Читать книгу A Pocketful of Stars - Aisha Bushby - Страница 8

The next day we’re at the hospital I was born in. We couldn’t see Mum last night because the doctors were busy operating on her brain. For some reason, when I imagine it happening, all I can think of is that old-school game, Operation, where you have to remove different body parts without setting off the buzzer.

They called Dad this morning to let him know how it went, and to say that we would be able to visit Mum in the afternoon. So, I guess, the buzzer never went off. It’s not GAME OVER.

‘She’s in the intensive care unit,’ Dad explains, leading the way.

We follow the yellow line on the wall like Dorothy and the Scarecrow on their way to Oz. Except, instead of the Wizard, we’re going to see Mum.

My mouth is all dry and I feel sick. It doesn’t help that everything smells like antiseptic.

Still, we walk and walk and walk, until we turn a corner where a reception desk sits in the semi-darkness, surrounded by rooms.

‘James and Safiya Fisher to see Aminah Al-Adwani,’ Dad says.

Aminah. I forget that’s her name sometimes. I’m so used to her being Mum.

‘Are you a relation?’ the nurse asks. I look down at his badge and read the name Edward Hussein.

‘I’m her ex-husband, but I’m still her emergency contact. I was, uh, I was here yesterday.’

Edward nods at Dad before turning to me, a sad smile on his face. ‘And you must be her daughter?’

I swallow, and it’s like a great big stone is sliding down my throat landing, thud, in my chest. I can feel it right next to my heart.

‘If you could both take a seat, I’ll call you when she’s ready,’ he says, like Mum’s just in a meeting.

I don’t want to speak, so I play on my phone to distract myself.

Elle messages me just as I’m feeding my pets on this new app I downloaded. Lady, our Cavalier King Charles spaniel, would be horrified if she knew about my virtual cat. She gets jealous pretty easily. Once I had to look after our class hamster for the weekend, and I swear Lady wouldn’t look me in the eye for days after.

Elle: Hope you’re OK xxxxxx

Safiya: Going to see her in a minute. I’m scared. Xxxx

Elle’s message makes it all real again, and suddenly I can’t play the game any more.

In the next room there’s an old man lying in one of the hospital beds alone. He stares at the same spot on the ceiling for ages, and all I can think about is how no one is there to see him. And then I think about how I wasn’t there to see Mum yesterday at her flat, before she was called into hospital – all because of our argument.

‘That’s so silly, Safiya,’ Mum had said when I explained that I didn’t want to join the local theatre group. ‘Gaming isn’t a hobby . . . Hobbies require you to leave the comfort of your own room.’ She laughed, even though it wasn’t funny. ‘I would understand all this if you were a bit younger, but you’re in Year Eight now.’

‘James? Safiya?’ Edward calls for us. I jump, but I don’t stand. I can’t. For a moment my body doesn’t respond to my brain.

I turn to Dad, who is about to stand up.

I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘Is it OK if I go alone?’

I’ve been so used to it just being Mum and me, without Dad, that it would be weird to be the three of us again.

Dad frowns at me for a moment, and I think he’s going to say no, but then his face softens and he squeezes me back. I turn round, take a deep breath, and follow Edward.

He leads me to the entrance and uses a special key card to open the doors. Then he gives me some quick instructions: walk straight to the end and turn right.

It makes me think of Peter Pan and how they all get to Neverland. ‘Second star to the right, and straight on till morning.’

Except, instead of going to Neverland, I’m going to see Mum.

‘Would you like me to come with you?’ Edward asks.

I shake my head. Adults can’t go to Neverland.

I walk through and it’s like everything is happening in slow motion.

Doctors and nurses walk past me, barely glancing in my direction. I turn back and see Dad’s face as the doors close behind me. He gives me a small smile, which makes me feel a little bit stronger.

I rolled my eyes. ‘I knew you would say this,’ I countered. ‘Because you just don’t get it, do you?’

Mum crossed her arms. ‘Grow up, Safiya,’ she said. ‘You aren’t some mystery to me, you know. I know what it’s like to be your age. When I was younger I –’

I didn’t let her finish her sentence. Instead it was my turn to laugh. ‘Were you ever my age?’ I said. ‘Sometimes I just imagine you were always old with your boring job and your boring life.’

That stopped Mum in her tracks. Then she started again, and suddenly she was a moving train, picking up momentum.

‘You have no idea what I’ve had to do to get this job. I left home when I wasn’t much older than you, studied hard . . .’

What else did she say? I can’t remember, because I wasn’t listening.

The walk along the hospital corridor takes a million years. I have to remind myself how to move my feet.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

I pause at the halfway point. I can see Mum’s room now at the end. Sometimes, when I play an especially scary game, I save it just before something really bad happens, and do something else for a while, until I have the courage to face it. If this were a game I would click save and take Lady for a walk instead. But I can’t, so I just lean against the hospital wall. It’s cracked, the paint chipped and worn. It feels as if the whole building might tumble down, down, down and take me with it.

