I can still make it home in time. I just need to keep going.
I turn into the park, deciding to cut through it: it’ll be faster and also I’ll get some shade. But, as soon as I’m there, I regret it. The park is all noise. It’s children laughing and screaming and splashing in the pool. It’s perfect trees and ice cream and happy families.
I’m intruding. I pause near the entrance, thinking that maybe I should stick to the road after all, but then I get caught up in a big group of mums and tiny kids and I’m being swept along with them towards the play area. There’s no way out – children and smiley mums surround me.
When we reach the playground, they all spread out. And I’m left standing there, alone. I could carry on home. I should. But instead I’m staring at the big red slide at the centre of the play area. I walk towards it, wooden chips lumpy beneath my pumps. I go right up to the red slide. I touch it. It’s smooth and warm and has tiny scratches.
‘Watch out!’ a little girl calls from the top. She has big eyes and is wearing glittery pink trainers. Her feet come rushing towards me and I move my hand out of the way just in time. The girl gets off the slide and comes up to me.
‘Are you OK?’ she asks.
I’m shocked to find that I’m crying.
‘Oh! I …’ I wipe my tears away as fast as I can, but they keep coming. I want to go down that slide with Akash waiting for me at the bottom. I want to be nine years old again.
I’m being ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
‘I’m OK,’ I tell the girl.
She makes a sad face. ‘You don’t look OK,’ she says, before running off.
I walk over to the grassy patch near the slide and sink down on to the grass. I feel heavy. My whole body – legs, arms, feet, hands – feels too heavy to move. I have no idea how long I sit there. It’s hot and I’m sweating and there are kids everywhere. I need to get home. But, for some reason, I can’t get up.
I just want to be nine years old again.
My phone is buzzing in my bag. It’s Fi. I answer it.
‘I thought you were popping over?’ she says. ‘Or were you too busy?’ She laughs. ‘Tell me everything!’
‘I want to be nine again,’ I tell her, sobbing into the phone.
‘Oh! Bloody hell, Neens,’ she says. ‘Is it happening again?’
‘Is what happening again?’
‘Don’t worry. Where are you?’
I explain where I am. I tell her about the red slide and how much Akash loved it.
‘I’m coming,’ she says. ‘Don’t move.’
When I hang up, I see that I have twenty-three missed calls from Mum and Dad. I have a feeling that I’m in deep, deep trouble. I look across the playground, at the black pirate ship. And I feel like I’m on it. I’m on a ship and it’s sinking. Sinking fast.
Fi’s arm is round me and we’re walking down the drive to my house. When we reach the door, she rings the doorbell, which is a bit confusing. She has walked me home from the park. Her arm has been tight round me all the way. She smells of expensive perfume. It’s nice. Comforting.
‘I think I can just go in,’ I say, giving her a little smile.
She smiles back, which I’m pleased about. She seemed angry on the way here. She said I’m working too hard and I need a break and why won’t anyone give me a fucking break. I think she’s angry with the world, not with me. But I somehow feel responsible.
She hugs me. ‘Oh, thank God, Neens. I think you’re OK now. Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine.’ I’m not sure why she’s asking me that. Though I do feel a bit weird. Weak, tired. But then I haven’t slept properly for weeks. There’s something else too: my head feels stuffy and it’s hard to think straight.
‘Oh, good.’ She hugs me again. ‘I’d better go. I’ll message you later.’
‘Wait,’ I say, remembering something important. ‘Have you found anything out? From Jay?’
Fi shakes her head. ‘I’m really sorry, Neens. Not yet. But I’m working on it. OK?’
I nod. She gives me another hug and then I watch her designer skinny jeans race up the driveway. Turning back to the house, I push down the door handle.
‘Hello?’ I call as I step into the hall. I’m nervous. I’m very late home. But Fi said I should say I went to the library after work and that everything will be fine if I say that.
‘Oh, thank God, Neena,’ Mum says, rushing out of the kitchen and towards me. Her face is swollen from crying. She grabs me, pulls me in for a hug.
‘Oh, hey, Mum,’ I reply, like it’s no big deal. ‘Sorry I’m late. I went to the library to study after work.’
She stares at my face. ‘Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you answer my calls?’
