The Good Daughter (29 page)

‘—Suada needs to talk to you about something,' I finished in a rush.

Mum reached for the phone in my hands.

‘In person. It's something
really
, really important and she doesn't want to talk on the phone.'

‘All right, I'll get my keys.' Mum walked off.

Adnan blocked me from leaving the bedroom.

‘I'll come with you,' I said loudly, trying to push past him. Once Mum was in the living room, I'd be on my own with him. His malice throbbed in the air like a second heartbeat.

‘Mum!' I called.

He didn't budge.

She stopped in her tracks and Adnan finally let me pass. ‘What is it?' Mum asked irritably.

‘Sorry.' I grabbed hold of her arm and held on as we walked to the car.

Dina answered her front door. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was splotchy. Her mum was walking like an old woman, each step carefully measured and her whole body hunched.

‘Suada,' Mum hugged her.

I reached out gingerly and placed my arms on Dina's shoulders, holding my cheek close to hers. She rested in my arms. ‘Let's go to my room,' she said.

‘I'm really sorry about your grandfather.' I closed the door behind me and moved over to her.

Dina stood by the bed and placed a toy teddy bear in a cardboard box. ‘Me too.' She turned to the wardrobe and ransacked the hangers.

While her back was turned I bent down to the box of knick-knacks and picked out a photo of her and Tony. She snatched it from my hands and tore it into pieces.

‘Did you split up?'

She didn't say anything as she closed the box flaps and sealed it.

I sat next to her on the bed. ‘What happened?'

Tears leaked from her eyes. I put my arm around her, expecting her to shrug it off, but she leant her head on my shoulder. When she'd finished crying I handed her the tissue box from her bedside table.

She wiped her face. ‘His parents want him to find a good little Macedonian girl, and he caved,' she wailed, folding over and clutching her knees as she cried.

I moved in to her and hugged her. When my back started hurting from holding her up, I lay on the bed and pulled her with me. My arm fell asleep under the weight of her head. We both dozed.

She sat up, clutching her head. ‘Shit, my head hurts.' ‘What's happening with you and Brian?' She examined herself in the mirror and fixed up her hair and face as she spoke.

‘We are so over,' I said.

‘So you found out he was gay?'

‘How did you know?' I spluttered. ‘Did Jesse tell you?' I was filled with rage at my own blindness. Had that bastard told everyone that I was an idiot?

‘No…' Dina brushed her hair. ‘I always knew.'

‘How?' I demanded.

‘There were signs.'

‘Like what?' I demanded. Was I the only person who hadn't received the ‘Gay Radar' memo?

‘He doesn't chase after girls the way most boys do. He always cares about the way he looks. He wears make-up. Stuff like that.'

‘That doesn't mean anything,' I said. ‘Guys can be into those things and not be gay.'

‘You're right, but didn't you have a feeling?' Dina asked. ‘I always felt like I was hanging around with a girlfriend when I was with him.' Dina put her brush down and tied her hair back. ‘Most guys check out girls, even Jesse, but with Brian there was always this nothingness. I never felt that stirring in my gut that you feel when you notice a guy checking you out.'

Shit. I sat up on the bed. Of course.

I'd always been uncomfortable receiving guys' attention. It brought back memories of Dave's mate who'd tried to molest me. I'd never told anyone but, on the night of the party at our house, I had flirted with him. I'd revelled in his lascivious attention. He'd said that maybe he would sneak into my bedroom during the party for a proper introduction. I'd giggled and said that I would wait, imitating the way women flirted on television, unaware that my naivety might be misinterpreted as worldliness.

Ever since that night I'd freeze when a man looked at me in the same way. But with Brian that feeling was absent. Because he hadn't seemed to treat me that way and, because I felt safe with him, I had allowed myself to imagine us being together as boyfriend and girlfriend. How deluded and mixed up could you get?

‘I'm such an idiot,' I moaned.

‘Well, yeah,' Dina said. ‘It was visible from an aeroplane that Brian was gay, but don't be hard on yourself. We all make bad calls.'

