A Hen in the Wardrobe Read online

  “I’m on my knees!” she sighed, dropping her suitcase by the fridge with a clunk. Then she held out her arms and smiled. “Did you miss me?”

  Dad ran over and hugged Mum. “We were like two moths without our moon,” he replied.

  “Hmmmm,” she grinned.

  Dad started to chop mint leaves whilst Mum sat down. She hung her poppy-print jacket on the back of a chair and stretched her arms above her head.

  “I bumped into Mrs Stalk outside,” she began. “Lovely woman. She was telling me all about the architecture in Pakistan. Fascinating. But what’s all this about a fire brigade? You didn’t mention that on the phone!”

  Half an hour and two peppermint teas later, Mum was clutching Dad’s hands across the kitchen table.

  “Don’t you worry, love,” Mum said. “It’s only money. We’ll get the tickets today. We’ll sell the car if we have to. I didn’t like the colour anyway.”

  “Oh, Ruby,” said Dad. “What would I do without you?”

  “You’d be in a right old mess. Now, go on. Get Ramzi from school and I’ll dig out those passports!”

  Dad kissed Mum on both cheeks and ran out of the door.

  A Flying Tortoise

  “Please remove your shoes,” said the lady at the airport. She was clutching a black walkie-talkie and her tummy bulged beneath her belt like a small balloon.

  “Go on, Ramzi,” said Mum. “Do as the lady says.”

  Ramzi looked at Mum with a puzzled half-smile. Then he took off his trainers and put them in a plastic tray along with his rucksack.

  “What does she want my shoes for, Mum?” asked Ramzi. They were brand new with flashing lights and he didn’t like to see them disappearing into the gaping mouth of an x-ray machine!

  “Oh, she just needs to check they’re safe,” said Mum.

  “Safe? Weird! I mean, they’re trainers, Mum.” Ramzi was confused.

  “Beep, beep, beep, beep,” blurted a machine to their right. Dad had set the alarm off.

  “It’s all right,” explained Dad cheerfully. “It’s just the metal buckle on my belt.” But a stern-looking security guard led him away from the queuing passengers.

  “Where are they taking Dad?” asked Ramzi. He began to chew his nails.

  “Oh, it’s nothing, petal. They just need to ask some questions,” said Mum.

  When they’d picked up their hand luggage and put their shoes back on, they stood by a glass barrier and waited for Dad. Ramzi watched as two security guards checked other people’s bags. They took away an old man’s toothpaste and threw it in the bin! Then they asked a woman with frizzy orange hair to drink some of her baby’s milk! She put the bottle to her mouth and began to suck.

  Ramzi giggled. “Airports make grown-ups act completely weird, don’t they, Mum?”

  “They certainly do, love!”

  Suddenly Mum waved a hand in the air. She’d just spotted Dad through the crowds. He was rubbing his beard and looked tired and flustered.

  “Come on, Ramzi,” said Mum. “I think your dad needs a coffee.”

  ***

  Later that day, a gleaming white plane coasted along the runway in France. Smartly dressed passengers were ushered through clean, empty corridors into the main terminal. Tanned men with slicked black hair and ladies in high-heeled shoes perched on stools in the airport cafes. A woman in a short red dress stroked a large pedigree dog whilst another chatted on a mobile phone, a white poodle nestled in her lap.

  Ramzi stared.

  “Come on, I think our check-in is over here,” yelled Dad, pointing to a dusty corner of the airport. Wires hung down from the ceiling and tiles were missing from the floor.

  “Ramzi! Keep up,” called Mum.

  Ramzi ran over to join them. There were old men in white turbans, young men in prayer caps, and tall girls in sleek headscarves with designer sunglasses perched on top. The lady in front of them wore a long stripy gown and her eyes shone with deep-black kohl. There were old women draped in silken robes and babies sparkling with gold. Ramzi felt his stomach swirl with excitement! He was going to be a real explorer at last.

  Whipping a notebook and pencil out of his rucksack, Ramzi carefully drew a map of Europe and North Africa. He remembered every island and peninsula, every mountain range and shore.

  “That’s one of your best yet!” beamed Dad, patting him on the shoulder. Ramzi shaded in the sea and smiled.

  After a long wait, the computer screen flashed. The plane was ready for boarding. Everyone surged forward, pushing each other out of the way.

