Читать книгу Brutal: The Heartbreaking True Story of a Little Girl’s Stolen Innocence - Nabila Sharma - Страница 7

As soon as we arrived at the new house I shot straight to the back window to look for the wolf, but he was nowhere in sight. I was convinced that he was still there, his evil hungry yellow eyes watching out for me. He was hiding in the bushes waiting to attack me, I knew he was.

The grass was long and overgrown, just as it had been when we came to view the house three months earlier. Dad had done the most important jobs such as putting in new ceilings, replastering the walls and uprooting the plants in the living room so the house was safe to live in, but it was still a work in progress. The garden was the least of his worries so it remained overgrown. Of course, my brothers were delighted – a jungle was every boy’s dream!

‘Let’s go and explore!’ Saeed urged, leading the others through the back door, but I refused to budge.

‘Nabila, go and play with your brothers,’ Mum instructed, but I shook my head firmly. I was quite simply terrified.

‘It’s the wolf,’ I whispered. ‘I can’t go in the garden because the wolf might gobble me up, just like the one in Little Red Riding Hood.’

Mum sighed and undid her coat, throwing it on the side. She knelt down beside me and held me by the arms.

‘There is no wolf. It’s a fox – a poor little fox. It lives in the garden because the garden is overgrown. It’s probably hungry and just scavenging for food.’

‘Well, I don’t like it,’ I said, folding my arms in defiance. ‘I want it to go away. It scares me.’

At that moment my father walked into the room carrying a box.

‘What’s the matter with Nabila?’ he asked.

‘It’s the fox in the garden,’ Mum replied, rolling her eyes skywards.

‘The wolf,’ I corrected her.

Dad tried to reason with me. ‘It’s probably more frightened of you than you are of it.’

But I wouldn’t have it. There was no way I was playing out in the jungle where there was an animal on the loose with big sharp teeth. No way.

‘Okay, okay,’ Dad said wearily. ‘What if I clear the garden? What if we cut away all the long grass and trim back the trees, then will you play in it?’

My face lit up at his suggestion.

‘I guess that’s a yes,’ he said, patting me on the head.

The garden was vast – around sixty feet long – but Dad and my elder brothers worked long into the hot afternoons, cutting back all the yellow-green wispy grass so the wolf had no more hiding places. All the big scratchy bushes and dark looming trees were cleared away until within a few days our horrible jungle looked more like a normal garden. My brothers weren’t so happy but I was.

With the wolf gone, Dad separated the garden into sections. He grassed over the top bit so that we could play on it, while the bottom half was planted with lots of different kinds of vegetables: potatoes, carrots, tomatoes and cucumbers as well as a herb garden, where fragrant coriander leaves were grown to flavour Mum’s chicken curry.

Dad also sectioned off another bit of the garden for Mum to plant her rose bushes. She loved roses and had a bush in every colour. However, the roses suffered from Asif’s football practice. Time and again, Mum would scold him for kicking his ball in their direction, but by the end of the summer there were more rose heads on the grass than on the bushes.

‘Goal!’ He’d chant in jubilation as yet another flower fell to its death, and Mum would mutter in Urdu that she was going to strangle him.

One evening, I was looking out the back window when I saw Saeed and Tariq sneaking off down the garden to Dad’s shed. It was still early but the summer was drawing to an end and the evening light was beginning to fade to a wash of inky blue. They looked stiff, awkward and suspicious, whispering to one another as they crept along. I slipped out of the back door and followed them, careful not to make a noise. By now they’d faded into the dusk, but I could still make out their shadows as the shed door creaked open and they disappeared inside. I was puzzled. Why didn’t they turn on the light?

‘How on earth can they see in there?’ I wondered as I tiptoed closer.

As I neared the shed, I spotted something through the window at the side. At first I thought I was seeing things, but as I drew closer I saw it again – the small amber glow of a cigarette end. It burned brightly as my brothers took turns sucking the end of the cigarette and tried to breathe in as much smoke as they could without coughing. This was serious. Smoking was strictly forbidden. Saeed was still only thirteen and Tariq was eleven. If Dad caught them, all hell would let loose.

I was too scared to confront them but I kept watch, and every night, just before bedtime, I saw them nip down to the bottom of the garden for their evening fag. I think they must have stolen some packs of cigarettes from the shop before we left because I can’t imagine where else they would have got them.

A few nights later I crept down towards the shed after them, but this time I couldn’t see a glowing light. I ducked beneath the shed window and rose up on my tiptoes just enough so that I could peer through the glass but there was nothing, only darkness. Suddenly I felt a jab in the ribs. It was Tariq.

‘What are you doing here?’ He’d meant to whisper but it came out so loud it made me jump out of my skin.

I spun around to see him standing next to Saeed.

‘I know everything,’ I told them. ‘I know what you’ve been up to – that you’ve both been smoking in Dad’s shed. I’ve seen you!’

Saeed’s voice was unusually soft and kind, but he gripped my arm tightly. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone, OK?’

I looked from Saeed to Tariq and thought of what Tariq might do to me if I told. I had no choice. I wouldn’t utter a word about this to anyone.

