A Pocketful of Stars, page 12
After the film Charlotte and Gini turn to Izzy and me, looking a little nervous.
‘What?’ Izzy asks. ‘Is this when you team up and murder me and Saff?’
I can’t help but think of Aminah’s comment to Rawan when she asked her to join the theatre group.
Charlotte and Gini glance at one another, and Izzy sits up, sliding away from them, spilling popcorn everywhere. ‘It is?’ Izzy turns to me, wide-eyed.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, jumping up, ‘because this is molten lava.’ I hold out my mug of hot chocolate. ‘And if you step closer, I’ll shower you with it!’
There’s a moment of silence where I worry they’re all going to tease me for being stupid, the way Abir has done before. But Gini picks her popcorn up and says, ‘Not if I use my super magical orb-like orbs against you!’
She throws popcorn in my direction to illustrate her point. I try to catch it in my mouth and, after about ten attempts, get one.
Everyone cheers.
‘Orb-like orbs?’ Izzy says afterwards, snorting. ‘And what exactly do they do?’
Gini grins. ‘Repel molten lava, of course.’
When we’re done with our play-fight Charlotte and Gini explain why they were acting so suspicious in the first place.
‘So,’ Charlotte says, clearing her throat, ‘Gini . . . could you?’
‘Oh! Yes!’ Gini jumps up, grabs a remote control, and projects a website on the wall for us all to look at.
Charlotte nods. ‘Thanks. So, the creators of Fairy Hunters are running this competition where you have to make your own game.’ She shows us the entry page and some of the details using a toy wand as a pointer. ‘We found out about it a while back, but didn’t have anyone we thought might want to enter with us.’
‘Until now!’ Gini interjects, spreading her arms wide, grinning.
Charlotte clears her throat and whispers so loudly we can all hear. ‘Not yet!’
She goes on to explain that you need to enter in teams of four with a unique concept developed from scratch. You have to fill in a bunch of forms where you outline all your skills, your game concept, and examples of your work.
If your team makes it to the final, you get partnered with someone at the Fairy Hunters headquarters. They help you design your game, which you then present at the biggest video gaming convention of the year – this summer! The same convention I couldn’t get tickets for. You’re invited as a special guest, and stay in a hotel with your parents.
I imagine taking Mum, and showing her a game I made with my friends. And deep down I know she would be as proud as she was when she saw me act on stage.
‘We only have a week until the deadline, but it’s OK because I made a spreadsheet of the most popular games and wrote out all the things they had in common. That should make it easier for us to come up with something. If you want to join, of course.’ Charlotte stops talking rather abruptly, and glances sideways at Gini. She nudges her in the arm.
‘Oh!’ Gini exclaims. ‘Now?’
Charlotte nods vigorously.
Gini explains that she is learning to code, so she can do all the technical stuff. Charlotte can organize everything and pull the project together.
‘You have to see her bedroom. It’s so tidy, it’s like a museum,’ Gini teases.
Charlotte ignores her. ‘We’ve seen some of your character drawings, Izzy, in Art, and we think you’re amazing!’
‘And, Saff,’ Gini says, turning to me. I wonder for a moment what I might have to add to the team . . . It seems they have everything covered, and I don’t really have a talent, do I? ‘You always write the best stories in English! Do you think you could be in charge of the idea? We’ll all help, of course. And, since you’re the bravest of us all, we were sort of wondering whether you could . . . present the game if we make it to the final?’
I’m about to say no. It’s what the old Saff would do. But then I think about Aminah, and how she said yes to being the lead role in the play.
I take a quick look at Izzy, who nods at me encouragingly, and answer for both of us. ‘Of course!’
The panic slides off Charlotte’s and Gini’s faces like raindrops down a window.
‘Only one problem . . .’ Izzy says. ‘I’ve never played any video games before.’
Charlotte grins. ‘We can fix that!’
‘But,’ Gini says, holding her hand up, ‘we want something in return.’