  “Nothing changes!” grumbled Dad.

  “Don’t be so harsh,” said Mum. “Look, the stewards are letting the old people and families on first. Isn’t that sweet?”

  “Bless you, Ruby,” smiled Dad. “You always see the good in things.”

  Once they were on the plane, a little old woman flashed a gold-toothed smile at Ramzi. He smiled back. A white knitted shawl twisted around her shoulders and thin wisps of burgundy hair stuck out from beneath her scarf. She had star-like tattoos on her cheeks and hands – just like Nanna Ramadan’s– and a big plastic bag wedged between her knees. Suddenly she leant across the aisle and spoke in soft, syrupy tones. “Azr theen. Look inside.”

  “Go on, Ramzi, have a look,” said Dad.

  Ramzi leant across the aisle and peered in. He saw something that looked like an army helmet. But then a little wrinkly head poked out! Ramzi jumped back and laughed. It was a tortoise!

  “It’s for my grand-daughter,” she smiled.

  “Cool! Dad, can I have a tortoise? They live for, like, sixty years!”

  “No, my little warrior. If we brought a tortoise back from Algeria, they wouldn’t let us take it out of France. And there’s no point having a tortoise if it has to live in France.”

  Ramzi sighed. He’d never understand grown-ups and their crazy rules.

  It was evening when the plane landed, but the air was still warm. A little bus was waiting on the runway. It was already full of people, but a man in uniform ordered them all to squeeze in. Then it wobbled across the hot tarmac and dropped them off by some dusty glass doors.

  Inside the terminal, there was a buzz of excitement. Everyone was restless, eager to see family and friends. Mum wrapped a bright turquoise scarf around her head and Dad smoothed down his beard. Ramzi didn’t have a scarf or a beard so he pushed the hot curls off his face. After many more queues and baggage checks, Mum, Dad and Ramzi popped out of the smoky airport and into the bright white air.

  “Thank Goodness for that!” said Mum.

  Dad was struggling with the heavy cases. They were bulging with presents for family and friends. Suddenly a young man with a dark tumble of curls came running over and hugged Dad tight.

  “Salem, big brother,” he cried. He kissed Mum on both cheeks and lifted Ramzi into the air, spinning him round and round. Ramzi felt giddy and had to lean against a dusty palm tree until the world stopped spinning.

  “Kader!” laughed Dad. “You’ve grown even taller than me!”

  “It’s the sun,” smiled Uncle Kader. “But what about you? You’re so pale. I hope you haven’t turned into a European!”

  “Arghhh,” growled Dad jokingly. He pretended to punch Uncle Kader in the ribs and they hugged and kissed each other again and again.

  “It’s been too long, little brother,” said Dad.

  “Come on,” grinned Uncle Kader. “Everyone’s waiting to see you. Especially you, Ramzi,” he said, pinching Ramzi’s cheek.

  They hopped into Uncle Kader’s little yellow Renault 5 and jammed the luggage into the boot. Then they showed their passports to a group of soldiers. The soldiers narrowed their eyes and stared into the car. Ramzi stared back. As they drove away from the airport, Ramzi pressed his face against the back window of the car and watched the soldiers’ rifles sparkle in the sunlight.

  The Town that Never Slept

  They drove through empty salt marshes and bustling towns, through twisti
ng green forests and vast yellow wheat-fields. They spotted storks nesting on the top of minarets and birds of prey soaring across the sky. Women in brightly patterned dresses herded cows along the roadside and children stood in fields, shepherding flocks of long-eared sheep.

  It was just before sunset when they arrived. The town was perched on top of a rocky orange mountain and the houses were made from pale yellow stones. Behind the town stood an even taller mountain and, in the fading sunlight, you could see the dark mouths of caves where people had lived in forgotten times.

  The car wound up a narrow, bumpy street and eventually came to a halt. There was a big silver water cistern at the end of the road and grape vines hung around the brightly painted metal doors. Excited faces were peering out through upstairs shutters. Everyone was trying to catch a glimpse of the returning son!

  Dad got out of the car. He took a deep breath and went inside an open door. Mum, Ramzi and Uncle Kader followed.

  “Assalemu Aleikum! Peace be upon you!” beamed Nanna Ramadan. Her face was patterned with star-shaped tattoos and her burgundy hair shone like roasted conkers. “Come inside,” she said, squeezing Dad tight. She kissed Mum on both cheeks again and again. Then she turned to Ramzi.

