Promising Azra

by Helen Thurloe

  The older woman smiled and raised her hand in a wave.

  ‘Marwa!’ said Bassima. ‘How come you’re here?’

  It was at least a year since I last saw Marwa, when she was dressed in the same school uniform as us.

  ‘Back for a visit,’ she said, ‘seeing Mum. You remember Bassima, Mum, don’t you? The Hussains, from the mosque. Alesha’s sister?’ Her mother nodded in recognition. ‘And Azra! Good to see you too.’

  ‘Hey, how’s things?’ I asked. She had the same big smile, but her face was fuller, and there were purple shadows under her eyes.

  Bassima bent over the pram. ‘And who is this?’

  Marwa giggled. ‘My baby. Abdullah. Six months next week!’

  He had thick brown hair, and dark watchful eyes.

  ‘Wow,’ said Bassima. ‘Amazing.’

  ‘Super cute,’ I said.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Marwa. ‘He needs to be. Especially when he wakes me up at night!’

  His plump hands clutched at the side of the pram.

  ‘Nearly time for a feed,’ said Marwa, jiggling the pram handle. ‘But how are you guys? What’s news?’

  ‘Ahh,’ said Bassima. ‘Not much. We got into a chemistry competition, which is pretty cool. Other than that, same old, same old. How about you?’

  Marwa’s smile faltered. ‘Well, we’re now living in Blacktown with Fadi, in a flat near the station. Pretty busy, with Abdullah and everything. You should come visit!’ Her eyes sparkled again. ‘That’d be great! I so miss you guys, and hanging out and stuff.’

  ‘Sweet,’ said Bassima. ‘Text me your number and we’ll organise something—you still got mine?’

  Abdullah arched his back. ‘Ergh, ergh, ergh.’

  ‘Not the same phone,’ said Marwa, bending down to unclip Abdullah’s harness.

  ‘Tell me now,’ said Bassima, pulling out her phone. ‘I’ll put it straight in.’

  Marwa swung Abdullah onto her hip. He tugged at her dress and whimpered. Marwa recited her number between his cries.

  ‘Thanks so much, B,’ she said. ‘Great to see you. Let’s have a proper chat at mine. Soon?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Bassima. ‘Got your number.’ She put her hand on Marwa’s arm. ‘Nice to see you. Sweet baby.’ She leaned in to smile at Abdullah. He buried his face in Marwa’s shoulder and yelled.

  ‘Don’t stress,’ said Marwa. ‘He’s not used to strangers. See you soon, hey? Bye, B. Bye, Az.’

  ‘Bye, Mrs Jafari,’ said Bassima to Marwa’s mother.

  I waved as Marwa pushed the pram one-handed in the direction of the parents room.

  Bassima and I continued along the row of shops. We didn’t speak for at least a minute.

  ‘Swear to God,’ said Bassima. ‘Scary as.’

  Exactly. Marwa was our age! What if that was me? Taken on a ‘holiday’ to my home country, and lined up to marry a cousin?

  ‘Intense,’ I said.

  Neither of us said anything for another minute.

  ‘Do you reckon she’s okay with all that? She wasn’t, like, fully stressed by everything?’ said Bassima, her face pained. ‘Or am I just trying my hardest not to be completely freaked out?’

  ‘Dunno,’ I said. ‘She didn’t seem that excited. Sounded like she kind of missed being at school. And sixteen’s pretty young to have a baby.’

  Then, without meaning to, I shivered. And tried to think of all the ways Marwa was different from me. Like if I could make that sort of a list, it would be some kind of insurance. And prevent anything similar from happening to me.

  ‘I need to recover,’ said Bassima. ‘Food court.’

  Near the top of the escalators, we passed the Joost! bar.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Bassima. ‘I don’t believe it.’ I looked up. There wasn’t the usual queue. Was that all she meant?

  ‘Hey!’ she said, walking up to a counter with five frosted blenders in a line. ‘Didn’t know you worked here.’

  Pratik looked up, surprised to see us. He wore a tight black T-shirt with a lime-green ‘Joost!’ across his chest. He looked really fit, like his muscles were outgrowing his clothes.

  ‘Hey, Bassima,’ he said. ‘Hey, Azra.’

  A girl behind the counter served the only other customer, her long blond ponytail trailing over the Joost! logo.

  ‘Hi, Pratik.’ My hands felt clammy.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m here every Saturday, with extra shifts sometimes.’