Charlotte looks confused and glances at me. I shrug, unsure of what Gini’s going to ask.
‘Please, please, please can you teach us how to do make-up?’
An hour later Izzy’s finished all our make-up. We’re done up like we’re about to go to a ball, except we’re crowded round Gini’s laptop, the Fairy Hunters registration page staring back at us, trying to think up a gamer tag for Izzy.
‘OK, what are some of your favourite things?’ Gini asks.
‘Dogs, guinea pigs, make-up, drawing, mermaids.’
Charlotte laughs.
Izzy raises her eyebrows.
‘Sorry,’ Charlotte says. ‘I just thought of one, but it’s stupid.’
‘Go on,’ Izzy says. ‘Try me.’
‘Barkiedoodle.’
Silence.
‘Get out,’ Gini says, pointing at the door. ‘That is . . . beyond awful.’
It takes a very long time for us to settle on a name.
We try QueenofDogs, but it’s taken. And MakeupandMermaids and GamesandGuineapigs are too long.
‘Well, what’re your gamer tags?’ Izzy asks eventually.
‘Mine’s MythicalRogue,’ I say. I always wanted to be brave enough to do things my own special Saff way. And I guess now I live up to that name.
Gini is Calypso and Charlotte is AstroGirl.
‘Oh, I’ve got it!’ Charlotte finally says. ‘What about SeaPixie?’
Izzy scrunches her face. ‘I like “Sea”, but “Pixie” doesn’t feel very me.’
We end up going through a list of words until eventually I suggest ‘witch’.
‘SeaWitch?’ Izzy says out loud, testing the words. ‘Like from The Little Mermaid? I love that!’
As I walk through to the reception area of the hospital some time later I think of all the ways I can make it up to Mum when she wakes up.
I’ll save up all my pocket money and buy us theatre tickets to see Wicked.
I’ll cook her dinner every weekend and bake her a cake for her birthday.
We’ll visit Kuwait together, so she can show me her house for real, and tell me all about her life.
I’ll never take her for granted again.
Ever.
I gasp when I see the house this time.
The cracks in the walls have grown; they start small, like at the very top of a tree, and steadily get bigger, like the large base of an oak. Gouges cluster in every corner, and the branches desperately try to hold the house together, crawling over the photo frames, wrapping themselves round the walls protectively. They wriggle like worms or fingers on a giant hand. But the house is more branch than wall now.
Flowers bloom from every corner, with all the memories I now have of Mum. But even as they bloom the house is dying. The walls have lost great big chunks, the sunlight streaming inside throwing strands of light into the foyer. The glass table in the middle of it is cracked, and the rest of the furniture looks old, like it’s been abandoned for years. The plants that create a canopy above the hallway droop, and I’m forced to push them aside to move from room to room. They look like they’re bowing to me, but the truth is they’re dying.
I can still hear the house’s heartbeat, though it’s faint. Thump. Pause. Thump. Thump. Pause.
I can’t help but feel like the house is warning me. It’s telling me that I’m running out of time to save Mum, to collect all her memories.
Despite the fact that the walls are crumbling, the door to Mum’s room stays firmly shut. The wood is splintered in places once more, but only enough for me to peer through. I do, and catch my second glimpse of grown-up Mum. I had worried that, perhaps, I had imagined her there.
I step back from it before I get sucked in completely. I don’t want to get sidetracked again. Who knows what might happen if I do?
I end up back in the kitchen, a trail of fallen debris leading me there. A chair in the corner of the room glows, and so I sit in it, and wait.
‘Where have you been?’ my grandmother demands. ‘Why are you wearing my dress? And what is that in your hands?’
Aminah turns to Mama, clearly surprised to see her there in the middle of the night.
As she steps into the light I can see that she’s wearing the mermaid dress. Except it looks far too big on her, because it belongs to her mother I suppose.
‘Just outside,’ Aminah says, shrugging. She’s trying to act casual, but her voice is shaking.
