The Million Pieces of Neena Gill

by Emma Smith-Barton

  Mum shakes her head. ‘You’ve been sitting at this desk for three hours, Neena. You need a break. And you need food.’

  Her eyes glide over my body and I feel uneasy, remembering what Dad said about me looking like I’m on drugs. I wrap my arms round myself. I know I’ve lost weight, but that was harsh. I hope Mum’s not thinking the same.

  ‘OK, Mum,’ I say, to reassure her. The last thing I need is any more hassle about anything from my parents. I’ll do whatever keeps them happy. ‘I’ll eat.’

  Mum smiles and nods. ‘I’ll call you when it’s ready.’ She goes to move, but then she leans back against the desk again. Her fingers pick at a spot on her chin.

  Then she crouches down next to me and looks me straight in the eyes. ‘We want to talk to you about something over dinner,’ she says. ‘And I just want you to hear us out. That’s all I ask … OK?’

  I swallow. This is about the cheating. They’re going to ask me about it again. Suddenly I can’t take any more of everyone being so disappointed in me. I need Mum to know the truth. I need her to know everything.

  ‘I haven’t exactly been cheating,’ I tell her. I’m light-headed as I speak. I can’t believe I’m going to tell her, but I know I need to. ‘It … it’s Akash. He helps me.’

  Mum covers her mouth. She hiccups. Her eyes fill and I have no idea what she’s thinking. Is she angry that he’s been helping me? Is it cheating, even though I didn’t ask him for help? Or is she upset that he hasn’t been to see her too? Maybe she’s thinking something else altogether.

  I need to explain properly. ‘The thing is … he … he taught me everything I know about art. He’s always helped me. That’s why he’s helping me now …’

  Tears roll down Mum’s cheeks. She nods. ‘I know,’ she says. ‘Oh, my darling, I know.’

  ‘You do?’ I’m breathless now. Am I hearing her right? She knows? How? Has she seen the alcohol? Has she seen the paintings? Has she seen him?

  Mum sniffs and wipes her face. ‘Of course I know. He’s your brother. He’ll always help you, Neena.’

  My body feels so weak. ‘And that’s OK?’ I ask, my voice tiny.

  Mum tilts her head. Her eyes fill again. She reaches forward and gently places a hand on my cheek. Usually, I feel so awkward when she does this, but today all I feel is her warm, soft skin. She’s looking at me with so much tenderness and, as I look into her eyes, I feel bad for doubting her earlier, for thinking that Mum and Dad were trying to harm me. How could I have thought that? They’re my mum and dad. My family. Just like Akash.

  ‘Of course it’s OK,’ she says. ‘Of course.’

  A weight lifts from my stomach. I feel feather-light, flimsy. I wish Mum would hug me tight, tell me everything’s going to be OK. I don’t know if it’s true, if anything will be OK, but I just really want to hear it right now. And it’s been so long since she’s given me a hug. I can’t even remember the last time.

  ‘I love you, Neena,’ she says. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I do.’ And the lump in my throat burns with all the love I have for her.

  A fat tear rolls down Mum’s cheek. She presses her hand against my face harder. ‘We just want you to be well,’ she says. ‘You want to be well, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, though I’m not sure what she’s on about. I am well. Aren’t I?

  ‘Good,’ she says, nodding. She peers at me a bit longer, and then pulls her hand away from my face before kissing me on the forehead. I get a waft of her sweet, lemony perfume before she stands up.

  ‘Come through when you’re ready, huh?’ she says, glancing at my books. ‘Take your time. I still need to make rotis.’

  Once she’s gone, I glance over my English essay. I feel a surge of happiness. So many words! Good words. And Mum loves me so much. I open my maths book to do some revision, but my stomach starts rumbling. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Maybe Mum’s right – I do deserve a break. And food will help with my revision, as Mum always says – energy for the brain. Maybe she’ll even peel me some almonds.

