Just one more day and the storm would have taken all these Syrian children.
I hand her a tissue. I don’t know why but I found myself in a shop buying more after the ones from the girl on the underground ran out. Now I’ve taken to carrying some around with me wherever I go. Every time I open a packet I think of the little girl on the tube’s hands and her eyes full of hurt and I wonder what she’s doing at this moment. Where she is now. I think of her so often I wish I knew her name. Where she came from. I hope she’s not on a tube somewhere begging.
‘Why don’t we all go and sit on the comfy seats?’ Maurice suggests. ‘Fish soup, chicken and baked apples. It was all delicious . . . but far too much! Bubbe, why do you have to be such a good cook? I’m getting a proper paunch!’
‘I made the veggie risotto,’ Kez reminds him. ‘I didn’t think it would need that much stirring though – it was tougher than physio!’
Janu laughs. As he and Kez come over, Bubbe reaches out her arms to all three of us.
‘Sit with me, young ones.’ Bubbe holds my hand on one side and Kez’s on the other. ‘I think it’s up to you now to get the heart of this world beating again.’
‘Mum! Let’s switch this off. We don’t want to spoil the evening.’ Hannah takes the remote control, presses the OFF button and the screen goes blank. She sits on the back of the sofa and places a comforting hand on Bubbe’s shoulder.
‘I’m sorry, Hannah – I can’t switch off and I don’t think you should either. Stan and I wouldn’t have been here if people had switched off back then! Nor would you, for that matter!’
‘Please, Mum, try not to get too worked up; you know the doctor said you should rest more. Maurice, let’s have a bit of music.’
Kez pulls a face at whatever it is that her dad puts on. I like it. It sounds like folk music. ‘Sorry! Not to your taste, Kez? You two girls want to go and hang out in your room for a bit then?’
Kez closes the door to her bedroom.
‘Is Bubbe all right?’ I ask.
‘She has to take blood-pressure pills now,’ Kez explains. ‘She gets really upset with everything that goes on in the news, like it’s happening to her all over again. Mum and Dad don’t want her watching it, or listening, but she’s obsessed. She keeps saying history’s repeating itself and she gets really angry with Mum and Dad when they try to calm her down.’
I think of when I sat with Bubbe on Stan’s yahrzeit day . . . when we listened to that little boy talking.
‘What do you think of the makeover?’ Kezia asks, following the wall-grip around her room to her bed. I’m behind her, looking at the walls that used to be covered in photos of her and me from when we were little. I don’t even have to look up to the ceiling to know that the parachute silks have gone. It feels like ages since we had the argument, and I do feel a bit childish now for getting so upset.
The wall by Kez’s bed is painted bright yellow.
‘Do you like the colour?’ she asks. ‘If it’s not sunny, at least I’ve got my sun wall! I’ve just finished this collage. What do you think?’
In a huge frame on the sunshine wall is a massive collection of photos. There are some people I’ve seen before, but lots I don’t know.
‘We’re there, right in the middle!’ Kez points to a cluster of photos of the two of us together – photos ranging from when we were in nursery together right up to the one we took on the last day of primary school – but none after that. There’s a photo of Reena, the little girl in Janu’s House of Garlands Orphanage that Kez’s family has kind of sponsored. She’s holding the teddy that I helped Kez choose for her. I look at another, more recent photo, of Selina and Kez wearing their sports kit and raising each other’s arms in victory. All these other people I don’t know I suppose are from her summer camp. I can’t believe I was so jealous before. Now I just want to know more about all the people she knows.
Hannah knocks and opens the door. ‘Sorry, girls. Janu wanted to check something again about the design of the bathroom . . . Do you mind if he has a quick look at your pod, Kez?’
‘Yes, they’re all adapted depending on the site,’ Kez’s mum explains as she and Janu look in the little bathroom in the corner of Kez’s room. ‘More a matter of proper engineering, imagination and, of course, funds. But you’d be surprised; we’ve got the costs of a basic one right down now. Half the time there’s quite a simple solution. The beauty of this system is that you can keep building sections as you grow the refuge . . . start small.’
