’m always telling you. There are so many good people in the world! Allah sent this angel to you, Safiya, just when you needed her.’
‘What I want to know,’ cut in Aunt Zainab, ‘is how long you’ve been in touch with this uncle of yours? If he’s rich enough to pay for a private room in Al Bashir hospital, why hasn’t he looked after you all this time instead of leaving you up here to live on charity and depend on the goodwill of distant cousins like Yasser and me?’
Malik retreated back into himself and sat motionless, and Lamia looked excited, as if she was watching a competition and had just seen her mother score a point. But Uncle Yasser turned on Aunt Zainab angrily.
‘Don’t talk like that! It was Allah who brought Adnan and his family to us, as you know very well. I’m proud of all of you, how hard you work and how you try your best. I hope my family would do as well if we ever lost everything, like you did.’
Aunt Zainab flushed. She got to her feet and said stiffly, ‘I’ve made some honey cakes. I’ll bring them in.’
I saw her face as she stepped round me on the way to the kitchen. She looked ashamed.
‘She speaks hastily,’ Uncle Yasser said apologetically. ‘You know your aunt. She regrets it afterwards. She’s fond of you all, really. Now go on, Safiya. How did you manage to get hold of Hassan?’
I took my time over the story, and even enjoyed telling it. Sitting on the cushions, the remains of Aunt Zainab’s delicious meal spread out on her pretty cloth on the floor, Uncle Yasser, Aunt Zainab, Lamia and Malik leaned forward and listened eagerly.
Every now and then someone interrupted.
‘Typical!’ Uncle Yasser said with disgust when I told them how I’d seen the story of Askil International’s move to Dubai in the newspaper. ‘Our economy’s in a mess! Jobs and capital moving out of Jordan all the time!’
No one took any notice of him.
‘What did you do next?’ asked Lamia breathlessly.
I felt a bit guilty as I explained how I’d searched for Uncle Hassan on Um Khalid’s computer.
‘I don’t suppose she’d be very pleased to know about that. Surfing the web in office time,’ Aunt Zainab put in tartly, as she picked up another honey cake and put it on Lamia’s plate.
I explained about the phone call to Askil International and how I’d pretended to be a florist from Blossoms of Paradise, and I even put on my best telephone voice to replay the conversation to them. Uncle Yasser and Malik shouted with laughter. Lamia said, ‘You’re so amazing, Safiya,’ and even Aunt Zainab couldn’t help smiling, before she made herself frown and say, ‘I hope you don’t think that trickery and lying are things a decent girl should do.’
Lamia kept badgering me to tell her more about Saba.
‘What’s she like? Did you meet her? Does she look exactly like you? I wish I had a twin. It’s like a story in a book!’
‘Yes, I did meet her and, yes, she looks like me. No, I don’t know what she’s like – I hardly saw her, so I didn’t have time to get to know her,’ I said shortly.
Luckily, before Lamia could pester me any further, Uncle Yasser stood up.
‘It’s late,’ he said. ‘Lamia, go to bed. The most important thing is that Adnan is in good hands and is getting better quickly. Also that Allah has kept our Safiya safe and brought her back to us. Malik, can you come over in the morning? I want to talk to you about a blocked drain in the bathroom.’
He went out of the room. Automatically I started clearing the plates off the floor.
‘Well,’ Aunt Zainab said, as I followed her into the kitchen, ‘now that your father’s doing business with his grand friend in Amman, and you’ve got hold of your rich uncle, I suppose you’ll be going off to live in Amman yourselves. You won’t be able to get away from Azraq fast enough. We’ll be your poor relations again.’
There was no point in answering that. Anyway, I didn’t know what to say. There was a note in Aunt Zainab’s voice that I hadn’t heard before. It sounded almost like respect. There was regret too, as if she’d actually be sorry to lose us. But I didn’t want to think about Aunt Zainab. I was beginning to realize that escape routes were opening up, away from Azraq, away from the tent.
She put the tray she’d been carrying down on the kitchen table and wagged a finger at me.
‘And remember this, Safiya, when you’re back in your nice life, with everything laid on for you, that we were the ones who took you in. You’d have ended up in the gutter or a refugee camp if it hadn’t been for us.’
Suddenly, weirdly, as I looked at Aunt Zainab’s tired face, the bitter lines etched round her mouth, and the look of disappointment in her eyes, I felt a rush of affection for her. In spite of all her jealousy and bitterness, her sharp digs and the harsh demands she’d made of me, she’d been there when I’d needed her. She’d looked out for me in her own rough way. I’d come to respect her and, although she tried to hide it, I knew she respected me too.
I’d rather have you than Aunt Israa, anyway, I thought.
Before I knew what I was doing, I’d put my arms round her and hugged her. She stiffened at first, as if she wanted to push me away, then she awkwardly patted me on the back.
‘There’s no need for that. Go off to bed, and kindly come back here tomorrow morning to help me clear all this up.’
CH
APTER FIFTY-TWO
I felt bad about myself when I woke up the next morning. Why had I yelled at Saba like that? I’d let myself down. I must have looked like a complete fool. It was always the same with me. I’d explode and upset everyone, but once I’d calmed down I’d feel ashamed and silly.
I know she was mean to me, I thought, but I told her she was spoiled and selfish. She won’t forgive me for that.
I turned on to my back and looked up unseeingly at the thin slope of canvas, which was all that separated me from the freezing winter air outside.
I don’t care, anyway, I thought. I’ve just got to forget I ever met her, with her stupid piano lessons and braces on her teeth and fancy bedroom. It’s nothing to do with me. Accept it, Safiya. You’re on your own. That’s just how it’s going to be.
I remembered how we’d glared at each other beside the gold-framed mirror beside Uncle Hassan’s front door.
We must have looked a bit funny, I thought, two identical faces yelling at each other. Saba’s got a temper just like mine, only I bet Aunt Israa never punished her for it, not like Auntie Shirin used to punish me. She probably feels silly now too. Good. I hope she does. Let her think about someone else for a change, instead of her precious self.
I could hear Malik stirring. It was time to get up.
‘It’s turned colder,’ he said as I went out of my room into the main tent. He was standing by the open flap, looking up at the heavy grey sky. ‘Looks like snow’s coming.’
I shivered. I’d loved snow when we’d been children. Damascus had looked magical, and Tariq and I had made snowmen in our courtyard, but there had been a warm flat to go back to and Auntie Shirin had made us hot drinks and dried our wet clothes. The thought of snow was scary now.
I got Malik his breakfast, fed Snowball, tidied up and went across to the house. For the first time ever, Aunt Zainab opened the door at once, almost as if she’d been waiting for me. I could see that she was dying to hear more about the family in Amman. My story would give her enough to gossip about for weeks.
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