Tender Earth

by Sita Brahmachari

  Even though our features aren’t the same, we definitely look like sisters. I like that we do. I blow out my cheeks to see what I’ll look like more filled out.

  ‘You’re lucky – I don’t think I even felt a cheek bone in my face till I was fifteen! What’s with the puffer-fish face?’ Mira holds her arms out to hug me but I pull away. ‘Go on, Lai Lai – let Mum buy you a new uniform.’

  ‘Has no one heard of recycling around here? What’s the point of getting brand-new stuff all over again? I’m not going to like it any better.’

  Mira grabs hold of my lapels.

  ‘I tried to wear Krish’s blazer once when I couldn’t find mine, but Nana wouldn’t let me. She said boy’s blazers button up on the other side.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘I know, but someone might notice.’ Mira grabs hold of the material, pulling it in a bit at the waist and inspecting her work in the mirror. ‘See? A girl’s blazer would show off your waist a bit more.’

  ‘That’s just wrong! How can they gender a blazer? Anyway, I haven’t got a waist.’

  At least I’ve got Mira laughing now, which is a relief – because if she starts getting all emotional again, I’m afraid that I will too.

  Mira wraps both her arms around me.

  ‘Why are you tearing up?’

  ‘No reason! It’s just that one day soon you will get a waist!’

  ‘What are you going on about?’

  ‘Ignore me! I just can’t believe you’re going to secondary school already . . .’

  It’s bad enough Mum and Dad moaning on about me growing up so fast. The truth is the recycling thing isn’t the only reason I don’t want Mum to buy me a new uniform. I actually like the idea of wearing bits and pieces of Mira and Krish’s old school clothes. It makes me feel less nervous, like I won’t have to work out who I’m going to be, like they’ll be right there with me as they’ve always been till now.

  ‘Don’t go all silent on me, Lai Lai.’

  ‘Can you not do that?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t want anyone calling me Lai Lai from now on. Tell your friends that too.’

  ‘But we’ve always called you Lai Lai.’

  ‘You’ve always treated me like a baby.’

  ‘OK, OK . . . Laila. Point taken!’ Mira half laughs, half sighs. ‘It feels a bit strange though.’

  ‘Haven’t you heard? There’s this radical new idea to call people by their actual names!’

  ‘Now, let’s see if I can remember how to do up a tie.’

  Mira’s rubbish at it. Every time she slides the knot up towards my neck, I feel a bit panicky.

  ‘It doesn’t matter; I’ll work it out.’

  I pull away from Mira, but she keeps hold of the end and bangs on the wall. ‘Krish! Can you come help Lai Lai with her tie?’

  How hard can it be for my sister to call me by my name?

  I want to scream!

  Krish strolls in, headphones dangling around his neck; the tinny sound of his ‘ambient’ track leaking out.

  He takes the tie back over my head and practises on himself. ‘How d’you want it – fat or skinny?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘You’d better hedge your bets for the first week then!’

  I actually have no idea what he’s talking about, which isn’t that unusual because Mira and Krish say stuff like this all the time, and then when I ask them what they’re on about, they always come back with something totally rubbish like ‘You’ll see!’ or ‘You’ll find out one day’ – I especially hate it when they say that!

  Krish loops the long tail bit through the knot and slides it up into a perfect V, stopping just where the button meets the collar.

  ‘Slick or what? Thought I’d let you see what a regulation standard tie looks like, so you’ll know not to do one again. The choice is strictly fat or skinny . . . Or not at all!’

  Mira widens her eyes at Krish like she’s warning him not to carry on.

  ‘I didn’t know you had a choice?’

  ‘You don’t, Lai Lai! Do as I say, not as I did!’ Krish laughs. ‘Forgetting or losing your tie is not an option; neither is refusing to wear one. Take it from me – you don’t want to waste your life in detention over a tie.’

  Krish does his robot walk back towards the door even though it hasn’t got a laugh out of me since I was in Year Five. When is anyone going to wake up and see that I’m actually nearly twelve years old? Krish raises his – supposed to be Dalek – arms jerkily into position, ready to aim and fire.

  ‘I am a u-ni-form – I will ex-term-in-ate you!’