‘Actually, Kez and I were talking about something concerning this principle and I would like to get your advice . . .’ Janu’s voice trails away.
‘What were you two talking about?’ I ask Kez.
‘Oh! He’s going to help me set up a website, that’s all.’ Kez takes my arm and turns it over. ‘Your eczema’s getting better,’ she says, and keeps holding on to my arm. ‘Laila, I was talking to Bubbe and I really want to invite Pari to my bat mitzvah. I know she’s not really my friend yet . . . but I like her and we probably all will be friends, won’t we? What do you think? Should I ask her or would you like to?’
‘I don’t mind asking her.’
Kez hands me an envelope already addressed to Pari. She’s obviously thought this through.
I don’t quite get why Kez wants to invite Pari to her bat mitzvah, but just the fact that she does somehow makes me feel like it’s less awkward between the three of us. It doesn’t feel like it has to be Kez or Pari any more.
‘Oh – and I’ve made you a playlist . . . some new stuff I’m listening to. Thought you’d like it.’ Kez smiles at me a bit shyly, like she’s not sure if I’m going to accept it. ‘I’ll share it with you if you want?’
‘Thanks, Kez!’
It feels so good to be doing these normal things again.
‘Sparkler time, girls!’ Kez’s dad knocks on the door. Kez raises her eyes to the sky – but when we’re all standing in the garden with that smell of flint in the air, swirling our sparklers around to make star-tracks and patterns in the dark like we used to every November, it doesn’t feel childish. It just feels like us again . . . me and Kez as we’ve always been.
Before we leave, Janu makes everyone take their shoes off and stand together while he takes a photo of our bare feet all in a line.
‘They’re not my best asset!’ Bubbe laughs, looking down at hers. ‘You can probably tell that these old feet have done some walking! I still can’t get over it, Sam. To think that after all these years of our girls being such good friends, that I knew Laila’s grandparents.’
‘Did you know my Nana Josie too?’ I ask.
‘A little . . . but to be honest, Laila, I was always a bit in awe of her arty ways!’ Bubbe strokes my cheek and gestures for me to bend down so she can whisper in my ear.
It feels like she’s shrunk, but I suppose it’s just that I must have grown.
‘You will let me have a look at that Protest Book one day, won’t you, Laila?’
I nod. I really would like to sit at Bubbe’s table and read it together. She could probably tell me more about all the things in there than any googling could. I just hope Mira’s not so angry with me that she takes it away.
Bubbe kisses me on the cheek as we say goodbye.
‘Funny! Now I remember. The first time I saw your little face in nursery I thought there was something familiar about you.’
‘Please don’t sleep on the landing tonight, Laila. You’ll get disturbed by Janu leaving,’ Dad pleads. ‘I have to set off with him so early in the morning.’
So I go and lie on Mira’s bed, just to keep him happy.
I can hear Janu on the phone to someone through the wall. It’s Mira. I hear him say her name. And the way he says it makes it sound like he loves her. I feel so sad for Janu. I don’t want to hear this. I plug my earphones in and listen to the playlist Kez has made for me. It’s not the same kind of music that she used to listen to. There’s dance music and a bit of rap, and some of the ambi
ent instrumental tracks that Krish likes, but I think my favourites are still the ones we used to sing together. I turn up the volume on ‘To Make You Feel My Love’ and play it over a few times, trying not to think about Janu and Mira’s conversation. The boy hugging Kez in the photo, the one she didn’t want me to see before, comes into my mind. There was something about the way she snatched the phone away that made me wonder if he was just one of the crowd. As I sing along I keep thinking about how kind Tomek was that day. I suppose there are lots of things Kez doesn’t know about me too, like that I’ve thought about texting Tomek so many times but can’t think what I would say. I blush up all over again at the memory of when we first met. What was I thinking, pretending I was someone else?
While I’m listening to the rest of Kez’s playlist I think about how Bubbe and Nana Josie met each other, and Grandad Kit; how Simon and Nana knew each other; how they were marching against that war in Iraq; how that’s the reason why Pari’s here; and how I’m like a link between them all . . . And it was me who found the chime. Maybe without it I would never have opened Simon’s letter and gone to collect the Protest Book and the Banner Bag . . . I feel like I should know where all this is supposed to lead me . . .
