A Pocketful of Stars, page 14
It must be because I’m in a memory, I think. The entire house looks whole again, and I wish it would stay like this forever.
Aminah exits through a back door that leads to a staircase outside.
The warmth hugs me like an old friend, and I breathe it in, welcome it.
You can see the entire neighbourhood from here, past the gate: the park across the street and the corner shop, Rawan’s house next door, and the others that line the street. Lights shine from each of their windows, like open eyes, watching. I can see the edge of the game too. It’s hazy, like everything beyond it is a mirage. I remember first coming into it, and everything falling apart as I tried to leave.
The two cats wander the courtyard, sniffing around for scraps of food.
At the top of the steps sits a woman looking out at the neighbourhood like a queen watching over her people. It takes some time for my eyes to adjust, and then I see it’s Mama.
Aminah sits down next to her. They sit in silence for some moments, staring up at the sky together, just as the call to prayer starts.
A throaty voice echoes across the neighbourhood. A millisecond later another voice joins it from a nearby mosque, then another. All throughout the country the same words can be heard at the exact same moment, each additional voice adding strength so they speak as one. The wind picks up pace just then and it’s as if the voices have caused it from their collective prayer. It’s as if the sound of their words make the pebbles in the street leap and the leaves on the trees quiver. Together they bring the people to a halt, and all of Kuwait is silent. The sound echoes through the country, so powerfully it seems as if it could reach the moon, even the stars. And when it’s done, the wind halts too.
‘Can you see a tiger?’ Mama asks when the prayer falls silent.
Aminah turns to her, frowning. ‘Where?’ she asks, following her mum’s line of sight. ‘In the sky?’
‘Yes, look.’ Mama angles Aminah’s face so she’s looking just so.
Aminah laughs. ‘No, but I think I can see a heart shape. Aren’t you supposed to do this with clouds?’
Mama smiles. ‘But we never have any clouds,’ she says simply. ‘Isn’t it interesting how we never see the same thing? Your brain connects different dots to mine. It’s all about the way we see the world.’
Aminah nods. ‘That’s true.’
‘Tiger and heart.’
‘Tigerheart.’ Aminah grins. ‘Sounds good, doesn’t it?’
‘Maybe you can name your theatre company that.’ Mama turns to her and, with that, something in the conversation shifts.
Aminah looks at her mother in surprise. ‘You’re going to let me act in the play?’
Mama says nothing, only smiles, and it’s like a hundred stars shining all at once.
‘Mama, I –’
‘Darling I –’ Mama says at the same time.
Silence descends.
Mama speaks again. ‘I want to tell you a story . . . A long time ago, when I was your age, I wanted to go to America. I never asked my parents, of course, but they knew of my obsession. I wanted to be a singer, like Ella Fitzgerald. She was a bit before my time but I loved her music. I still do. Anyway, one day my parents called me down. They had an announcement for me. I thought they were going to tell me we were going to America, or maybe they were going to send me to singing lessons . . .’
Mama falls silent, playing with the gold bangles wrapped round her wrist.
‘What happened?’ Aminah eventually asks, inching closer to her mother.
Mama smiles, looking at Aminah. ‘You’ll find out one day soon, though I’m afraid the story doesn’t have a happy ending.’ Aminah frowns. ‘But I am telling you this because I want you to do whatever it is you want with your life, even if that means moving away.’
Mama says nothing more. Instead she takes Aminah’s hand and leads her back through the Eid celebrations. She leads her up the stairs and to her room, all the while holding her hand. Aminah’s other hand hangs loosely by her side, the bracelet round her wrist, and I pretend to hold on to it too.
When they get to Mama’s room she lets go of Aminah’s hand and reaches for her dressing table. She pulls out a purple bottle made of glass cut into the shape of a diamond, a golden heart-shaped stopper at the top. Just like the one in my pocket.
‘What’s this?’ Aminah asks.
‘Perfume, of course,’ Mama says. ‘But not just any perfume; this one is special. With each year that passes the smell of the perfume will grow stronger, more fragrant. Try to save it for as long as you can. It will age with you. And knowing you, it will get better with each year.’