Mama raises her eyebrows. ‘Don’t insult me, Aminah. You’re trying to tell me you dressed up in my clothes just to go outside into the courtyard?’
Aminah nods.
It was the truth after all.
Mama steps towards her. In the harsh light of the kitchen her skin glows like a wizard whose powers are charged, ready to strike.
‘Don’t lie to me.’ Mama’s eyes are fire, and her voice is ice.
And I could swear, just then, that the branches shrivel back and hiss in fear. They slither away from Mama like snakes along the wall, leaving Aminah to fend for herself.
‘I’m not!’ she insists.
I want so much to tell my grandmother that Mum is telling the truth, just not all of it.
‘What is this?’ Mama asks again, snatching what was in Aminah’s hands: a book of fairy tales. She opens it up and reads something on the first page. ‘What does this mean? “Move to England”?’
I stand up, walk over to them, and look at the inscription myself.
August 1989
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.
I’ll miss you when move to England, but I know we’ll always be best friends.
Love you always,
R
‘Explain,’ Mama says. ‘Now.’ The three syllables ricochet off the walls and ring around the room like angry bells.
But Aminah doesn’t speak. I’m not sure if she’s too scared to talk, or if she’s not sure what to say. But all too quickly Mama fills the silence.
‘I found the photos in your sister’s room! Did you make her hide them for you?’
‘What do you mean?’ Aminah looks confused, but I know exactly what Mama is talking about, because this is the argument Zaina warned me about.
Mama grabs a box from the table and shoves it into Aminah’s arms.
Aminah removes the lid and looks through reams and reams of photos. Aminah and Rawan rehearsing with the others over the course of several evenings. Aminah and Rawan in their secret hideaway alone.
I lean over and look at them all too.
‘I will ask you one more time, and this time no lying. Where have you been? And what does this mean?’ She frowns down at the book, like it’s cursed. Maybe for her it is.
Aminah sighs and tells the truth. She tells Mama about the play, and about Rawan and the others.
‘Why?’ Mama asks simply.
‘Because I enjoy it! And I . . . I . . .’ Aminah looks down at her feet. ‘I want to go to school abroad.’
Mama holds her free hand out to stop Aminah from speaking, as if the very action could halt the words that have already tumbled out of her mouth. ‘No,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘No.’
The silver branches are awake. They sway to and fro, watching over Aminah and Mama.
The pair now sit at the kitchen table, and Aminah explains everything.
There’s an exchange programme. She could finish school in England and go to university there too. Her grades are good enough. More than good enough.
Mama shakes her head. ‘This is ridiculous. How are you supposed to look after yourself?’
‘It’s a boarding school. You live with the other students and –’
‘Enough,’ Mama says. ‘I’m not listening to this. You’re not going to this school and you’re not doing this play.’
‘Why not?’ Aminah demands, standing up all of a sudden. The chair flies backwards, bouncing across the room. ‘You can’t just make up rules; you need a reason for them.’
The silver branches hiss, as if they’re trying to warn Aminah.
‘And you need to learn to control your temper,’ Mama says, her voice just as loud.
I realize now that this is where the monster was born. Here, in this room. The silver branches try to protect the house; they surround the walls and cover the windows with their claw-like limbs, but the monster’s too strong. The window breaks. Glass shatters across the room, and a great black fog surrounds Aminah and Mama, threatening to swallow them up. It’s so thick I feel I might suffocate.
‘Like you?’ Aminah says. ‘Baba has already said yes, by the way, I spoke to him.’
That seems to throw Mama off guard. ‘What would he know?’ she spits. ‘He’s never here.’
‘Maybe because he doesn’t want to be around you!’ Aminah stomps about like she’s three years old again and her favourite toy has been taken away.
‘Do not speak to me like that,’ Mama says. ‘I’ve had enough of this conversation. Go to bed.’
‘That’s what you do, isn’t it?’ Aminah sneers. ‘When you don’t want to have a conversation you send us to bed. Well, I’m not a child. I can go to bed whenever I like. And I will keep acting in the play and go to England, no matter what you say.’
