Brutal: The Heartbreaking True Story of a Little Girl’s Stolen Innocence. Nabila Sharma

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      Contents

       Cover

      Title Page

      Prologue

      1 The Girl with Ribbons in Her Hair

      2 Living on Sikh Street

      3 The Wolf, the Witch and the Wallpaper

      4 The Mosque

      5 Arrival of the New Imam

      6 The Imam’s Secret Handshake

      7 The Chosen One

      8 Secret Lessons

      9 The Imam’s Bite

      10 Treasure under the Carpet

      11 The Trip to the Petrol Station

      12 A Lost Innocence

      13 The Trip to London

      14 The Sickly Boy

      15 Washing Away My Shame

      16 The Protector

      17 Self-harm and Scourers

      18 Saying ‘No’

      19 The Special Dinner

      20 The Card in the Kitchen

      21 Being Found Out

      22 An Arranged Future

      23 Rebellion

      24 My Sikh Boyfriend

      25 New Beginnings

      26 Starting Again

      Acknowledgements

      Credits

      Copyright

      About the Publisher

      Prologue

      I’m running around the garden in the sunshine. My brother turns to throw a red rubber ball towards me and I watch as it sails high up into the air. I stretch up my hands to try and catch it and, as I do, the sunshine blinks between my fingertips. It’s a hot day and I can feel the sun baking my skin.

      My dolls are sitting in a neat line in their pram. I’ve brushed their long glossy hair and dressed them in nice clothes and they look beautiful. Their hair isn’t as long as mine, though. Mine stretches below my bottom and attracts comment wherever I go. ‘Isn’t she lovely?’ they say. ‘What a beauty!’

      Maybe that’s why the new imam at the mosque singles me out from the start. ‘You’re a pretty one,’ he says, and asks me to help with the cleaning. I feel very proud. He’s a strange-looking man, with his freckles and protruding belly and the funny sarong he wears, but he’s the imam, the leader of our community, the one all the parents want to impress. The other girls are jealous of the attention he pays me.

      Every evening after school I go to the mosque for lessons with seventy other children. We all line up to shake the imam’s hand and say ‘Salaam alaikum’, to which he replies ‘Alaikum salaam’. But one night as he holds my hand, he does something odd. He strokes the inside of my palm with his index finger, wiggling it around, tickling me. I’m confused. Should I do the same thing back? Then he jabs his finger hard into my hand, as if to make a point.

      I watch carefully as he shakes hands with the other children and I don’t think he does the funny handshake with them.

      It’s on my mind as I play in the garden. Why me? There are times when I’m not sure what to make of it. I’m only seven. I feel like I’ve been chosen for something. But I don’t know what.

      Chapter 1

      The Girl with Ribbons in Her Hair

      I slipped on my shoes without stopping to fasten them, opened the back door and shot straight out into the back garden. My brother Asif was holding my favourite doll by the hair, swinging her round like a helicopter.

      ‘I’ll get you!’ I shouted crossly, waving my tiny fist in the air.

      The shoes slopped off my heels with every step I took, slowing me down.

      ‘Give me my doll!’ I demanded as I tried to catch him.

      ‘Nope,’ Asif teased.

      ‘Give her back now or … or …’ I couldn’t think of a strong-enough threat.

      ‘Or what?’ he challenged.

      ‘I’ll tell Mum.’

      ‘Oooh, I’m really scared,’ Asif laughed. The doll spun faster and faster around his head, her arms and legs splayed out. She was already naked and muddy from being kicked around the garden.

      With all my might I stretched up on tiptoes to try and grab her, but it was no good. Asif was much taller than me. I hated my brothers. They were mean to me. Why didn’t I have a sister instead?

      I rubbed my eyes and began to sob.

      ‘Anyway, it’s only a stupid doll,’ Asif teased, knotting her hair between his fingers. He was eight years old to my five, and an expert at winding me up.

      The sky had clouded over and it began to rain. I felt utterly miserable as the drizzle fell on my upturned face.

      ‘Nabila!’ Mum’s voice called suddenly from the back door.

      Asif froze. Had Mum spotted him tormenting me from the back window? He dropped the doll guiltily on the ground and took a giant step away.

      I seized the moment and, scooping her into the safety of my arms, surveyed the damage. Her ice-blonde hair was knotted and ratty and her face was caked in mud. With the sleeve of my dress I wiped a big dollop of mud from her forehead.

      ‘There, that’s better, isn’t it?’ I soothed, rocking her in my arms.

      Asif was still watching the back door to see if Mum was about to come storming out, so I grabbed my chance and gave him a swift kick on the leg.

      ‘Oww,’ he groaned, rubbing his shin bone.

      ‘Nabila!’ Mum called again, her voice impatient. ‘Come in now. I need to do your hair!’