A Pocketful of Stars, page 8
I try again, and this time my fingers clasp it. I’m so happy I could scream with joy, but there isn’t enough air left in my lungs. My chest is burning now and I can see spots forming in front of my eyes like stars. I swear I can hear the hospital monitor, like I’m being pulled out of the game.
The tap’s slippery, because it’s made of metal, but I hook my legs under the sink to keep myself still. I turn, and turn, and turn it off.
The water stops flowing; I can tell because the bubbles have gone. And, just like a giant plug has been released, all the water in the house disappears.
I fall from halfway up the room and collapse on to the floor.
I sit up, gasping for breath, holding on to my throat, but when I look around I’m in the hospital again.
Puddles of water surround Mum’s bed. But as soon as I blink they’re gone.
I pat myself down and find that I’m entirely dry. Then I check Mum’s monitor. I sigh with relief when I see it’s all OK. The squiggly line is flowing across the machine steadily, just like before.
She’s OK.
Mum’s going to be OK.
‘Elle?’ I say. ‘Elle,’ I repeat, but she doesn’t answer. I’ve just spent the last five minutes telling her about Mum’s latest hospital news, and all she did was respond with a grunt every few sentences. She hasn’t looked up from her phone once, probably because she’s busy texting Matty.
‘Sorry, Saff,’ she says, finally turning her phone face down. ‘That’s really good!’ She grins, pulling me into a hug. At first I’m stiff, but then I soften and hug her back.
We’re at mine having our half-term sleepover like we said we would. Elle was the one who brought it up again, which made me happy. I think she still feels kind of bad about the perfume thing, so she’s trying to make it up to me. But it feels different to usual. Even though Matty’s not physically here it’s like he’s taken over the entire evening. Either Elle’s texting him, or I’m thinking about ways to bring up the mean things he said. I want to show Elle what sort of person he really is, but whenever I try to speak it’s like my lips are glued shut.
With Mum at the hospital, and my friendship group falling apart, it feels like my world is crumbling like the ruined fairy palace – like the only thing in my life that makes sense is the house with the memories and the game.
But the doctors said that Mum’s doing as well as she can. They use words like ‘stable’ and ‘progress’. I need to focus on my mission: watch the memories and collect the objects. I can’t let myself get distracted again. Not by the door, or anything else. Because I’m certain that, once I get through all the memories, the door will open. And when the door opens . . .
‘You can pick the film tonight!’ Elle says, crashing into my thoughts like ocean waves against a rock. ‘Matt’s gone to the cinema to watch a double screening of Star Wars. He’s so lame – he actually turns his phone off for it. Shall we get into our PJs?’
Finally. Finally we can start our sleepover properly. Even though it’s only because Elle’s boyfriend won’t be in virtual contact for five hours.
‘Yeah!’ I say excitedly, jumping up and down. ‘Shall we have cheese and Marmite toasties?’ I ask a little tentatively, worried she won’t remember that it was always our favourite snack.
Elle’s eyes light up like she’s eleven again. ‘I forgot about those! Please can we?’
Ten minutes later we’re in our PJs and in the kitchen armed with butter and bread, ready to make our toasties.
‘Where’s the Marmite?’ Elle asks, sifting through the cupboards, glancing over at me through her nerd glasses. They really suit her, but she never wears them out. I’m pretty sure most people in our year don’t even realize she needs them. I wear mine all the time.
‘In the fridge.’
Elle wrinkles her nose. ‘Weirdo.’
I laugh.
Lady waltzes up to Elle shyly, wagging her tail and fluttering her little eyelashes. She’s such a charmer.
‘Hello, beautiful!’ Elle says, bending down to stroke her. She talks in this funny voice she reserves only for Lady. It’s silly and cute. I can’t help but think how different Elle is on any given day. How she moulds to whoever she’s around.
Here, though, it feels like this is the real Elle: glasses, mismatched PJs and all. But for some reason she can’t let anyone else see the real her.
The Elle who has an irrational fear of tiny holes (she literally can’t eat holey cheese). Trypophobia, it’s called.
