Sunita’s Secret

by Narinder Dhami

  The Year 7 cloakrooms were at the end of the corridor. I fixed my eyes at a point above everyone’s heads, and went to hang my jacket up.

  ‘Don’t leave anything in your coat pockets, girls.’ Jack, the boy from the bus, was leaning against the cloakroom wall, one hand in his pocket, the other arm draped casually round Celina’s shoulders. ‘It might get nicked.’

  I could feel my face start to burn. Celina, Danielle and Jyoti tittered. Only Chloe looked blank.

  ‘I thought her dad was the thief,’ she said. ‘Not her.’

  ‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all morning.’ I had to struggle to stop my voice from shaking. ‘You’re not as stupid as you look.’

  ‘Hey, girls, we’ve got a smartass here.’ Jack narrowed his eyes to slits. ‘Shall we show her what we think of smartass thieves?’

  He took a step towards me and tried to grab my sleeve, but I jumped backwards out of his reach.

  ‘Keep away from me,’ I said, and this time my voice did shake.

  ‘What’s going on here?’

  The voice from behind took us all by surprise. A teacher stood there, frowning at us. I’m guessing it was a teacher, although he was as a pale as a ghost and had huge dark circles under his eyes. Actually, he looked like an addict from one of those posters that try to put you off doing drugs.

  ‘Didn’t you hear the second bell?’ he went on, putting his hand to his mouth to cover an enormous yawn. I swear I heard his jaw crack. ‘Into class right away.’

  ‘Sorry, Mr Arora,’ Celina said sweetly. She and her friends slipped out of the cloakroom, followed by Jack, who gave me a look that I knew meant trouble ahead.

  Mr Arora looked at me, blinked a few times and seemed to be trying to re-focus his eyes. ‘And you must be Sunita,’ he said at last, as if he’d just hooked my name out of the depths of his memory with some effort. ‘Welcome to Coppergate.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I mumbled. I wondered if I should tell Mr Arora that my secret was out, but what could he do about it? He looked as if he was having enough trouble staying upright.

  Mr Arora showed me to the classroom, and as soon as we walked in, there was a wave of excited whispering. I knew I was going to have to get used to it. Mr Arora didn’t even notice – he was yawning four times in succession without a break.

  ‘Let’s find you somewhere to sit,’ he said, gazing listlessly around the room.

  I could see a few empty chairs. One was at the table where Celina and her fellow witches were sitting. As Celina caught my eye, she deliberately lifted her bag from the floor and placed it on the spare chair. A tiny smile played around the corners of her mouth.

  There was an empty seat next to the boy Jack had teased on the bus, the fat one. I didn’t want to sit there. I might as well put a sign round my neck reading VICTIM.

  ‘She can sit with me, sir.’

  A girl on the other side of the room was calling and waving her hand in the air. I felt ridiculously grateful that someone wanted me, but shocked when I saw that this girl had a large purple stain covering half of the left side of her face. She looked as if someone had thrown violet ink at her. I couldn’t help staring.

  ‘Thank you, Zara.’ Mr Arora, moving as if he was weary to his bones, seated himself on his chair. ‘I have a timetable for you somewhere, Sunita.’ He made a half-hearted attempt to search his chaotic desk, but quickly gave up. ‘I’ll find it in a minute. Go and sit down.’

  There was nothing to do but go over to the girl with the purple face. I tried not to look at her, but it was difficult. My eyes were drawn helplessly to the stain.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Zara said as I sat down. ‘It isn’t catching.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I muttered, pretending lamely that I didn’t know what she meant.

  ‘This.’ Zara pointed at her face. ‘It’s a birthmark, that’s all. Nothing to be scared of.’ She stared aggressively at me. ‘Although I must admit that when I go trick or treating, I do tend to freak people out.’

  ‘Oh.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Right.’

  ‘That was a joke,’ Zara said dryly.

  ‘Oh.’ I tried to stretch my lips into a smile. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘So.’ Zara raised her eyebrows at me. ‘How does everyone know about your dad?’

