CHAPTER 5
We walk up the high street, towards the bus stop.
‘You said most actors are out of work,’ Billie says. ‘So why do you even want to do it then?’
‘Because I can’t help it.’ I search for better words but come up short. ‘In spite of all the backlash I might get, the lack of money, the online trolling, I just know I need to do it. Acting makes me feel alive. I definitely don’t want to do sensible. Mum spent her whole life doing that and it made her miserable. But she does it anyway cos she’s got a kid and Dad’s debts to pay off.
‘I want to be the girl who takes risks and owns her life. Not the girl who dies wondering if things could’ve turned out differently, y’know?’
‘I wish I could be as brave as you . . .’ Billie says looking away. ‘You asked me earlier why my mum hasn’t helped me with the bullies. It’s because I haven’t told her. I mean, I tried back when I thought I might be gay and she went ballistic. She started quoting the Bible at me and said she wouldn’t speak to me again until I apologized.’
‘Apologize for being gay?’ I ask in disbelief.
Billie nods. ‘Every day I leave home looking like a boy. I pop into the loos at McDonald’s, spray my hair and put on my make-up. Then I go to school and get bullied. I have to wash it all off before I go home again.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
We walk in mutual silence, worrying about letting down the people we love.
‘You said the play is a modern take on Cinderella. What’s modern about it?’ Billie asks trying to brighten the mood.
I brush a spiral curl behind my ear. ‘To be honest there’s not that much info on their website. It’s definitely legit though cos Edwina Hirsch is an absolute legend and she’s the prime judge. What I do know is it’s set in high school. No magic, no helpful animals. Cinderella has to think her way out of a bad situation. The quirky nerds like her, but the popular kids don’t. Oh, and the prince isn’t royal either. He’s just some dude called Prinz who ends up becoming prom king . . . and I’m guessing he asks Cinderella to be his prom queen?’
Billie claps their hands together. ‘Promise me!’
‘What?’
‘That if you get this role, I get a free ticket on opening night! It sounds sick.’
We board the bus, pressing Zip cards to the electronic reader and tripping down the aisle. Spotting a couple of seats in the middle, we crash down on them. I notice a blue sign asking us to give them up if an old person, a pregnant woman or person carrying a baby is in need. I make a mental note to do that.
‘Salma, beyti?’
I stiffen recognizing that awful husky voice. Glancing back, the horror becomes real when I see Auntie Balquis and her bougie shopping bags spread across two seats, a hideous smile plastered on her plum-painted lips. Stubby fingers coil over the rail, displaying eight gleaming rings like twenty-four-carat-gold knuckle dusters. I cower from the most powerful and gossipy of all the aunties in my neighbourhood. The two houses next door to us belong to her extended family, fused into one great big palace of gossip, drama and extravaganza.
‘Asalaamu alaykum, Auntie-ji,’ I say meekly.
‘Where are you two girls going in the middle of a school day?’
I consider hitting the emergency door release and booking it. ‘Er, work experience.’
‘Dressed like this?’ She rotates her hands and thrusts them at me in despair. ‘You look like you’re going to a party. That dress is far too tight and I can see your shameless legs.’
‘There’s nothing shameless about her legs!’ Billie snaps. ‘She’s beautiful.’
Auntie’s pencilled eyebrows shoot to the black roots of her honey-brown dyed hair. ‘Hai, hai! It’s a boy in make-up. Is this transvestite bothering you?’
Billie flushes.
‘Billie’s my friend,’ I say in weak defiance, my insides shrivelling.
Rudely switching to Urdu in company, she says ‘What sort of friend is this? You must be very careful around such people.’
I reply in Urdu. ‘So just cos my friend is wearing a bit of make-up you think they’re dangerous? You know what you are? A bloody hypocrite!’
‘And what is that supposed to mean?’
I turn away, biting back my reply. Everyone knows not to mess with Auntie Balquis – she’s like a feminist fantasy gone wrong. She switches back to English. ‘Anyway, where are you going and don’t lie to me about work experience.’
‘She’s going to an audition for Cinderella and she’s going to nail it!’ Billie says proudly.
I glower at Billie but it’s too late. The cat’s out of the bag.