  But, before I leave my room, I go on my phone. Now that I know I can’t trust Fi, I need to somehow get information from Jay myself. I don’t want to see him until I’ve got something solid to talk to him about, so I’ve started doing my own research online. I’m not on social media – I came off after everything happened with Akash – so I log into Mum’s Facebook account and check Jay’s timeline. He hasn’t got very good security settings and I can see quite a lot of his photos. I looked earlier, before I started my English essay, and couldn’t find any of Akash. But I’m going to keep checking. I flick through, but most are of Jay’s beautiful face, which just makes me feel more and more guilty again for kissing him. I log off, my heart sinking. Nothing yet.

  As I’m about to leave the bedroom, I catch my reflection in the dressing-table mirror. I’m shocked by what I see. I don’t look like me. My school trousers and sweatshirt are baggy. My face is gaunt. Hair messy. And my eyes, they’re open too wide, like I’ve seen something shocking.

  I don’t look like Neena Gill.

  My phone buzzes, and I’m glad for the distraction, so that I can stop looking at the person in the mirror. But then I see that it’s Fi. She’s been trying to get hold of me all afternoon, but I don’t want to speak to her, not after she betrayed me with the teachers.

  Leave me alone. We aren’t speaking.

  I send a quick message to Josh too, while I’ve got the chance, thanking him again for earlier. Then I make my way to the kitchen.

  I pause in the hallway. Mum and Dad’s voices are raised. Something’s wrong.

  ‘… but what else can we do?’ Dad is saying.

  ‘I know, but is it really the answer? Maybe we should be getting her help here? Maybe … we should get someone in, to pray for her?’

  I freeze. I’m not exactly sure what they’re on about, but I know they’re talking about me. I push myself up against the wall and move a little closer to the kitchen door to hear them more clearly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Dad says. ‘I’ve tried taking her to church. I pray for her every day. Everyone’s praying for her.’

  ‘But does she pray? Do we need some direct prayer – on her?’

  A shiver runs through me. Prayer, on me? What exactly do they think is wrong?

  ‘We can keep praying, and sure, let’s get someone over, but we also need to do something,’ Dad says. ‘Saleem says it will help.’

  I like Dad’s friend, Uncle Saleem. I’ve always thought he’d make a great Father Christmas if only his skin was white instead of brown. He’s got the perfect belly for it and the laugh too. But what’s this got to do with him?

  ‘His niece changed completely when they took her there,’ Dad goes on. ‘Neena’s been cheating! Most of her grades are poor. And all the drinking. What choices are left? Are we going to wait until it’s too late again? Tell me that.’

  My face goes hot. So that’s what this is about. They want to change me. ‘Fix’ me somehow. They’re disgusted with me. Mum’s quiet now and I hear pots and pans being moved around. Then she sighs. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ she says. ‘She’s going to be on those tablets her whole life otherwise. Something needs to be done …’

  A wave of shame rushes through me. Mum’s changed her mind about loving me. Those tablets in my drawer, that I don’t even take any more, have made her think about me differently. My ears ring, like an alarm going off. And then, after a few moments, it’s quiet again.

  ‘Neena!’ Mum calls.

  I try to think straight. I back away from the door and towards my room, in case Mum comes out to call me again. There, I take deep breaths. I still don’t actually know what Mum and Dad were talking about. But I’m going to find out. I wonder if they want to take me on a pilgrimage or something. Dad went to Lourdes in France once to pray for his mum to be healed of heart disease and she lived for fifteen years after that. He told us that when we were younger and Akash
said church was boring.

  ‘Neena!’ Mum calls again. ‘Dinner’s ready.’

  I head towards the kitchen again, ready to find everything out. And to test Mum and Dad. Can I trust them or not? I’m so confused now. What else has Mum been saying behind my back?

  I join them at the dining table. Mum’s cooked chicken curry and rotis and she spoons the curry on to our plates.

  ‘Done your homework?’ Dad asks. I notice he’s holding a glass with amber liquid in it. Is it whisky? He hasn’t drunk alcohol since everything happened. This isn’t looking good.

  I swallow and realize that my mouth also tastes of whisky. That’s strange; I definitely haven’t been drinking. I nod at Dad. I don’t trust myself to speak. I don’t trust anything right now.

  ‘Good,’ Dad says. He looks away; sips his drink.

  ‘Let’s pray before food,’ Mum says suddenly.

  We used to pray before eating as kids. Me or Akash would say a prayer we learned at school. But I can’t remember the last time. Still, we all bow our heads now and Mum says a few words about family and love and strength.