Mum sank down on to the sofa, her head in her hands. I thought for a moment that she was crying.

‘I’ve got a splitting headache . . .’ she said, rubbing her temples.

I thought it was an excuse, a way to stop us fighting.

So instead of backing down, I kept pushing; maybe this time I could win. And I picked the button I knew would hurt most.

‘Dad gets it,’ I said, relishing the way my words made Mum flinch. ‘He was going to take me to a gaming convention this summer. But then you took us to that stupid play, and I missed out on tickets.’

‘Oh, Safiya,’ Mum said, sounding annoyed now. She was still massaging her head. ‘Why did you come then if you hated it so much? Elle seemed to enjoy herself . . .’

I shrugged. ‘Because I had to.’

I could tell that upset Mum, but she swallowed down the hurt and carried on.

‘Look, I know you get along better with your father.’ I could taste the bitterness in her voice. ‘You don’t half remind me of it every day. But maybe you could just push yourself a little and –’

‘Just stop it, Mum!’ I interrupted. ‘I’m not going to the theatre group,’ I said with finality. ‘I don’t want to.’

Was it my fault? Did this happen because I upset her?

I want to ask the doctors these questions, but I’m too afraid of the answers.

I’m now right in front of the door to Mum’s hospital room. It’s open, just a crack. And then I see her face. My heart jolts and I turn away. I sit on an abandoned chair outside, head in my hands, blocking out the rest of the argument.

I shut my eyes, take my glasses off, and press the palms of my hands hard against my eyelids, until white spots form against the black. I try to erase the picture of Mum in her hospital bed, to go back to a point before all this happened. I imagine that I’m staring at the solar system, and I try to believe – really believe – that I’m somewhere far away.

A while later I’m still sitting there, eyes trained on the floor now, avoiding the door. A nurse walks out, letting out a startled ‘Oh!’ It’s almost comical, the way she jumps back. All I see are her white shoes acting out her surprise.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, wiping the tears that now fall freely down my face. ‘My m-mum is in there and I c-c-c–’ I break into sobs, barely able to breathe.

The nurse kneels in front of me, but I don’t look her in the eye. Instead I stare at her name badge, which says ‘Amanda’ on it.

‘Deep breaths,’ Amanda says. ‘Come on, darling, you can do this. Breathe with me.’

She inhales, holding her hand to her chest, and I copy her. She exhales and I follow.

After a few moments I’m breathing normally again. Someone else comes to bring me a cup of water. It tastes metallic and I only sip enough to wet my lips.

I put my glasses back on, stand up and turn back to the door, making sure to keep focused on the wheels of Mum’s bed, and not her face.

‘Are you sure?’ Amanda asks.

I nod.

‘OK.’ She leads me in and guides me to Mum’s bed. ‘I’m going to slide the curtains shut, give you some privacy, but I’ll be on the other side if you need me. All right?’

‘Thank you,’ I mumble.

Amanda looks at me for a moment, before shutting the curtains behind her.

It takes me a full minute to look up at Mum once we’re alone.

Slowly I move my eyes up from the base of her bed, across the thin sheets that cover her legs, all the way up to her hands and the tubes attached to the back of them, and finally to her face.

The first thing I think is how great she looks. It sounds odd, but she does. Her skin is almost glowing. Right now, there aren’t any dark circles to show the hours of staying up late working at her computer, no frown lines to shape her concentration, and her mouth isn’t downturned in disappointment, the way it often is when we speak.

I’m sorry I was so horrible, I think, but I can’t say it aloud.

Every time Mum and I argue about one thing, three or four previous arguments get dragged into it. We’ve now battled out each of our issues so many times that they no longer make sense. We’ve never managed to resolve anything either, so our problems just grow and grow, like a monster that feeds off our frustration with one another.

It wasn’t like this before secondary school. Saturdays used to be fun. We would play and laugh, and Mum liked me for me. But then it changed, and now it’s like I can’t do anything right.

Our last argument felt like it grew so big that the monster had taken over Mum’s flat entirely, suffocating us both.

Mum looks relaxed now, almost like she’s smiling. Like she has a secret.

Her long, brown hair is fanned out across the pillow, her curls perfectly placed. She looks like Sleeping Beauty, hands clasped over her chest, waiting for the kiss of life.

Without thinking, I stand up, lean over her, and stroke strands of hair away from her face. The smell of her musky perfume has somehow managed to linger on her skin, even after everything that’s happened. It makes my chest tighten.

Mum’s had the same perfume since I can remember. It’s surrounded every hug she’s given me. But we don’t hug much any more and I’d forgotten how much I missed it.

I kiss her on her forehead and my tears sink into her skin.

I sit back and wait for the magic to happen.

But this isn’t a fairy tale, and princesses don’t wake up after kisses.