‘Audition? You want to become an actress? A kanjari? Your father must be spinning in his grave!’ She pulls her phone out of an oxblood leather handbag the size of a small suitcase. ‘I’m going to tell your mother.’
Panic sets in. ‘She works in A&E. Don’t you think she has bigger things to worry about?’
‘Bigger than the honour of her daughter?’ Her kohl-encircled eyes give me a chastising glare.
‘Are you OK?’ Billie asks, noticing me welling up.
I wipe a tear away. ‘I wanna get off this bus.’
‘Come on, let’s go.’
Heading for the doors, my dress gets caught on an old woman’s knitting needle. ‘Mind out!’ she snaps, attacking my dress with violence. I yank myself free of her knitting, stumbling off the bus.
Auntie Balquis shakes her head. ‘Poor Tariq being misled by a harlot. Your father’s curse on you!’
‘I don’t get it,’ Billie says out on the pavement. ‘All day I’ve watched you be nothing but fierce. Now you let that opinionated cow walk all over you?’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘Why, because I’m white?’
I’m done. ‘Actually yeah. Everybody in my community looks up to Auntie Balquis. She’s like the matriarch or something. Nobody crosses her. Ever.’
‘Well call me an insensitive white person but she was flat-out bullying you. Why would anyone look up to a witch like her?’
‘She’s rich. Most of us have been on hard times at some point in our lives and she’s been there to lend money. Interest free.’ I frown, clutching my forehead. ‘Only it’s not. The price is your soul. Mum borrowed cash to pay off some of Dad’s loans. We still owe her.’
Billie folds their arms tightly. ‘Lending money doesn’t give someone the right to look down on people or control their lives.’
‘See? Told you, you wouldn’t understand.’
I walk off, leaving Billie looking hurt.
CHAPTER 6
Billie chases me down the street, calling out, but I’m so mad-frustrated I can’t seem to stop. My head is filled with Auntie Balquis grassing me up to Mum. I can’t. Not when I’m this close to achieving my dream.
‘Please!’ Billie cries out. ‘I’m sorry. What more can I say? It’s too hot to be fighting and you’re sweating out your lovely dress.’
They’re right. My armpits are freaking Jacuzzis.
Billie manages to coax me back to the bus stop. There are a couple of red-faced women waiting under the shelter; one with a lace fan and the other using a glossy magazine to deflect the sun. It’s so hot, I swear my sweat is sizzling. Pulling out a tissue, I pat my face, freaking out at the pink-brown-black mess smeared on it.
‘Don’t worry,’ Billie says. ‘We can fix it when we get to the theatre.’
‘Forget it, hun. Even James Charles, Huda Kattan and Shaista Mian put together couldn’t fix this mess. Only one thing for it.’ I blitz my face with a make-up wipe, enjoying the cooling sensation of cucumber and aloe.
‘You’re going nude?’ Billie shrieks, making the two women glare at us.
‘Could you say that a bit louder, please? I think some pervy dudes on the opposite side missed it.’
‘Sorry, I just . . . I think I would have the mother of all panic attacks without my warpaint, even though I don’t have half your skills.’
‘It’s just pigment and fat,’ I say with a shrug. ‘An actor – a real actor – doesn’t need props. She creates in the imagination.’
We both crack up. After the horror of Auntie Balquis, it’s just what the doctor ordered.
A jogger with a shaved head and black running shorts pauses, plucking out an ear bud. ‘There’s been an incident on London Bridge,’ he says gesturing in the direction he’s come from. ‘It’s affecting buses and transport.’
‘Oh, for the love of . . .’ snaps one woman, dropping her magazine.
‘Pathetic!’ snipes the other, giving a flamenco crack of her fan. ‘It’s all that ruddy mayor’s fault. Never used to be this bad before he arrived. Thank heavens for Uber.’
‘Hey, thanks, yeah?’ I say to the jogger for saving us an endless wait in the sweltering heat.
He nods, gives a brief smile, then jogs on.
‘OMG that guy was flipping hot!’ Billie whispers breathlessly, fanning themselves.
Suddenly the world is closing in all around me, I’m struggling to breathe and I see no way out of the mess I’m in. ‘OK, I’m done.’ I cuss, not caring about the disapproving look I get from the lady waiting for her taxi.