  ‘Not helpful, Krish!’ Mira cuffs him on the arm. ‘Get out of here!’

  ‘By the way, don’t call me Lai Lai any more!’ I yell after Krish.

  He pokes his head back around the door.

  ‘What am I supposed to call you then?’

  ‘Laila.’

  ‘But I’ve never called you Laila!’ Krish complains.

  ‘And that’s your logical reason for calling me by a baby name forever, is it?’

  Krish scowls. ‘I forgot, Your Honour. What about Kez? Is she going to call you Laila?’

  I haven’t thought about Kez. Mira and Krish are exchanging that look again. When I was little they used to spell out words that they didn’t want me to understand. Then, when I got to the age when it was obvious I could spell whatever they were trying to hide from me, the knowing looks kicked in. They might as well get a loudspeaker and shout at the top of their voices: ‘What’s up with Lai Lai?’

  Still, I suppose I should thank them for the spelling thing. It turned me into the best speller in primary school!

  I will actually let Kez keep calling me ‘Lai Lai’ because she’d never shame me up by calling me that in front of anyone else, like Mira and Krish do. Anyway, it’s always been Lai Lai and Kez. It wouldn’t feel right for her to call me anything else.

  ‘Make an exception for your brother. I don’t think I can call you Laila. It feels like I’m talking to someone else.’

  ‘Maybe I am someone else!’ I say, checking myself out in the long mirror.

  ‘Deep!’ Krish shrugs and plugs himself back into his music.

  Me and Mira sit on her bed for a bit without talking, just looking around the bare walls. I chew on the inside of my mouth. This is so strange.

  ‘So,’ she says at last, ‘I’ve left you a few books I used to love at your age.’

  I walk over to Mira’s shelves and pick up one of them. It’s a novel with a girl’s face on the cover. She’s wearing bright red lipstick and has slightly fangy teeth. Kez has a whole shelf full of these she read in Year Six. Calls it her vampire moment. She used to go on and on about how they didn’t really have anything to do with being bitten on the neck. I never got it. I drop it back down on the shelf.

  ‘Vampires! Don’t think so!’

  ‘I was really into them for a while. But there’s all sorts. I’ve taken the ones I can’t live without. If you don’t want them you can always give them away. Kez might want them . . .’

  ‘She’s probably read most of these,’ I say, scanning the other titles.

  It feels like Mira’s only talking about the books because she’s stuck for something to say. Now she takes her phone out of her pocket.

  ‘Here, let’s take a selfie! Krish, get back in here a minute,’ Mira calls through the wall. ‘I want a last picture of the three of us in my old room!’ Mira widens her eyes at me like she still thinks it’s outrageous for me to move in, though my bedroom’s practically a box compared to this and she won’t even be here. I think she’s only joking, but I wish she’d stop going on about me taking her room, because I actually do feel bad about it – kind of guilty.

  Krish comes in and squishes on to Mira’s bed.

  ‘Jump up, Lai Lai; you’ve got to sit next to me. Get us in the right order!

  We jostle for places higher and lower so we can all fit in.

  ‘Everyone
say “Lai Lai”!’ Krish grins this really stupid wide grin.

  I elbow him in the side and stick my tongue out.

  ‘That’s a saver. Ping it to me,’ Krish says, laughing at the photo.

  When I’m on my own again, I stand for a long time and look at the person in the mirror. The truth is I’ve never really thought about me being on my own before. Maybe it feels worse than it would because of Kez. I just wish Krish and Mira weren’t leaving at the same time. Mira going to college is bad enough, but Krish heading off too! He could have waited at least till I start secondary school. How am I going to get to sleep at night without listening to those two chatting on about nothing and everything on their mobiles? This stuff – this messing-around-in-our-rooms thing – is what we’ve always done. It’s who we are together. It’s who I am.

  Every time the doorbell rings it makes me jump.

  What was the point of finally fixing it just as Mira and Krish are moving out?

  Thinking about it . . . who’s going to ring the bell or clank that letter box for me?

  ‘That’ll be Jidé,’ Mira says, trying to make out that she’s not that fussed.

  Then the letter box clanks. Only one person still clanks!

  ‘Or . . . Millie!’

  Mira laughs as she run downstairs.