  ‘That’s cool,’ said Bassima. ‘Better than other jobs round here.’

  Pratik nodded. ‘It’s okay. Hey, would you like a juice?’

  ‘No thanks,’ I said. I knew they were expensive.

  ‘Not me either,’ said Bassima. ‘Thanks anyway.’

  ‘You know we don’t make our own ice-cream here,’ he said. I blinked. What was he talking about? He smiled at me. ‘Though if we did, I know who I’d call.’

  He meant the chem prac. The liquid nitrogen ice-cream. My knees felt weak.

  ‘But it’s okay, Bassima, your shoes are safe. If Bradley turns up, we can hide under the counter.’

  Bassima laughed.

  ‘Let me make you small ones, just to taste,’ he said. ‘You can pretend to be customers. How about Melon Magic and Berry Blast? They’re our bestsellers.’

  I shrugged and looked at Bassima.

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Happy to make you look busy.’

  Pratik grinned. He pressed diced fruit and scoops of crushed ice into the blenders. He looked older than he did in his school uniform.

  ‘Here you go,’ he said. ‘Compliments of Joost!’

  ‘Thanks, Pratik,’ said Bassima.

  ‘Very kind,’ I added in a small voice.

  ‘No worries,’ he said.

  ‘See you Wednesday?’ asked Bassima. ‘For the practice?’

  The sudden reminder of Wednesday drilled into my brain like an ice-cream headache. I still had to find somewhere for Soraya to go for the day. She couldn’t come to the lab—it wouldn’t be allowed. Too dangerous. And way too embarrassing.

  ‘Definitely,’ he said. ‘Though I heard Tom’s sick. Major gastro. Not sure if he’ll make it.’

  ‘Really?’ said Bassima. ‘I knew he was sick, but not that hectic?’

  Pratik shrugged. ‘Dunno. Sounded bad to me.’

  A bunch of teenage girls approached the counter. By the way they looked at Pratik, I could tell they’d been there before. A short Anglo girl with Bali braids whispered something to her pretty dark-haired friend.

  ‘Better go,’ he said. ‘Real customers.’

  The dark-haired girl stepped up to the counter, the others clustered around her.

  ‘Hi, Pratik,’ she said loudly. ‘My usual, please. If you’re not too busy?’

  Her friends laughed. Pratik punched the order pad. ‘With wheatgrass or echinacea?’ I heard him ask.

  We waved goodbye, but he didn’t see. One of the girls pointed at us, and whispered something to her friend.

  ‘Trolls,’ said Bassima, not exactly quietly. ‘Sheesh, this drink is freezing my teeth off.’

  I nodded. ‘Hypothermic. Tastes good, but.’

  ‘Ooh,’ said Bassima loudly. I thought she was trying to catch the attention of one of the girls but she wasn’t looking towards the Joost! bar. Instead she was folded over, and rubbing hard at her tummy.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah. Just been getting these twinges. Like a sharp squeeze inside. But they go away after a minute.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘Think it’s okay again now. Let’s go.’

  ‘You sure you haven’t got the same thing Tom has?’

  Bassima’s face reddened. ‘Maybe I have. I’ve been worrying about it for days.’

  ‘For days? How do you mean?’ I could tell she was hiding something from me.

  ‘Since we spent an afternoon at the mall together.’

  ‘Another one? Not just that one before, that day we got the science awards?’

  She shook her h
ead slowly, and wouldn’t meet my eye. ‘No, not that one. Another one.’

  ‘B! When were you going to tell me?’

  ‘I’m telling you now.’

  ‘But only because I asked!’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I didn’t know how to mention it.’

  I pulled a face. ‘Does your mum know?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Or Alesha?’

  ‘Nope. But it’s not like anything happened. Much. He told me stupid jokes and we ate Subway. And then we shared gelato. With the same spoon! Maybe I’ve got his germs.’

  I was speechless for a moment. ‘B!’

  ‘I know,’ she said sheepishly.

  Her phone beeped.

  ‘Is that Tom?’

  She rolled her eyes at me.

  ‘Don’t go all paranoid now. It’s only Alesha. She’s ready to go. But not a word about Tom, please. To anyone. It’s our secret. Promise?’ She held my gaze, pleading. She knew she’d be in mega trouble if she got found out. ‘Promise? Not. A. Word.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. I didn’t really have a choice. ‘I promise.’

  Driving back to Bassima’s, it started raining. Big drops on the windscreen at first, then faster and more of them, until we could hardly speak over the hammering on the roof. Water rushed down the gutters as the windscreen wipers flicked water away, over and over.