There’s a knock at the door.
Janu peers around it. ‘I could hear you ringing that chime of yours! My friend Yannis uses his worry beads like that!’ He smiles. ‘Mind if I come in?’
I can’t tell if he’s really sad or happy.
He sits next to me on the floor, leaning against the bed.
‘I’ve just been speaking to Mira.’
‘You were on the phone for a long time,’ I say.
‘Were you listening?’ he asks.
I shake my head and unplug my other earpiece.
Janu spreads his arms out, ‘Your sister and I had much to talk about after being apart for so long.’
I check Janu’s face. I feel so sorry for him. After that racist attack the other day I don’t want him to go away feeling sad.
‘Don’t look so troubled, Laila. She asked me to give these to you, for you to keep safe till she gets home.’
Janu lays a red-and-gold envelope on the carpet and hands me the ring box that I saw him hide away when he first arrived.
‘You’ll keep these safe till Mira comes home, won’t you, Laila? I was hoping to hand them to her myself . . . but seems like there was something of a misunderstanding!’ He smiles at me and pats the back of my hand. ‘I think you might also have misunderstood, Laila? Open it!’ he says.
I hesitate for a moment.
‘Go on! Mira told me to show it to you, as long as you guard it with your life till she comes home. No pressure!’ Janu grins.
I open the lid and inside is not a ring at all.
‘And to think your sister doesn’t believe in Karma!’ Janu laughs.
I take Mira’s artichoke charm that she used to wear all the time out of the box. The one Nana Josie gave her, with all the little silver layers and the tiny ruby right in the middle.
‘I though she lost this.’
‘Yes, that’s what she told you.’
Janu looks at his watch. ‘Mira’s made me go over the story five times already so she can fill in the details for you – but no, Laila, she didn’t lose it. She gave it away to a girl on the train near my village.’
‘But she loved this . . . Why would she do that?’ I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
‘Something like a reflex instinct. She was feeling sorry for this girl we were sitting with in our carriage. She felt guilty because she, Mira, had –’ Janu gestures around the room – ‘everything . . . and this girl had not even enough to feed her brothers and sisters.’
The eyes of the girl on the tube come into my mind again. I think I know how Mira felt.
‘Your sister’s like you, Laila. She has a big heart. I told Mira that the girl would sell it and she would never see it again.’
Janu takes out his phone, scans through his album and shows me a photo of this beautiful woman with shiny bobbed hair, wearing skinny jeans and a bright turquoise salwar kameez with the sleeves rolled up. She’s standing next to Janu by a river.
‘Can I?’ I ask, taking the phone from him and homing in on her. ‘She’s got amazing eyes!’
‘Yes, she’s very beautiful – but look what she’s wearing on her wrist.’
It’s the artichoke-heart charm.
‘She came for an interview to work with me, to set up the website for my blog . . . I was wrong – she never sold it.’
‘I’ve got to tell Pari and her mum about this!’ I laugh.
Janu shakes his head.
‘I know! Now Leyla will really think I’m out of one of her Bollywood films! But seriously, sometimes these things do actually happen.’
Janu hands me the envelope and I open it.
‘Her name’s Parvathi!’ I say, laughing.
‘I know – it’s like a saga! Mira’s going to paint us as a wedding present. It’s next year, just after Durga Puja. I hope you will come. I’m going to invite Kez and her family too.’
I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been.
‘I thought you were going to ask Mira to marry you! I thought you loved her.’
Janu laughs.
‘I know that now . . . and I think maybe you conveyed it to Mira, and that’s why she was too afraid to meet me!’
‘Sorry!’
‘No, no! It’s also my fault. There was a little romantic idea in me that I should return it to her myself. I wanted to see the look on her face.’ Janu looks down at his hands. ‘Love is complicated, Laila. In a way I will always love your sister – after all, she brought Parv and me together.’ Janu picks up the little bracelet. ‘Or maybe this charm did!’
