A Pocketful of Stars, page 4
I notice the perfume still lingering on her skin. It wafts towards me as the heater blasts it in my direction.
I lean over to cover Mum with the flower-covered throw. The smell is overpowering now; I close my eyes and take it in. But my legs start to wobble, and I almost fall into the chair.
When I next open my eyes I’m back in front of the house again.
It’s night-time. The stars wave hello, like they’ve been expecting me.
The door of the house is wide open, like it expects me too. I’m certain it’s the one from the photo. Does that mean I’m in Kuwait? As soon as I think it I know I’m right.
I look to my left, where the great big iron gates stand, and to the right where an old set of swings sway in the warm breeze, and finally back at the house again.
It stands there, like the ruined palace from Fairy Hunters, where you collect your quests. And this time I go inside.
A tunnel of green greets me as I step through the door. Plants hang from the ceiling, their leaves skating down the walls and on to the purple-and-pink marbled floor. I sweep my hand along the wall, gathering leaves. As I pass through I think of Mum growing up here in this house. I think of her as a little child, holding on to her mother’s skirt like she did in that photo. I want to swoop her up in my arms and tell her everything is going to be OK. Because that’s what I need someone to tell me.
Soon I find myself in a foyer with a round table in the middle of it. Windows line one entire side of the wall, their blinds, like the house’s eyelids, are pulled down, like it’s asleep. The pearlescent walls sparkle in the light, and an enormous canvas of the sky stands at the furthest end of the room. This is how I imagine the fairy palace would have looked before it turned to ruin. Red and gold furniture, rich colours and patterned curtains. It’s like stepping into a dream.
As I walk across the room it’s as if I can feel the house breathe beneath my feet.
Whish, whoosh. Pause. Whish, whoosh. Pause. Its steady heartbeat drumming through the floors.
Another leaf-lined hallway leads to a different part of the house, and a staircase winds upwards just next to it.
I’m about to try the other rooms, to explore more, when I see it.
A bracelet.
It’s the only thing on the glass-topped table, and it sparkles and glints at me.
Like it wants me to pick it up. In Fairy Hunters you always know when to collect objects, because they glow just a little brighter than everything else. That’s what this reminds me of.
I see something inscribed on the bracelet, but it’s in Arabic. Mum taught me it when I was younger, though we haven’t had lessons in a while. I understand Arabic much better than I can read it. Mum eventually gave up trying to teach me all the letters and how to join them together, but I think I can still read some of them.
I pick the bracelet up and try to make out what it says. Slowly.
I get as far as ‘am’ before I hear it.
Laughter. Coming from the front door.
Then I see it. Something shoots across the room, like a star.
I realize it’s a young girl, followed by another.
They pass by me so quickly I don’t see their faces – just a blur of long curly hair as they bolt up the stairs.
I jump and drop the bracelet, my heart pounding.
It clatters on the table, startling me.
When I next look up I’m back at the hospital by Mum’s bedside. My glasses have fallen from my face and on to the floor while I was sleeping.
As I put them on and look around the same thing happens as before.
The heat.
The sand.
Except this time, instead of silver branches I see leaves everywhere, crawling up Mum’s bed, reaching for her.
I rub my eyes and after that they’re gone. I wave my hand in front of my face like before and it blurs, making me feel dizzy.
I wait until the feeling passes, and then I rush out of the room without saying goodbye.
Another strange dream, I think.
Those girls . . . The curly hair. It can’t be, can it?
Then I wonder, almost hope, will it happen again?
I remember the day Mum and Dad told me they were splitting up. Mum had collected me from school; it was the afternoon we broke up for the Easter holidays. She wasn’t very talkative during the walk. Usually she was always full of stories and chatter. I never understood how one person could have so much to say, especially as I’ve always been bad at conversation. I could never articulate how my days at school went, and I could tell that Mum found my one-word answers frustrating. We would play this game over dinner where she would ask me questions that got more and more specific. I used to call it Sherlock Investigates, although Mum never knew that.
