Tender Earth

by Sita Brahmachari

  I quickly turn over the page as Simon makes his way step by steady step back towards the table. I feel like I should help him, but I know that when Kez wants help she prefers it if you wait till she asks for it and I suppose it might be the same with Simon.

  ‘There you have it . . . Job done! One Protest Book handed over!’

  Simon finally manoeuvres himself into his seat and turns the book towards him.

  ‘I haven’t looked at this for a long time. It doesn’t help, poring over the past when you’re trying to let go, but I don’t suppose one last peek will do any harm!’

  He balances a pair of glasses on the top of his nose and slowly turns the pages.

  ‘The last time I looked through this was after your nana died. She didn’t throw much away, did she? There’s more than half a century of campaigning in this book.’

  Simon pulls a drawer open on the table and takes out an envelope.

  ‘Here – you can stick these in too if you want . . . a few things I’ve got involved in since she died . . . It all belongs together really.’

  I take the envelope from him.

  ‘You interested in all this?’ Simon asks me.

  I nod.

  ‘Then take your time, look it all up . . . or the things that stoke you anyway!’ He leafs to the end of the book. ‘Ah yes! This was the very last march Josie came on with me. Against the Iraq War . . . and now, well, don’t get me started.’ Simon’s voice wobbles. ‘See, I shouldn’t have looked!’

  ‘I have a friend, Pari. She’s from Iraq,’ I say.

  Simon nods. It’s like he’s waiting for me to say more.

  ‘I don’t know her very well yet. I only met her this term. I think her parents might have come here because of that war. I’m not sure though.’

  ‘We were at the march against that war,’ Hope says, and shakes her head. ‘Not that it stopped them.’

  Simon nods his head to his chest and closes his eyes.

  I stand up because I think maybe he’s getting tired and wants me to go. Hope walks over to Simon, places her hand on his shoulders and leaves them there.

  Tears appear in the corners of Simon’s eyes. ‘I don’t know where these are coming from!’ he says, wiping them away with his hand.

  I open the packet of tissues I got from the girl on the tube and hand one to Simon. He tilts his head to one side and smiles at me with his lips closed; his mouth’s a small upward curve, part lost in his beard.

  ‘Are you a crier then, Laila Levenson?’

  I shake my head. ‘Hardly ever.’

  ‘I never have been either, but just recently I’ve been finding the tears flowing. It’s a new one on me!’ He looks up at Hope like she might have an answer. ‘Maybe it’s seeing all these apartheids now, all harder to fight against in their own way than the ones we fought, eh, Hope?’

  She nods and now she looks like she’s about to cry too.

  Simon tries to pick up the Protest Book, but doesn’t manage it. Instead he places it back down on the table.

  ‘Too heavy for me to carry around now.’

  Someone has painted a snake with orange-and-black markings on the back cover. Simon reaches out and runs his hands over the painting.

  ‘Why’s there a snake on the back?’ I ask.

  Simon shrugs. ‘Not sure! Josie was into Eastern symbolism, Karma and all that . . .’

  ‘We had a snake in our kitchen!’

  Simon’s tears turn to laughter. ‘Just passing through, was it? Should we have a little meditation for Josie? Got a light, Hope?’ He grins at her, like it’s their joke. She nods, feels around in her pocket, takes out some matches and lights the candle again in the middle of the table.

  Then Simon and Hope do nothing. They just sit and stare at the flame. I do the same but I feel like such a fake. This reminds me a bit of a vigil – well, it could be if I knew what I was supposed to be thinking about. After what seems like ages, the person who comes into my mind as I watch the flame tilting, shrinking and growing is . . . Pari.

  I wish I’d said goodbye to Simon and Hope before they started this, because the two of them are just sitting there with their eyes closed and breathing softly. It would be rude to just leave, but how do I know how long they’ll stay like this for? I’m starting to get worried about what’ll happen if Mum and Dad find out I’ve actually not been at Kez’s. I’m thinking about coughing or making a noise getting up, when a bird sets off, making a bit of a racket. Simon opens his eyes and looks up through the glass roof to the almost-bare branches of the tree.

  ‘Strong voice for something so tiny! Proper little protester, isn’t it! I wonder if it feels a change in the weather.’

  I remember Nana Josie’s chime and think maybe Simon would like to see it. I take it out of my dungaree pocket, slip it out of the silk purse and place it in Simon’s hands.

  ‘Nana Josie gave me this when I was a baby,’ I tell him. ‘It was given to her when she was a baby too.’

  Simon’s examining it closely as the light falls in shafts through the glass roof and it glints in the sunlight.

  ‘Ah! And there we have it. The orb of sunshine I saw in my meditation!’ He shakes Nana’s chime and then hands it back to me. ‘It’s like a little meditation bell. Give Laila the Banner Bag too, Hope.’

  ‘Are you sure, Simon?’

  ‘I am sure . . . Yes! And take her painted banner off my wall. Give her that too.’