  ‘Wouldn’t want to be out in this!’ said Alesha. People cowered under shop awnings, or walked crookedly behind umbrellas.

  At the Hussains’ driveway, the garage door rolled up like magic. With a simple press of the remote, we were inside, as dry as when we left the shops.

  Bassima opened the door into the hallway, where we kicked off our shoes. I could hear the television in the living room.

  Soraya was curled up on the sofa with Al-Khwarizmi’s head on her lap, watching Beauty and the Beast. Mrs Hussain chopped parsley in the kitchen.

  ‘Hello, girls,’ she said. ‘Get on okay?’

  Alesha waggled her fingers to show off her nails. They were a deep shiny blue, except for the nails of the ring fingers, which were sparkling yellow.

  ‘Very nice,’ said her mother. ‘Not so practical for the kitchen.’

  ‘The kitchen!’ exclaimed Alesha. ‘Why would I want to go there? My mother-in-law’s an excellent cook. I would have got longer ones, except I might make an expensive typing mistake on a contract.’

  Bassima went over to the lounge. ‘Beauty and the Beast, hey,’ she said. ‘My favourite. Especially the singing teacup.’

  ‘I like Belle,’ said Soraya. ‘But not the wolves. They’re too scary. Like the dog near our place.’ She shuddered.

  Bassima nodded. ‘Definitely scary. Not like Al-Khwarizmi.’

  Soraya stroked him. ‘No, not like El-charisma. He’s my special friend.’

  ‘We’ll need to go home soon,’ I said to her, watching the rain run down the big glass doors.

  ‘Not yet!’ she said. ‘I haven’t finished the movie.’

  ‘But it might be ages and you’ve been here all day,’ I said to her. ‘Mrs Hussain has other things to do.’

  Bassima’s mother looked at us from the kitchen. ‘You’re welcome to stay. Don’t rush in this weather. Soraya’s been a great helper. Look at all the parsley she picked for me!’

  ‘And I found a green caterpillar!’ said Soraya. ‘I took it off the parsley all by myself. And put it back on the grass.’ Not like Uncle, I thought.

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Hussain,’ I said. ‘You’re too kind.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘It’s a pleasure. Nice to have a little one around, now that my girls are so big!’

  I settled onto the sofa with Soraya, and watched the Beast turn into a prince and everyone, except Gaston, live happily ever after.

  ‘Come on, Soraya, time to go,’ I said.

  Soraya stroked Al-Khwarizmi’s head. ‘But I want to stay. It’s nice here,’ she said.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘But Mama will be home soon and she’ll worry.’

  Mrs Hussain spoke up. ‘Come back another time, darling,’ she said. ‘Maybe we’ll take Al-Khwarizmi for a walk?’

  ‘On a lead?’ Soraya asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Hussain, ‘on a lead. To the dog park.’

  Soraya looked at me. ‘When can I do that?’

  ‘Depends on Mrs Hussain, Soraya; sometime soon.’ Though the voice in my head screamed Wednesday, say Wednesday.

  ‘But when?’ she insisted. ‘When?’

  My ears heated up. Mrs Hussain had already looked after Soraya for most of the day. I didn’t want to seem rude by asking for more from her.

  ‘Hey, Mum,’ said Bassima. ‘Azra and I have that science practice on Wednesday. Can Soraya come here then?’

  ‘Please, please!’ said Soraya, tugging on my arm.

  ‘I think I’ve got a hair appointment that day.’

  My heart fell. Damn!

  ‘But, Soraya, if you’re happy to come along to the hairdressers with me first, afterwards we can go walk the dog.’

  Soraya clapped. I breathed out.

  ‘Thanks so much, Mrs Hussain,’ I said. ‘Really appreciate it.’ She had no idea how much.

  ‘Yes, yes, no problem,’ said Mrs Hussain, as she put on her glasses to do the crossword.

  XIII

  Hydrophilic

  something that has a strong affinity for water

  The rain came down for the next three days, but our flat was cosy and warm. Soraya slept in every day, and we stayed in our pyjamas until lunchtime. Rashid was out. Mama was at the shop. Baba was in Pakistan. It was great.

  Sometimes Soraya had the TV on, but it was ABC Kids, not Rashid’s sport or Mama’s Pakistani soaps. I read half a book about the periodic table, and a couple of times I even watched Big Bang Theory.