‘Salma, we’ve still got three hours. Hopefully the buses’ll be running again soon.’ Suddenly, Billie gasps, placing their hand on their chest. I follow Billie’s eyes to the hemline of my dress.
‘Oh my life!’ I shriek, gaping at the massive tear in the skirt. ‘This cannot be happening. It was my wear-and-return dress.’
‘Calm down.’
‘I’ve had a knitting-needle-related wardrobe fail and you’re telling me to calm down? That old hag musta been knitting with knives!’
‘Relax, I saw a Fabulous Farah back there.’ Billie jerks their thumb over their shoulder.
‘You tripping? I don’t have cash to splash. I’mma have to buy safety pins and make do.’ Even as I say it, I realize fixing this mess is impossible. Forget cats, my dress looks like it was mauled by a tiger.
‘Look, this has seriously been one of the best days of my life. I’m Billie-one-mate. People like me don’t usually get to hang out with people like you.’
‘Like me?’
‘You’re beautiful and talented and you can defeat a gang of thugs without lifting a finger. You’re goddess tier. Me? I’m just an embarrassment to my mum.’
A large black Ford Galaxy collects the women who I guess have decided to share the fare.
‘You’re not an embarrassment to nobody,’ I say in solidarity.
‘Mum thinks God made men to be men and women to be women. She caught me trying on one of her dresses once and said if I ever did it again she’d put me in care.’
‘You serious? Who says that to their kids?’ I catch myself. Sometimes Dad said worse and I know a lot of people in my community would be exactly the same.
‘I tried to stop,’ Billie continues. ‘I don’t say I’m non-binary for the attention – I’d be so much happier if people didn’t notice me because most of the time when they do, they just look at me like I’m a freak.’
I put an arm around Billie. ‘Not gonna lie: I don’t completely get it but you’re definitely not doing it for the attention.’
Billie’s brow forms a map of worry lines, desperate for me to understand their truth. ‘Look, just like you knew you were a girl when you were little, that’s when I knew I wasn’t a boy or a girl. It literally has nothing to do with sexuality.’
‘Wasn’t that scary?’
‘Why would it be? I was too young to realize enbys got hate just for being.’
‘That gets me so mad, cos you’re such a nice person! Like how does being non-binary affect anyone else anyway?’
Billie looks down at their hands, fingers knotted together. ‘It affects my mum. She gave me life.’
‘So? You ain’t some toy out of a Kinder Surprise she gets to play swapsies with. You’re the only person who gets to decide who you are. And a good mum would love you for it.’ My eyes drift to the sky, remembering a conversation I had with Mum last year. It was the moment I told her I was dead serious about being an actor.
‘If it’s what you want to do, I’ll support you,’ Mum had said, looking worried. ‘But you need to know it’s not going to be easy. Put yourself up on a stage and you’re giving everyone an opportunity to judge you. People can be cruel. Casting directors, reviewers, jealous actors, award judges and the audience – they’ll all have an opinion. Not to mention there are people in our community who think acting is un-Islamic. But if it’s what you really want, I’ll back you up. I just need for you to be prepared.’
My encounter with Auntie Balquis brought all this home. But I reckon there’ll be supporters as well as haters, people who’ve waited their whole lives for someone from the community to represent them. ‘Know what, B? We need to quit apologizing for being fricking fabulous.’
Billie starts to laugh. ‘Come on, Cinders! At this rate, it’ll be flipping midnight before you get to your audition. We’re going to Fabulous Farah and that’s that. I’ve got a credit card.’
A credit card: the magic wand that’s been missing my whole life.
Billie hustles me to the department store. After this crazy day and all the hoops I’ve had to jump through, I’m surprised that I still want to go. I realize I want this gig more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my whole life.
Fabulous Farah’s is the kind of shop I avoid unless there’s a massive sale on. Slate-grey mannequins with giant velvet flowers for heads stare blankly out of shop displays giving nightmarish vibes of Wonderland. At least Alice’s bitchy flowers had roots. I keep checking over my shoulder to make sure these monsters haven’t shifted from their pedestals.
