Take It Back. Kia AbdullahЧитать онлайн книгу.
about what happened, I can help you.’
Farid’s fingertips traced the grain of his beard. ‘Listen, I’ve known Amir since we were both five. He plays the big man around town because he can, but he’s a good bloke. He wouldn’t hurt anybody. This is just Jodie messing with him. I told you – she’s not right.’
Erin took in his quiet assurance, his polite manner, his steadfast gaze. She could spot a liar at ten paces and this boy wasn’t lying.
‘Okay. Can you think of any other reason why Jodie would want to get Amir in trouble?’
‘There’s nothing else I can think of. He’s always been polite to her. He has a thing about the underdog and he cares about things in ways other people don’t.’
‘Is that so?’ Erin’s tone was sardonic.
Farid picked up a stray twig and spun it slowly in his hands. ‘When we were eleven, we went down to Vicky Park late one evening. It was just gone spring and it was still a bit too chilly for all the Hackney hipsters. Me, Amir and these other boys were there. This boy Omar had a pellet gun. We were arsing about with it, trying to hit trees and bins and stuff. And then, one of the boys dared him to shoot a swan on the other side of the lake. Omar was laughing about it and we were goading him, calling him chicken and all that. Finally, after about ten minutes of this, Omar takes aim. We didn’t think he was going to do it. We really didn’t. But then he pulled the trigger and hit the thing square in the chest. I’ve never heard a sound like it. It was like a young kid squealing in pain. It was kicking its legs, trying desperately to stay afloat, fighting desperately for its life. We all turned a shade of pale I’ve never seen before. That sound still loops in my nightmares. Five minutes passed and it still fought, still desperate, still screaming. Finally, Amir grabbed the gun and aimed it at the swan’s head. The look on his face was …’ Farid paused.
‘That’s the only time I saw him cry. He did what needed to be done, what none of the rest of us could do because he cared about that animal. It’s not just a one-time thing neither. Two years ago, he brought home this mistreated dog. His parents gave him hell for it but he kept her; named her “Rocky” because she’s a fighter. That’s who he is. He cares about things weaker than him.’ Farid shook his head. ‘Whatever Jodie’s saying about him, it’s not true. It’s not.’
Erin studied him for a moment. Then, she stood and thanked him. ‘I guess I’ll be seeing you.’
Farid shrugged, then watched her disappear into the distance. He picked up his muddy ball and turned wearily towards home.
Mo uncapped the seam ripper and slid it beneath the delicate blue thread. He flicked up the blade and broke the stitch. With practised fluency, he moved across the Banarasi brocade material, unpicking his mother’s mistake.
Mo had served as her assistant for years, both of them cramped into the draughty storeroom that she had turned into a tailor’s studio. In July, with wedding season in full swing, her work was seemingly endless. Still, at least Mo’s exams were now finished. In April, he used to stop studying at three and spend the next two hours sewing. Bushra would insist he return to his studies, but he could see the worry creasing her brows as the work stacked up outside. It was slow and intricate and could not be rushed, but she took on too much, for the money. On a shelf above her sewing machine, she kept meticulous records of all activity: clients, jobs, transactions and leads, every single pound colour-coded into bridal wear, casual wear and Western wear.
As a young child, Mo learnt to think in colours and textures: nylon was frustration, brown was honesty, blue was freedom and silk was carefree whimsy. He had been so proud of their bridal creations: the diaphanous golds and glittering reds and thousands of shiny stones. At age seven, he had unwittingly told his friends about one such garment and was ceaselessly teased for weeks. He came home crying one day and Bushra wrapped him in her soft arms.
‘I can’t tell you to ignore them,’ she said. ‘You will always care what people think of you – that’s just the way of the world – but you can decide how you act in return. You can choose to be cruel like them to make yourself feel tall, or you can treat others with kindness to balance out the shortfall.’ She sat him on her lap. ‘There will be moments in your life when you must decide in an instant. What you do is up to you, but I hope you never choose to be cruel.’
He watched her now and marvelled at her sleight of hand. Where other parents were pushy and dogmatic, she steered him with the lightest touch. She told him what she believed to be right and let him set his own course. With this skill and subtlety, she weaved him with a sense of justice.
Lanced with guilt last night, he had confessed to her his treatment of Jodie and said that his courage had failed. ‘But we didn’t do what she said,’ he’d added, desperate to keep her esteem. Bushra had hugged him tightly. ‘I know you didn’t. The son I raised wouldn’t act like that.’ She kissed his hair and released him. ‘I don’t know how far this will go and right now it’s important that we face it together. I know that you’re a good person. When this is over, however, I would like to discuss how you treated that girl.’
‘I know,’ Mo said quietly. His mother, who loved him fiercely like a child deserved, expected the conduct of an adult. He had failed her, but when this mess with Jodie was over, he would vow to be a better person. A single moment of weakness would not define his entire life. The mistake would be righted and they’d all move on – and surely that would be soon. After all, it was four against one.
Zara grappled for her phone and cursed when she saw the time. Sure enough, there were several missed calls: two from Stuart at Artemis House and another one from Erin. She texted Stuart an apology and then stumbled to the bathroom. Her throat was parched and her tongue held the whispery texture of cotton. She slipped two fingers under the cold tap and ran them over her eyes, wiping away the sleep. The cool water of the shower calmed her pounding head.
Her mind snaked to Luka and clasped his words like a bitter nut at its centre. Even he couldn’t stand you by the end. She heard the sound of her palm on his flesh and saw the rising colour in his cheek. She closed her eyes and willed him away, refusing to accept her guilt.
Drying off, she returned to the bedroom and rifled through her closet for a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a blazer. She pulled on her ballet flats, grabbed her bag and headed out the door to her car. Her phone began to ring just as she drove off. She answered it clumsily and switched to speakerphone.
‘I tried to call you.’ Erin was impatient. ‘Listen, I spoke to Farid, the spectator. I caught him after football practice. Here’s the thing: I’m not sure your girl is being a hundred per cent honest.’
Zara felt the car swerve beneath her. ‘You what?’
‘I don’t think she’s telling the whole truth. I believe the boy.’
‘Why? What did he say?’
Erin recounted the meeting. ‘Either he’s telling the truth or he’s a complete sociopath,’ she said matter of factly.
Zara tutted. ‘Come on, Erin. You’re better than this.’ She knew the barb would annoy her and this was partly intended. How could she decide that Jodie was lying without hearing her account first-hand?
Erin sidestepped the bait. ‘All I’m saying, Zara, is tread carefully. This girl may not be as innocent as she looks. People rarely are.’
Zara frowned. Could Jodie’s pitiful gait and disfigured face be hiding a secret cunning? She didn’t believe it for a second, but placated Erin nonetheless. ‘I’ll tread carefully.’ She said goodbye and focused her grinding mind on the road.
Half an hour later, she was at her desk. Stuart sat opposite, speaking in a measured tone that only occasionally exposed his dwindling patience.
‘What