‘How was school today, Saff?’
‘Fine.’
‘Did you get any English homework?’
‘Yes.’
‘What do you have to do?’
‘Write a poem.’
‘What kind of poem?’
And by this point she will have cracked it. I’d end up talking through the lesson and everything I’d learned. Just when I thought it was over, Mum would ask me about another subject, and the process would start all over again.
By the end of the meal we’d both be exhausted. Mum from having to think up all the questions, and me from wondering how to answer them well enough for her to leave me alone.
Dad would usually pipe up with random observations that would have nothing to do with our conversation.
‘Did you know that peanuts are actually a legume?’ he would say.
Then Mum would take one look at me and smile, and we’d burst out laughing.
‘What?’ Dad would ask. ‘What’s funny?’
But that night was different.
Mum and Dad ordered a pizza. They said it was to celebrate the school holidays.
‘But it’s only Easter,’ I said, confused. ‘We never even celebrate the summer holidays.’ That’s when I turned to Dad and eyed him up suspiciously. ‘You hate holidays!’ I pointed at him accusingly. ‘They’re bad for work. You always say that.’
Dad’s mouth dropped open and he gaped at me like a fish. He made a strange noise that seemed to come from somewhere between his throat and nose, before falling silent.
I automatically looked at Mum to fill in the gap, but she didn’t. That’s when I knew something was wrong.
‘What is it?’ I finally asked. ‘Did my teachers say something bad about me?’
Suddenly it was like I was Sherlock, asking all the questions.
‘Safiya, your dad and I have something to tell you,’ Mum said. She took a deep breath, as if she was sucking in the words from the air, ready to spit them out. ‘We’re getting a divorce.’
I didn’t look at either of them. My eyes were locked on my slice of pepperoni and sweetcorn pizza, the cheese congealed into lumps as it cooled, oil dripping on to the plate.
I counted the number of drops. One, two, three . . . four.
‘Well?’ Mum asked nervously.
I blinked. ‘What?’
‘Don’t you have anything to say?’ she snapped, before biting her lip. ‘Sorry . . . No, it’s fine, you don’t need to say anything.’ But I could tell she wanted me to. Mum didn’t leave conversations hanging.
I looked at Dad. He was staring at his plate too, and I could tell he was crying. Did he even want a divorce? Dad adored Mum. He was always doing little things like leaving her notes, bringing her coffee in bed, or buying her books randomly. Why would you do that and then leave someone? I was convinced Mum was behind it all.
I knew I had to say something. I could’ve asked why, or when, or if there was a chance they might change their minds. Instead my nine-year-old self asked, ‘Can I live with Dad?’
I actually made it through a whole day of school today.
Luckily Dad never found out that I snuck off to Mum’s flat the other day after lunch. When he asked where the blankets and cushions came from, I just said I picked them up one day after school.
Elle, Abir, Izzy and I just finished our lesson with Ms Belgrave. She didn’t sneak me any sweets this time. It’s OK, though, because as soon as we’re out of the school gates Izzy pulls out a whole packet of biscuits.
‘My favourite. I love you!’ Abir says, taking a handful.
Izzy rolls her eyes, but grins and offers them to me.
‘Thanks,’ I say, taking a few too.
I can’t help but notice how Abir and Elle are now whispering together in front of us, while me and Izzy lag behind. What are they talking about?
They suggested we head over to the bike shed today, even though I’m the only one who actually cycles to school, but they never said why. Suddenly I’m feeling all suspicious.
‘Want one, Elle?’ Izzy asks, holding them out to her.
Elle turns and pulls a face. ‘I’m OK, thanks. Don’t want to have crumbs all over my mouth,’ she giggles.
Abir giggles too, but I don’t understand the joke.
I turn to Izzy and frown. She shrugs and stuffs a biscuit in her mouth whole.