That’s when I understand Mama’s words. You’ll find out one day soon. She means through her memories . . . Has this all happened before?
Aminah hugs her mother then, and I step closer to them both, inhaling Mama’s perfumed scent. It’s overpowering, stronger than I’ve ever smelled it before.
‘I’m sorry,’ Mama says. ‘I want you to make your own choices. I want you to perform in the play, go to school wherever you want. I want the world to be open to you, not a closed book.’ Her voice shakes a little as she finishes speaking. ‘Like mine has been.’
‘I’m sorry too!’ Aminah declares.
And the memory fades as the two of them say ‘I love you’.
I don’t hear the rest of their conversation; I don’t know how Mama’s story ends. But I suppose that’s for Aminah to find out.
Everything becomes hazy then, like a fog has descended over Mum’s mind.
The perfume’s running out, even though I diluted it. But that’s OK because I just need one more memory to finish the game.
The perfume is the object that brought me into this world, and it’s the final object I need to complete the memory box.
Now all I need to do is unlock the door and wake Mum up.
Now all I need to do is save her.
And I know where I’m going to get more perfume . . .
Charlotte: Hey, girls! I’ve just sent our competition entry. We should hear back soon!
Gini: I’m so excited! And scared.
Izzy: I’ve just levelled up on Fairy Hunters!
Saff: Yay, Izzy!
Gini: Ha ha. How much are you playing it?
Izzy: No comment. Mum’s already yelled at me once when I refused to come down for dinner.
Charlotte: UGH. Parents don’t understand that if you leave halfway through a game you get banned.
Gini: Oh yeah! Thanks for the cool name, Saff.
Izzy: YES. Team Tigerheart. I love it!
I have another plan up my sleeve: my bed sheets. When I spilled the perfume it leaked all over my bed. My entire room smells like wood and rose and orange. Maybe that’s why I’m seeing Aminah everywhere. The perfume is part of my blood now. If I just take the bed sheets to the hospital with me . . .
And that’s when there’s a knock on my door.
Dad lets himself into my room, which he never usually does. At first I think it’s because he’s telling me Mum’s woken up. But then I see his expression, and it makes me stop in my tracks.
‘What is it?’ I ask him, knowing that it’s something big.
‘Can I sit down?’ Dad asks.
‘What is it?’ I repeat. I can’t bear to wait.
The seconds that pass feel like an age, and it’s like Dad’s next words are spoken hours later, like I could fit a whole lifetime into those seconds.
‘I’ve just been on the phone with the hospital.’ I’m glued to my computer chair while he perches on my bed. I don’t want to get closer to him for some reason, like that’ll make what he’s about to say more real. ‘They’ve . . . given us an update.’ His voice cracks and that’s when time speeds up, like I’m watching everything in fast forward. ‘They haven’t confirmed – they can’t over the phone – but I wanted to tell you before we go that it’s . . . it’s not going to be good.’ The word ‘good’ is barely a whisper. Dad’s face crumples and he cries.
I stand up to go to him but my legs buckle and I’m on the floor. I open my mouth to say something, to cry out, but nothing happens.
A tingling sensation starts from the tips of my fingers right up my arms. Then it moves to the tips of my toes right up my legs. The sensations meet at the very centre of my belly where the monster lives. It wakes and roars, but it’s different today, defeated. When it stops all I am is a hollow pit where fire once burned. I feel like Alice crying silently while the room fills up with my tears.
Dad says something but it sounds muffled. The tears reach my bed and I’m dunked into water, sinking down, down, down.
Dad’s arms wrap round me but instead of feeling comforted I feel strangled, like a snake is trying to squeeze all the air from my body. My chest feels heavy and I’m drowning.
I pull away from him and huddle up by my bed frame, knees against my chest, face buried into my knees.
The water has reached the top of my window now. It swallows everything up whole and all that’s left is smoke and ash where I once stood.
