Until Mum died, that is. Because then our superhero lost his powers and fell to earth, broken. And there was no one around to shield us anymore.
When I think about it, maybe that was what led us to find Allah again: the realisation that there is only One superpower on this earth, only One who can protect us. La hawla wa la quwwatta illa-billah. There is no power or might except with Allah.
But that afternoon, in the kitchen of my beautiful family home in Hertfordshire, I let my dad be my hero again. I wanted him to believe in himself again, to see a stronger version of himself reflected in my eyes. ‘OK, Dad, that’s great. Alhamdulillah. Where will we be staying?’
‘Your Uncle Kareem’s leaving his place for a year to live and work in the Gulf. He said we can stay there. It sounds nice: three bedrooms, garden, close to the mosque… There’s only one problem…’
‘What’s that, Dad?’
‘The house is on a housing estate.’
My jaw dropped. ‘You mean it’s a council flat?’ Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn’t that! An image of our beautiful house here in Hertfordshire flashed through my mind and it was as if a knife had twisted in my heart. A council flat?
Dad must have seen the look of horror on my face. ‘No, Ali, it’s not a council flat. It’s a house and Uncle Kareem owns it. And it’s not a real estate; it’s in a compound with a gate so you don’t have to worry, it is really secure.’ I must have visibly relaxed because he smiled then. ‘And the best thing about it,’ he continued, ‘is that all our neighbours will be Muslims. That’ll make a change, won’t it?’
I smiled weakly, trying to process what he was telling me. A new journey was about to begin.
2
I woke up to the sound of Mum crying. It wasn’t loud or anything, but my ears had grown used to detecting the sound of her sobbing through the thin wall that divided our rooms. So that was how I knew that my brother Malik’s dad, my mother’s fourth husband, had left the night before, after their row.
I felt my insides contract, just a little. Must have been anxiety. Or the thought that I might actually get a peaceful night’s sleep again, a night where my body wasn’t on high alert. Abu Malik leaving may have pushed Mum to tears, but it brought me relief.
Some stepfathers are more toxic than others. Let me leave it at that.
Here we go again, I thought as I pushed my little sister’s sleeping body off my arm and towards the wall. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the mattress creaking beneath me. ‘I wonder how long it will last this time.’ It wasn’t the first time one of their arguments had ended in a walkout.
I knocked on Mum’s door, knowing she wouldn’t want me in there, wouldn’t want me to see her crying. ‘Mum,’ I called softly. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
I didn’t wait to hear her muffled response. I didn’t need to. I knew she needed a cup of tea. Soon, she would need me to give her her pills, too. Just to take the edge off the pain.
As I made my way down the stairs, stepping over piles of clothes, both clean and dirty, toys and books, I found myself growing irritated by the damp spots on the wall of the bathroom and the dust that had gathered in the corners. What with me spending so much time studying for my A levels, I could see that things had slipped around the house. I would need to whip everyone back into shape.
I put the kettle on and padded towards the back of the house, towards Zayd’s room. I knocked and waited briefly before sticking my head in. As usual, he was all tied up in his duvet, just the top of his head and his hairy feet sticking out, like an overgrown hot dog. I stepped in, narrowly avoiding the crusty glass and plate by the side of the bed.
‘Zee,’ I called out, giving him a nudge with my foot. He mumbled and groaned in reply. ‘Abu Malik’s gone, yeah. Just thought you should know.’
Zayd didn’t come out of his duvet sandwich. ‘Yeah, I know. I saw him last night, innit.’
‘Did you say anything to him?’
‘What’s to say, Ams? It’s the second talaq, innit, their second divorce. One more chance.’
I kissed my teeth and walked out of the door, disgusted. ‘Men,’ I thought to myself as I banged Mum’s favourite teacup on the chipped enamel counter. ‘They’re all the same.’
So, that morning, it was up to me to get my little brothers and sister – Abdullah, Malik and Taymeeyah – ready for madrasah at the mosque.
‘Taymeeyah, give me that hair grease… we’re going to have to take your hair out soon, those plaits are looking kinda tired.’
As Taymeeyah ran upstairs to find the hair grease in the bomb site of our room, I rolled Malik’s sleeves up. His eczema was getting bad again. I grabbed the pot of aqueous cream from the counter and began to rub it into the rough, reddened skin on the inside of his elbows. ‘You haven’t been using that soap with the bubbles, have you, Malik?’
He just nodded, his finger in his mouth.
I sighed and shook my head. ‘You know you can’t, babe. Not until your skin gets better. And no more milk, OK? You have to drink the soya, you know that…’
Malik made a face. ‘But I hate it, Ammie,’ he whined. ‘It’s yucky!’
Taymeeyah had reappeared. ‘It’s true, Ams,’ she said. ‘It is yucky.’
I poked her in the belly. ‘And how would you know, young lady?’
She grinned at me, a guilty look in her eye.
‘You drank the last bottle, didn’t you? Admit it, Tay.’
She nodded sheepishly and I gave her a look.
‘That’s not right, is it, Tay? Malik’s milk is expensive, y’know. And he can’t drink the regular stuff. Promise me you won’t touch the soya milk again.’
Taymeeyah nodded. ‘I promise.’
‘Muslim’s word is bond, remember?’
‘Yeah, I remember, Ammie.’
I felt a tugging on my nightshirt and turned to see Abdullah looking up at me.
‘Where’s Uncle?’ he asked, using his podgy fingers to sign out the words.
I faltered. What should I tell him? What could I tell him? That his brother’s dad had just walked out on his kid in the middle of the night? That I had no idea where he was or when and if he would be back, either to see us, to drop some money for Mum, or to stay? No, I couldn’t say that, so I gave him a quick hug and flashed him a smile.
‘I’m not sure, babe,’ I signed back, ‘but if we don’t hurry, you’ll be late for madrasah. Come on, you guys, hurry up!’ And I made a big show of getting the value pack of cornflakes down from the shelf and filling up their little bowls.
As I watched them eat, I felt the knot in my stomach tighten. They would all be depending on me again – me and Zayd.
OK, so now of course the question was, where was the human hot dog in all of this? Well, Zayd, my older brother, and I had a strict division of labour in the house: he did the weekday school run and I took the weekend mornings.
‘What with work during the week, it’s the only chance I get to sleep in, Ams,’ was his reasoning. ‘Now that you’ve finished school, you’ll get to join all the other sisters, living the easy life at home, while we brothers sweat it out at work every day. Subhanallah, you sisters have got it easy, man!’
I had given him my most superior look. ‘Anyway, who said I’ll be sitting at home? Uni is only