  I creep out to the landing sofa – since the beginning of the summer holidays I’ve been sitting here a lot. In fact I’m here so much that Mum calls it my ‘perch’.

  Mum’s beaten Mira to the door and now she’s chatting away to Jidé and Millie.

  ‘Quite a journey you’re going on now, Jidé. Where are you actually staying?’

  ‘In a volunteers’ camp they’ve set up for us.’

  ‘And what exactly are you doing out there?’ Mum can never just ask one question.

  ‘I think we’ll be learning from the doctors there and generally helping out. There’s a plan to build a well, and put the roof on a school building . . . that sort of thing!’

  ‘Sounds like hard work. How long are you away for?’

  ‘I’ll be back for Christmas.’

  ‘Well good for you, Jidé. Take care of yourself, won’t you. And you, Millie . . .’ Mum starts.

  Now Mira’s waving at Jidé and Millie while she tries to edge past Mum.

  ‘Still enjoying the writing . . . ? In your second year already . . .’

  ‘Can I get by, Mum?’

  ‘Well, I’ll leave you to your goodbyes. I was just on my way upstairs with this lot.’ Mum scoops up a pile of washing she’s parked on the side, walks up the stairs and finds me on my perch.

  ‘Everybody’s on the move, Laila.’ She sighs, easing herself down beside me, and starts to fold the washing. ‘Give me a hand, will you?’

  Everybody except me, I think as I hunt through to find a matching sock of mine.

  ‘Glad I got this upholstered,’ Mum says, smoothing her hands over the sofa cover. ‘We’ll have to look after it now. Such a pretty little sofa . . . worth restoring. They did a good job, I think. I like this faded gold paint. Your Nana Josie would have approved. Rattan’s hard to get hold of these days.’ Mum touches the flaky painted sides. ‘It’s a dying skill this lattice-work. I can still picture where it was in your Nana Josie’s flat . . .’

  I look around the walls at Nana Josie’s paintings of Krish and Mira as toddlers, sitting on this sofa’s faded cushions. There are no paintings of me on it, even though in reality I’m probably the one who’s spent the longest sitting here. I’ve decided I think this is actually my favourite place in our house. I love to tuck my legs up and disappear into the jewel-coloured velvety sofa cushions. The little ruby-red one with the zip in the back is the most comfortable. Sometimes I can be snuggled up on here and people walk straight past and don’t even notice me. Even though I’ve taken up Mum’s name for it, it’s actually not just somewhere for me to ‘perch’. It’s getting to be more like my nest. Apparently Nana Josie was about the same size as I am now. I fit here.

  There’s just one tiny painting of me on the landing. In fact it’s the only painting Nana Josie ever did of me. I’m in Mum’s arms when I was a baby. Mum says it’s special because it’s the last painting Nana Josie did before she died. Most of the people in the landing photos and paintings I don’t remember, not like Mira and Krish do . . . some of them, like Grandad Kit, died before I was even born.

  The photos on the staircase I love the most are of Mira and Krish holding me in their arms, as if they’re afraid that they’ll drop me. I really like the way the pictures of everyone are all mixed up together . . . There’s one of Mum and Dad when they were young and actually quite good-looking. Mum looks just like Mira – or I suppose Mira looks just like Mum! If you look carefully you can sort of see all of us in these faces, especially me in Nana Josie. I feel like I belong to all the people on this staircase, and they belong to each other, but only a few of them belong to me . . .

  Mum’s finished folding the washing pile. I give up trying to find pairs and lay three single odd socks on top.

  ‘One of the great mysteries of life!’ Mum shakes her head. ‘Where do they go?’

  She leans back on the sofa and wraps an arm around my shoulders. She smiles up at her favourite photograph of her dad, Grandad Bimal, the one where he’s clapping and laughing his head off. He looks so friendly. I wish I could remember him properly.

  ‘Sometimes when I pass that photo I imagine I can hear his laugh,’ I tell Mum.

  ‘Me too!’ Mum manages to splutter out before the tears start rolling down her face.