I thought of Jesse and my hands clenched into fists and my toes scrunched down onto the soles of my feet. What had I done? Even Blind Freddy would have seen it: I liked Jesse and that's why I'd always felt uncomfortable with him. My old guilt about Dave's mate meant that every time there was a connection between Jesse and me, I'd shied away. Somehow I'd never twigged and now it was all too late; I'd ruined everything.

There was a knock and Mum's head poked around the door. ‘Sabiha, are you ready to leave?'

I reached over to Dina. ‘Sorry again about Edin, Dina… I'll see you tomorrow. Mum and I are taking Dido to the
djenaza
.'

Dina pulled me into a hug at the door. ‘Thanks,' she whispered into my ear.

‘And don't get too stressed about Tony, either,' I whispered back and smiled at her.

The next morning when we reached the
djamija
the car park was full. Dido got out of the car and I went to follow. ‘No, Sabiha,' Mum said. ‘We have to wait here.'

‘Why?'

‘Only men go to Muslim funerals.' She nodded outside the window.

I peered out at a group of men huddled behind the mosque. It was a windy day and their hair and clothes were billowing around them. There were no women in sight. Just then a hand waved from a car door not far from us.

‘There's Dina and Suada,' I said, pointing.

‘Let's join them,' Mum said.

Dina stepped out of the front passenger seat and Mum sat next to Suada, while Dina and I sat in the back. Dina's eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. ‘How are you doing?' I took her hand in mine.

‘All right…' Dina squeezed my hand. Suada cried and Mum hugged her. After a few minutes she pulled herself together. The silence in the car was punctuated by sniffles.

‘What's that?' I looked over to where the men were gathered around a large box draped with a huge Muslim flag, its green background, white moon and crescent emblem clearly visible even at our distance.

‘The body's in there,' Suada said from the front seat. That was probably more than enough information for me at that point, but she went on to explain how, instead of a coffin, a box is made from slats, to transport the body to the graveyard where, draped in its shroud, it's then taken out and laid into the grave.

When she finished explaining, Dina and I peered at each other with disgust. I was so getting cremated.

The
hodja
left the mosque, his white hat a contrast to his black beard and black robe. Suada rolled down the window and we listened as he spoke. ‘Please form three rows.' He gestured and waited as the men shuffled into the rows, and then nodded. ‘Edin Cengic was a true believer and during his lifetime he completed his pilgrimage to
Mecca
, the highest duty according to the Five Pillars of Islam. Edin was—'

A mobile phone rang. The men shifted from side to side, eyeing each other. Two Arab men stood in the front row, their three-piece suits, bushy beards and black hair marking them as strangers among the jeans and T-shirt-garbed crowd. One of the Arab men took the ringing phone from his pocket. When he'd finished the
hodja
asked him to turn it off, enunciating each English word.

‘Who are they?' Dina asked.

‘They're from the Islamic Society,' Suada said. ‘They do our funerals.'

The
hodja
ran his eyes over the mourners. ‘Edin would have been happy to be honoured by so many. In the
Hadith
it's written that if forty men attend the funeral of a Muslim and pray to
Allah
to send the deceased to
Djenet
, then
Allah
will grant that wish.'

I counted the attendees. Adnan was in the front row holding Dido up. There were nearly eighty men. I'd heard about the
Hadith
from Dido and I wasn't buying it. But Dido certainly did, which is why he'd mentioned it to every male visitor in our house, to ensure he had the requisite number of attendees at his funeral—he was guaranteeing his spot in heaven.

The
hodja
turned to face
Mecca
, the direction the casket also faced, and he began to lead the prayer. We all bent our heads in the car. I pretended to pray, peeking at Dina until it was over. The ceremony finished ten minutes later when the
hodja
announced that the procession would go to Springvale cemetery where the burial would take place.

‘I didn't realise we had to drive to Springvale,' Mum said. ‘I don't think I have enough petrol.'

‘It's okay,' Suada said. ‘Your dad can go with Murat.' Dina's parents drove separately so Dina and her Mum could return home and prepare for mourners coming to pay their respects.

We'd just pulled into Dina's driveway when two cars parked on the street behind us. Over the next hour it was like a revolving door. Since the men were at the funeral it was the women who came over, offering their condolences to Dina's Mum. I ran backwards and forwards, helping Dina serve food and wash the dishes, gossip swirling around me.

