Fly Me Home

by Polly Ho-Yen

  But I still had hours of school to go.

  I tried to stop watching the clock; I’m sure its hands slowed when I did. Mrs Winters caught me staring at it and asked me if I was all right.

  I nodded tightly and Mrs Winters looked like she was going to say something more, but just then there was a scuffle in the corner and two boys started fighting over their pencils. She left to go and speak to them.

  We had PE outside, even though the air was so cold it hurt to breathe it in. I stamped my feet and jogged on the spot as Betsy and I had done to warm up when we met after school.

  Mrs Winters produced a net sack of footballs – to a roar of excitement – and divided us up into groups to pass the balls to each other. We hadn’t played football at school before, and for once I felt like I had a head start. As Betsy had taught me, I stopped the ball with my foot and then set it spinning to the person next to me.

  I had to wait a while for my next turn because Terri missed the ball completely and had to run over to the other side of the playground to retrieve it.

  After we’d done this for most of the lesson, Mrs Winters blew her whistle and we gathered around her.

  ‘We’ve got time for a short game before we finish,’ she told us.

  There was another whoop of excitement.

  We were divided into teams, and then there was a scrum and a scramble for the ball, and someone fell over and the whistle was blown again.

  I hung back.

  Drew had the ball and was almost surrounded when he spotted me, free, a little way from him.

  ‘Leelu!’ he shouted, and before he was engulfed by the crowd, he kicked the ball towards me.

  It was a good pass, though not as good as Betsy’s, but I ran towards the ball and dribbled it towards the goal. One of the taller girls, Aisha, ran straight at me; I kicked the ball so it sped round and past her. Then I ran to catch up with it.

  I heard someone shouting something, but no one was telling me to stop and so I kept going towards the goal. Two boys were running towards me – I could hear their feet thudding hard on the ground like a kind of countdown.

  Betsy and I had been practising sending the ball up into the air using our feet, and I felt sure I could do it – although Betsy had told me it was hard to do it in a game. It was one of our tricks; at first I had found it easier than Betsy. It made me think of Bo flying.

  I concentrated on the ball; it rolled and skidded easily along the ground and, as I looked at it, it seemed as though the world around me – the kids, Mrs Winters, Mum, Tiber, Dad, my worries and my dreams, all of it – was just a bit further away. For that moment all that mattered was the ball in front of me, the force within my legs that drove it on towards the goal. I positioned the ball between my feet and then flicked them upwards so that it soared high into the air.

  It flew up.

  Over the heads of the boys.

  Up, up, up it went.

  A neon-orange moon against the white, overcast sky.

  I ran round to catch up with it, but by then no one was chasing me any more. It was as though everyone else had stopped. Not even the goalkeeper, a boy called Mehmet, moved as I dribbled the ball into the goal.

  They weren’t chasing me because they were shouting.

  ‘Leelu! Leelu! Leelu!’ in a chant.

  ‘How did you do that?’ Terri came running over to me. ‘Can you teach me?’

  I was so unused to anyone asking me anything, I didn’t answer at first.

  Terri sighed, her eyes wide and watching. ‘I forgot, you don’t speak,’ she said quietly.

  All of a sudden my mouth opened, and before I knew it I had answered her.

  ‘I can speak,’ I said.

  My voice rang out clear and strong. As Bo’s did when he talked about the place. As Betsy’s did when she spoke about football.

  The children who were standing nearby looked up, astounded. Their mouths hung open.

  ‘But you never … You’ve never …’ Terri started to splutter.

  ‘I know,’ I said. I looked around at my classmates, finally meeting their eyes. Some smiled at me cautiously. Others still looked shocked. ‘I guess … I was scared.’

  It was such a relief to say it, to admit to it after all the time that had passed, that I felt like laughing out loud. Despite everything that was happening with Mum and Tiber, there was a giddiness within me that rose up like a bird stretching out its wings and soaring into the blue of the sky.

  Then there was another voice.

  ‘I was scared when I first started here too,’ Aisha said.