‘I won’t,’ I said. ‘Promise.’

‘Good,’ Saeed nodded. My arm throbbed where he’d held it. ‘Now get back inside the house before Mum notices you’re missing.’

I never told a soul about my brothers smoking in the shed. I kept it to myself, a little secret between us, and that’s how I learned that this was something I could do well. I was good at keeping secrets.

I missed Suki dreadfully at first, even though Mum arranged special play dates. Suki and her mother came to visit us at the new house several times, just to help me settle in, but the rest of the time I felt so lonely. My brothers had each other, but here, living on a main road, there were no other little girls to play with and I had no one to call on when I was feeling bored. At first I cried for my old friend almost every day but once I started my new school and made new friends things became easier.

After a few months I realised living here had some benefits. For a start, I had my own room and didn’t have to share a bedroom with my parents any more. My room was on the first floor at the front of the house, with a window looking out onto the busy road outside. If I craned my neck far enough I could almost see down the entire street in either direction. It was long and ruler-straight, with houses dotted along each side, then it came to an abrupt stop on our side of the road, where there was a petrol station at the end.

I loved having my own room, but there was one thing that I didn’t like and that was the wallpaper. It was a horrible brown colour with a repeating pattern of a house with a boat alongside. Soon after we moved in my brothers told me a story about that wallpaper and managed to convince me there was something evil hiding inside it.

‘There’s a little witch who lives in that house and when you’re asleep at night she comes out to look for you,’ Asif told me.

‘No, there isn’t,’ I replied.

But Asif was adamant. He was usually nice to me so I trusted him in a way I didn’t trust the others.

‘Yes, there is. See the little boat?’ I turned my head to look at it. ‘The witch gets into that little boat and sails away from the house at night and then she comes out of the wallpaper when you’re asleep to get you!’

I tried not to, but I believed every word he said. I glanced nervously at the wallpaper and then back at Asif, who nodded his head grimly in confirmation.

At that moment Tariq passed my bedroom door and heard us talking. Asif beckoned him in.

‘It’s true about the witch in the wallpaper, isn’t it?’ he asked Tariq.

At first he looked a bit confused, but then he realised what Asif was up to and joined in. ‘It’s true. She wants to steal a little girl and take her back to the house where she’ll hold you down and kill you!’

After that, I found it hard to sleep in my new bedroom. I’d waited all these years to get one, and now that I had I could barely sleep a wink. The wallpaper pattern swam in my thoughts whenever I closed my eyes and huddled beneath the covers in my bed. A seed had been planted in my mind and I couldn’t stop it from growing into a new fear. Part of me knew it was silly but the other part was convinced that something evil was hiding inside that wallpaper.

I’d pull the covers over my head and pray that this wouldn’t be the night when the witch came for me, captured me and took me back to her little house. All I wanted to do was run to the safety of Mum and Dad’s big warm bed but they wouldn’t let me. Some nights I lay awake the entire time watching the little house for signs of movement. My eyes focused on the tiny windows and sometimes I was convinced I could see something move inside. I held my breath, watching and waiting, and by morning I was exhausted through lack of sleep. First the wolf and now the witch – I hated this new house.

I begged Mum and Dad, over and over again, to redecorate my bedroom but I didn’t dare tell them about the witch in the wallpaper in case they laughed at me.

‘But you have the best room in the house!’ my father protested. ‘The wallpaper is brand new. There’s a lot more to be done in the other rooms before we tackle your bedroom.’

Asif heard my pleas, glanced up from his bowl of cornflakes and smirked. I shot him an icy stare. It was all his fault that I couldn’t sleep at night.

For almost four months I begged my parents to change the wallpaper in my room. Eventually they buckled and the day came to strip the dreaded pattern from the walls.

‘Goodbye, witch,’ I whispered, as I helped Dad rip the horrid brown paper off with a scraper. I couldn’t get rid of it fast enough.

‘You’re a good little worker,’ he nodded approvingly.

Dad erected a pasting table in the centre of the room and uncurled a length of wallpaper with a pink rosebud pattern. It was both pretty and girly, but then, after the witch wallpaper, anything would have done.

‘Better?’ he asked, looking up at me for approval before he applied the first splodge of wallpaper paste.

‘Much better,’ I smiled.

Afterwards, I adored my little bedroom with its lovely fresh rose-covered walls. It was my own space where I was free to be myself and escape from my brothers. There was a single bed with white sheets and a pink rosebud throw that matched the wallpaper. The furniture was all painted cream and, for the first time in my life, I had my very own wardrobe and dressing table, where I kept my multi-coloured Asian glass bangles and my little gold hoop earrings. There was a large window at the front which let in the sunshine so my room always felt warm and happy. Maybe this new house wasn’t so bad after all.

One day Aariz, one of our old neighbours from the shop, came around to inspect the new house and admire Dad’s handiwork.

‘Nice job, Mohammed,’ he said as he spun around the living room taking in every nook and cranny. ‘When you’re finished here, perhaps you will come over and paint my house?’ He winked.

‘No, no, my friend. No more DIY for me. I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime!’ Dad exclaimed.