I don’t leave my bed until the next evening when Dad convinces me to have a bath. I don’t go to school or reply to any of the messages from Izzy, Gini and Charlotte asking me if everything’s OK. I play with the bubbles, letting the warmth of the water seep into my bones.
Tomorrow we will go see the doctors, and they’re going to tell us it’s GAME OVER. That’s what Dad said.
So now, all I can do is wait. Strangely, though, that doesn’t feel right. I can’t just give up, can I? Once, in Fairy Hunters, my health was down to four per cent. I had three wizards zapping spells at me, but I still managed to win. I even got a special mention for it on the message board. If I did it once, maybe I can do it again!
Something hums in my belly, like a swarm of bees on a mission. It works its way up, up, up until I absolutely have to see Mum.
I need to at least try to save her, don’t I? I can’t give up yet!
I just need the final object: the perfume. I know it has to be that because Mama gave it to Mum in the last memory.
I jump out of the bath, water splashing everywhere. With my favourite PJs on I run into my room. But something’s different. My bed sheets have been changed. Instead of yellow stars they’re covered in pink flowers. My room has been tidied too, all while I’ve been in the bath. I can no longer smell the perfume, all I can smell are the hot chocolate and cheese and Marmite toasties sitting on my bedside table.
No. No. No.
I run down to the laundry basket, which sits just off the kitchen, and pull everything out. They’re not there.
‘What are you looking for Saff?’ Dad asks, peering at me from the living room. ‘Did you have a nice bath?’
Lady runs up to me and sniffs all the discarded clothes on the floor.
‘Where are my bed sheets?’ I demand.
‘On your bed,’ Dad says, obviously confused.
I scowl. ‘Not those!’ I snap. ‘Where are the starry ones?’
‘In the wash.’ He nods at the washer, which is on right now.
My eyes widen. In between the swirling water and bubbles are my starry bed sheets, the perfume washing out of them and down the drain.
‘What have you done?’ I yell and it’s as if the fire has ignited in my belly again. But this time it’s dangerous, like it might spread too far and burn down an entire forest.
Dad frowns. ‘I changed your bed sheets,’ he answers. I never yell at him. Ever. ‘Saff, are you OK? Did you want to talk about –’
‘No!’
And then I grab the memory box from my room and bolt out of the house.
‘Saff !’ I hear Dad calling me. ‘Saff !’
By the third call I can no longer hear anything but my heart thudding in my head.
When I get to Mum’s flat, after twenty minutes of furious biking, I rush to her bedroom again.
I can smell it, smell the perfume as clear as I could weeks and weeks ago.
I tear all the clothes from her wardrobe until I find her favourite jacket. The smell is overpowering.
With the bracelet round my wrist, the now empty perfume bottle in the pocket of Mum’s jacket, and the memory box in my arms, I run the rest of the way to the hospital, abandoning my bike.
I can see the hospital building at the end of a narrow path, and I feel like Dorothy as she crosses the poppy field to get to Oz.
When I finally make it to the ward I realize with horror that the scary nurse, Sue, is on the reception desk again and visiting hours are over for the day. But I won’t let her stop me. She’s like the dragon guarding the princess in the tallest tower. Or the witch locking her up and throwing away the key.
I wait until Sue has her back turned and, like something out of a movie, spider-crawl across the floor until my back is up against the desk. She’s back at her computer after a few moments, tap, tap, tapping, and that’s when it hits me.
I bury my face in my hands. This is ridiculous, I’m ridiculous. I wait for an age, frozen to the spot, staring at Mum’s door. If I stretched my legs out I might even reach it. But Sue would see me.
Suddenly I hear a door open and shut and someone breathes in sharply. I close my eyes, waiting for her next words. ‘Excuse me, what are you doing out of –’ Her steps clip-clop in time with her words, each one like a slap. ‘You’re not a patient.’
That’s when Sue stands up. I hear her chair roll away. ‘What are you on about?’ She sounds irritated.
I stand up too and Sue jumps backwards. I would find that funny if I wasn’t so upset. ‘I . . . I just wanted to see my mum.’