I nod and hug Janu tight.
‘It’s been good to get to know you, Laila. Keep in touch . . . And remember: no need to say anything about –’ he points to his bruised feet – ‘All healed now.’
I’m lying on the landing when Janu goes. I pretend I’m asleep so Dad doesn’t get annoyed with me. ‘Bye bye, Landing Laila!’ Janu whispers as he passes.
I watch Mum, Dad and Janu getting his things together at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Mira called me late last night. She had an idea that I should give you these. She seems to think they would definitely fit you,’ Mum says, handing Janu a pair of black shiny shoes. ‘They belonged to my dad, Bimal.’
‘I can’t take these . . .’
Dad hands him a pair of his socks. ‘Here, Janu. Look, it’s a miracle! I even found a matching pair!’
Janu puts the socks on, bends down and slips his feet into the shoes.
‘We can always buy some at the airport if—’
‘No need, Sam!’ Janu says. ‘They’re a little tight, but they’ll be fine for the journey. It will be an honour for me to walk in these shoes.’
‘You promise you’ll keep them on till you get through JFK? Anjali’s concerned that you don’t make things more difficult for yourself. You know how tight security is everywhere now,’ Mum says.
‘But are you sure, Uma? These are your baba’s shoes.’
‘Please wear them, Janu – he would have wanted . . .’ Mum’s voice falters.
‘My ma has this saying, Uma . . . “As long as the footprint of the person is remembered by someone living, then we will always walk with them.”’
Janu and Mum hug for a long time.
‘Right then,’ says Dad. ‘Looks like your dad’s travelling with us too, Uma! Come on, you’ve got to let Janu go. He’ll miss his flight!’
Every now and again it’s like I’ve got this new power to see things from a distance. If I was looking at myself as a character in this scene, sitting here on this landing, I used to only be able to see the close-up picture. But recently, just sometimes, I can pull back and see myself and everything else that’s in the frame too, and that makes me feel things I never used to, like Mum’s sadness not just being about Janu le
aving, and why Mira wanted Janu to wear Grandad Bimal’s shoes.
I hold Nana Josie’s chime in my hand and ring it. I imagine Janu’s plane taking off, flying through the night. I imagine him looking out of his window at the moon and the stars and falling asleep and waking up to a sunrise in a new country wearing Grandad’s old shoes.
The synagogue looks a bit like a community hall. Outside there’s a sign that says ‘Reform Synagogue’. I should have dressed up like Pari. She’s really gone to town on her scarf sparkles, sequinned top and green net skirt like a long tutu. Maybe I should have worn a dress too. Too late now.
Hannah comes to the entrance and greets us all, hugging Mum and Dad and shaking hands with Pari. She looks so happy and sparkly-eyed, excited and nervous at the same time. She tells us that we’re Kez’s special guests so we should go and sit at the front with Kez’s other friends.
Dad picks up a white cap and fixes it to the crown of his head.
A woman standing behind a table hands us two heavy prayer books.
‘Do you know how to read these?’ she asks us.
Mum shakes her head.
‘I’ll be the guide.’ Dad takes the books from her, and Mum gives him this look as if she didn’t expect him to know what to do.
The room is full of people of all different ages. Kez is sitting at the front with her mum and dad, Bubbe, her uncles, aunts and cousins. She looks beautiful. Her hair’s gone back to its normal chestnut colour and she’s styled it into loose curls that flow down her back. She’s not wearing any make-up and she looks like the Kez I’ve always known. She’s wearing a silvery straight dress with long sleeves and little pumps on her feet. She keeps smiling over at us and waving while we wait for the service to begin. Rebecca and Selina are in front of us . . . and Stella. She turns around and smiles at me and Pari. I didn’t know she’d been invited. I even didn’t know Kez knew her. Rebecca turns around and introduces us to all the other friends. ‘And that’s Adam!’ she whispers, raising her eyebrows and pointing to a tall boy with wavy black hair sitting on the front row. ‘She kept him a bit quiet, didn’t she?’ Becks laughs.
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