Читать книгу A Pocketful of Stars - Aisha Bushby - Страница 7

‘Roar!’ I growl, leaping out from behind a mirror.

Elle squeals and giggles and then she hides behind a rail of clothes.

We’re shopping in London today, using vouchers from our Christmas presents. I found a big fur coat so, naturally, I put it on and pretended to be a bear.

Abir and Izzy widen their eyes at one another, as if to say ‘how immature’, but I catch Izzy grinning at me.

‘You’re so funny, Saff,’ Abir says a little flatly, in a way that suggests the exact opposite.

I ignore her. She takes herself a bit too seriously sometimes.

‘Hey, Saff !’ Elle calls from across the shop. A couple of older shoppers look on disapprovingly as Elle gallops across in a zebra jacket, and suddenly I feel like shy Saff again, worried they’ll tell us off the way that man did at the coffee shop last week.

The truth is, I’ve been trying to distract myself from everything going on today. This is the first Saturday in ages that I haven’t seen Mum. Last week, after we got back from the theatre and Elle had gone home, we had an argument – a horrid argument – and I stormed out of Mum’s flat. She never called or texted afterwards, and I didn’t text her either, so I assumed I wasn’t going round today.

I glance at my phone. Nothing. And somehow that hurts more than Mum’s angry words. Suddenly I feel annoyed all over again. I switch off my phone, as if to get back at her for ignoring me.

‘OK, let’s be serious now,’ Abir says, like we’re running some sort of covert operation. ‘Meet at the changing rooms in half an hour, yeah?’

‘Come on, Saff,’ Elle says, grabbing my hand and leading the way. ‘I need your help.’

I follow Elle obediently, just as I followed her on the second day of primary school. She decided we were going to be a snake, right in the middle of the playground. Elle, of course, was the snake’s head. I was behind her, hands on her shoulders. I felt silly and embarrassed at the time. Everyone was going to laugh at us, I was sure. But Elle was confident. She hissed and ran and giggled, and soon half of the playground joined us. Elle at the front, me following right behind. And that’s how it’s been ever since.

When we’re alone again we fall into that easy sort of conversation we have when it’s just the two of us. Sometimes we even forget where we are because the Saff and Elle bubble is indestructible – even an army of goblins couldn’t break through it.

I ask Elle what she’s been reading, and she asks me about gaming. I tell her that I just ranked up on Fairy Hunters, and she describes a series of books about an undercover alchemist. It’s set in a boarding school, like Harry Potter, and sounds really cool. We agree to have a three-day sleepover, where we binge on our favourite TV shows and films over half-term, and never change out of our pyjamas.

Later, when we stop for some food, Elle gets a message. ‘It’s your dad,’ she says, frowning, showing me her screen. ‘He wants you to look at your phone.’

That’s weird. Why would Dad message Elle? As soon as I see the stream of missed calls, voice messages and texts I know something’s wrong.

Dad: [Missed Call]

Dad: Saff, can you call me as soon as you get this?

Dad: [Missed Call]

Dad: [Missed Call]

Dad: Can you catch the next train home?

I know something big has happened, and I know when I find out that everything will be different.

I grab Elle’s hand and squeeze, like maybe it’ll stop time. She squeezes back. I wordlessly hand her my phone and wait for her to tell me what to do.

‘We’ll go now, OK?’ she says, before turning to the others to explain. ‘See you later, yeah?’

Abir and Izzy nod solemnly. I hear them whisper to Elle and ask her what’s going on, but I don’t hear her response. I don’t even say goodbye.

We leave in a rush, our food half eaten, and head to the Tube station.

I quickly text Dad before we go on the Underground. My hands are shaking.

‘Shall we ring your dad first?’ Elle asks.

I shake my head. I can’t here. Not now. I need everything to stop, just for a little while. Because the truth is, I don’t want to know what Dad has to say.

Saff: Getting on the Tube. I’ll ring you from the train. Be about 20 mins.

Elle holds my hand the whole way down, even as we go through the barriers.

Four stops to King’s Cross. Four stops for me to imagine the worst. Dad must be OK. I don’t have any grandparents, or aunts and uncles, apart from Mum’s sister . . . Is it Mum?