  On Tuesday, we layered up with clothes, to go help Mama and Auntie at the shop. But this time, there was no way I could coax Soraya to walk past the house with the angry dog.

  So we walked the long way around to the station. It took an extra twenty minutes, with the rain falling hard, dripping down the spokes of our umbrellas and making our socks wet.

  On the train, I reminded Soraya about tomorrow. ‘Remember we’re going to see Mrs Hussain and El-charisma in the morning?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Soraya, ‘that’s terrible!’

  ‘Terrible? Why?’

  Soraya pouted and crossed her arms. ‘Hmphf,’ she said. ‘Because it’s raining.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, ‘but how does that matter?’

  ‘Because we won’t be able to go to the dog park!’

  The train’s brakes squealed into Lakemba station.

  ‘Course you can,’ I said. ‘Just wear your raincoat, like today. Come on, this is us.’

  At the entrance to the shop, an empty olive oil tin sprouted damp umbrellas. I put mine between a frilly blue one and a clear bubble one with a pink border.

  ‘Me first!’ said Soraya, charging in through the beaded curtain.

  Inside, customers browsed the aisles. Auntie stood at the front counter, scooping warm almonds from the nut bar into a paper bag. She waved at us.

  Mama carried a box of rosewater bottles to a tall woman in a pale floral scarf.

  ‘I don’t want the ones past the use-by date,’ I heard the woman say. ‘Even if it’s good quality, you can taste when it’s not fresh.’ Her voice sounded familiar.

  Soraya ran up to Mama. ‘Not now, darling,’ she said in Urdu. ‘I’m busy.’

  The woman turned. ‘Hello, Soraya!’ she said. ‘How are you?’

  Soraya looked up, surprised. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said. ‘Mrs, Mrs, Mrs . . . El-charisma?’

  The woman laughed, and ruffled Soraya’s damp hair. It was Bassima’s mother.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Hussain,’ I said. What was she doing here? I hoped she wouldn’t say anything to Mama about tomorrow. It could ruin everything.

  ‘Oh, hello, Azra. What a surprise! Is this your mother the
n?’ I nodded. ‘I’m not sure we’ve met.’

  ‘Mama,’ I said, ‘this is Mrs Hussain, Bassima’s mother. And, Mrs Hussain, this is my mother, Mrs Ajmal.’

  Mama nodded. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  Mrs Hussain smiled. ‘My pleasure. You have two lovely daughters,’ she said. ‘You must be very proud.’

  Mama smiled too. ‘Thank you.’ She put down the rosewater on a stack of washing-powder boxes. ‘These ones have a use-by of next year,’ she said, holding out a bottle of eau de rose from Jordan.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Mrs Hussain. ‘I’ll take two.’ She dropped them into the blue plastic basket on her arm. ‘Nearly done,’ she said. ‘Well, I’ll be seeing you two tomorrow. Let’s hope it dries up first?’

  I smiled thinly. Please don’t say any more. I could really do without her alerting Mama to extra science activities.

  ‘Yay!’ said Soraya, jumping and clapping her hands. ‘El-charisma!’

  Mrs Hussain smiled. ‘He’ll be excited too. See you!’ She nodded at Mama as she wedged a tray of tinned tomatoes under her arm, and headed towards the cash register.

  Mama looked at me. ‘What’s happening tomorrow?’

  ‘Nothing special,’ I lied, ‘just going to Bassima’s. Soraya loves their little dog.’

  Mama tilted her head. ‘Dog? They have a dog?’

  Soraya tugged on her arm. ‘El-charisma is really, really cute, Mama,’ she said. ‘He is my favourite-est dog in the whole wide world.’

  ‘Really?’ said Mama, her eyebrows raised. ‘You let Soraya play with a dog?’

  ‘It’s fine, Mama,’ I said. ‘It’s not diseased or anything. The Hussains have had it for ages.’

  She sniffed, unconvinced.

  Best to change the subject. ‘Now, what do you want us to do?’

  ‘Bye, girls,’ called Mrs Hussain from the front of the shop, as she jangled through the beaded curtain.

  ‘Bye!’ called Soraya.

  Auntie wove her way through the aisles of boxes, holding up a bag of cardamom sweets.

  ‘That nice lady bought these for you two,’ she said, handing them to me. ‘She chose the good ones specially.’

  Soraya clapped.

  ‘Something to chew on while we keep you busy!’ said Auntie. ‘There’s a pallet of lentil tins out the back that need import stickers.’