Chapter Thirty-Seven
It’s all systems go at school today with parents’ evening just around the corner, and the administration department is in a spin. I think they’ve forgotten we have children to teach in between the million petty tasks we’ve been handed, but at least it’s kept me busy and the day has flown by.
I’m leaving now. Hot, sweaty, tired and finally done with the day. Plus, I have a date this evening. A date with my bath. I’m going to soak, let the day disappear from my shoulders down. I’ll stay there until the water turns cold. I might even make it a racy three-way and invite in a glass of red.
‘Bar-steward! M-m-mother trucker!’
The words fly from a classroom I pass on my way out, so I pop my head in through the partially open door, where Hala sits in the middle of the floor, pounding her clenched fists on the ground.
‘Fuck it!’ she yells savagely. ‘Justfuckit all to hell!’
‘You’ll put a hole in the floor.’
Her eyes are wide, a mixture of shock and horror as she looks up, the pounding hand now flying to her chest. ‘Kate, shit... mean sorry, I’m... it’s just...Astughfer’allah!’ she cries, throwing both hands in the air and in doing so, dousing herself in glitter from a tiny pot clasped in her other hand. As her chest begins to heave with big, fat sobs, I crouch next to her on the floor avoiding a craft display of some sort, both she and it now covered in purple glitter.
‘Hey, it’s okay. I think everyone’s had a crappy day, don’t let it get you down.’
Her chocolate brown eyes rise dolefully. ‘It’s not the job.’ Throwing her head into her hands, her shoulders begin to shake again.
Not sure what to do, I rub her back in weak circles. I like Hala, but we’re only really acquaintances, at least not yet friends.
‘Hey, look, you’re covered in glitter now. You look like a throwback from disco. Or Tinkerbelle.’ I begin to brush spilled glitter from her shoulders and head.
‘Tink never wore a hijab,’ she says, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
‘Then you can be the first Hijabi Tink.’
‘And Peter was never an arse toher,’ she mumbles.
‘Just as well, she was a nasty little minx. Would’ve probably turned him into a turd, I mean toad.’
She snorts. ‘He was probably a turd to begin with, being a man and all.’ Then I think she might laugh. Or hiccup, her shoulders jumping in the action.
‘You can polish a turd, you know. Make it all shiny.’ She looks at me dubiously, like I’m not playing this game right. ‘Underneath, it’s still a piece of shit, of course.’
This time she definitely does laugh, shaking her head, and I feel a bit like that myself. I can’t believe I’m literally talking shit.
Seeming calmer now, Hala inhales deeply, dragging a glittering hand across her wet cheeks, leaving her looking like a throwback from the disco days. ‘Men,’ she exhales venomously.
‘Agreed. About as useful as tits on a bull.’
Smiling a little wetly now, it seems she’s done with fresh tears. ‘You grow up on a farm?’ she asks with a small laugh.
‘Nope. I just know my shit.’
‘That’s really bad, you know.’
I shrug and consider leaving it at that, but despite no longer crying, she still looks upset. So I have to ask. ‘You okay?’
‘I’ve been better. I’m considering running away.’
‘Your time of the month or his? What?’ I ask, in response to her expression. ‘You don’t think men get all hormonal?’
She bursts into giggles, holding a hand to her mouth. ‘Come to think of it, probably just about all month long.’
‘Come on, up you get. Off the floor,’ I cajole, beginning to gather her art supplies into a pile. ‘Go home, have a glass of wi— I mean a cup of coffee. Chill. De-stress. Bang him on the head with the frying pan if you need to make him see sense.’
‘I did that already. Well, I hit him.’ She frowns, knitting her fingers together and studying them in her lap.