  Then we eat in silence for a few moments. The curry is too hot and burns my mouth. I down some water. When I look back up, Mum and Dad are staring at me. It reminds me of earlier in school, the ambush. They both look annoyed and a bit angry. I peer at Mum, think of her hand against my cheek earlier; was it all an act?

  ‘We’ve been talking,’ Mum says. ‘And we think you should take a long holiday when the exams are over.’ She looks at Dad. He sips more of his drink.

  ‘Holiday?’ I ask. That can’t be right. After everything that’s happened today, I’m being rewarded?

  Mum and Dad both nod.

  I don’t say anything. A holiday sounds great but Mum always says that, if something seems too good to be true, it probably is.

  Mum fiddles with the dupatta round her neck. ‘A holiday to Pakistan for the whole summer,’ she says. ‘How would you feel about that, Neena?’

  I frown. I’ve never been to Pakistan. I’ve only heard stories from Mum and Dad, seen it in films. ‘On my own?’ I ask. The thought of getting away on my own does sound appealing. I almost don’t care where I go. But what exactly is going on here? Am I being ‘sent away’ because they can’t handle me any more?

  Something needs to be done. That’s what Mum said. So this isn’t just a holiday.

  And then my heart contracts as I realize what that would mean: I wouldn’t see Josh for the whole summer.

  ‘No, no,’ Mum says. ‘We’d come with you. All of us together. A last holiday before the baby …’

  The baby. I haven’t thought about the baby for so long. I’m getting so good at not thinking about the baby.

  ‘You can meet the family,’ Mum continues. ‘And it will be good for you, to see our culture.’ She glances at Dad again. ‘But really it’s just a holiday,’ she adds quickly.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I say. ‘Not for the whole summer.’

  Dad downs the rest of his drink and leans back in his chair. ‘This isn’t up for debate,’ he says. ‘We will go. All of us. And you’ll see exactly how easy you’ve had it here. You and your brother – you don’t realize!’

  Mum puts her hand on Dad’s arm. ‘Bas now,’ she says. ‘Stop.’

  I glare at him. How can he bring Akash into this? When he’s not here to defend himself.

  Dad scowls at me. Then he shakes his head and gets up and walks out of the room, his dinner only half eaten. Mum doesn’t stop him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say to Mum. ‘But I can’t go for the whole summer.’

  ‘Just eat your dinner,’ she says. ‘We’ll be going to Pakistan, Neena.’

  I look into my plate, but I can’t eat now, my hunger’s gone. Why do they want to take me to Pakistan so badly?

  A weird feeling comes over me. My skin prickles, like it did when I was at Josh’s earlier, and like it did when I was going to Jay’s with Fi. I look back up at Mum, and the prickling spreads until it’s all over my body.

  I’m remembering this film I once saw, where a family took their daughter back ‘home’ when she was caught clubbing. They then surprised her with an arranged marriage. I can’t remember the exact details – it was a long time ago – but I watched it at Raheela’s when we were friends. We’d kept looking at each other in horror, while her mum had watched as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

  Mum sighs. ‘I knew you wouldn’t want to leave your friends for the whole summer,’ she says. ‘But all this fuss! Really, Neena? It’s just a holiday. You’ll see them when you’re back.’

  Just a holiday.

  I swallow and force myself to eat my food. ‘I know,’ I say, and I’m the one pretending now. ‘I’m sorry.’

  What I really know is that it’s not just a holiday. But I can’t let Mum know that I know. I was right, about everything. They’re conspiring against me. I can’t trust them. But I’ll act like everything’s normal until I come up with a plan. As I chew the spicy chicken and smile at Mum, I send out a little prayer to Akash for help.

  Where is he? Where is he now?

  Be happy. That’s the last thing my brother ever said to me. The very last thing. That’s important, isn’t it?

  It’s eleven o’clock. Mum and Dad went to bed hours ago, though it only feels like five minutes, but I can’t sleep. I’ve been lying in bed, tossing and turning, thinking about Josh and everything that happened today. I can’t go to Pakistan in the summer. I can’t let Mum and Dad force me into anything. But I’m not sure what to do.