‘Do you know Safet Kadic?' I overheard a woman ask another, as I stacked plates next to them. ‘He used to be a

Professor of History at Prijedor.' I glanced at the woman wearing a
shamiya
covering her hair.

‘He was at the funeral,' a second woman replied.

‘His wife has been trying to find him since the war ended,' the
shamiya
-covered woman said.

‘His wife is dead,' the second woman said, echoing my thoughts.

‘No, they got separated after the war and she's been living in Germany with their two daughters. She got his address from the Australian embassy, but her letters weren't answered.'

Fear cut through me. Mum couldn't take this now. I searched for her in the crowd. She was sitting next to Auntie Zehra and Suada, intent on their conversation.

‘Hurry up.' Dina was beside me. ‘We're running out of plates.'

‘I have to talk to my Mum,' I gasped.

Dina nudged me. ‘Not now.'

Reluctantly, I went to the kitchen and helped Dina wash the dishes. By the time we'd finished, the
shamiya
-covered woman was standing in front of Mum. Mum's face was white and Auntie Zehra had her arms around her, holding her up. I ran over and took Mum's other arm.

‘Let's go.' Auntie Zehra frogmarched us out of the house.

Everyone was quiet as we passed, but as soon as we were out of the room the conversation started up again, like a bunch of hissing snakes. Auntie Zehra helped Mum into the car. She buckled her into the seatbelt like she was a child.

‘It's not true, it's not true!' Mum bashed her head against the window as Auntie Zehra drove us home.

‘What did he tell you?' Auntie Zehra asked.

‘She's dead. She has to be dead.' Mum was working herself up into a frenzy. I caught a glimpse of her glittering eyes in the rearview mirror.

‘Of course he'd say that,' Auntie Zehra said. ‘He's riding the gravy train and if he has to kill off a wife and two kids to buy a ticket, he'll do it.'

‘Shut up, shut up, shut up!' Mum screamed as she covered her ears. Auntie Zehra met my eyes in the rearview mirror and I shook my head.

‘No!' Mum shouted as Auntie Zehra turned into our street. ‘I want to see Safet!'

‘It's better if we wait at home.' Auntie Zehra pulled into our driveway and parked behind Mum's car. ‘We'll call him and he can come over.'

Mum threw the car door open and ran to the carport.

‘What is she doing?' Auntie Zehra yelled and leapt out after her.

‘Move your car!' Mum shouted as she got into her own car.

‘Bahra, calm down.' Auntie Zehra could have been trying to placate a raging toddler.

Mum reversed, heading straight for Auntie Zehra.

Auntie threw herself backwards and fell onto the bonnet of her car with a thud.

Mum hit the brakes inches from her sister's body and the smell of burnt rubber filled the air. Auntie Zehra stood shakily. ‘Are you crazy?' she shouted.

Mum's car lurched forward again.

‘Move your car!' I yelled at Auntie Zehra.

Auntie Zehra jumped in the car and reversed, while Mum revved her engine. Mum's car burst down the driveway and sped off, swerving down the street.

‘Get in the car. We're following her,' Auntie Zehra commanded, rolling down her window.

‘She hasn't been taking her tablets,' I sobbed.

‘God protect us,' Auntie Zehra whispered.

When we arrived at Safet's, Mum was pacing up and down the footpath in front of his block of flats. Auntie Zehra approached—it was like Mum was a stray cat who could lash out in self-defence. ‘Let's wait in my car, Bahra.' She ushered Mum over while I went to our car and took the keys from the ignition.

We waited for an hour, the tense silence broken only by Mum popping her knuckles. Then she saw Safet's car coming down the street. He'd barely come to a stop when Mum yanked the driver's door open.

‘Did you know she was alive?' she cried.

‘What's with you?' He frowned as he undid his seatbelt. Safeta was in the passenger seat.

‘Sevda Muratovic,' Auntie Zehra said.

Safet's head spun around.

‘She was your neighbour in Prijedor.'

His eyes were fixed on Auntie Zehra's face.

‘She says your wife is alive.'