Sue’s eyes widen and it looks like they might pop out of her head entirely. The other nurse’s expression changes and she puts her hand on my arm. ‘Where’s your mum, darling?’
She asks this just as Sue says, ‘Visiting hours are over.’
I don’t know what comes over me, but I burst into tears. ‘S-she’s in there and I w-want to t-talk to her.’ They’re both distressed by my crying. Sue is shushing me, obviously worried that I’ll bother the patients. The nice nurse leads me behind the desk and sits me down on an empty chair.
Even as I realize how silly I must look to them, I can’t stop.
I hear the two whispering for a moment before Sue picks up the phone and resumes her work. I tune her out. The nice nurse comes over soon after with a grey-looking cup of tea in a cardboard cup. ‘Thank you,’ I say, tears still streaming down my face.
‘Your mum’s Aminah, isn’t she?’ The nurse asks with a smile. She has crooked teeth and blond hair tied up in a bun. There are faded pink streaks in it that show when the light is just right.
I nod and, before I know it, I’m telling her all about Mum’s memories, and showing her the items from the memory box.
‘That dress is beautiful!’ the nurse says, stroking it like it’s a fragile puppy or kitten.
Sue huffs occasionally as we speak; the nice nurse rolls her eyes and we grin at one another. It’s a relief to go over it, and the nice nurse looks engaged, her eyes sparkling as I talk.
‘Wow,’ the nice nurse says when I’m done. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to –’
‘Safiya?’
I turn round. ‘Dad?’ I say, surprised.
He looks old for his years, his face a canvas of wrinkles. My heart aches to see it. Were they there before all of this?
The nice nurse leads me to him and I thank her.
‘Dad,’ I whimper, falling into his arms. ‘It’s all my fault.’ Dad frowns. ‘What is?’
‘All of it!’ I sob, and then I tell him.
I tell Dad about the argument and the horrible things I said; I tell him about all those times I pushed Mum away, and how I never listened; then I tell him about the headache she had, and how I kept pushing things, even though she felt bad.
By the time I’m done Mum’s jacket is covered in my tears, and the nurse has made two trips to get me tissues.
‘Safiya,’ Dad says, pulling me aside so we have privacy. ‘Look at me,’ he says, and I do. I stare into his big blue eyes until I feel grounded again. Because right now it’s like I’m made of helium, and I could float, float, float away into the sky. ‘This is not your fault. None of it is.’
He goes on to explain that Mum was sick long before our argument; she just didn’t know it.
‘But –’
Dad holds his hand up. ‘I’m not finished,’ he says warmly, using the same hand to stroke my cheek. ‘Your mother loves you,’ he says. ‘More than anything. And an argument, no matter how big, isn’t going to change that.’
‘But . . . but I never said it.’ My lip quivers.
‘Said what?’
‘I love you.’
Dad shakes his head and laughs. ‘You don’t need to say it, Safiya. She already knows.’
Does she? I think. Does she really?
Dad must sense my doubts. ‘Weren’t you the one who painted Mum’s new flat with her?’
I nod.
‘And didn’t you dress up for her birthday and plan a party?’
I nod again.
‘And what about that time you walked from town with her favourite coffee and breakfast to make her feel better when she was ill?’
I had forgotten this, all of it.
‘OK. So don’t be so hard on yourself. You did your best.’
I wish his words could fix this, but I’m not sure they can. Still, they’re grounding me. But that’s Dad: he always stops me from floating away into the stars.
‘Now, what’s that you have there?’
I look down at the memory box. I got some wrapping paper that looks like a map of the world and stuck it to the outside of the box and lid. I thought Mum would like it. I lift the lid and show Dad all the objects.
‘Been on a scavenger hunt, have you?’ he asks, his voice breaking. Tears slide down his face as he sifts through the items.
I explain how I wanted to be closer to her.
‘Shall we go and see her one more time before we meet the doctors?’
I nod, not trusting myself to speak any more.
Dad explains to the nurses that we need to see Mum, and they let us into her room just for a few minutes. He holds my hand as we enter, squeezing it tight.