‘You will not,’ Mama says, though she seems to have lost her conviction. ‘I know what I’m talking about . . .’
Aminah raises her eyebrows.
‘Really? All you did was get married. You’ve never had a job. You haven’t done anything with your life, so you want to stop me living mine.’
The light in Mama’s eyes has disappeared and a sad grey cloud replaces it, like the smoke that lingers after a fire dies.
But Aminah doesn’t stop there, no matter how much I try to grab on to her and tell her to. Because I’ve made the same mistake before . . . or, I suppose, after.
I didn’t care that Mum was upset. I was too angry, so I kept pushing. And so does Aminah.
‘I can’t wait to go away so I never have to see you again,’ she says.
Mama’s crying now, and it’s like cracking an egg, its shell hard and firm, only to find the soft yolk in the middle.
She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead she sweeps past Aminah and up the stairs, her perfume, anger and hurt lingering in the room after her.
Aminah sits there triumphantly.
Fog fills the room until all I can see is black. It crawls up my nostrils, down my throat and underneath my fingernails.
When I wake up in the hospital I swear the fog hovers around Mum’s bed, following me down the hall and all the way home.
‘Safiya!’ Dad calls up the stairs.
My eyes flutter open slowly.
‘I’m awake . . .’ I groan, and turn to look at my phone. It’s only 7 a.m. Why is he waking me up so early?
‘I have a meeting I need to get to now,’ he reminds me. ‘Make sure to have some breakfast!’
I mumble a yes, already drifting off again.
I was up late last night working on the competition entry with the girls and we managed to get most of it done. I even came up with the idea.
A group of princesses-turned-pirates, who were all trapped in the tallest towers and guarded by dragons and goblins and witches, go on a mission to free the rest of their kind. The story begins in one particular tower, just as the main character – the latest princess to be recruited – wakes up from an eternal slumber.
When the girls ask me what the tower looks like I describe the house from Mum’s memories.
When they ask about the world, I talk about sand dunes and sun, palm trees and wildflowers.
And when they ask what the main character looks like I send them a photo of Aminah when she was our age.
They all love it.
Somewhere in the distance the door slams shut, and I drift back to sleep thinking of houses and perfume and starry nights.
When I next open my eyes it’s gone 8 a.m. I swear, loudly. Lady looks up at me from the bottom of the bed, scandalized.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter sarcastically as I jump out of bed. ‘But why didn’t you wake me up?’
Predictably she just stares at me and yawns. I roll my eyes at her. I hate being late for school.
I brush my teeth at lightning speed and run back to my bedroom, Lady trailing at my heels. I grab my bag, which is sitting on my bed next to my jacket, and turn to leave.
That’s when I see the perfume stopper roll on the floor in front of me.
I frown and it’s like the thoughts go through my head in slow motion.
I turn and see the perfume bottle has fallen out of my backpack and spilled all over my bed sheets, staining them.
The smell comes almost at once. Wood, rose and orange. It feels as if the magic inside the bottle has been released, like a caged bird finally set free.
‘No!’ I scream.
Lady runs up to me and sniffs at the wasted perfume. I shove her aside and pick up the bottle. It’s gone. I scream and scream until my throat feels sore.
Lady whimpers from the corner of the room.
The monster stirs inside me and my whole body shakes. It feels stifling in here, like it’s taken over entirely, possessed the house. It’s angry.
I hurry out, but after I leave the house I realize that my feet are taking me in the direction of the hospital instead of school, and soon I’m standing in front of the great ugly building, perfume still in hand.
If I see Mum now I know she’ll still smell of the perfume, and I can visit the game again before it’s too late.
But you need to get the book of fairy tales, Saff ! And you’re not ready for that, are you?
I try to bite down the panic that’s expanding inside me.
Before I know it I’m there, outside Mum’s hospital room. I don’t remember going up in the lift or walking through the doors. It’s like there’s a gaping black hole in my mind.
