Tender Earth

by Sita Brahmachari

  Me: Is Nana spoiling you?

  Krish: What do you think? Good job I’m doing all this exercise! How’s it going in the holding pen?

  Me: It’s good so far. I like it. We’ve got this great tutor. She teaches Citizenship.

  Krish: That’s a bit of luck.

  Me: Janu’s coming to stay!

  Krish: Serious? Tell him to call me when he gets here. How long for?

  Me: Not long. He’s going off to see Priya in New York afterwards.

  Krish: Tell him he can have my room if he wants. I’ll see if they’ll let me have a few days off, but I’m not sure. Someone’s just left . . . I might even get their job if I play my cards right and then I can actually live at the centre. You moved into Mira’s room yet?

  Me: Not yet.

  Krish: Get in there quick or Mira will have it back!

  I can hear Nana Kath in the background telling Krish it’s time for breakfast and he needs to get off the phone.

  Krish: Hang on a minute, Laila.

  Krish tries to muffle his voice a bit . . . but I hear anyway:

  ‘It’s Laila. She’s off to school in a minute. I think she’s on her own.’

  Me: Hello! I’m OK on my own! That’s not why I called.

  Krish: All right, don’t blow a gasket!

  Me: I’m not. I wanted to tell you . . . I found a chime of Nana Josie’s, a kind of baby’s rattle.

  Krish: Oh yeah! I chose that for you.

  Me: What do you mean, you chose it?

  Krish: When Nana Josie was ill in the hospice, she told me and Dad to go to her flat and choose something for you.

  Me: Why didn’t you tell me?

  Krish: I think cos we lost it . . . You don’t even remember being given it, right?

  Me: That’s not the point.

  Krish: Anyway, good you found it. Ha! Funny if you think about it . . . you having a go at us all for treating you like a baby – then that rattle shows up!

  Me: It’s a chime!

  Krish: Whatever!

  I can hear Nana talking to Krish again. ‘Is she all right there on her own, Krish? Where are Sam and Uma anyway? One of them should be in. Tell her she should be getting ready for school now. She’d better not be late. Has she had a good breakfast? Ask her if she’s remembered a snack?’

  I know where Mum gets the multiple-questions-never-waiting-for-an-answer thing from now.

  Krish: Hang on, Nana; I can’t hear what she’s saying.

  Me: Krish, do you remember one of Nana Josie’s friends called Simon?

  Krish: The hippy painter guy? Yeah! He used to ride a bike everywhere. Not like the mountain bike they’ve given me. His had flowers and bells in the wheels. I remember that. Yeah, he was a legend.

  Me: I don’t know about a bike – I just found a photo of him, that’s all. Just wondered if you knew him?

  Krish: Simon was sound. I used to sit by Nana’s pond with him sometimes and watch the tadpoles. I wonder if he’s still around . . . Gotta go! Nana Kath’s getting on my case.

  I decide that it’s safer to keep the letter from Simon with me in case Mum or Dad get tempted to have a nosey around or a tidy-up of the landing and find it. So I tuck it into a zip section at the back of my school bag.

  I’ve still got a bit of time so I check my email to see if there are any messages. Maybe Mira’s emailed. There’s actually nothing from her, but there’s already an update alert on Janu’s blog, so I log in.

  Barefoot Blog

  Priya’s ‘Holi Spring’ video that I watched the other day has been loaded up on to this page too. At first I think it’s a bit weird that it’s on here. Then, after I’ve watched it a few times, I get why it’s there. The faces of the children are so happy, just having fun chucking paint-powder at each other like any other kids. It’s not like those appeals you get on TV that make you feel miserable . . . like how do I even start to help?

  I love watching Priya dance. She makes you think that she could do anything. The way she smiles and draws you in, it’s like she sweeps you up with her, so you start to believe that you’re dancing too. She’s spinning so fast in the video, it’s like she could just take off and fly.

  At the end there’s a tiny bright yellow footprint that you can click on to donate.

  When I watched this clip with Mum, I don’t really think I understood what it meant . . . but now, seeing the children in Janu’s House of Garland’s refuge in Kolkata throwing paint at the people in the park in New York and them throwing bright-coloured powder paint back, all laughing and playing together . . . I feel as if I do understand.