  “Masha’ Allah! Praise be to God!” she exclaimed. “You look just like Mohamed when he was a boy.”

  Ramzi smiled and hugged her round the waist. He hadn’t seen her since he was a baby, but she smelt like home: of rose-water and freshly baked bread.

  Inside, the townhouse was full of people, food and noise. Ramzi tucked into nut-filled, diamond-shaped cakes that dripped with syrup, and drank ice–cold lime juice that made his lips tingle. Cousins, aunts and uncles jostled to greet him and he was hugged and kissed until he felt giddy!

  Outside, gun shots were fired into the night air. It was late, but no one wanted to leave. Shoes of every size and colour had piled up by the front door and every room in the house was brimming with smiles and laughter. When the last guests eventually went home, Mum and Dad found Ramzi curled up asleep on the stairs! With happy hearts and tired legs, they kissed his flushed cheeks and carried him up to bed.

  ***

  It was still dark outside when a strange sound woke Ramzi. He leapt off his mattress and looked around. Dad was still asleep in the corner of the room. Ramzi listened again. The noise was coming from outside. He tiptoed across the warm tiles and opened the shutters. Night air filled the room.

  “Allaaaahu akbaaar, Aallaaaaaaahu akbaaar!”

  The deep warbling sound filled the street. A few seconds later, another call sounded. Then another. Then another. Soon, the whole town was vibrating with noise.

  Mum yawned and opened her eyes. “It’s just the call to prayer, Ramzi,” she said.

  “But it’s coming from completely everywhere!” said Ramzi.

  “We’re not in England now, sweetheart,” said Mum. “There are mosques all over town and they each do their own adhan, their own call.”

  “Wow!” said Ramzi. He gazed into the noisy darkness. A jasmine plant twisted along the wall beneath the window. The sweet smell reminded him of the florist shop back home.

  “Is this going to happen every morning, Mum?” Ramzi rubbed his eyes.

  “Of course it will, love. Why don’t you join me for fajr prayer?” Mum did her ablutions and twisted a stripy blue scarf around her long curly hair. Then she spread a prayer mat on the floor. When Ramzi had finished washing his feet, he rushed to join her.

  “God bless you, love,” she said when they’d finished. “Now try and get some sleep.”

  But Ramzi couldn’t. He just lay awake and listened. The heavy steel door of the house banged shut. It was Uncle Kader leaving for the mosque. There were footsteps outside. People were passing the house, speaking in hushed voices. Ramzi strained to listen. A dog barked. A baby cried. Water started to gurgle through the pipes, filling up the tank on the roof.

  Suddenly, a man with a piercing voice shouted from beneath the window. “F’tayr!”

  Ramzi sat up with a start.

  “F’tayr, F’tayr!” the man yelled again.

  Ramzi rushed over to Mum. “What’s happening now?” he asked.

  “It’s nothing,” said Mum sleepily. “It’s just a man selling cakes. Uncle Kader might bring you some for breakfast if you’re lucky. Now back to bed or you’ll be too tired to play with your cousins.”

  But Ramzi couldn’t sleep. It was getting light outside. The edges of the shutters were starting to glow. He wriggled under his sheet.

  “BANG! BANG! BANG!” There was a clash of drums and the strumming of guitars.

  Ramzi leapt up again. “What’s that?” he exclaimed.

  Mum got up and wandered over to the window. The edges of her long white nightdress skimmed the floor. She pushed open the shutters and a shaft of sunlight lit up the room. Ramzi poked his head outside.

  “Oh!” said Mum. “It’s the new bride from next door.”

  A young woman was leaning out of the downstairs shutters of the house opposite. Her face was thick with make-up and she had glitter in her hair. Mum waved and smiled. The new bride scowled and disappeared behind the shutters.

  “Nanna warned me about her,” whispered Mum. “She likes to play loud music from dawn until dusk. Her husband gave her a huge CD player as a wedding present. I bet he regrets it now! Oh well.”

  Mum looked at Ramzi. “I don’t think we’ll get back to sleep now, will we?”

  “No way,” sighed Ramzi, pushing the curls out of his eyes. “Shall I wake Dad?”

  “No, poppet, best leave him,” Mum said.