Aariz had lived next door to our old shop for years before Dad sold it. The two men weren’t great friends but Aariz was a little bit nosey and had wanted to see where we’d moved to and how well Dad had done for himself. Even though he liked to have a snoop around, I liked Aariz because he was friendly and kind to us kids. He’d always pop around uninvited when Dad was in and would often stay for dinner. Other than blood relatives we very rarely had visitors, but Aariz was different. I think this was because Dad was far too polite to tell him to go away. But Mum liked Aariz too, perhaps because he was always very complimentary about her cooking.

‘You make the most delicious curry I have ever tasted, Shazia. It melts in the mouth,’ he would say, kissing his fingertips.

Mum strove to outdo herself, wanting to make each meal better than the last. Sometimes Aariz’s wife came with him and the two women would chat in the kitchen while the men ate alone in the prized front room. It was virtually the only occasion on which that room was ever used.

Even after we’d been living in the house for a few months, Dad continued to repair, nail and fix things around us so that it sometimes felt as though we were living in the middle of a building site.

One day Tariq pointed to some bags of sand in the hall and said, ‘This is the house that Dad built.’ After that it became a standing joke, but it was actually true. He’d plastered, painted and papered virtually every wall and ceiling, and repaired every floor throughout the whole building. All the rooms were painted the same colour – magnolia. In fact the whole house was magnolia, because Dad had a friend who worked in a paint factory and he smuggled out big tubs of the stuff, which he sold to us cut price.

My brothers shared two bedrooms between them, with a double bed in each room. They had no space to themselves and would constantly bicker and fall out. I think they were jealous that I had a room of my own. Perhaps that’s why they made up the story about the witch in the wallpaper. On the other hand, teasing me was one of their forms of recreation.

Tariq was still up to his old tricks of torture but now he decided to make Asif his accomplice. One day Asif called me into the back garden. I ran out to him and saw Tariq standing at the bottom of the garden holding my favourite blonde dolly.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked, then I spotted a box of Swan Vestas matches in his other hand.

‘It’s an experiment,’ Tariq announced. ‘We want to show you what happens when you burn a doll.’

‘No!’ I cried, but Asif held my arms and made me watch as Tariq took a single match from the box, struck it and held the flame against my baby’s long blonde acrylic hair. Within seconds she had become a dolly fireball.

‘Now watch!’ Tariq instructed as the flames shot high above her head. Soon she was singed, blackened and hairless, and the flames continued to lick and melt her pink plastic face and body. Tariq dropped the doll to the ground as her face began to contort with the heat. The flames had made her eyes droop and fold in on themselves. She looked horrible, like a monster – the stuff of nightmares.

I was sobbing, but still they made me watch until suddenly Asif had a pang of guilt and let go of my arms. He ran over and stamped on the doll to put out the flames, but it was too late. She was already melted and ugly, and now that he’d stamped on her her head was as flat as a pancake! She’d never be the same again.

‘There,’ Tariq smirked. ‘She’s all yours.’

I stood weeping over the charred plastic that had once been my doll. I hated having brothers, especially ones who ganged up on me like that. I never told Mum what they did to me. It wasn’t worth it because she was always so tired and short-tempered that I knew she’d probably smack me for telling tales, then she’d punish my brothers into the bargain. Afterwards they’d hit me for telling in the first place, so all in all it wasn’t worth it.

There was only one advantage to my brothers. Their mean reputations went before them, which meant that I was never picked on at the new junior school I had to start at after our move. I was seven years old when I enrolled there but Tariq was in the final year, with Asif a year below him, and having them there protected me. The bullies wouldn’t dare pick on me for my super-long hair or my bright home-made clothes, not when they knew I was Tariq Sharma’s little sister.

The school was housed in a modern, red-brick building just off a main road, with a large playing field at the back. It took both infant and junior schoolchildren, aged from four up to eleven. There was a big park just around the corner and, if we’d been good, Mum would take us there after school.

During my first year, she walked us to school every morning and picked us up at night. My brothers didn’t like walking with Mum and me. Tariq complained that I wore the wrong shoes and that my coat was too big for me, but I think he was simply embarrassed to be seen with his little sister because it ruined his tough image.

Although we’d kept in touch with Suki and her family, the distance meant it was hard for us to stay as close as we’d once been. Our visits dwindled until we were only seeing each other on special occasions such as Diwali. I settled in well to the new school, though, and soon made lots of new friends. I was quite sporty and was chosen to be captain of the school netball team. As my confidence grew, I was picked for the hockey and rounders teams too. I loved all sports and would practise racing my friends across the school playground at lunchtime. I’d wear myself out, pushing myself to go faster and faster, and soon I was the second-fastest girl in my year, a title I wore like a badge of honour.

Far from teasing me, the other children seemed to admire my hair and often asked where I got my colourful clothes. Mum loved all the attention I was getting and it spurred her on to make even brighter and more ornate outfits. She loved the fact that I stood out from the crowd.

I felt happy and special – but what set me apart from my classmates also marked me out. Little did I know it then, but I was about to become a prime target. Before long, I would be punished for my looks by the most unlikely person anyone could have imagined.