  I turned to her in astonishment; she was one of the loudest girls in the class. She looked at me shyly from beneath her fringe, which was swept to one side in an artful wave. ‘I joined last year, Leelu. I haven’t been here that long either,’ she told me, her dark eyes shining a little. And then she turned to everyone else. ‘You all knew each other so well – you’d already made friends. It was really lonely at first.’

  ‘I’d never have thought it,’ said one of the boys. I realized that it was Drew – the boy who had seen me in the book corner that first day – who’d passed the ball to me. ‘You were so loud.’

  ‘Well, I was hiding it, wasn’t I?’ Aisha said. ‘If I talked all the time, then who would know?’

  ‘I guess I was hiding it in a different way,’ I said.

  Aisha grinned at me.

  ‘I think we thought you didn’t like us,’ Terri said slowly.

  ‘No, it wasn’t that,’ I said. ‘I just felt so different to you. You all know what you’re doing all the time. With the work and everything. I felt … well, a bit stupid with it all, really.’ Now that I had started talking I wondered if there was anything I wasn’t scared to say. I could feel everyone looking at me, but this time it didn’t make me feel uncomfortable or awkward. I glanced up at them, meeting their stares.

  Finally Drew spoke. ‘That’s not true. I don’t know what I’m doing all the time. Sometimes I don’t get it.’

  The others nodded in agreement and I heard them murmuring, ‘No, me neither.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll ever understand what a frontal adverbial is,’ Terri said. She chuckled. ‘Poor Mrs Winters. She spends so long on them, but I still have no idea what they are.’

  ‘Maybe we’re not so different after all,’ Aisha said.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ I said quietly before Mrs Winters blew the whistle again and told us we’d better hurry up and get changed.

  ‘A lot of voices over here,’ she said. ‘Let’s walk in nice and quietly so as not to disturb the other classes.’

  Drew groaned a little. Aisha raised her eyebrows at Terri and me, a suggestion of a grin on her lips.

  And Mrs Winters looked at us all, her eyes travelling from face to face.

  And then she started smiling too, and went off to the other side of the line, where she wouldn’t be able to hear us talking.

  40

  That day I dashed out of school feeling like I might be able to take off and fly if I ran fast enough.

  My worries for Bo, my fears for Tiber, missing Dad – none of it seemed so dreadful now. There was a lightness in every step I took, as though my shoes were made of something different, something that made me taller.

  I’d spoken to Terri and Aisha and some of the others in my class a bit more. When we’d finished our work, Mrs Winters said we’d all done well that week and could have a bit of free time until school finished, so long as we didn’t get too noisy.

  They had lots of questions for me. Aisha wanted to know where I used to live and Terri wanted to know where I lived now. Drew asked me if I liked football and Hassan wanted to find out if I had any brothers or sisters.

  I told them a little bit about Tiber, a little about Mum, a little about Betsy.

  When no one could overhear us, Aisha asked me about Dad.

  ‘I don’t see my dad any more,’ she told me. ‘That’s one of the reasons we moved here. He’s not allowed to know where we
live. He’s got problems, Mum says.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll ever see him again?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. I used to think I would. But now I’m not so sure.’ She shrugged quickly as though shaking something off. ‘But my mum’s happier now they’re not together any more. That’s a good thing. How about you? When do you think you’ll see your dad? When is he coming over?’

  ‘Well, they used to say he was coming soon. But no one mentions him coming now. Dad doesn’t talk about it. My mum gets cross if I ask too many questions.’

  Aisha nodded her head slowly, her eyes thoughtful.

  I decided to talk to Mum again. I would be calm. I would speak to her in a way that would make her listen. I’d ask if Dad was all right. I’d find out if there was a problem with his work. I’d tell her that if he didn’t come over, I’d be all right, I’d be OK, but we needed to know what was going to happen.

  There were so many things that were unspoken and that I was scared to ask about, but I knew now that talking was a way of mending things; a special kind of wonder that made things happen.

