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

to us, is my mum. She’s doing the dishes in a little sink. She puts a clean wet plate on the dish rack and reaches for a pot. It’s not really a kitchen – just a sink, a tiny stove and a small bench.

My eyes adjust and I glance around the room. There’s a bed on one side with someone in it. I know the person isn’t Dad, because I can hear them softly snoring. Dad doesn’t snore softly. And he’s not that thin. Jido sits on the end of the bed and starts to rub the person’s feet gently. I see it’s an old woman. My grandma. She’s lying on her back, a loose white scarf around her head.

Huda tugs at me from behind. I grab her hand and pull her into the room. She squints her eyes to adjust to the light too. And then she sees Mum.

‘Mama.’ My sister’s voice shakes. Tears fall in giant globs from her eyes.

Mum pauses and lifts her head, as though she’s not sure what she heard. Then she returns to scrubbing the dishes.

‘Mama,’ says Huda again, her voice weak. I’m still holding her hand, and I feel her go floppy and worry her knees might buckle.

Mum lifts her head again and slowly turns around. She sees us standing in the light of the door. The pot falls to the floor, the sound clanging loudly through the small room. Mum grips the bench with one hand and clutches the other to her chest. For a moment, she just stands there, without saying a word. She looks more tired than I’ve ever seen her before, but her eyes are also bigger than I’ve ever seen.

I think I expected this moment to be different. I think I expected Mum to react like she does when we step in the door after school – smiling and asking us how our day was. Instead, it looks like she’s seen a ghost.

Huda and I walk towards her. Mum still doesn’t move. My sister still sobs. But despite it all, Huda lifts her arms and touches the hand Mum is holding to her chest.

‘Mama, it’s me. Huda.’

With that, it’s like the spell is broken. Mum falls to the kitchen floor and wraps her arms around us. Huda sobs, Mum holds us, I stand there taking in Mum’s warmth, and Jido watches, smiling, from the end of the bed.

Mum pulls away and holds both of our faces in her hands. She shakes her head, confused.

‘What are you doing here?’

Before we can answer, she asks another question.

‘How did you get here?’

And another.

‘Who brought you here?’

And then a million more.

‘Where are your brothers and sisters? Is everything okay? Where’s Aunt Amel? Did something happen?’

Huda is silent, except for the occasional whimper. A door from the other side of the room creaks open. Even though it’s dim, looking up, I know it’s my dad.

He rubs his eyes. ‘What’s all the noise? Are you okay?’ Dad hasn’t noticed us.

I clear my throat. ‘Baba, it’s us.’

Dad stands frozen. His eyes dart around to each of us. Then he focuses on Mum but points at us.

‘Are they our kids?’ he stutters.

Mum nods. Dad’s eyes dart back to us and his face bursts into a huge smile as he charges over.

He grabs Huda and picks her up, holding her face to his chest. My sister’s legs dangle and flop about as he wraps his arms tightly around her, swinging her around and kissing the top of her head. Then he lowers her to the floor and reaches over to me, pulling me into his and Huda’s cuddle. I could hug him forever.

He draws away and gazes at our faces. He’s still beaming.

‘Dad, we’re happy to be here with you but …’ I don’t know how to say it.

I look over at my mum. I know she already knows it’s not good news.

‘Tell us what’s happened,’ she whispers.

‘Bad stuff happened,’ I say. ‘It might still be happening. We had to run away.’

Huda nods and shivers.

‘Where are your brothers and sisters? Are they safe?’ Mum’s words spill from her mouth.

‘Yes, we think they’re okay, if they kept doing exactly what Aunt Amel wanted after we left. Otherwise, we’re not sure.’

The look on both Mum and Dad’s faces change.

‘What do you mean, doing exactly what Aunt Amel wanted?’ Dad asks.

Huda finally speaks. ‘She made us her servants. She made us clean all day. She doesn’t let the twins go to school, so they can bake her cookies and serve her tea. Kholoud is Aunt Amel’s personal beautician, and Omar has to drive her around everywhere, even at night.’

Mum’s eyes almost pop out of her head. ‘Amel? No, she would never—’

‘Yes, Mum. She would. And I have proof.’

Huda drops her bag to the floor and rips open the front velcro pocket. She pulls out a bunch of small photos.

‘Mr Kostiki and I tried to call you a million times to tell you, but your phone wouldn’t work. So Mr Kostiki spied over the fence and took these.’

The flashes. The flashes that I thought were lightning. They were from Mr Kostiki’s camera.

Mum makes a small gasping sound when Huda passes the photos to her. She puts her hand over her mouth. Dad gets up and stands beside her, staring at the photos as Mum flicks through them. His eyes look like black marbles about to pop out of his head.

I lean over and take a peek at what they’re looking at: Omar slumped over the steering wheel of Dad’s car, with Aunt Amel grinning next to him. Me drenched in rain, shovelling chicken poo in the dark. Huda standing on two crates hanging washing on the Hills hoist. Kholoud crying on the verandah, her mascara smeared around her eyes. Suha and Layla tossing empty bags of flour into the recycling bin.

The last photo shows Aunt Amel carrying a green calico bag down the driveway. The bag has a red hand-drawn circle around it. I have to squint to see it –