Huda and Me, H. Hayek [book series for 12 year olds TXT] 📗

putting three mugs of coffee, two red and one brown, on Mum’s favourite serving tray – the brass one with the olden-day swirly Arabic patterns. I can trace my fingers over those patterns for hours and forever be surprised by how tricky but perfect the design is. Dad carried the tray over into the family room but realised he had nowhere to put it, with dancing kids everywhere and Mr Kostiki puffing away on the coffee table.

I thought Dad might start dancing with us too, until the twins started grabbing at his legs while they did their own strange disco floor routine around him. Dad struggled to keep the tray balanced and the steaming coffee from spilling all over them.

Suha and Layla never seem to notice when there’s danger. They don’t look the same, but they’re like exact copies of each other on the inside. They both read at least three novels a week and score equal highest marks in their classes for every test. They’re only a year and a half older than me, but they think me and Huda are ‘undeveloped’.

I know that because I heard them tell Mum once. But I also remember what Mum said back to them in a low voice as I eavesdropped from the next room: Girls, you mark my words, Huda and Akeal have a bond like no one else in the family. One day we’re all going see how, together, they’re unstoppable.

Mum finished icing the cake and added some rainbow candles. I didn’t think there were more than ten and wondered if Mr Kostiki would be offended. Mum stood at the kitchen bench beaming at us all, like she was watching the very end of a movie – the best part, where all the characters have got everything they wanted and their lives are going to be wonderful.

If we only knew.

Mum swept over to baby Raheed in his walker, his rosy cheeks brighter than normal as he slapped his hands together to the music, a bit of baby drool running down his chin onto his super-cute jumpsuit. As Mum pulled him up towards her, his little feet caught on the walker seat, and he wriggled his chubby legs until he was free and in Mum’s arms. The music finished and the room went quiet, except for our giggles.

‘Put on another one, old boy!’ Mr Kostiki shouted to Omar, even though Omar was standing right beside him. Mr Kostiki’s face was red and he was panting. He was smiling but frowning at the same time, almost like he was in pain. He grabbed Omar’s shoulder to stop himself from falling off the table.

‘How about some cake now, Jozef?’ said Mum.

‘Very well, very well.’ Mr Kostiki sounded annoyed but took Omar’s hands and climbed off the coffee table, then slumped onto the couch. Huda jumped to sit next to him and started touching the silky cravat under his neck while they waited for the cake.

When Mr Kostiki first moved next door, me and Huda would stare at him from the window. We didn’t know why he was always wearing colourful silky tissue things in his shirt collar. Huda guessed it was so he could quickly wipe his nose without having to use his hands. But after Huda became friends with him, he told her they’re called cravats and he wears them to look important.

Mr Kostiki brushed Huda’s hand away. ‘Aghh, leave it, little Huda. I’ll give you one to play with tomorrow.’

Dad placed the brass tray on the coffee table, among some new shoeprints, and handed the brown mug to Mr Kostiki.

‘Ahh, my special mug,’ said Mr Kostiki. ‘Half a teaspoon of sugar?’

Dad nodded.

Mum passed baby Raheed over to Suha and went to get the cake. Suha muttered something under her breath about babies taking years to grow up, and Layla nodded in knowing agreement. Mum placed the big green cake next to the brass tray and Mr Kostiki took one last sip of coffee, sat up straight, and put his hands in his lap. This was his moment and he knew it.

Huda was practically shaking with excitement, the smile on her face even bigger than Mr Kostiki’s. I turned off the lamp so the candles could sparkle in the dark.

After we’d all had our cake, and Suha and Layla had made us cups of mint tea, Mum said there was something she needed to tell us. I think Mr Kostiki had dozed off because his eyes were closed, even though he was still sitting upright with his plate on his lap.

She bit her lip and looked around the room at each of us. ‘Kids, we’re going to Lebanon.’

I couldn’t believe my ears. Finally, we were going to meet my parents’ parents! And we’d be able to see real-life snow, and the humungous rock sticking out of the ocean that’s on all the postcards.

Huda jumped off the couch and fist-pumped the air. I gave her a high-five, and Omar picked Raheed up off the floor and spun him in the air. Kholoud grinned – I had forgotten she even had teeth. Suha and Layla chuckled and held hands.

Mum and Dad looked at each other, but they didn’t seem happy like we were. Dad cleared his throat.

‘Ah, what your mum means is we’re going to Lebanon.’ He pointed to himself and then at Mum, then back to himself and then at Mum again. In case we didn’t get it, he then said, ‘Us. Just the two of us.’

My eyes blinked a few times on their own and I felt my breathing get quicker. It was like my brain was trying to tell the rest of my body what it had just heard.

I glanced around at my brothers and sisters. Raheed pulled his thumb out of his mouth and stared open-mouthed at Omar.

‘So … we’re staying here? While you go to Lebanon?’ I wasn’t sure if it was Suha or Layla who’d asked.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Mum said. She glanced down at her hands,