‘I … I forgot to call. And I turned my phone on to silent at the library. I’m sorry. I should have messaged.’
She starts full-on crying now. ‘I was so worried. When I couldn’t get hold of you on your mobile and the minutes turned to hours …’ She breathes in deeply through her nose. ‘I started getting all these thoughts …’ she continues. ‘Bad thoughts … Terrible, terrible thoughts …’ Mum presses her forehead into my shoulder and cries.
‘Shhh. I’m here now,’ I say, pulling her closer. I feel awful. I understand the bad thoughts. The bad thoughts are agony. I hate them so much. ‘I’m so sorry, Mum.’
‘It just made me think … you know …’ Mum goes on. ‘It was like it was happening all over again.’
Like picking at an old wound, I remember the day Akash didn’t come home. I start crying too, and we just stand there, in the hallway, getting each other’s shoulders wet.
Mum’s broken.
Everything’s broken.
But I’m also out enjoying myself, feeling all these new, crazy, wonderful things with Josh. How could I do this to her?
When we finally stop crying, I lead Mum into the living room. We sink on to the sofa, side by side. Mum looks at me. Her mascara has smudged so she looks like she’s got two bruised eyes. She touches my cheek.
‘I know you hate me calling you my jaan,’ she says. ‘But you really are, you know.’
‘I know, Mum,’ I say. ‘I know that.’
Fresh tears drip down Mum’s cheeks. I lean forward to get her a tissue from the box on the table and catch a glimpse of her swollen ankles. ‘Mum! Your feet! What’s happened?’
She takes the tissue, wipes her cheeks, and laughs. ‘Can’t tell where my ankles end and my calves start. Cankles! Another joy of pregnancy.’
‘I don’t know, Mum,’ I say, looking more closely. Mum’s right – everything’s swollen together. ‘It doesn’t look right to me. You should see someone.’
She frowns and shakes her head.
‘Mum! You need to.’
She shakes her head again. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Shall I … shall I call someone? I’m sure a doctor could come to the house?’
Mum sighs and waves a hand at me. ‘Really, you’re worrying about nothing. This is normal in pregnancy.’
‘Oh! It is?’
‘Sure. I just need to rest. It’ll go down.’
‘OK,’ I say, feeling just a bit less guilty now that she’s happier. ‘Put your feet up,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll make you some tea.’
Mum nods and closes her eyes. ‘Help yourself to food,’ she says. ‘I already ate. They say you don’t need to eat for two but this little one’s definitely hungry!’ She laughs again.
I manage a little laugh too, but I ignore the comment about the baby. I’ve been quite happily ignoring anything to do with the baby for weeks. It’s amazing how much you can ignore when you want to.
I’m waiting for the kettle to boil when I get a message through from Raheela.
Your dad’s just been over looking for you. My mum told him you haven’t been here. BE CAREFUL.
I take Mum’s tea to her. ‘Dad out?’ I ask, as casually as I can.
‘He was looking for you,’ she says. ‘But I
’ve just messaged to let him know you’re home.’
I nod. ‘OK, I’m going to get on with some homework.’
Mum smiles. ‘I’m glad you’re home,’ she says.
‘Me too,’ I lie.
I sit on my bed, waiting for the inevitable. But maybe it’s not going to be as bad as I think, I tell myself. I’ll just tell him the same thing I told Mum. I was at the library. Lost track of time. It’ll be fine.
After a few minutes, the front door opens and then slams shut.
I was at the library. Lost track of time. No one knows otherwise.
My bedroom door swings open.
‘Where have you been?’ Dad asks, his face all screwed up. ‘Have you seen the time?’
‘I went to the library after work,’ I say carefully. ‘Lost track of time.’
He glares at me. ‘You’re lying. I went to the art centre. You were … sacked.’
Shit. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘They had to let me go. That’s why I went to the library instead.’ I’m surprised by how steady my voice is. How calm I am, considering.
Dad slams his fist against the door. ‘You’re a liar. LIAR!’
Mum is behind him now. ‘Arré!’ she says, trying to shoo him away from my room. ‘She went to the library, forgot to call. She’s home now. Let’s forget it, huh? She’s OK. That’s the main thing!’
