Chapter 1
“Oh no!” shouted Yusuf. “Look at the time! I promised my
mum I wouldn’t be late.”
“Hang on,” said Jack, “you forgot your–”, but it was too
late. Yusuf had already jumped down from the tree and
was halfway down the path which led out of Oakwell Hall.
“Jumper,” sighed Jack to himself, tying it around his
waist so he wouldn’t forget to take it with him.
Yusuf and Jack had been best friends for as long as
they could remember. They first met at nursery and had
been inseparable ever since. They each lived on one end
of Country Lane and even though they did not attend the
same school, they saw each other as often as they could.
They always met on a Thursday evening at Scouts and at
least once more during the week. Since last year it had become
a Saturday tradition to meet at Oakwell Hall. Both
their gardens backed out onto the country park behind the
Elizabethan manor house and they loved spending time
there. It was the perfect place for two children who loved
the outdoors. They spent their time climbing trees, building
dens, making dams in the shallow stream and generally
getting as grubby as they could.
This particular Saturday, the second Saturday in September
to be precise, was an eagerly anticipated day for
Yusuf and his family. It was the day his grandpa was due
to arrive from Morocco. Grandpa had always wanted to
visit England and for years their weekly conversations over
the phone usually ended with ‘insha’Allah, I will visit.’ But
due to ill health and family commitments he was never
able to come. ‘Insha’Allah, I will visit’ became something
he always said before he hung up. It was said so often that
when Grandpa phoned them in June to inform them that
he would actually be arriving on the second Saturday in
September, everyone fell silent for a few seconds, shocked
that the visit Grandpa had been promising was now just
around the corner!
Since that phone call, Yusuf’s house had been filled with
excitement. To say they were all looking forward to the
visit was an understatement. Yusuf’s parents had cleaned
and re-cleaned the house a number of times
and they still didn’t feel it was perfect enough
for their special guest. They steamed the
carpets, washed the curtains and cleaned
the windows until the house shone. His
dad finally got round to
completing all the odd
jobs he’d been putting
off. He even fixed the extractor
fan in the kitchen, something his mum had been
reminding him about on what seemed like a weekly basis.
This made Yusuf smile. He didn’t think Grandpa would
notice the extractor fan, but it was nice that his father
wanted everything to be perfect.
Yusuf enjoyed helping his parents prepare their home
for Grandpa and loved seeing them so happy. His parents
left Morocco many years ago, soon after they had married.
They had a dream of studying at a university abroad and
arrived in England almost penniless. Their families had
tried their hardest to convince them to stay in Morocco.
‘Why do you want to leave? You have everything here,’
they would say, ‘Both of you can study here, we will support
you.’ They were all against the move to England – all
except for Yusuf’s grandpa. “Let them go! They are young
and they have dreams. Do you not remember having dreams
at their age?”
Everyone disapproved. As the eldest and most respected
member of the family, he should be trying to convince his
son otherwise, they thought. But he continued to support
them while they studied in England and would send them
money regularly.
Yusuf often felt sad for his parents on occasions such
as Eid when other people got together and visited their relatives.
It was only the three of them in England, and when
they would phone Morocco on Eid morning after returning
from the mosque, the longing in his parents’ voices would
bring a lump to Yusuf’s throat. His parents had always
planned to visit home regularly but life and more specifically,
lack of finances, got in the way. They managed to save up enough money
once when Yusuf was two years old but that had been their only trip home.
Sometimes Yusuf sat and thought about how difficult it must have been for
them not to have seen their families for eight years. After
their first and only visit, they had struggled to save money
with both of them completing their degrees and then starting
their teaching jobs. Money had been tight and since
buying their house, a holiday was out of the question. That
was why this day, the second Saturday in September, was
so special. And he was on the verge of ruining it.
Yusuf stopped running to catch his breath, he bent down
and stretched. The sides of his body ached from sprinting
so fast. He looked up. He could see his garden fence from
where he was standing. Not far to go! Yusuf had promised his
mum before he left that morning that he would be home
in time to shower and change before Grandpa arrived. But
then he and Jack started building a den with bits of wood
they found lying around. They had become so engrossed in
their project that Yusuf had lost track of time. It was only
when he’d heard Yankee Doodle Went to Town blaring from the ice cream van,
which arrived at Oakwell Hall at precisely 12 o’clock every Saturday,
that he realised how late it was. Yusuf tried to ignore the stitch that was burning the
sides of his body and ran on. As he frantically hurtled
through the garden towards the patio door, he could see
his mum standing there. The look on her face made him
feel awful. He knew she wouldn’t shout at him but somehow
this made it worse. She would just look at him with
disappointment on her face. Yusuf hated disappointing his
parents.
“Mum I’m so sorry we were building a den and I didn’t
look at my watch and then I heard the ice cream van and I
knew I was late and I feel so bad!” blurted Yusuf, without
taking a breath.
“Upstairs. Shower. Now,” she said, shaking her head.
“Your father phoned ten minutes ago to say they’d be here
in half an hour!”
Yusuf kicked off his muddy
shoes before coming inside and ran up the stairs straight into
the bathroom. He was getting dressed when his mum knocked on the door,
“You’re one lucky boy, Yusuf! Dad just phoned to say they’re stuck in
traffic and they’ll be delayed by at least fifteen minutes.”
Alhamdulilllah, Yusuf thought.
He sat down on his bed, exhausted from all the rushing.
Yusuf caught his reflection in the mirror. His hair looked
as crazy as it always did. He grabbed some gel to try and
flatten it but it didn’t help. His hair had become his trademark
at school. It was super curly, wiry and wild and because
it added an inch or two to his height, he looked like
one of the tallest boys in his year. He rubbed some more
gel onto his hands and then placed them on his head keeping
them there for a while but, as soon as he lifted them
off, his hair bounced back to where it was.
Never mind. He was sure his grandfather wouldn’t be
too bothered about his hair. After all, everyone in the family
said it was grandpa he had inherited it from. Last year, his
mum sent his school pictures to their family in Morocco.
Everyone agreed he was the spitting image of his grandpa.
Aunty Fatima, grandpa’s sister, found an old photograph of
grandpa when he was ten years old and sent it to Yusuf’s mum.
Yusuf gasped when he saw it. He looked exactly like
Grandpa! They both had dark curly hair and the same
green, almond shaped eyes framed with long, thick lashes.
The only thing that set them apart was the scar Yusuf had
just above his left eyebrow. He was the only grandchild
who didn’t live in Morocco and the fact that they looked
the same somehow made him feel more connected to him.
“They’re here!” shouted his mother from downstairs.
Yusuf ran to his parents’ bedroom and looked out of the
window to see his father’s car pulling into the driveway.
His father was beaming as he hurriedly got out of the car
and walked over to the passenger side door and opened it.
Grandpa got out slowly and looked around. Yusuf rushed
downstairs, feeling both nervous and excited, and waited
behind his mother as she opened the door.