  I read the slogan that’s at the head of the page again.

  Barefoot Blogger

  Because we all walk on the same earth

  I catch the time in the corner of the screen. I can’t believe it’s already nine o’clock.

  I grab my bag and run as fast as I can down the road. There’s hardly anyone about. One boy wearing our uniform gets off a bus, but he doesn’t look like he cares one way or the other if he’s late or not. I’m sprinting towards the school gate but Miss O’Brady, who nearly always stands there, blocks the way and hands me a pass to take to reception.

  ‘Now then, dearie, too late for the gate – what’s your name?’

  ‘Laila Levenson!’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know there was another one! I knew your sister Mira a little and your brother a bit better!’ She laughs. ‘Now, what’s wrong with me that I can’t recall his name . . . ?’

  ‘Krish,’ I pant, desperately trying to catch my breath.

  ‘Oh, yes, that’s the one! Now calm yourself down now, Laila, sweetie. No need to get into such a state. I can see you’ve made an effort to make up for lost time.’ She winks at me. ‘I’ll pass that on to your form tutor – who is it you’re with?’

  ‘Mrs Latif.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Latif – that lovely young woman. You’ll have no problems there then . . .’ She turns and takes hold of a boy’s shoulder. ‘Don’t be trying to sneak past me with your cheeky grin, Connor.’ Miss O’Brady gives the laid-back boy I saw near the bus a late pass too. ‘Get along with you now, young man. Wherever is your sense of urgency?’ She taps him on the back and ‘Connor’, who must be in Year Nine or Ten, rolls his eyes at me as if to say ‘Good luck!’ and walks slowly through the gates.

  ‘Whatever is he like?’ Miss O’Brady shakes her head. ‘Right, you feeling more like yourself now, young Laila?’

  I nod.

  Connor turns around and waves at Miss O’Brady as he walks into school.

  She laughs, waves back and shakes her head. ‘The cheek of him! Just like your brother. Though I have to say, I always had a soft spot for your Krish, even if he was so often late! Will you tell him Miss O’Brady asked after him?’ She shakes her finger at me suddenly, as if she’s just remembered what her job is. ‘Don’t let me be seeing too much of you here at the late gate, Laila Levenson . . . get on your way now!’

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ I tell the receptionist and hand her the late pass.

  ‘Nameclassreason?’ she fires, without looking up.

  ‘Laila Levenson, Seven Dials, I forgot my keys and had to go back because my mum’s not going to be in later.’

  Is it always wrong to lie?

  Is it always right to tell the truth?

  ‘You’re on concern,’ the receptionist tells me, in a voice that sounds like a recorded message. ‘There’ll be a note home and next time it’ll be a detention.’ She presses so hard on the paper that the bit of hair escaping from her clip bobs up and down as she registers my name in the late record.

  Pari’s bagged a place for me next to her. She slides her backpack off the seat and I slip in beside her.

  ‘Thought you weren’t coming,’ Pari whispers. She looks really pleased to see me.

  ‘How about sunshine yellow for one wall? That’ll brighten up the place a bit.’

  Mum folds the colour chart so that I can only see a little oblong of yellow card.


  I shake my head. ‘That’s Kez’s favourite, not mine.’

  ‘Well, let’s put some posters up at least. These walls look so empty with all the gaps. How about we make a start on Sunday?’

  ‘I’m seeing Kez on Sunday. It’s the only day she can meet.’

  The landline goes.

  ‘Oh! That’ll be Mira,’ Mum says. ‘She was out when I called earlier.’

  I take up position on the landing.

  ‘Do you think you’ll be able to come back to see Janu? If it’s the expense . . . I’ll let you know when we’ve got his dates. Apparently he’s really keen to see you. No, not yet. She’s still sleeping on the landing – see if you can have a word. No! No more snakes in the kitchen or anywhere else! Don’t think so . . . the sign’s still up on the tree. I’ll just see where she is . . . I can take a guess . . .’

  ‘Laila, Mira wants to talk to you,’ Mum calls up.

  I pretend not to hear.