But Dad pushes past her and comes into the room. ‘Get up,’ he says to me.
‘What’s got into you?’ Mum says, coming to stand next to me. She clutches my arm.
‘She’s a liar!’ Dad says. ‘I went to the library. Three times! Like a madman. In, out, in, out, in, out. I went to the school. I went to Raheela’s. Neena says she was at the library, but she wasn’t. WHERE WERE YOU?’
His face is so close to mine that flecks of spit land on my cheek, my nose, my lips. I don’t dare move to wipe them. Dad’s breath stinks of coffee and egg. I stare at him and imagine spraying him with air freshener. I find that hilarious. The idea of him smelling of flowers and pine instead.
‘WHERE WERE YOU?’ he repeats, but this time so loudly it makes me jump.
Mum starts crying. ‘Please, stop shouting,’ she is saying. ‘I don’t like the shouting.’ She rubs her stomach. ‘The baby doesn’t like the shouting.’
I know I need to say something. Me being silent is making everything worse. But I don’t know what to say.
‘Are you taking drugs?’ Dad says now. ‘I caught her sneaking into the house at five in the morning!’ he tells Mum. ‘Drunk.’
Mum stares at me. I look down at the floor.
‘She looks like she’s taking something. Lost weight. Tired all the time.’
‘I’m not on drugs,’ I say, firmly.
‘LIAR!’ Dad raises his hand and it stops just next to my face. At first, I think that Mum’s stopped him, but she hasn’t. He’s stopped himself. He pulls his hand back to his side, keeps it there in a fist.
I’ve never seen Dad like this; I should be scared. Instead, it sounds weird, but I don’t care if he hits me. I almost want him to.
‘That’s it,’ he says. ‘You’re grounded. School, home, nowhere else. You understand? And no art school. That’s it, final. We won’t support you.’
Mum starts crying harder. But honestly I just feel numb.
‘I understand,’ I say. I feel like I’m on that ship in the park again. Sinking further down. I don’t deserve to go to art college anyway. Why should I go when Akash isn’t? He’s the one who really should’ve gone.
‘Enough now,’ Mum says to Dad. ‘Stop. Bas. You’ve done enough.’
Dad shakes his head at her. ‘You spoil them! You keep spoiling her and it’s … it’s going to happen … all over again.’
‘Ignore him,’ Mum says, pulling me closer to her.
But she needn’t worry. I already am.
Dad leaves the room and the front door slams.
‘Let him go,’ Mum says. ‘You, you listen to me.’
She sits me down on the bed and gives me a tablet from my drawer. There’s some old water on the table and I swallow it down with that. ‘You get some rest. It’s been a long day. Unless there’s anything you want to tell me? Are you … are you taking drugs, Neena?’
I shake my head. ‘No.’
She nods. ‘I believe you.’ She turns off the main light and flicks on my lamp. ‘OK. Sleep first. Then we will talk about anything else.’
Sleep. Such a good idea. I lie down on the bed and close my eyes. I think of the red slide. I wish I was nine years old again. ‘I just miss Akash,’ I tell Mum.
‘Oh, Neena,’ she says, stroking my head. She keeps stroking and stroking and stroking. ‘So do I.’
Slowly, her voice gets more and more distant, and so does her touch. Just like it has been over the past eleven months.
Eleven months.
It’s been eleven months.
Stillness spreads through the house on Sunday. Dad stays in bed, doesn’t even drag me to church. No one mentions the day before. Mum cooks and cooks until the house smells of roasted garlic, chicken, crispy potatoes. But Dad doesn’t join us for lunch. And, in the evening, none of their friends come over. It’s a still day and a still evening. The air feels empty.
Then it’s Monday again. I meet Josh as usual at lunchtime. Fi sends me messages all day to check how I am. She tells me she’s trying her best with Jay, but nothing yet. And, in the evening, I paint and paint. The next morning, I wake up in Akash’s room. There’s a fresh bottle of whisky on the bedside table, which I hide for him under his bed. Back in my room, I see that he’s finished another painting for me. He’s here. He’s here again. I feel better for a while.
But, as the week goes on and Dad continues ignoring me, the reality of art college hits me. Every time I think of not going, my chest hurts. Every day, the pain gets worse. It lasts for longer each time until it’s there for hours.