I’ve only been friends with Izzy and Abir since the start of the school year, so I’m still not sure how to act around them without Elle’s guidance. I’m not sure Abir likes me much at all, as she always seems to be confused by the things I say or do. But Izzy’s really nice when she’s not following Abir around.
I notice Izzy’s wearing a copper bracelet with a mermaid trinket on her wrist. It reminds me a bit of the bracelet from the house in my dream.
As soon as I picked it up the two girls appeared, like I’d pressed play on a film. And it’s strange that I’ve dreamed about the house each time I’ve visited Mum. I never remember falling asleep during the visits. It just . . . sort of . . . happens.
I want to see more of the two girls. I don’t recognize the first one, I’ve never seen her before. But the second one seems familiar with her wild curly hair . . .
‘Saff?’ Izzy says, holding out another biscuit.
I grin. ‘Oh, sorry! Thanks.’ I want to tell Izzy her bracelet is pretty, and ask her why it’s a mermaid. I want to ask her what her favourite biscuits are, and what she thinks she’s going to do for our English homework, but it’s like my brain isn’t actually wired to my mouth.
Come on, Saff, say something.
Luckily Elle saves me by calling us all over to look at a funny video of a sloth on her phone. I get the prime spot next to her, like always. Sometimes I wonder why Elle picked me, awkward Saff, when she could be best mates with anyone. It makes me feel special.
But when we get to the bike shed Elle starts to act strange. She keeps glancing around like she’s expecting someone, and applies lip balm about a million times.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, sitting next to her on a low wall. ‘How come we’re all hanging out here?’ In the cold. Though I don’t say the last bit.
Elle talks over me instead of answering my question. ‘Can we play one of your mum’s games?’ she asks, while Izzy and Abir finish off the rest of the biscuits and chat about their weekend plans.
I think about how Mum always takes us to coffee shops and makes up conversations the people across from us could be having. She invents funny voices and stories on the spot, while me and Elle laugh so hard we usually end up spilling our drinks.
But today, because I can tell something’s bothering Elle, I decide to take the lead, mimicking some of the older students who hang around in groups after school. I do different film and TV impersonations for their voices. I’m halfway through an impression of Dobby from Harry Potter when Elle’s whole body turns stiff. Izzy and Abir, who had joined us after Elle explained the game, stop and turn.
I turn too and see a few boys from our year have approached us, including Matty Chung, the boy Elle fancies, and his best mates Jonnie and David. I whip my head towards her, but I can barely see her since she’s buried her face in her hair.
‘Hi, Elle.’ Matty grins, and Jonnie laughs, while David nudges him.
At first I thought it was a coincidence, but now it seems like they’ve planned this. Especially as Elle hops off the wall and walks towards him, her face as red as her hair.
They disappear behind the bike sheds without another word.
What’s going on?
‘Was that an impression of Dobby?’ David smiles. ‘It was really good!’
I nod awkwardly. I’d hoped they hadn’t heard.
David’s about to say something else when Abir interrupts. ‘Don’t mind Saff,’ she says, except she’s looking at Jonnie, not David. ‘She can be a bit of a weirdo.’
I look at her a little confused, because I’m pretty sure she was laughing just moments ago.
Jonnie turns to me and looks at me like I’m a piece of gum under his shoe. ‘You look a bit like Dobby actually,’ he says, pulling his eyelids open with his finger and thumb to make his eyes look exaggeratedly big.
His words are like a wizard’s spell, and I shrink to the size of a flower.
Abir forces a giggle, like his joke was funny. David purses his lips, and Izzy frowns, but there’s no Elle to stand up for me like usual.
I know now why she asked us to come here. And I know why she was whispering to Abir and acting all strange. But what I don’t know is why she didn’t tell me.
Suddenly I don’t want to be here at all. I want Elle and me to go back to one of our houses and do homework together with a hot chocolate and snacks, instead of standing out here waiting for boys in the cold.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I mumble, so quietly I’m not sure anyone hears.
