The Reading List

by Sara Nisha Adams

  Aleisha picked at her nail varnish. Her eyes lingered on a photo on the mantelpiece. A photo of the four of them: Aleisha, Aidan, Leilah, Dean. Her anger began to dull, temporarily. When Aidan had thrown Dean’s stuff out after he left, she’d been surprised he had kept that photo. He’d even dusted it. The final reminder of their family; the last piece of evidence they’d ever been a family of four. After she asked her mother, in a moment of madness, whether the photo bothered her, Leilah had said: ‘No. It was a happy time, and I can’t regret happiness.’ That had stayed with Aleisha ever since.

  She wanted to block out the world, like Leilah, but there was so much to do, so much to organize. Yet all she felt right now was numbness or bloodcurdling hatred for every happy smile, for everyone living life when her brother, her most important person, was dead.

  The photo stared back at her, and she saw Aidan’s face, his childhood grin, asking her one question: ‘What happened?’

  ‘You jumped.’ But I might as well have pushed you.

  Aleisha couldn’t bear being in this house a second longer. It was too loud. Too quiet. Too empty. Too full. She left, not caring if Leilah called for her, not caring if her calls went unanswered. She was already living through the worst. How much further could she go? Today, she just wanted to walk. People laughed in the street. They didn’t know Aidan was dead. Children played, shouted, screamed. They didn’t know Aidan was dead. She passed a group of teenagers, jostling and joking, life stretching out ahead of them. And it hit Aleisha: those carefree school days that old people were always talking about, she wouldn’t ever know them. So, she just walked, and walked.

  Up the stairs she climbed, so many stairs, onto the platform of Stonebridge Park station. Finally, at the top, it felt like the top of the world. The platform was empty, almost deserted, in the middle of this blistering summer’s day.

  Bright colours, piled up at the edge of the platform, caught her eye. She saw flowers, envelopes, notes, letters fluttering in the wind.

  She walked closer. The last place he had lived. Aidan – Rest in Paradise.

  A Bakerloo train came into view, approaching her, and she imagined him throwing himself forward. She wanted to know if he stepped out, or if he jumped. She wanted to know what other people did; did people scream, did people ask him to stop? Did people just continue with their day, grumbling about the train delay?

  She looked at those flowers – all sorts of colours. At least three or four bunches. Reds, whites, pinks, blues. Some sunflowers too. He’d always loved sunflowers – ever since he was little. On her fifth birthday card, he’d drawn a picture of her and him standing next to the biggest sunflower ever. He’d titled it ‘Home’.

  She stood watching the petals blowing backwards and forwards, and she took a mental picture of them. Her own brother’s memorial, of sorts. She was used to walking past flowers tied to lampposts, always thinking it was sad, a life taken too soon, but never lingering on it for more than a moment. But these flowers, they were different. Infinitely more beautiful, but also so small, too small, to even cope with the weight of Aidan’s death. This didn’t mark it. This wasn’t enough to mark his death. She wanted more.

  When she got home, she walked straight into her mother’s bedroom – Leilah was still curled up on the bed as she had left her. Aleisha’s heart was stone. She hated Leilah, she hated herself, for everything they had and hadn’t done, but she embraced her mother, wrapped her whole body around her, wanting to disappear, wanting to feel comfort, to feel close to someone, anyone, her mother, for a little while. She wanted to be away from this world, a world that felt completely alien and yet unforgivably unchanged too.

  She picked up the copy of The Time Traveler’s Wife she’d carried up the stairs, wanting to escape, wanting to soothe Leilah. But what good were books now? The characters she’d loved in them were fake, they’d never be able to fix anything. They’d never live beyond the page. But the person she’d loved who had existed in the real world, who’d fought for her, who’d encouraged her, who had given up so much for her – he was now gone.

  Aleisha threw the book onto the floor beside the bed and drew herself closer to Leilah. She waited, she waited for her mother’s body to fight against her touch. But Leilah didn’t move. She just sobbed, silently – the only clue, the shivering of her body, her shallow, ragged breath.

  Chapter 34

  ALEISHA

  ALEISHA HADN’T SLEPT A wink. She hadn’t slept for days, dreading this day, dreading how Leilah would react, what she would do.