  ‘Do you mind?’ I snapped. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

  ‘Well, everyone else is talking about it, dumbo,’ Zara replied rudely. ‘I just thought it would be interesting to hear your version.’

  At that moment Mr Arora, with many coughs and yawns, began to take the register, so I was saved the trouble of replying. I turned in my chair so that I had my back to Zara. It was clear that she and I were not going to get along, and it had nothing to do with the birthmark on her face.

  Unluckily, when Mr Arora eventually found my timetable, it turned out that Zara and I were going to be in the same classes for almost all our subjects, so she was allocated the role of my minder.

  ‘That was embarrassing, wasn’t it?’ Zara remarked as she marched me down the corridor for our first lesson. ‘All those people staring at you in assembly. I thought their eyes were going to pop out.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I muttered.

  ‘Don’t be so touchy,’ Zara said with a shrug. ‘I know what it’s like. People stare at me all the time.’ She pointed to her face.

  ‘It’s not the same thing at all,’ I retorted. ‘You could cover that up if you wanted to.’

  Zara stared scornfully at me. ‘What with? A mask?’

  ‘Well,’ I said through gritted teeth, ‘you know …’

  ‘With make-up, you mean?’ Zara asked in a prickly tone. ‘Maybe I don’t want to cover it up.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, amazed. ‘Of course you want to cover it up. Nobody would want to walk around looking like—’ I stopped talking and tried to pull my foot out of my mouth.

  ‘Looking like a freak, you mean?’ Zara glared at me. ‘What do you know about it?’

  ‘Oh, go away and leave me alone,’ I said rudely, wondering how I’d got into this discussion in the first place.

  ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure.’ Zara actually poked her tongue out at me. ‘But we’re in the same French class now, so I can’t.’

  We stomped towards the language room in bitter silence. Most of the class was already there, lined up outside the door. My heart sank to see that Celina, Danielle and Jack were in my French set, as well as some kids from the other Year 7 classes, who were gawping at me as if I had two heads. Most of them began sniggering as Jack moved out of the line and launched into a gangsta rap which had been number one in the charts a few months ago. It was about a guy who robbed a bank and died in a shoot-out with the police. Celina was giggling the loudest.

  ‘Ignore him,’ Zara said unexpectedly. ‘Jack Browning looks gorgeous, but he’s a bone-headed idiot. A cruel trick of Mother Nature’s, I’m afraid.’

  I closed my fingers into fists and began to recite the seven times table in my head. It was a good way of shutting out everything around me.

  ‘Henry!’ Jack moved along to the boy in front of Zara and me, and slapped him on the back. It was the overweight boy from the bus. ‘How’re you doing, mate?’

  ‘I-I’m all right,’ the boy stammered, looking surprised.

  ‘You know what, Henry, my old chum?’ I was distracted by 7 × 9, but Jack’s oily grin suggested a piranha about to pounce on a small and helpless fish. ‘You and that new girl should really get together. You’re both a pair of useless losers.’

  With one swift movement he gave Henry a huge shove, which sent him staggering backwards right into me. His weight crushed me against the wall, knocking almost all the breath out of my body.

  ‘Get off me!’ I gasped, trying to push him away.

  Jack and the others were screeching with laughter. Red with mortification, Henry regained his balance and stared at me anxiously.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Are you all rig
ht?’

  ‘Ooh, I think I can smell romance in the air,’ Celina giggled. ‘Henry and Sunita, you make a lovely couple.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jack sneered. ‘Nobody else likes them so they deserve each other.’

  ‘Surely you’re talking about you and Celina?’ I said, although I was fully aware that it would have been better if I’d kept quiet.

  Only a couple of people dared to laugh. One of them was Zara.

  ‘You cheeky—!’ Celina bit back the insult she was about to add, as a teacher hurried past. ‘I’ve got lots of friends and everyone likes me!’

  ‘You call that bunch of shrieking, airhead drama queens you hang around with friends?’ I asked coolly.

  ‘Oi!’ Now Danielle was muscling in on the argument. ‘I am not an airhead!’

  ‘Oh, of course you are,’ I retorted. ‘Your mate Chloe’s got so much air between her ears, I’m surprised she doesn’t float upwards like a balloon.’