  ‘Maybe she’s in the bathroom. I’ll get her to call you back later.’

  I go through to Mira’s room and take the lid off the little varnished box. I like the colour. It’s sort of orangey-red and the bonsai tree is delicately painted in gold. It’s such a shame there’s a crack in it. I take out the little silk purse and place Nana Josie’s chime inside to keep it safe. I feel a bit nervous about taking it out of the house for the first time. I would hate to lose it, like Mira lost that artichoke charm that Nana gave to her. I place the letter from Simon and the purse into the big front pocket of my dungarees. The charm sticks out a bit, but I pull on my hoodie and zip it up so you can’t tell it’s there.

  ‘What time will you be back, Laila?’

  Mum’s finally letting me go out on my own sometimes, but this is always the last thing she asks before I walk out of the door. It kind of spoils the going out in the first place.

  ‘I don’t know! I’ll be out all day probably. I need to catch up with Kez.’

  I glimpse myself in the hallway mirror. I try twisting and piling my hair into a beehive like Kez’s, but it’s too flat and shiny so it just flops down. I give up and let it trail down my back.

  ‘Don’t forget your coat. I think it’s going to rain. You got your mobile on you?’ Mum asks.

  I feel for it in my hoodie pocket.

  ‘Yes, it’s here! See you later!’

  I pick up my coat, but when Mum goes back through to the kitchen I dump it back in the hall. It’s not even cold.

  I suppose in a way Kez’s parents have turned their flat into a sort of showcase for their work. Janu’s going to love it. It’ll give him so many ideas. Each of the walls is a screen that can be pulled back so the whole thing opens out into one massive box and then can be closed up again. I love the way the buildings they design can be small or huge, depending on how many boxes you have. I can see why they’ve won awards for coming up with the idea. But they say they would never have thought of it without Kez’s input, so the awards should belong to her too because everything was done in consultation with her. I think that’s true, because they’ve used her experience of what it’s like not to be able to get around your own home easily to create it, like the invisible wall grips and easy-grip floors so she doesn’t have to use her chair so often

  Mum and Dad don’t understand why it’s such a big deal for me that Kez won’t come to ours any more. But why would she when she can be completely independent here? I suppose when our house was built, about a hundred years ago, they didn’t think about access or stuff like that.

  I remember when Kez moved back into her flat after it had all been redesigned. I gave her some parachute silk to hang from her ceiling to make her room look like a rainbow marquee. Kez’s mum strung fairy lights along the edges of the coloured silk, and we used to lie on her bed staring up at the ceiling, talking for hours. In the summer Kez opened the window and the breeze would get under the parachute silk and it would billow and blow like sails, projecting its colours right across the wall. It made me feel like we were in our own little cocoon. I wanted it to be like that for us two in my new room too, but now it looks like that will never happen.

  I ring Kez’s doorbell and Bubbe answers.

  ‘Ah, my Laila!’ She smiles, and squeezes my shoulder. It feels strange now that I’m taller than her.

  Kez walks slowly out into the hallway and opens her arms wide. I didn’t expect this. We hug for ages, like we’re long-lost friends, which I suppose we are in a way. This feels like the sort of hug Kez gave me after she came back from her summer camp though, as if she’s been on this huge journey without me and she wants to make me feel better because I’ve missed out.

  I have a word with myself.

  Laila, don’t make such a big deal about it. You can always come and see her here . . . and after her bat mitzvah’s over she’ll have more time for you. If she’s not in pain, and things improve, maybe she’ll come over to yours then and sit on your bed in your new room and you can plan it all out, maybe decorate it together, and things will be more or less back to how they were before.

  ‘Have you heard this one? I love it.’ Kez plays a song on her phone that I’ve never heard of. She holds a pretend microphone to her mouth and sings the whole thing. ‘I’m thinking about doing this for the audition for that school concert. What do you think?’

  ‘It sounds really strong. You’ll definitely get in.’

  I take the little silk purse out of my dungaree pocket, loosen the drawstrings and tip out the chime.

  ‘I brought this to show you. You said you wanted to see it.’

  ‘It’s really sweet. I like the cut-outs! You should shine the silver up. I bet it would really sparkle.’