Then, towards the end of the week, something really weird happens. Time speeds up. The world speeds up. I speed up. I can’t sleep during the nights any more, but they’re not long, restless nights. They whoosh past. The gap between night and day is close. Too close. Dark and then light. Like someone simply flicks a switch.
And the days rush past. I try to grasp hold of the hours. I attempt to study, the urgency of exams on everyone’s lips around me, but it’s hard to concentrate in lessons. I tell Fi and one breaktime she gives me her old GCSE books and hugs me tight. Tells me it’ll be OK. I feel lifted for a few minutes. Like when I see Josh. But they’re slippery feelings I can’t hold on to.
At home, I sit at my desk and stare at Fi’s books. She messages me to check if I’m still grounded and if I’m studying. I try. I try and try. But my eyes glide over words, numbers, equations, and nothing goes in.
Mum and Dad’s friends don’t come over in the evenings any more. Dad spends more and more time out. Mum tries to feed me, cooking plates of rice and lamb curry, spicy chicken legs, daal decorated with fresh coriander so green it hurts my eyes. She gives me roti after roti. And so many almonds, blanched white. Good for the brain, she keeps telling me, pushing them into my palm like a secret jewel. But I’m never hungry. I hide the food in tissues and carrier bags and drop it into the bin when she’s not looking. ‘Are you taking your meds?’ she keeps asking. I nod. I always nod. And I make sure I bury a tablet in the kitchen bin every night in case she checks.
My thoughts swirl round and round in my mind like a whirlpool. There’s no break from them. They seem to be living, breathing things. They demand my attention, pulling me away from whatever I’m doing. They don’t stop until I give in to them.
They tell me, PAINT, PAINT, when I should be revising chemistry. And I walk over to my easel and splash paint at the canvas.
They tell me, LOOK FOR AKASH, when I’m walking home from school. And so my eyes peer into cars, stare at the faces of people walking past.
Because he’s been in my room, finishing my paintings. So he could be anywhere. Anyw
here.
I live for lunchtimes, when I meet Josh under the willow tree. There everything slows down for a while and the feeling that I’m racing against myself fades. He’s the only thing that makes sense any more, in this seriously messed-up world of mine where my brother disappeared and took me with him.
But with Josh, for a while, I find myself again. His kisses are soft and his breath is warm and he listens as I tell him all about my memories of Akash.
‘Here one day, gone the next,’ he says sadly. ‘You don’t really know what happened.’
‘Exactly,’ I say. And I kiss him again.
It’s Thursday, and we’re three-quarters of the way through the last lesson of the day, which is maths. The class is quiet, copying equations from the board, when someone knocks on the door. A small girl with mousy brown hair to her waist creeps in and hands a note to Mr Baker. He looks across at me and scratches his white beard. ‘Neena, pack up your things,’ he says. ‘You’re wanted.’
I glance at Raheela and for some reason she smiles at me. She usually looks away whenever she sees me and she hasn’t spoken to me since she messaged to say Dad was at her house. I ignore her, collect my things and make my way to the front of the classroom. Mr Baker passes me the scrap of paper. It says:
PLEASE SEND NEENA GILL TO ROOM 21A IMMEDIATELY. SHE WILL BE REQUIRED FOR THE WHOLE OF THE LESSON.
It doesn’t say who it’s from or why I’m ‘required’. And, as I walk down the corridor towards the history building, I have a sinking feeling inside. I hover outside room 21A, staring at the chipped blue door.
I tell myself to stop being silly. It could be about anything – it doesn’t have to be bad news. I gulp in some air and push open the door.
As I step inside, I see that there’s some sort of meeting going on. The tables have been arranged into a square in the middle of the room. Mr Butler and his bright orange tie-dye jumper smile at me. But it’s a sad and serious smile. Ms Jones is sat at the table next to him, but her grey eyes aren’t shining at me like they usually do. And next to Ms Jones is Miss Taylor, her hair as frizzy as ever, but even she seems oddly still, her arms folded tight. And then I see Mum, her eyes full of worry, her hands resting on her stomach.
The Million Pieces of Neena Gill Page 11