I grab my bike and pedal, pedal, pedal home.
Dad’s on his computer when I get in. ‘You’re back a bit late,’ Dad says, frowning. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Fine,’ I say, like I always used to when Mum asked about school.
Dad lets out a sigh, and I can almost see his worries floating in the air between us, like little butterflies. I watch as they drift out of the room, and Dad turns back to his computer, satisfied with my answer. If he looked a little harder, he would see that my face is swollen from crying, my eyes blotchy and red.
I don’t know why I’m crying really.
Maybe it’s because Abir laughed at Jonnie’s stupid joke about me looking like Dobby. Or maybe it’s because my best friend is being far more grown-up than I thought we both were, and she didn’t even tell me. Or maybe it’s Mum.
There are a lot of maybes to consider, and right now I miss all of Mum’s questions. If she were here, she would get to the bottom of things, and I would be able to figure out why I feel like there are rocks burrowing deep into my chest. But there’s only Dad, and he doesn’t know how to play Sherlock Investigates.
‘I’m going up,’ I say.
‘All right, love.’
I spend the rest of the night gaming, with Lady resting at my feet. As soon as I put my headphones on all of my worries disappear, and it’s like I’m transported to a different world where I don’t have to worry about Mum, or friends, or being something I’m not.
It takes a lot of convincing before Dad lets me go up to Mum’s hospital room by myself again, especially after Amanda let it slip that I cried the first time. I wanted to be alone so I could dream about the house, but I feel stupid now. I’ve been here for five minutes already and nothing has happened. Maybe it was a coincidence after all . . .
But as soon as I go to stand up the shiny hospital floor is replaced by sandy concrete slabs, and when I look up I see a bright yellow sun in the sky, instead of artifical lights on a grey ceiling.
As the house materializes in front of me for the third time I know, in my heart, that something magical is happening. I rush inside, across the foyer to the gold-lined, glass-topped table, and I see it again. The bracelet. Just like before it glows slightly brighter than everything else, and I’m reminded of the crystals we have to collect in Fairy Hunters, which have gold halos surrounding them, letting us know they’re items we can collect. I pick the bracelet up, clasp it firmly in my hands, and wait.
The same laughter, the same blur of hair. But I follow them this time. The two girls.
The house is awake today. I can feel its heartbeat pounding. The smells are more vivid with the bracelet in my hand, the colours brighter, like opening the curtains on a sunny day.
‘Hello,’ I call, out of breath, as I chase the girls up the stairs, crossing parts of the house I’ve never seen before. There are photo frames with pictures that I know hold stories, and doors that lead to rooms I’d love to see. But I don’t have time to explore. Not now. The girls ignore me, intent on chasing one another. ‘Hello, where am I?’ I try again.
They stop suddenly in front of a set of lavish forest-green double doors, but I’ve built up too much momentum and I brace myself just as I’m about to crash right into them.
I close my eyes and hold my hands out.
Instead of clothes and hair, I feel wood and brass. It’s as if I’ve walked right through the girls, and straight into the door.
Then, all of a sudden, the doors swing open with force. I jump out of the way just as a woman appears. She has orange hair, like fire, and a beautiful face that looks like . . .
Mum? But she looks different here. That’s when I picture the photo by Mum’s bed, and my eyes widen in realization.
‘What on earth is going on?’ my grandmother demands.
‘I . . . It wasn’t . . .’ I stutter, but the strangest thing happens. She walks straight past me. Straight through me.
She can’t see me. I test out my theory and wave my hands in front of her face. I even try to touch her arm, but my hand goes through her. None of them can see me.
They always say if you cross a ghost, you feel a shiver down your spine. That’s not what this is like, because I feel nothing, not even a breeze.
Maybe because I’m the ghost.
‘Aminah, are you tormenting your sister again?’ my grandmother asks, her voice like poison. ‘We have guests and they can hear you from all the way out here.’