  This time more people laughed, and Celina pouted angrily.

  ‘Calm down, Cee.’ Jack put his hands on his hips and grinned tauntingly at me. ‘We’ll be the ones who are laughing our heads off when her dad’s caught and gets thrown in jail.’

  I felt the colour drain from my face, I couldn’t help it. Jack knew he’d got to me. He smirked and pushed his way to the top of the line as the French teacher finally appeared and let us into the room. Of course, in my head I knew what would happen when – if – the police caught up with Dad. But – Dad. Jail. They were words I couldn’t get my head around in the same sentence.

  Later, much later, it was finally lunch time. As I dragged myself out into the playground after double maths, I felt exhausted. I was finding it hard to handle the constant staring, pointing, gossiping, whispering, laughing …

  ‘It’ll get better, you know.’

  Zara had followed me over to the bench where I was slumped in a self-pitying daze. I didn’t even bother to answer her.

  ‘It will,’ she insisted. ‘They’ll get fed up soon, and they’ll start talking about something else. They went on and on about my birthmark at the beginning of term, but it stopped after a while.’ She tilted her head to one side and looked at me speculatively. ‘Everyone’s saying it was Celina who blew your cover. Was it?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I snapped.

  ‘Her mum’s one of the school governors.’ Zara sat down on the bench next to me. ‘She probably knows about you, and told Celina.’

  ‘Thanks, Sherlock,’ I muttered.

  ‘And Celina’s dad has just become the town’s mayor,’ Zara went on. ‘She’s acting like he’s been crowned king, the way she goes on about it.’

  I sighed deeply. ‘Look, I know where the canteen is, and what time I need to go in to lunch. Now, I’m not being rude, but do you mind just going away, please?’

  Zara ignored me. ‘I’ve been thinking it over, and I’ve got a proposition to put to you,’ she announced briskly. ‘A business proposition.’

  I stared blankly at her. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Look, you haven’t got any friends, and you aren’t likely to make any at this rate,’ she went on.

  ‘Has anyone ever told you you’re a little ray of sunshine?’ I asked wearily. ‘Nope. Thought not.’

  ‘And I haven’t made any friends since I started at Coppergate in September,’ Zara went on. ‘No one wants to know me, obviously, because of my birthmark.’

  ‘Here’s a thought,’ I said spiritedly. ‘Have you ever considered that it might be because you’re aggressive and bad-tempered and hard to get along with, and not because of your birthmark at all?’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Zara retorted. ‘I had friends at primary school.’ I looked disbelieving, but she swept on regardless. ‘Anyway, I think it would be good for both of us if we at least pretended to be friends.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, it would be purely a business arrangement,’ Zara said airily. ‘Just to save us from embarrassment in all those awkward little school situations. You know, when the teacher says find a partner; when we go on trips and have to sit next to someone on the coach. That sort of stuff.’

  I stared at her. ‘I don’t think it would work,’ I said. ‘We don’t like each other.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not important,’ Zara said, waving her hand dismissively. ‘We’d have to have some ground rules, though. Like I wouldn’t ask you about your dad, and you wouldn’t mention my birthmark, that kind of thing.’

  I wasn’t listening because I’d realized that someone was edging their way towards us, taking in every word we were saying. It was Henry Williams, looking red and sheepish, but determined.

  ‘What do you want?’ Zara asked in a scary voice.

  Henry blushed harder, fixed his eyes on me and began to stammer and stutter. ‘I-I-I just wanted to say sorry, about what happened before,’ he finally got out.

  ‘Forget it,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  Henry nodded, but seemed strangely reluctant to go away. For the first time I took a good look at him. He had ordinary blond hair and ordinary blue eyes and a pleasant but ordinary face. Sadly, the only unusual thing about him was his weight.

  ‘Well, goodbye then,’ Zara said pointedly.

  ‘I heard what you were saying,’ Henry gabbled. ‘About not having any friends, I mean …’

  ‘What’s it to you?’ demanded Zara.