  It was as though I’d been wearing glasses that made everything murky, blurred their outlines, cast everything in shadow so that I couldn’t see things properly. But now that I had taken them off, I could see everything for what it was. There were problems, but we could make them better, we could start to fix them, if only we spoke to each other honestly about them.

  I would tell Mum that we had overheard the landlord. That we needed to make a plan together because Tiber wanted to do something and I was worried about what that might be. I’d explain, properly this time, about Bo and what he was like. How much he had helped me; how much I needed to help him. She’d understand how important it was for us to visit him.

  It felt like a dazzling, burning secret that I was carrying around with me, and at home time I rushed out of the classroom, Aisha and Terri beside me, still in shock and awe that I was now talking; it was as though they wanted to stick by me to make up for lost time, or maybe to check that I wouldn’t clam up again. We raced down the stairs together, two at a time, and by the time we got to the bottom we were breathless with laughter, our legs throbbing, but not in a painful way.

  ‘I’ve got to find my mum,’ I said to them, my words coming out in gasps.

  ‘See ya next week,’ Terri said.

  ‘Next week,’ I said, and for once I liked the sound of that. Next week at school.

  ‘Have a good weekend, Leelu,’ said Aisha.

  ‘You too,’ I said back before I ran out of the door.

  But Mum wasn’t waiting outside like she usually was. I walked around a bit, ducking past crowds of parents, children running past me in that free, wild kind of way that marked the end of the week. I felt like that too, but I was worried when I couldn’t find Mum.

  There was no sign of her.

  I saw Catherine, the mother I’d met on my very first day. She was looking at a painting one of her sons had thrust into her hands.

  ‘Yes, I can see that’s Mary Seacole, Daniel. It’s very convincing,’ she was saying as I walked past. ‘All right there, Lou? How are you?’

  ‘Hi, Catherine,’ I said. ‘I’m just looking for my mum.’

  She looked around. ‘I haven’t seen her today actually. Are you OK getting home? You could have Mrs Charlton call her from the office.’

  ‘I’ll be OK,’ I assured her. ‘I know the way home.’ Before I left, I turned to her again. ‘Catherine?’

  ‘Yes, Lou?’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but my name’s actually Leelu, not Lou. I didn’t know how to tell you earlier.’

  ‘Leelu,’ Catherine said thoughtfully. ‘You know, that really does suit you much better than Lou.’ Just then, one of her sons came tearing towards her. ‘Whoa, James,’ she said. ‘Careful!’

  ‘Bye, Catherine,’ I said, waving as she caught him before he crashed into her.

  ‘Bye, Leelu!’ she called back.

  I walked back quickly, sure I’d find Mum at home. Perhaps she’d had a job interview, I told myself. Or maybe she’d seen the landlord about the money and it was all sorted out now.

  But when I got there, Mum was standing by the door. She had been crying. When she saw me, she began to run towards me and I thought for a moment that we were going to collide, just as Catherine and her son had after school. In a way we did. Mum reached out and drew me to her in a close hug. Her arms wrapped tightly around me. I could hear the beating of her heart. It throbbed and pulsed, and I could feel its vibrations against my cheek.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Mum was saying. Her voice was muffled, buried in the top of my head.

  Then she pushed me away, holding me by the shoulders as though she was examining me.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I asked her.

  ‘It’s Tiber,’ Mum said.

  She took a breath as though to steady herself, but it was very shallow. It sounded like the air was being squeezed out of her.

  ‘He’s missing.’

  41

  Tiber had not been to school that day.

  No one had seen him since he left Mum and me that morning. Eight hours ago.

  ‘I’ve been going round everywhere,’ Mum said. ‘Showing everyone his picture. Asking if anyone has seen him. But nothing. There’s nothing.’

  She held up a photo. It was one of the few we’d brought over of Dad; in this one he was with Tiber. I took it gently from her. Tiber’s mouth was open, as though he was about to say something or start smiling or both. It had been taken at our neighbour’s wedding. In the background you could make out a blur of brightly coloured outfits, and the brilliant blue of the sky framed Tiber’s face.