  They both looked towards Dad as he snored gently in the corner of the room.

  “Dr Slight was right, wasn’t he, Mum? Dad just needed to come home.”

  “Yes, Ramzi, I think he did.” Mum looked sad.

  “Mum,” said Ramzi. “Dad’s not the same here, is he?”

  “What do you mean, love?”

  Ramzi tried to explain. “Well, at home, he sounds a bit funny and looks a bit different. But here, he’s kind of like everyone else.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Mum slowly.

  “Actually,” Ramzi continued, “now you sound a bit funny and look a bit different.”

  “Me? Funny?” exclaimed Mum.

  Ramzi giggled. “Well, you keep getting your sentences back to front and…”

  “You cheeky little whippersnapper!” said Mum. She leapt up and chased Ramzi across the room.

  “You’ll wake up Dad,” giggled Ramzi.

  But Dad didn’t wake up. Not even when Mum caught Ramzi and tickled him until he escaped and ran downstairs.

  After a lovely breakfast of f’tayr, goat’s milk and apricot jam, Ramzi put on his cap and went to play outside. Meccy and Amel – two of his cousins – were waiting by the front door.

  “Salem,” they grinned. “Hello, we brought you a lollipop.”

  Meccy and Amel were brother and sister – but you couldn’t really tell. Meccy was short and chubby with a cheeky grin and a chipped tooth, whilst Amel was tall and graceful and reminded Ramzi of a stork. They both started speaking at the same time and Ramzi couldn’t understand a word.

  “Talk slowly, please,” begged Ramzi.

  But Meccy and Amel spoke so fast – not like the slow, clear words Dad spoke at home. No one seemed to mind when Ramzi made mistakes, though, and soon he was able to keep up.

  “Listen to my grandson,” boasted Nanna Ramadan. “His Arabic is better than mine!”

  But it was Ramzi’s maps that impressed Meccy and Amel the most. They would sit and watch in delight as Ramzi scratched intricate drawings across the broken pavement in bright-green chalk.

  And so the days passed. Ramzi played without a care under that clear, blue sky. He raced his cousins on their bikes, nibbled hot, buttery pancakes and splashed buckets of water to settle the dust. And whilst he raced under the sun, Mum sketched from the balcony, Nanna Ramadan made fresh bread and crunchy biscuits…
and Dad?

  Well, Dad slept and slept and slept!

  The Thing in the Woods

  One morning, while Dad still lazed in bed, Ramzi heard about the thing that lived in the woods. The children all called it ‘Boulelli’.

  “Don’t drop the snail shell or Boulelli will get you,” teased Amel.

  Meccy threw the snail shell into the air and caught it on the back of his hand. But it wobbled and fell off.

  “Doesn’t matter anyway,” said Meccy. “Boulelli’s not real.”

  “Of course he’s real,” said Amel. “He eats children. Everybody knows that!”She arranged the tiny stones into clusters, threw a glistening white snail shell into the air, and snatched up the clusters before the snail shell landed firmly back on her hand.

  Meccy’s eyes had gone all watery.

  “Sorry,” said Amel. “Boulelli won’t really get you. Honest.”

  Meccy sniffed and wiped his eyes.

  “Who’s ‘Boulelli’?” asked Ramzi.

  Meccy and Amel looked at each other in surprise. They’d never met a child who didn’t know about Boulelli. Everyone knew about Boulelli.

  “I’ll tell him, I’ll tell him,” cried Meccy.

  “No,” said Amel firmly. “I’m the eldest.” She leant so close to Ramzi’s face that the lace on her white hijab tickled his nose. “It’s the name of the thing in the woods,” she whispered. “It means… Father of Silk. ”

  Ramzi shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t understand.

  “You know… what do you call it?” Amel chewed her lip.“The thing that makes the web.”

  “And sucks the juices out of flies,” added Meccy.

  “Spider!” cried Ramzi, “A spider – that eats children?”

  Meccy and Amel nodded their heads.

  ***

  Upstairs, Dad had just woken up and was peering over the balcony. “Look, Ruby,” he yawned. “Ramzi’s playing ‘stones’ with his cousins. I used to love playing that. I was the best.”

  “I bet you were,” smiled Mum. She put down her pen and leaned over to look. “Oh dear, Amel’s just given him another lollipop,” she said.