Nowadays, babysitting Taarai doesn’t feel like an actual job. She tells me about her day, we play or draw or read, and then I tell her a short bedtime story. The fairy narrative has expanded into a full-blown saga. It’s all sweet nonsense, but Taarai enjoys it, and a part of me does too.

It’s a part of me I’d not share with others.

Yesterday, I told her to prepare for bed alone, while I attempted to clean the kitchen. Our watercolour session ended up more water than colour.

Despite spending ages wiping the splotches away, Taarai didn’t appear. That was suspicious. I knocked on the bathroom door, panicked at the lack of response, and entered.

Taarai was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, crying. The silent tears that rolled down her eyes took me aback. Sitting next to her, the coldness of the bathroom tiles pulled me down.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

‘My hair’s… growing back… curly,’ she replied between gasps. ‘I thought if I cut it, it would grow back straight, like everyone else’s!’ Her tears turned into full-blown wailing and she covered her face with her hands.

I didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t much to say that would make her feel better. After all, being one of the few non-white people in this tiny town must be awful. There’s countless appalling stuff I heard thrown Naddie’s way.

I had to do something. This was a little girl crying her heart out. I grabbed her hands and pulled them away from her face so she’d look at me.

‘Did I ever tell you about my friend Jess?’ I asked her. Taarai shook her head and sniffed, trying to control her tears.

‘Jess has a twin brother, and they were both raised by only their dad. She and her brother always wanted to dress in the same way. Their dad let them. So when she was your age, she wore boy’s clothing, and she had her hair cut short too, just like you.’

Taarai listened closely, her sobbing under control.

‘In school, her classmates made fun of her for looking like a boy when she was a girl. And of course at first, she felt sad. It’s okay to feel sad about things like this. But she didn’t want to change who she was. So one day, when they made fun of her, she asked if they could see properly. They didn’t answer, confused. And then she said that they should wash their eyes if they thought she was a boy.’

‘What happened next?’ Taarai asked, now fully immersed.

‘Jess took out a water pistol she smuggled into school and shot them all in the face with water. They never bothered her again after spending that whole day soaking wet,’ I said, making my voice as peppy and light-hearted as possible. Taarai burst into giggles.

‘Now, let’s get you to bed. Perhaps we could search for a curly-haired fairy tonight? I hear she’s very shy, but we might get lucky.’

She seemed to have cheered up, but I couldn’t help worrying. After all, there was so much more to Jess’ story.

But that was better left unsaid.