The Good Daughter (21 page)

‘Really,' Jesse stared at my hand. I went to remove it, but he put his hand over it and held it. ‘I'm glad to hear that.'

I froze, seeing the same expression on his face as when he'd tried to kiss me. ‘I want us all to be friends,' I rambled, throwing words between us in an effort to defuse the strange energy that had sprung up again.

He smiled and once again he was the Jesse I was used to. He patted my hand and let go. ‘We're friends.'

I breathed out my relief. ‘What character are you going to be at Brian's party?'

He frowned. ‘I don't know.'

‘What about Zorro?'

‘Maybe. I've heard that cowboys always get the girl,' Jesse smiled.

The weird energy returned and I laughed again.

By the end of the week Adnan's popularity had subsided and things had almost returned to normal.

‘Are you fixing your hair?' Brian glowered at my head.

‘I've been collecting the small change from Mum's purse, but I think she's twigged. The last two mornings her purse was missing from her handbag.'

‘The party's in two weeks and you can't go like that.'

He was right. I had to do something or I wouldn't go to the party. Even I had my boundaries. Plus I was getting sick of hat-hair from wearing my cap all day.

That evening, I was watching TV while Mum and Safet drank coffee. Mum was looking at me. ‘What?' I asked.

‘Do you really want to walk around like that?' She inspected my hair with disgust.

‘Does it bother you that much?'

‘Of course not. But you need to learn a lesson.'

‘And what exactly is the lesson?' I demanded.

‘That you have to listen to your mother,' Safet said. He was one dumb parrot, repeating everything Dido said.

‘That you can't do whatever you like,' Mum cut in before I could counter Safet.

‘Hello?' I waved at her. ‘It's my head, my hair.'

‘You need to respect your elders,' Safet said.

If I heard that line again I was going to find a weapon and use it. This time I chose to ignore him. I turned back to the television.

‘I know it's hard,' Mum said. ‘Kids at school must be making fun of you.'

I patted my hair. ‘Everyone at school thinks it's cool.' Mum was refusing to help me dye my hair brown, but now she was worried about people's opinions—this could only work to my advantage.

‘We should get going,' Safet said.

‘Where to?' I asked.

‘Murat and Suada's.' Mum put on her shoes.

‘Cool. I'll come.' They were visiting Dina's parents and I'd figured out how to put my plan into action.

‘Don't you have homework?' Mum asked.

‘Nothing that can't wait.'

‘Here's your cap.' She waited for me to run into my bedroom where I grabbed the bundle of Darko's letters from under my bed.

As Dina's parents greeted Mum and Safet, I hugged Dina and let her in on my plan. Her eyes widened and she hissed, ‘You're crazy.'

‘Go along or I'll ditch the sleepover,' I warned her.

Even though Dina's parents had money, the décor of her house was just a grander version of ours. The true display of Dina's parents' wealth was the special ‘guest' living room. It was hardly ever used, as no guest was special enough for it. In it was an L-shaped leather sofa, shiny black wall units and a huge TV that Dina wasn't allowed to turn on. They did all their entertaining in the rumpus room at the back of the house.

Dina did the good daughter routine and helped her mum prepare the coffee and bring out the sweets. When she put down the plate of dried meat and sweets, I salivated. Bosnians all tried to outdo each other in feeding visitors, but God forbid a kid should help themselves to anything. You had to take food stealthily, only when your parents gave you the nod of approval, eat one thing at a time, and not go back for seconds.

When she'd finished serving, Dina sat on the floor beside me. ‘Are you sure this will work?'

‘Watch and learn.' I waited for my chance. It didn't take long.

bosnian high-noon

‘My Dina is an excellent student. She's hard-working, modest, knows how to cook and clean. She'll make an excellent wife,' Suada said, looking at her as if she were admiring a prize-winning dog.

Dina kept her eyes on the carpet, a small smile on her face. You had to look modest as the Bosnian version of high-noon took place: these two mothers had each other in their sights as they fired brags about their children.

‘My Sabiha,' Mum said, and I knew this was my cue. I took off my cap and waited. ‘…is a great writer,' Mum continued. ‘She got published in the local newspaper.'

Mum was saying nice things about me and I was being a bitch. I reached for my cap, but it was too late. All eyes were on me.

‘
Bože sa
uvaj
!' Dina's mum exclaimed, her hand on her chest as she stared at my head like I'd grown horns. ‘What's wrong with her hair?' she asked.

Dina was silent. I nudged her.

‘Mum, can I do my hair like Sabiha?' Dina asked.

Suada looked as if she was having a heart attack while Mum gaped like a fish on dry land. ‘Don't even think about it,' Suada said. ‘You should get it fixed,' she said to Mum.

Mum nodded. She couldn't tell Dina's mum about her ultimatum because it was unheard of for a kid to refuse a parent's command.

Dina and I sat quietly for a while and waited until we were no longer the topic of their conversation. ‘We're going to my room to do homework,' she whispered to her mum. She closed the bedroom door and turned on her radio. ‘What was that about?'

‘Mum won't pay for it to be dyed brown so I'm convincing her.'

Dina shook her head in disgust. ‘Next time keep me out of your stupid schemes.' She lay on her bed.

I wasn't feeling too crash hot about the success of my plan. ‘My Mum thinks I'm a talented writer.'

‘It's not as if she could say you're talented at anything else.'

‘Cow,' I muttered under my breath. Dina was falling asleep. ‘Hey,' I prodded her.

‘Leave me alone.' She pushed my hand away. ‘I was talking with Tony until three in the morning and I'm buggered.' She snuck the phone into her room and called him after her parents were asleep.

I slapped her arm. ‘Wake up, I need a favour.'

Dina turned on her side without answering.

‘I need you to translate my Mum's old love letters.'