The place is packed with high-class tourists, turning their noses up at everything. Billie grabs my hand and guides me over to a rack of evening dresses. ‘This is pretty.’
I look at the slinky black velvet number they’re stroking as if it were a pet. I pull a face. ‘I’m up for Cinderella, remember? Not Maleficent.’
‘I like Maleficent,’ Billie says as I move past the bodycons and maxis towards the skater dresses.
‘You an Angelina fan, huh?’
‘No, I like the cartoon one. She was boobless, taller than the men, and with a face that was harsher than your typical girl’s face. I related to her.’
I laugh. ‘You saying she was OG enby? Oh, look!’ I say, swiping a baby-blue dress off the clothes rack and holding it against me.
‘Way better than the one you’re wearing.’ Billie says then adds in a falsetto voice, ‘You shall go to the ball and you’re going to be lit.’
I check my watch, making sure there’s enough time, then grab the dress they were stroking. ‘Let’s go try them on.’
Billie stops stock still, causing me to knock into them. ‘We can’t! I mean I can’t. They’ll never let me—’ I place a finger over their lips.
I yank Billie along, fixing the shop assistant gatekeeping the changing rooms with a winning smile. ‘We’re trying on two dresses, thanks.’
The assistant’s eyes shift to Billie who is doing an impression of a beetroot.
‘You got a problem?’ I ask the assistant pointedly, sliding out my phone. ‘We’re shopaholic influencers. We’ll be reviewing our experience later to our ten thousand followers.’
‘Oh, I see,’ says the assistant looking rather flustered. She fiddles behind her counter and hands us tokens. I grab Billie and drag them to the changing cubicles.
‘I’m not supposed to be here!’ Billie says miserably, speaking in barely more than a whisper.
‘Nobody cares, B. Separate cubicles with separate curtains. Could anything be more private? Plus, I’ll be next door.’ Billie looks uncertain so I make a hand puppet out of the black dress, manipulating black velvet lips in sync with my words. ‘I’m so soft and just dying to be worn. Together we could place evil curses on spinning wheels and rule the world! Mwahahaha!’
Billie covers their face and giggles. ‘I’ve never done this before.’
Inside my cubicle, I pull on the dress, feeling the fabric whisper over my skin. Glancing in the mirror, I see a silhouette that makes me break out in a smile. Somehow the delicate blue makes my brown skin glow (though that might just be the diffused lighting).
‘Oh. My. God.’
My ears perk up and I hastily knock on the thin cubicle wall. ‘You all right, hun?’
‘They use fake mirrors in changing rooms, don’t they?’ Billie’s voice is tender and frail.
‘What, like hall of mirrors? That what you mean?’
‘Yeah, warping the glass to make you look good. I think that’s what they’ve got in here,’ Billie says with a heavy sigh.
‘You need a second opinion. Budge up, cos here it comes!’ Billie starts to protest, as I knew they would, but I thrust myself behind the curtain anyway.
‘Fam . . .’ I say, startled.
‘I look stupid, don’t I? I’ll take it off . . .’ Billie drops their eyes, undoing the zipper.
‘Don’t you dare!’ I say, slapping the hand away. ‘You got the drip, B.’ I watch their face light up. ‘You look good cos you feel good. And you’re feeling good cos you’re expressing whatever fabulousness is hiding inside. Amirite?’
Billie nods, unable to take their eyes of their reflection in case it’s as fleeting as a puff of smoke. ‘Omigosh!’ Billie says, placing a hand on their chest. ‘You look incredible.’
‘Two pretty people and a mobile phone? Must be TikTok o’clock!’
Calling up the app on my phone, I record us lip syncing to Don’t Cha, struggling to keep straight faces. I lose it when Billie starts voguing.
‘Don’t think I’ve ever had this much fun!’ Billie says, fanning themselves. ‘OK, let’s buy your dress and get out of here before somebody reports us.’
My smile falters as reality sets in. ‘I’m afraid to look at the price tag . . .’
‘My mum’s paying so who cares?’ Billie giggles then flips the tag. ‘Sixty. No problem.’
‘Are you sure?’ Even though it feels a lot longer, I’ve only known them a hot minute. Dipping into Billie’s bank of mum seems wrong.
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