The Elle who sometimes talks in her sleep.
The Elle who secretly wishes her dad cared a bit less about work.
‘So,’ she says when she’s finished fussing Lady and has retrieved the Marmite from the fridge. ‘What film shall we watch?’
‘Spirited Away?’ I ask hopefully.
Elle rolls her eyes. ‘Again, Saff? We’ve seen it a hundred times. And anyway, we’re too old for cartoons now.’
Cartoons. Elle clearly doesn’t appreciate the skill that goes into animated films. Especially Studio Ghibli films, which are essentially masterpieces.
I shrug. ‘You decide then,’ I say, trying to keep my voice even. She said I could pick but I know she’ll just disagree with all my choices.
I can’t help but feel like the mood’s turned again, like a storm cloud has emerged in the kitchen.
Elle eventually chooses for us. An action film Matty recommended. We watch it in bed with our toasties and I try to make out like it’s one of our old sleepovers, but it isn’t. There’s no funny commentary from Elle, no feet fights under the blanket. We just sit there silently and watch the film. Who actually does that?
And, even though she knows Matty’s phone is off, Elle still checks hers every few minutes.
I’ve started to question recently whether Elle and I would even be friends if we met now and not at primary school. Sometimes it feels as if I’m trying to put together broken pieces of our old friendship, but they no longer fit.
Izzy messages me just then.
Izzy: SAFF. Why didn’t you tell me how good Princess Mononoke is? I’m in tears!!!
I grin. She sends me a photo of her crying, her pet guinea pig cuddled up on her lap.
Saff: My Neighbor Totoro is still my favourite. How many have you watched now? Five?!?!
Izzy: Six. How’s your mum? And having fun at your sleepover?
I avoid answering her second question. Instead I give her a quick update on Mum and tell her about the film we’re watching.
Izzy: Sounds . . . interesting.
She streams it too and we send each other funny messages about how awful it is, just like I used to do with Elle.
Later on I suggest a game as Elle and I wait to fall asleep.
‘Would you rather eat poo-flavoured chocolate or chocolate-flavoured poo?’ I ask her.
‘What?’ Elle says.
I explain the rules. You have to give two different options that are equally as bad, and see which one the other person picks.
Elle laughs. ‘That sounds silly,’ she says dismissively, reminding me of Abir.
‘I would have chocolate-flavoured poo,’ I say, ignoring her judgement. But my cheeks are burning and I feel stupid now.
‘Fair enough.’ Elle yawns, signalling the end of the game.
It’s after a few moments of silence that I finally feel brave enough to say something about Matty.
‘Elle?’ I turn to my side, facing her.
She’s laid flat, looking up at the ceiling. ‘Yeah?’
I sigh.
‘What is it?’ she hisses, and I can’t tell whether she’s irritated at me, or worried about what I have to say. For the first time in forever I’m not sure she’s enjoying our sleepover at all, and it makes my stomach squirm.
‘I . . .’ Don’t chicken out, Saff. Don’t chicken out. ‘I was in ICT. I was sitting next to Matty and David and I saw something on Matty’s phone.’
I can feel Elle bristle next to me.
‘What?’ Her voice is sharp, like a knife, but for some reason I feel like it’s pointed at me.
I tell her about the photo and how they were laughing at it. And I tell her what Matty said to me, and about Jonnie’s joke at the bike shed.
‘Oh my gosh, Saff,’ Elle says, and I expect her to reassure me that it was horrible, and that she’s going to talk to Matty about it. The old Elle would. But she doesn’t. ‘I got worried you were going to say something bad, like he was texting some other girl!’ She takes a relieved breath, and then carries on. ‘Don’t worry. Matty and Jonnie are like it with everyone,’ Elle assures me. ‘The other day they were making fun of me for being ginger and pale . . . It’s just what they’re like.’
She looks at me expectantly, so I say the first thing that’s on my mind. ‘But that’s not . . . very nice, is it?’