  As they stood by the car, Uncle Jeremy pulled Aleisha into a hug. ‘Aleisha,’ he said. ‘Just take your time, my love, okay? We’re with you, every step of the way.’ She wanted to scream, shout, tell the world that all she wanted to do was leave Leilah, leave her brother’s funeral behind, and run. And run. And never stop running.

  Sensing her panic, Uncle Jeremy hugged her tighter, reminding her he wouldn’t let her fall. Rachel stood by her side, holding her hand, making sure she didn’t wobble when she felt like crumbling completely.

  ‘I’ve got you, Leish,’ Rachel said, squeezing Aleisha’s knee as they sat in the back seat.

  She’d been relieved that Uncle Jeremy and Rachel had arrived a week before the funeral, so she didn’t have to do this bit alone.

  Eventually they were all in the car, on the way there, their eyes downcast, unable to look at the coffin travelling in front of them, but Uncle Jeremy stared straight ahead – keeping an eye on Aidan, without looking away once. He tried to make a joke, softly, under his breath, unsure, ‘Our boy always did like to travel in style. It’s a Jaguar.’

  No one said anything in response; no one spoke at all.

  When they arrived at the crematorium, they stepped outside, but Jeremy and Rachel walked ahead to give Aleisha and Leilah a moment together.

  ‘I saw him today, crossing the road,’ Leilah whispered, speaking for the first time that day.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Aidan.’

  ‘No, you didn’t see him, Mum.’

  But Aleisha had seen Aidan too. Today, yesterday, the day before – she saw him everywhere. He was in the young man listening to music out loud at the bus stop, in the older man pushing his shopping trolley, even in the eyes of the woman picking veg at the cash and carry. Aidan was everywhere.

  Every time she saw him, he was there, alive, and well, but just out of reach. Then the fantasy would clear, and he left nothing but a memory behind.

  The crematorium was full; people were queuing up outside, unable to hear the service. But they were there for him, for Aidan. Everyone came to pay their respects to Leilah. Aleisha’s mum smiled, she said thank you, but her eyes were a blank gaze. She was saying goodbye to her son.

  Aleisha held her hand tight. Tighter still when Dean approached. Leilah squeezed her hand back, her fingers wrapped tightly around her daughter’s – it was the first moment since Aidan had died that Aleisha had really felt there might be some glimmer of love left between them. They were in this together, whether they wanted to be or not. Dean kissed Leilah on the cheek.

  ‘Our little boy …’ Dean said, his voice cracked, his eyes downcast. She could see the grief written all over his face. He looked older. Full of regret.

  Seeing him now, Aleisha realized just how much Aidan looked like Dean. Different colour eyes, different colour hair – Dean’s hair had got even lighter, blonder, since she’d last seen him – but all the features, all Aidan’s features, were Dean’s.

  Leilah let go of her for a moment, and rested her hand on Dean’s shoulder. Her eyes were fixed on him. Aleisha watched as she comforted him.

  After a few moments of silence, Dean walked away to stand beside his new family, with their bright blonde and auburn hair. They all looked so different to Aleisha. No one would be able to tell that they were her half-siblings.

  ‘Good of him to come,’ Leilah said. It made Aleisha want to scream.

  Mukesh shuffled over just then. He’d nev
er met Aidan, but he was here. He was wearing a slightly too-tight black suit, white shirt, and tie. When he greeted her, he had no words, because she could see if he tried to speak, he might cry. He simply handed Aleisha a piece of paper, a drawing, a child’s drawing – but not stick figures; colourful, detailed. A woman behind a desk. A man and a young girl holding books. Shelves and shelves surrounding them.

  Aleisha’s breath caught. At the top, in handwriting that was trying to look grown-up, were the words: We’re thinking of you, Aleisha. At the bottom, two different sets of handwriting, spelling out: Love Priya and Mr P.

  She looked up at Mukesh, her fingers gripping the drawing. There were no words left.