  I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

  So, while Mira is downstairs saying her goodbyes to Jidé and Millie, I’m here with Mum crying into her washing. This feels so sad. I wish I could ask Kez over right now. I wouldn’t mind going into my old room and closing the door on all of this. I wonder if me and Kez will stay friends the way Mira, Millie and Jidé have stuck together.

  Krish comes tearing out of his room wearing jeans and no T-shirt. Showing off his six-pack again. He leans over the balcony.

  ‘All right, Millie! Fresh hair!’

  ‘The bottle called it Pink Punk!’

  ‘Looks good!’

  ‘What are you up to?’ Millie calls up to Krish.

  ‘Doing this apprenticeship thing in an outward-bounds centre up North – staying with Nana Kath.’

  ‘You’ll need to get dressed then . . .’ Millie says.

  Krish looks down at himself as if he’s only just realized that he’s not wearing a T-shirt.

  ‘Yes, can you get dressed, Krish,’ Mum says. ‘Poor Millie doesn’t want to see your bare chest!’

  ‘I don’t think she minds!’ Krish jokes, not loud enough for Millie to hear.

  ‘You so fancy her!’ I whisper.

  ‘Shut up!’ Krish goes to cuff me.

  ‘Catch up with you later, Jidé!’ Millie calls, and then they all start their goodbye hugs. That lot take forever.

  Krish slumps down in the middle of Mum and me, flinging an arm around Mum on one side and me on the other and making the washing pile topple on to the carpet.

  ‘We’ve just folded that!’ Mum groans.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum! We’ll be gone soon and it’ll be dead peaceful and tidy with only Lai Lai—’

  ‘Laila,’ I correct.

  Krish starts tickling me.

  ‘Get off, Krish!’ I squirm on the edge of the sofa. ‘Would you mind not talking about me as if I’m not here?’

  ‘OK, Lai Lai!’

  ‘How many times have I got to tell you not to call me—’

  ‘Did you hear something, Mum? An invisible force field?’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Krish!’ I belt him on the arm.

  ‘Ow! I thought you were a pacifist!’

  ‘I am, except when it comes to you!’

  ‘You won’t need to spy on us all from up here any more, Flappy Ears! Anyway, what are you complaining about? You’re getting the best room in the house.’ Krish jum
ps up, grabs me and attempts to turn me upside down.

  ‘Get off!’ I squeal, kicking my legs out.

  ‘Oh, don’t start that again, you two! The last thing I need now is someone getting hurt,’ Mum pleads as she carries on up the stairs to her room.

  ‘What do you mean, you two? He started it!’

  ‘Say mercy!’ Krish laughs. I swear he still thinks I’m in infants.

  ‘Mercy.’ I bash Krish on his shoulders so hard that his skin turns pink.

  I’m upside down when I spot Mira and Jidé crushed against the side wall in the hall. For a second I think maybe it’s just a long goodbye hug because Jidé’s going to Rwanda where he was actually born, and I suppose that is a big deal so maybe that’s why the long good—But no . . . not the way they’re pressed together . . . tongues and everything! Gross!

  ‘Put me down!’ I pinch Krish even harder.

  ‘Foul!’ Krish laughs.

  ‘You’re foul!’ I shout.

  Mira and Jidé peel themselves away from the wall and appear at the bottom of the stairs, making out nothing’s happened. Mira’s hair looks all scuffed up though . . . what she calls ‘distressed’. It’s how I feel.

  ‘All right, Jidé; thought you’d gone with Millie!’ Krish waves down.

  ‘Just off now. Say hello to Nana Kath for me,’ Jidé calls up, but his voice sounds all dried out. It hardly carries up the stairs.

  When they’ve said their goodbyes Krish goes off to his room. Mira’s followed Jidé outside and they stand on the steps and talk.

  After about half an hour Mira comes running up the stairs and heads straight for her room.

  She’s crying. Proper puffy-eyed crying.

  ‘Are you OK, Mira?’ I ask as she runs past me. She turns to me, shakes her head as if to say don’t ask and closes her bedroom door. But I can hear her sobs.

  I knock gently on her door.

  ‘Not now, Laila,’ she manages to splutter out.

  So I go back to my perch and listen to her trying to catch her breath. I’ve never heard her cry like that before. I wish she would let me in. Even I know those tears can’t just be for a ‘just good friends’ kiss.