‘Come on, Saff.’ Elle pouts. ‘Don’t be so boring!’ She reaches out for me, but I pull away. That’s when I see her roll her eyes. ‘Wow. OK. You know what? Ever since I started going out with Matty all you’ve done is moan. You never ask me about him, or how things are going . . . You’re just jealous that I have a boyfriend and you don’t.’
‘Why did you tell Abir and not me?’ I blurt.
‘What?’ Elle looks genuinely confused, so I explain how I saw them both whispering the day we walked to the bike shed.
Elle shrugs. ‘I suppose I thought she would understand a bit more. I was right.’
My heart pounds with every word of Elle’s. I feel sick, kind of like when you eat too many sweets. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I have been too negative about everything, thinking about us and our friendship instead of her. I feel guilty about being such a bad friend. After all, everyone else seems happy for her and Matty. Everyone but me.
‘Elle –’
‘Whatever,’ Elle mutters, purposefully turning away from me. ‘I’m tired anyway.’
‘I’m sor–’
‘Goodnight!’ Her voice rings across my room, bouncing off the walls in its false cheeriness. Then it floats down and settles on to us like a bitter smell I can’t quite get rid of.
I know not to push this with Elle. Not now. So I don’t.
Instead I turn the other way and think about Mum again, and how she’s trapped in that room alone. It’s like she’s some sort of fairy-tale princess. Like Rapunzel.
That’s when it hits me. Mum’s kind of like Sleeping Beauty in her tower, waiting for her prince to come and rescue her.
What if I’m the prince?
I realize now that I know how to win the game. I need to watch all the memories and unlock the door. And when the door opens . . . I’m going to save Mum. I’m going to wake her up.
But not just in the game, in the real world too.
When I wake up the next morning Elle’s already gone.
I check my phone to see if she sent me any messages, but she hasn’t, so I decide to give her some space. I spend far too long thinking about what I said to her, trying to figure out where I went wrong. Did I sound bitter about Matty? Should I have asked more about the film he went to watch at the cinema?
I have a few hours before I’m supposed to go to the hospital to visit Mum, so I decide to distract myself by playing Fairy Hunters. It works. The familiar landscape takes over my bedroom and I’m transported, again, to another world. I cast spells and block them too; I protect my nest from rogue wizards and get most valuable player three times; I rank up a level, which means I have access to even better spells and protective gear. It’s just as I’m finally starting to feel better about Elle that I get a weird message from Izzy.
Izzy: Sorry you couldn’t come today! I was looking forward to seeing you . . . xx
That’s when I see it. Elle’s been uploading photos all afternoon of her, Abir and Izzy. Pictures of them at a coffee shop, Elle with her arms around Abir. Pictures of them walking down our local high street, arms linked.
Why did they go without me? And why did Elle tell Izzy I couldn’t go?
Because she didn’t want you there, a voice in my head tells me.
The realization feels like a woodpecker is chipping away at my heart, but I keep looking anyway. There’s a photo of Elle in a changing room, posing in front of the mirror. She runs a poll: Should I buy this dress? I vote yes, hoping she’ll notice me. Maybe then she’ll ask me to come to town and meet them. Maybe she’ll say she meant to invite me after all, and it was all a mistake.
My broken heart sinks down to my stomach when I see the last photo. Matty and Jonnie have joined them now. Is she going to tell them about what I said? Are they all going to laugh at me? I feel sick.
I try to calm myself down. Elle’s my best friend, she wouldn’t do that. Would she?
When I get to the hospital a couple of hours later the reception desk is empty, so I wait on a chair across from it and check my phone. Elle hasn’t uploaded any more photos.
I glance at the old man, the one I saw on the very first day. He’s sleeping. A pile of fresh books have been laid out for him. To pass the time I try to read the titles from where I’m sitting.
After a few minutes no one turns up and I’m starting to feel impatient. I stand up and look around to find someone – anyone – to help me, before returning to my seat. Eventually a doctor walks out, swinging the doors wide open. He’s in a rush and as soon as he walks past me I bolt for them, grabbing the handle just in time to stop the censor shutting me out again.