  Aleisha kept her eyes trained on the photograph of Aidan at the front of the crematorium, standing in a blocky, gold frame, as Aidan’s best friend, Guy, walked up to the microphone. She couldn’t look at him – his voice was already breaking. In the photograph, taken about a year ago, her brother’s smile was so wide. He was sitting on his car, freshly polished, his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised cheekily. He didn’t know, then, that his photograph would be used to say goodbye to him, for his family and his friends to stare at, trying to hold onto the joy and hope he gave, while he was gone for ever.

  ‘I wanted to read out a poem, written by Aidan when he was eight,’ Guy said softly. ‘I remember he gave it to me as a gift, when I was having a rubbish day. He told me I needed it more than he did, and now, I want to give it back to you all.’

  Sometimes the sky is grey

  Sometimes the day’s grey too

  But behind every grey sky

  There’s always some blue

  Guy let 8-year-old Aidan’s words float in the air for a moment, before adding with a smile, ‘You know, he thought it was really profound.’ There was a smattering of laughter. ‘… But maybe he’s right. I hope he’s right.’

  Aleisha looked down at her lap, and squeezed Leilah’s hand tight.

  Nilakshi had offered to host a small gathering at her house for the wake, and Mr P and his daughters had helped out too.

  ‘Nilakshi,’ Aleisha said. ‘Thank you for … well, for all this.’ She glanced around the room, full of people. ‘And thank you to Mr P, too, for sorting everything.’

  ‘No need to thank us, Aleisha,’ Nilakshi said, matter-of-factly. ‘Always let us know if there’s anything we can do.’

  ‘Thank you. Is there, is there a place my mum can go, just to rest and get away from it all for a bit?’

  ‘Of course,’ Nilakshi nodded. ‘Come, I’ll show her.’ She directed Leilah from the corner of the room, staying as quiet and small as she could, to her spare bedroom, putting her arm gently around to guide her. Aleisha had never seen Leilah let anyone so unfamiliar get so close to her this quickly. For a moment, she felt a sliver of hope.

  Noticing Leilah’s absence, Dean wandered up to Aleisha. ‘Hey sweetheart,’ he said. ‘How are you? How’s your job? You’ve been working at the library, right?’

  He didn’t want to talk about Aidan – he didn’t want to face up to whatever it was he felt guilty about; she didn’t either.

  ‘Fine,’ Aleisha said coldly. ‘Aidan would have hated all this attention.’ She waved to the blown-up photographs of Aidan’s face (apparently Mr P’s idea). Aleisha loved seeing them, but knew her brother would have found a quiet corner to hide in.

  ‘Yeah, I guess so,’ Dean said, slurping his coffee.

  ‘Where’s your family?’ Aleisha asked, looking around.

  ‘Oh, they left a little while ago. The kids were sleepy.’

  She didn’t reply. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Aleisha spotted Nilakshi rejoining Mr P, who was talking to Uncle Jeremy and Rachel. They were holding trays of canapés for sharing, but Mr P was just helping himself.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Mr P mouthed, glancing over at her.

  Aleisha felt her eyes filling with tears, but gave a small nod.

  ‘Who is that old guy? Was he invited?’ Dean said, noticing Mukesh for the first time. ‘He’s been giving me funny looks all day.’

  ‘He’s my friend – from the library,’ Aleisha said, her tone sharper than expected. ‘He’s the best.’ Without waiting for a response, she just walked away.

  Dean said goodbye an hour later. ‘Call me, whenever you need me,’ he said as he jingled his car keys. She watched him walk away, wondering if he wanted to stay. She helped Nilakshi carry used plates into the kitchen until she was shooed out. Mr P had left already – she hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, or to thank him properly for the drawing, tucked carefully into her bag, next to Peter Rabbit’s tiny little face. Feeling at a loss, she went upstairs to find Leilah sitting up on the bed, staring out of the window.

  The room was tidy. It was a guest room with very few personal photos, and spare towels kept on an exposed cupboard shelf. The bedding was immaculate, and there were even throw pillows and a bolster. The pile of blankets Nilakshi had given her sat on the end of the bed, untouched.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Leilah asked.

  Aleisha hadn’t been asked that by her mother in a long time; she didn’t have the words to respond.