One. Mum cycles everywhere. Did she get hit by a car? Does she wear a helmet? I can’t remember.

Elle and I don’t speak. She just squeezes my arm every few moments. I don’t cry, but my heart is beating so fast I feel like I can’t breathe.

The Tube is too hot. I might pass out.

Two. Maybe she just tripped and broke a leg, and I’m overthinking it all? Dad’s just ringing to make sure I don’t go straight to her flat. Right?

But why is he telling me to get the next train?

Someone gets up and Elle wrestles me a seat.

Three. And why would he ring Elle too?

I bury my head in my hands. Elle is stroking my hair. It helps.

Four. I’m sorry for yelling at you, Mum. I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.

‘When’s our train?’ I ask as we step off the Tube.

‘Ten minutes. We’ll make it.’

But I’m not so sure we will. I feel like a broken puppet, my strings hanging uselessly by my side, with no control over my legs or arms. As we make our way up the escalators I walk around in a daze. Eventually Elle picks up my strings and leads me, like all those years ago.

I don’t recall going through the ticket barrier, searching for our platform, or making my way on to the train.

But suddenly I’m in my seat and my phone is in my hand. Dad’s contact details are up on my screen.

‘You can do this,’ Elle says, squeezing my hand. And it’s like time has started all over again.

I call Dad.

The phone rings.

And rings.

He doesn’t answer.

The train is filled with excitable children, fuelled by sweets and fizzy drinks. They laugh and it sounds weird. Wrong. I want to switch places with them, to pretend everything’s OK. How are they so happy, so full of life when mine feels like it’s about to end? I watch two of them chase each other, giggling uncontrollably. But then one of them accidentally trips the other and suddenly both of them are in tears, each of their parents cuddling them for comfort.

Elle and I find a quiet corner and watch the world go by as the train pulls away from the station.

My phone vibrates in my hand moments into the journey. My fingers ache from squeezing it so tightly. ‘Hello?’ I say, my voice shaky.

‘Safiya?’

‘Dad, what’s happened?’ I ask. There are already tears in my eyes ready to fall. I take a deep breath, and then another.

‘It’s your mum,’ he says, and it’s like a lead brick slams hard against my abdomen. ‘She’s . . .’

Dead, I think. Just say it. Just tell me. But I can’t speak.

‘ . . . in a coma.’

‘But she’s alive?’ I wipe my eyes and cheeks with the sleeve of my coat.

I can sense Elle’s body stiffen, as she connects the dots of the one-sided conversation she’s hearing.

‘Yes.’ Dad exhales as he speaks. ‘Where are you now?’

‘On the train. I’ll be at the station soon.’

‘OK. I’ll pick you up. I tried to see her but it’s too soon for visitors.’

‘Dad?’

‘Yes, Saff?’

‘H-how . . . What happened?’

‘They think it was a stroke,’ Dad admits, his voice shaky. ‘I don’t know anything more just yet.’

I nod, and then realize he can’t see me. ‘OK,’ I say. It comes out strangled, more a wail than a word. More tears follow. They fall easily now.

The ticket lady starts to make her way down the carriage. ‘Tickets, passes and railcards!’

‘I have to go now,’ Dad says. ‘I’ll speak to the doctor, then head straight to the train station. Are you with Elle?’

I swallow before replying; it’s like gulping down a stone.

‘Tickets, passes and railcards!’

‘Saff?’

‘Yes, I’m with her.’ I wipe snot on my sleeve.

‘Good. Not long now, I promise.’

I put the phone down and stare ahead at the chair in front of me. A piece of mint-green chewing gum is lodged between the back of the seat and the tray.

‘Tickets, passes and railcards!’ the woman repeats, marching down the aisle with purpose. When she reaches us Elle whispers something to her.

She glances at me before nodding at Elle.

‘Come on,’ Elle says, grabbing my arm and my things. We crawl to the back of the train, my vision blurred from the tears. She slides a door open, and it’s only when I walk through and feel the heat that I realize she’s lead me to the posh carriage.

No one’s in here, just us.

‘Is your mum . . . ?’ she asks, trailing off. ‘Is she . . . ?’

‘She’s in a coma.’ I whisper the words, testing them out on my tongue.

And that’s when I know things will never be the same again.