I walk down the long hall, half jogging. Then I turn the corner and into Mum’s room, my feet skidding across the floor from the momentum. Her curtains are pulled across, which is strange. Usually that means someone’s visiting.
For a moment I’m worried someone’s here. I need to be alone. But when I pull them back her bed is empty.
‘What?’ I yell so loudly that a nurse from the other room walks in. It’s Edward. I’m relieved to see his familiar face, but my panic is growing like the tallest tree. Has something happened to her?
‘Where’s my mum? She hasn’t . . . She’s not . . .’ I let the words fade away.
Is this because of the water? Did Mum drown in the dream? Was I too late? If something’s happened to her now I’ll know it’s all my fault, because Mum was getting better!
‘Goodness no!’ Edward walks over to me. ‘Is that what you . . . ?’ He looks like he wants to pull me in for a hug. ‘You poor thing! Why didn’t they tell you at reception?’
I shrug, hoping he won’t pry. I don’t want him to know I snuck in. ‘Tell me what?’ I ask instead.
Edward smiles and it eases my mind a little. ‘They’ve moved your mum to a different ward. She’s on the other side of the hospital now.’
Is that good or bad?
‘It’s a good thing,’ Edward says, as if reading my mind. He goes on to explain that they’ve reduced Mum’s medicine and the levels of support she’s getting from the ventilator, which is the machine that helps her breathe. Apparently they’re going to put something called a tracheostomy in to replace it. ‘I can take you there now. I was just finishing my shift anyway.’
I smile, relieved. ‘Thank you.’
We don’t talk as we walk back down the hall, the echo of our footsteps breaking the silence. For a moment I really thought she’d . . . that she had . . . I brush the thought aside.
We walk to the other end of the hospital and go through a final set of doors into a different ward. It looks shinier, newer.
Edward lets me in, then says a quick goodbye. He shuts the door after him and, for the first time since seeing Mum in the hospital, we have complete privacy. There is only one other bed in here and it isn’t occupied right now.
The walls here are lilac, much better than the custard ones everywhere else. I walk over to the window and watch the setting sun. The view is nicer here too. Instead of the concrete car park, this part of the hospital overlooks a green field, cows grazing in the distance.
I look back at Mum. I want her to open her eyes and see it. I want her to watch the sunset with me.
There’s a chair next to Mum’s bed and I settle into it.
I lean into my pocket and pull out . . . the perfume. It’s not here. The cushion and blanket I brought on the second visit are, but not the perfume.
I check my backpack, but nothing’s there. My stomach drops. Where is it?
That’s when I remember that I left it in the bedside drawer in Mum’s old ward during my last visit. I check the drawers in here. It’s not in either of them. I check under the bed and in the little cupboard of spare pillows. I check every part of the room until I’m definitely sure it’s not in here.
I can’t visit Aminah without the perfume; I can’t watch the next memory and unlock her bedroom door. What if Mum really is improving because I’ve been playing the game? And what if this makes all the good that’s happening turn bad?
Without the memories I can’t wake her up.
No, no, no! my brain cries out, but outwardly I try to stay calm.
I can see the reception desk through the narrow glass pane of the hospital door. It sits right across from Mum’s room. There’s a nurse I don’t recognize. I can see the top of her hair, her curly fringe bouncing as she bobs her head.
I run out to her. ‘Excuse me?’ I say.
She holds her hand up to silence me. That’s when I notice she’s on the phone.
I wait, tapping my foot, panic taking over as I hear her speak.
‘Yes, you can find a list of visiting hours on our website. Is there anything else I can do for you?’ Her voice is all friendly and inviting. ‘Yes, of course I can give you a care summary now. Bear with me please, sir.’
She tap, tap, taps on her computer for a moment, all the while pretending I’m not standing there. ‘Thank you for waiting,’ she says in a sing-song voice to whoever is on the phone. The nurse spends another minute talking, and I don’t really know what to do with myself – so I just stand, arms crossed, back against the wall.