  They stayed together in that space in leaden silence. Leilah’s fingernails cut into the palm of her left hand. They left bright, sharp indentations. The grooves turned blistering red. Aleisha watched as Leilah started to pick her skin, slowly at first and then frantically. Leilah couldn’t scream. People would hear. But she threw herself face down onto the bed and shouted wordlessly into a pillow.

  Aleisha wanted so badly to do the same. But she needed to be the strong one now. Instead, she watched. In her mind, she saw Aidan, she saw Leilah, lying on the bed, joking, laughing, talking. In front of her, her mother screamed herself to sleep.

  Chapter 35

  MUKESH

  MUKESH WALKED OUT OF the house to a cacophony of children playing on the streets of Wembley, and top-down cars driving fast up the road, whooshing past him. After a tempting pause outside Dosa Express, the smells of the limdi and jeeru calling to him, he eventually reached the library. It was almost empty. It was one of the last few weeks of the summer holidays and all the kids and all the people were outside making the most of the sunshine that had just returned.

  And there, sitting in her usual spot behind the desk, was Aleisha.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, formally.

  There was a moment of silence; they both looked at each other nervously. It had been two weeks since he’d seen her. His eyes darted around, looking for something to say. He eventually landed on a pile of flyers at the front desk, with that same ominous slogan he’d come to know so well: Save Our Libraries. He looked quickly away, not wanting to think of anything else negative right now.

  ‘My skin feels very dry, maybe burnt?’

  Mukesh cursed his foolishness. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  ‘You and me … we don’t get burnt,’ Aleisha said, confused, and Mukesh shook his head.

  He thrust out an arm. ‘I may not be red, but the skin is sore. My Naina was right.’

  ‘Kyle’s got some cocoa butter in the desk. Here, put this on. It’ll soothe it. Are you okay?’ Aleisha asked. The whites of her eyes were lined with red and her skin was gleaming with a thin layer of makeup.

  Unable to respond, or to say thank you, he lathered on the cream. ‘My Naina must have had this, it smells familiar.’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Are you supposed to be here, Aleisha?’ he said softly.

  ‘I’ve got to work – routine is better. Normal.’

  ‘Okay, if you are sure … How is your mum?’

  Aleisha shrugged. ‘My uncle and my cousin, you know, the ones you met, they’re staying with us – just for a little while to help out. Mum’s happy to have them.’ Mukesh thought she wanted to say more, but he didn’t know what to ask. He was pleased that someone could be there to help take the load off Aleisha. She was 17, too young to be doing all of this on her own. Her brot
her was … had been 25, and still too young to be caring for a whole family.

  ‘I want Mum to get some help. To give me some help too. You know … speak to a professional. She’s never seen a doctor. Aidan wanted that too. She’s never ever spoken to anyone. It could help.’

  She shrugged.

  Mukesh wasn’t used to people talking about such things, about the doctor, about mental health problems. He felt embarrassed, but Aleisha needed someone to be there for her. He could do that. He might not be super knowledgeable, but he could listen, or find another way to talk.

  ‘I think … I think Beloved is helpful,’ he said, cautiously. ‘The book. Did you read it?’

  Aleisha’s eyes shot towards him. ‘I don’t want to think about books any more.’

  ‘No, Miss Aleisha, I hadn’t thought of it before, but books can help us too.’

  Aleisha sighed heavily. He saw her roll her eyes; she started to tap her nails on the desk impatiently and for a moment he was transported back to his very first day in the library.

  ‘You see, The Time Traveler’s Wife,’ he said. Aleisha’s eyes were roaming around the library. ‘When my Naina passed away, that book had been a distraction, but it had brought me closer to her as well. But now, I think, more than that, it helped me process some things, you know?’

  ‘No, Mr P,’ Aleisha said sharply. ‘I don’t know. I’ve spent the whole summer living other people’s lives. I forgot to live mine, to look out for the real people around me.’

  ‘Beloved,’ Mukesh continued, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. ‘Did you read it? Denver. How does she help her mother?’ Mukesh waited for a reply – but Aleisha was scrolling on her phone. ‘Okay, I’ll tell you what I think. Denver realized that staying in that house, with her mother, with the ghost of Beloved, it wasn’t helping anything. But Denver went out to get help from her community, from other women who wanted to help. She asked for help when her mother couldn’t ask for herself.’