  And I keep thinking about what Josh said when I was at his earlier today. No one’s after you, he said. Has he got it wrong? Or have I?

  I wish someone could tell me it’s all in my imagination. But I can’t trust Fi – she might even tell my parents that I know what they’re up to. And I could call Josh, but I’m not sure he’ll get it. The only person who’ll really understand about Pakistan is Raheela.

  I wanted to speak to her earlier, to tell her about Mum and Dad and ask if she remembers the film we watched. I kept picking up my phone while I was revising and then bottling out: she’s made it clear that she’s not willing to help me. But now I’m thinking of those sleepless nights after Akash disappeared; she slept on the floor by my bedside for weeks. And I remember spending every lunchtime in the toilets at school after her dad left when we were younger, hugging her as she cried into my shoulder day after day.

  You can’t just forget that stuff, can you?

  When you’ve shared times like that, you can’t just stop being friends because things have changed.

  At the art centre, she said she still cared about me. And I believe her now, because you don’t just stop caring about someone, do you?

  I grab my phone and dial her number. She doesn’t answer. I call her again. And again.

  ‘What!’ she snaps, on the third call.

  My heart lifts. ‘Please, don’t hang up. I … I need you.’

  She sighs. ‘What is it, Neena? I’m trying to sleep.’

  I swallow. ‘My parents want to send me to Pakistan for the summer,’ I tell her. ‘You think it means anything?’

  ‘Really? The whole summer?’ She sounds surprised. ‘They wouldn’t do that, would they?’

  ‘That’s what they said.’

  ‘Oh God … Are you … are you thinking about that weird film we watched with my mum?’

  My heart races. ‘Yes!’ I knew she’d understand, but I’m even more afraid now.

  ‘Shit, Neens,’ she whispers. ‘What’s happened? Tell me everything.’

  I try to stay calm as I fill Raheela in, but her reaction is making me even more worried.

  ‘Crap,’ she says, when I finally stop talking. ‘You reckon they know about Josh?’

  I think about the ambush at school. The feeling that they were spying on me. If they have somehow found out, it would explain things. ‘Maybe,’ I say, my chest becoming tight.

  ‘Shit,
Neens. Maybe you should end things with Josh?’

  My chest gets even tighter. I feel like I’m in that film me and Raheela watched. I think about never kissing Josh again, never sitting under the willow tree and talking about stars or the meaning of life, or about Akash, or Josh’s dad. This makes me very, very sad. No. I won’t let that happen.

  ‘I need to live my life. I need to be happy,’ I tell Raheela. My head’s pounding.

  ‘Neens, I really think –’

  ‘No,’ I say. I can’t bear for one more person to tell me I’m doing something wrong. It feels like it’s Josh and me against the world.

  She sighs. ‘OK, Neens. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  After we hang up, I stare into the darkness. I have this weird feeling that someone’s in my room. My heart misses a beat. ‘Akash,’ I whisper. ‘Are you here?’ But there’s no reply. I switch on my lamp and look around. He’s not there. Maybe I imagined it.

  I climb out of bed and walk over to my easel. A half-finished painting of a castle is sitting there, and it’s absolutely awful. It looks like a child drew it. I did it after revising this evening and, although I tried my absolute best, I just couldn’t get it to work. There’s no way I can hand that in for my art homework.

  ‘Akash,’ I whisper again, looking around my room. ‘Are you here? I really need your help again …’

  No answer. I check under my bed and find some whisky. So he has been here. My chest buzzes. He’ll be here again soon, I know he will. I take a few gulps of the whisky and stow it under the bed again. Maybe it will help me sleep … Then I walk over to my dressing-table drawer and put on my brother’s cap. I look in the mirror, at the small, pale version of myself. The cap is like sunshine on my head. It lifts me. I smile.

  Be happy, Neens. That’s what Akash said. You deserve that.

  ‘Yes,’ I say to Akash because I know he’s listening. ‘I do deserve to be happy, don’t I?’ Sneaky thoughts slip into my head, and I know that Akash has put them there …

  Mum and Dad are asleep. Go out to see Josh. He makes you happy.

  I smile at the mirror. Yes, I could, couldn’t I?