  ‘Well …’ Henry looked scared to death, but soldiered manfully on. ‘I haven’t really made any friends since September either. And I was thinking … Maybe we could all be friends.’ The words came out in a rush. ‘Maybe we could be a gang.’

  Zara immediately jumped up and stood in front of me, blocking Henry’s path.

  ‘Forget it,’ she informed him haughtily. ‘I saw her first. If anyone’s going to be friends with her, it’s me. Go find your own friend.’

  ‘Stop it.’ I got to my feet. ‘I don’t want to be friends with either of you. In fact’ – I shrugged – ‘why don’t you be friends with each other? I’ll take my chances on my own, thanks.’

  I did not add that I knew if I hung around with Zara or Henry or, worse, both of them, I would definitely be seen as a loser. There would be no way back then.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Zara called after me as I walked off. ‘And you’re already seen as a loser anyway, so join the club.’ I glanced back in time to see her turn on Henry. ‘What did you have to interfere for? I was that close to getting her to agree.’

  The day moved slowly and painfully on. Now, as well as the staring, whispering and pointing, I had to put up with Zara bending my ear about the advantages of a business-like friendship and Henry staring at me with sad, puppy-dog eyes. When I finally got out of school at three thirty, I felt something like I imagine a captive animal feels on being released back into the wild.

  I ran for the first bus, got a seat at the front and was home in half an hour. I had to bolt for the front door when I saw Mrs Brodie, our neighbour, arriving home from the opposite direction. Luckily she was still too far away for me to have to say anything. I managed a nervous wave and then shot inside before she got any closer. I slammed the door behind me. I was safe.

  ‘Sanctuary,’ I whispered to myself, then smiled. I was being as melodramatic as Celina and her friends. But it was how I felt.

  I could hear shouts and screams from the back garden, where Mum was playing with the twins. I was about to go and say hello, when I noticed a small pile of letters next to the telephone. My heart began to flutter hopefully. I grabbed them and leafed through. There were bills, quite a few of them. And two birthday cards. My hopes soared briefly, then fell like a stone.

  There was a card from Auntie Babita, my mum’s sister. She was the only person from my mum’s family who still talked to us. Everyone else was too offended that Mum hadn’t divorced Dad after what he’d done. The other, lilac-coloured, envelope was from Dad’s parents in Chicago, where they lived with Dad’s brother. The
police thought that Dad might have gone to hide out in the States with them, but it wasn’t very likely. Babaji and Biji were shocked and distressed by what Dad had done, and they were old and frail. I couldn’t imagine Dad involving them. But then, I couldn’t imagine him stealing thousands of pounds of other people’s money.

  ‘Sunita?’ Mum was coming down the hall towards me. ‘I didn’t expect you home yet.’

  ‘You’d better get the twins in,’ I said. ‘Mrs Brodie’s just come home.’

  ‘In a minute.’ Mum stared at me and I slowly registered the paleness of her face and the tension crackling through her whole body. She was holding something behind her back.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, suddenly trembling all over.

  Mum held out a pink envelope. ‘I hid it,’ she said, her voice quivering. ‘I didn’t want the twins to see it.’

  I took the envelope from her. I instantly recognized the handwriting on the front.

  It was my dad’s.

  I stood looking down at the envelope without moving.

  ‘Why didn’t you open it?’ I whispered.

  ‘It’s addressed to you – of course I wouldn’t open it,’ Mum said too quickly. ‘Oh, all right. I thought about it. Lots of times. I even put the kettle on twice to steam it open.’

  The letter had been posted in India. India was one of the places the police thought Dad might be hiding, but that didn’t mean anything. He could have posted the card to India and someone else could have posted it there for him. A relative, maybe.

  ‘How does he know where we are?’ I could hardly speak, and had to force the words out. My voice sounded like someone else’s.

  Mum’s dark eyes looked huge in her thin face. ‘I don’t know, Sunita.’

  I turned the envelope over in my hands. Wherever my dad was, he’d touched this piece of paper. It was the only contact we’d had for months.

  ‘But you didn’t open it.’

  ‘No.’ Mum shook her head. ‘I was scared.’