She turned back, peering at me from under her arm. ‘Who are they from?'

‘She had a Serb boyfriend before she married my Dad.' I pulled the letters out of the back pocket of my skirt. I waved them under Dina's nose. There were only five so it wouldn't take her long.

She snatched them from my hand and opened the first envelope. ‘Interesting.' She went for a second envelope.

I snatched the letters back. ‘What does it say?' I said urgently.

‘He's telling her…he doesn't want her to give up her family to be with him.' She paused and frowned. ‘That they should take it slowly and her father will accept him in time.'

‘Fat chance,' I muttered. There was no way Dido would accept a non-Muslim son-in-law. Dina held out her hand for another letter. I handed her the second one in the bundle. This time I only gave her one letter at a time.

‘I think your Mum suggested they run away together,' Dina said after she finished the second letter. ‘But Darko is saying he can't abandon his mother and sisters. Without his income they can't survive because his father is dead.'

As Dina read the letters we were able to piece together Mum and Darko's story. They were madly in love and Mum was willing to do whatever it took to be together, but Darko was afraid of Dido. Dido was well known in their town and put pressure on Darko's employer to fire him. Without a local job Darko had to move to Germany for work and in his last letter he told Mum to find another partner.

Dina lay back on her side. ‘Now let me sleep.'

As I returned the last letter to its envelope I noticed the date on the envelope. Darko broke up with Mum one month before my parents married. Did she marry my Dad on the rebound?

Suada called Dina, who groaned as she swung off the bed. Everyone was gathered by the front door. I yawned, relieved the torture was over, and pleased that I'd finally got the dirt on Mum.

When we arrived home Mum stopped me outside my room. ‘Get your hair fixed tomorrow.' She thrust a note at me. ‘I'll make an appointment so you can go after school.'

Seeing the $50 note in my hand, the fog of fatigue cleared. ‘Mum—'

‘I don't want to hear it.' She pushed past me.

At school I showed Brian the money. ‘Mum's paying for me to get my hair fixed properly.'

Brian lifted my ponytail. ‘Get it trimmed too.'

‘I don't think I should spend all the money.'

‘It's not that much more.'

I didn't say anything. Living on a pension meant that, when Mum wasn't manic, her giving me the money to get my hair fixed professionally was a big deal. The least I could do was give her change. ‘I'll see.'

Refika was a Bosnian hairdresser who had opened a salon in a backstreet of St Albans. She lifted strands of my hair. ‘Tsk, tsk,' she admonished. ‘You tried to do this yourself.'

I nodded shamefully.

‘Do you want to go back to your natural hair colour?'

I shook my head and fingered a hank of the dark brown colour on her swatch. ‘This is what I want.'

Refika squinted at my head. ‘It would look better if we stripped it back to blonde.'

I shook my head. I knew Mum had put her up to it and I wasn't falling for it. ‘Brown.'

‘Do you know how many women pay a lot of money to make their hair blonde?'

‘If you can't do it…' I started walking to the door.

Refika pulled me to a stop by yanking my arm. ‘Edo,' she called. A young man emerged from the backroom. She pushed me into a chair. ‘Make this,' she ordered Edo, and caressed the hair I'd chosen on her swatch.

Edo had shoulder-length brown hair. As he mixed the dye he rolled up his sleeves, showing off his muscled forearms. He threw the cape over me and sectioned my hair, the gypsy hoops in his ears glinting. ‘Gay,' I thought, disappointed.

‘Do you go to school?' he asked, his accent revealing him as a new arrival.

‘Yes, what about you?' I asked, trying to figure out his age.

‘I did one year of English school and now I go to hairdressing school.'

I nodded. ‘Why did you decide to be a hairdresser?'

‘I wanted to work instead of going to school for years and years. At least this way by the time I'm twenty-one I'll finish my apprenticeship.'

‘Bingo.' A bell rang in my head. He was seventeen. He met my eyes in the mirror and smiled back. He was flirting with me. So much for the gay theory.

‘Do you live around here?' he asked.

I nodded. ‘In Wooley Street. You?'

‘Clive Street.'

My heart sped up. ‘That's a few streets away from me.'

‘What do you do for fun?'

I was about to say nothing much, but stopped myself short. ‘I write. I had an article published in the newspaper.'

‘Did you get any money?'

‘No.'

‘Bend your head.' My hair flopped forward and hid my face as he put dye in the back sections. ‘I don't see the point,' he said.

I moved my hair out of my face so I could see him through the parting. ‘Have you ever been published?'

He shook his head.

‘Well then.' He dyed my hair in silence. I wanted to smack my head into a wall. Why did I have to be so touchy? I cleared my throat. ‘What do
you
do for fun?'

‘Go to the movies, play computer games.' He put the timer on the mirror-stand in front of me. ‘I'll be back soon.'

‘Cute, isn't he?' Refika said to me when Edo went into the storeroom.

‘He's okay.' I'd play it cool.

Refika let out a piercing laugh. ‘Business has doubled with young'uns like you.' She winked at me when Edo came back in. I picked up a magazine, hoping to hide my perving.

When the timer went off, Edo led me to the sink and washed my hair. I sighed as I leaned back in the chair. This was my favourite part. Edo rubbed at my head and I shuddered as he tugged on strands of hair. ‘We're finished.' He walked back to the cutting chair.

Already? I hesitated before following.

When he finished snipping he used the blow-dryer and my hair curled in a sleek brown bob, exactly the way I'd imagined when Brian and I had begun.

He pulled off the cape with a flourish and I followed him to the counter.

‘That's $51.50.'

My heart started racing. I handed over the $50 note. ‘Sorry. I'm short,' I whispered, mortified.

‘It's okay,' Edo winked. ‘You can buy me a drink the next time we see each other.' He handed me the receipt.