  Kez half looks at the chime as she finds another track but then she checks out a photo that’s just been sent through.

  ‘I think I like it as it is, so you can see how old it is—’

  ‘Hang on a minute, Laila!’

  She angles the screen slightly away from me, but I’ve already seen a picture of her and a boy with dark curly hair.

  ‘Who was that?’ I ask

  ‘Oh, that’s Adam,’ she says, and quickly flicks on to another photo that she doesn’t mind showing me.

  Now she’s grinning at a photo of her and a whole group of people from her summer camp with their arms thrown around each other. I keep thinking she’s going to tell me who all these people are, but it’s like she’s back there with them now. Their faces are splatted in mud and Kez is still wearing a riding cap. It looks like they’ve been on a trek . I’m just about to ask Kez about the horseriding and the people in the one when she scrolls on to the next photo.

  I slip the chime back into the purse in my pocket and wait for Kez to remember that I’m in the room.

  ‘Shall we do nails?’ She points to a toilet bag by her bed. I take out a bottle of navy-blue nail varnish. ‘Mine first!’ She reaches forward and rests her hands on my lap.

  ‘I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it!’ I say, opening the lid. It smells really strong.

  I start with her left hand, easing her fingers straight as I brush in one direction over the first nail.

  ‘That’s so much smoother than I could do,’ Kez says, inspecting her nail and holding her hand out for me to continue.

  ‘How’s Pari?’ Kez asks.

  ‘All right.’ I shrug.

  ‘She seems really nice. I saw her the other day on her way back from school. Said she has to take the bus to the station and the tube home. It sounds a long journey.’

  ‘How about you – are you all right? Met some new people?’ I try to make the question not sound loaded, but it does.

  ‘Well, there’s Becks . . . I know her from Saturday school – you know, at the synagogue – but I didn’t think she was coming here. I thought she’d be going to Jewish school.’

  Kez pulls her hand away from me so she can flex her fingers, then rests her hand back on my knee again. She seems really stressed. ‘Honestly, Laila, I couldn’t
believe it when she sat next to me in tutor time on the first day. Her sister’s in Year Eight so she’s introducing me to a few people . . .’

  She trails off when she sees the look on my face. We both sit there in silence for a moment, trying to find something to talk about. I can’t get used to these empty pauses between us – like the ghost pictures on Mira’s wall, it feels like this is turning into a ghost friendship.

  ‘I know I’ve been giving it all the beehive and eyeliner . . .’ Kez breaks the silence. Then she winces and waves her fingers in the air.

  ‘Sorry, am I hurting you?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s more of an ache!’ She gives me this really sad look like she’s not talking about doing nails at all, and then she slowly relaxes enough for me to take back her hand. ‘I’m sorry we haven’t got to see each other much. I can’t believe how busy the week is with shul Friday evening and Saturday too. I’m behind with everything . . . homework included.’

  ‘You hardly ever used to go to the synagogue,’ I say.

  Kez looks a bit exasperated with me, like I just don’t understand.

  ‘It’s for my bat mitzvah, Lai Lai. I want to get it right. Anyway, except for Becks, everyone else is learning Hebrew at Jewish school so we’re getting together later . . . Bubbe’s going to help us. I didn’t think I would get so into it, but you know how Bubbe makes everything into a story.’

  I do know. But it feels like it should be me and Kez sitting together with Bubbe while she tells her stories . . . not Kez and Becks. I finish Kez’s nails in silence. I wish I didn’t feel so jealous all the time.

  ‘Do you want me to do yours?’ she asks, wafting her fingers around.

  I shake my head.

  ‘What time are you seeing Rebecca today then?’ I ask.

  Kez blushes. ‘Not till later.’

  ‘That’s OK then!’

  ‘But . . . Sorry, I forgot to say . . . I missed my physio this week too, so Dad reorganized it for today. He didn’t know you were coming over and he only told me this morning or I would have called you so I’m going to have to leave in about half an hour. If I’d known about that I wouldn’t have organized for Becks to come over later. Really, Laila, you wouldn’t believe how much there is to learn for shul. I’ve only just got to grips with translating my parsha . . .’