  I’d taken the photograph. He’d told me to.

  ‘Hey, Lulu,’ Tiber had said. ‘Get one of me and Dad.’

  The photograph had been folded so you could only see Tiber’s face, but I spread it out flat to see Dad too. Tiber had his arm around him, but Dad wasn’t looking at the camera at all, even though I remember shouting at him to.

  ‘Look over here, Dad! Smile at the camera,’ I’d commanded. But he hadn’t. He was gazing at Tiber as though he couldn’t believe his luck, having him for a son. With a sort of amazement. With love.

  I took a deep breath. It had to start now, me changing things, making things better by being strong. I wasn’t going to rely on a magical place saving us; it was up to me.

  ‘Mum? Mum?’ She was wringing her hands and talking under her breath, looking all about her as if she thought Tiber might pop out from behind a tree at any moment. Finally her desperate eyes fixed on me.

  ‘Mum, we have to tell Dad,’ I said softly. ‘He needs to come now. When he knows, he’ll come over. I know he will.’

  Mum swelled up as though she might burst with everything she wanted to say, but then, like a balloon losing its air, she deflated. She hung her head, depleted.

  ‘Leelu,’ Mum said slowly. ‘Your dad … Your dad’s not going to be able to help. I mean, yes, we should tell him and he’ll want to be here if we can’t find Tiber. But he’s not going to be able to come over … Not now, not with everything.’

  If Mum had told me that at any other time during the past few months, I would have exploded. I could almost hear my voice ringing out: What do you mean he’s not coming? He is – he’s coming over. You’ve always said he would. You both said. He is coming, he is. I won’t believe he’s not.

  Did I still believe that, if I thought about it hard enough, I could undo what Mum had said, that I could make him come over just by wanting it badly enough, just by the power of thought? I used to think that.

  Instead, I stopped myself. I fell quiet, absorbing Mum’s words. I stood very still and looked down at the pavement. My feet were facing inwards, towards each other, and a few leaves rested next to them. They were a russet, golden brown, a glorious kind of colour, curled over on themselves in curves and arches. In the past I would have dismissed them as b
eing brown-grey and dull, but now I could see that those dried-out old leaves were beautiful. Beautiful in the way that the wonders Bo had given me were beautiful.

  I could feel the wind wrapping itself around me, but not in a cold way that made me shiver; it felt refreshing and cool. Bracing, revitalizing.

  I looked up at Mum. ‘Mum, you have to tell me – what’s going on?’

  ‘I don’t know where to start,’ she said, still wringing her hands, fiddling with her rings as though she wanted to take them off.

  ‘Start at the beginning,’ I said, thinking of the little phrases Bo said sometimes.

  ‘I didn’t want you to worry, but there have been things … happening with your dad. Bad things. You know we told you about his work?’

  I nodded.

  ‘It wasn’t a lie when we said he couldn’t come because of it. It was about his work; it’s always about his work. That … Well, that’s another problem,’ Mum said, continuing to worry the rings on her fingers.

  ‘I didn’t want to have to tell you like this,’ she said.

  ‘You can tell me,’ I said gently.

  ‘Your dad …’ Mum stumbled to say the words aloud. ‘Your dad’s in prison.’

  42

  ‘That’s why I couldn’t get through to him. His phone …’ I remembered the monotone of his voicemail.

  Adefemi Olawale can’t take your call.

  It was telling the truth: he couldn’t take the call.

  ‘Yes, that’s why we’ve stopped hearing from him.’ Mum nodded, looking down as though studying the leaves too. ‘We’ve been worried that it would happen for a little while. That’s the real reason why we came over here. And now … Well, now it has.’

  ‘But why? What did he do?’

  ‘Your dad was saying things that people didn’t like. You know what he’s like … what a fighter he is when he sees something unjust. He started speaking out, supporting people who are homosexual; he wanted to change the law. It’s a good thing he’s doing, don’t get me wrong, although sometimes … sometimes I wish he’d put us first.’