  Hope hesitates for a minute, like she’s checking again that this is really what Simon wants.

  He nods and she goes out into the corridor.

  Simon grins at me, wide enough to see his missing tooth.

  ‘Bye, Laila,’ he says, and closes his eyes again.

  I walk past Nana’s yellow poppy painting and wait for Hope.

  She’s gone off into a room. She’s taking ages. I’m about to call out and ask her if she wants some help, but just then she reappears with an old green canvas bag that’s about the size of Krish’s cricket kitbag. She’s really out of breath.

  ‘Sorry, Laila, the old catches are stiff and I had to unhook your nana’s banner. It’s been on Simon’s wall for a while!’

  The Banner Bag has worn leather straps dangling over the sides and it’s got two closing locks in a brass colour. It looks a bit like an antique.

  ‘You keep this safe, Laila.’ Hope takes the Protest Book from me, places it inside the bag and attempts to close it. ‘These fastenings are a bit rusty, but the straps will keep it safe,’ she explains as she ties the leather bits up again. ‘Will you be all right carrying all of this? It’s quite heavy, what with your nana’s banner and all our paraphernalia inside! If I had known, I would have cleaned out some of the old paint . . . placards too. Shall I help you home?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I think you’ve inherited your nana’s independent nature!’ Hope says, opening the door to the rain. ‘Well then, at least take my umbrella.’ She picks an orange umbrella from the stand by the door and hands it to me.

  I thank Hope, press the button so that the umbrella opens wide, and I walk out into the rain carrying Nana Josie’s Protest Book in the Banner Bag.

  It’s still raining hard when I come out of the tube. I’m grateful for Hope’s umbrella, but I wish it wasn’t bright orange. I just want to get home without being noticed and hide this Banner Bag somewhere safe. I think I might have to leave it down the side of the house behind the bins when I get home, until the coast’s clear to go back and get it. If I walk in with this, the questions will never end.

  As I pass Kez’s flat, Bubbe’s standing in the bay window watching the road, probably waiting for Kez. She waves at me and comes to the door.

  ‘Where on earth have you been, Laila?’ she asks, looking down at the bag.

  ‘Just out for a walk.’ I feel terrible lying to her.

  ‘In this rain? Your mum called around with your coat ages ago. She’s been beside herself with worry. We all have. Just wait a minute.’

>   Bubbe takes her phone out of her pocket and texts Mum. She doesn’t try and hide her message from me.

  She’s back. Safe and well. Sending her home now.

  A text comes straight back and Bubbe tilts her phone so I can read Mum’s message back to her.

  Thank God.

  ‘You’d better go and face the music, Laila. I told Uma I thought it would be OK. That you and Kez had a falling out . . .’

  ‘Kez told you?’

  Bubbe nods. ‘She was upset about it. All friendships have their ups and downs, you know. Make sure you come and see me soon for a little chat. But you’d better hurry back now.’

  ‘Bubbe . . . can I leave this here with you?’ I ask, showing her Simon’s bag.

  She looks at it a bit strangely.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a Banner Bag. It belonged to my nana’s friend. I’ll explain later . . .’

  She takes it from me.

  ‘We can talk about this later. Just get home now . . . Your mum’s been out of her mind with worry.’

  ‘Don’t say anything about this to Mum or Dad. It’s important. Nor to Kez,’ I plead.

  ‘That puts me in a difficult position, Laila.’

  ‘Please, Bubbe,’ I whisper. ‘I promise I’ll come and tell you about it. It’s all about my nana.’

  Bubbe shakes her head like she’s going to say no, but then changes her mind. ‘OK . . . for now! But I do want an explanation. I’ll call Kez as well. She was worried about you too, you know.’

  I run the rest of the way home and lean on the wall for a minute to get my breath back. When I stand away from it, a big piece of plasterwork falls off, making the crack in the wall look twice the size. I try to stick it back but I can’t make it stay, so I throw the piece of wall into the garden and it crumbles to powdery dust.

  Mum opens the door. I stand halfway up the steps and shake Hope’s umbrella. What an idiot I am. I should have left this with Bubbe too.

  Mum leaps on me so I nearly fall backwards down the steps. She’s holding me in this really strange way like she half wants to hug me and half wants to kill me. She’s squeezed so tightly against me that I can feel her breath coming in angry-sounding sobs. Then suddenly she lets go of me, wipes her eyes really roughly, like she’s annoyed with herself for crying, takes a few deep breaths and sets her face into this blank expression. I’ve seen her do this before with Krish and Mira when she really wants to scream and shout but she holds it in and doesn’t say anything. It actually freaks me out and I just wish she would get it over with and have a blowout. This must be off-the-scale bad because she just stands aside to let me in.

  ‘Where’s that come from?’ she asks as I edge past, pointing at the dripping umbrella I’ve left leaning against the back of the door.

  ‘Found it on a bench,’ I tell her.

  ‘That was convenient.’

  She so doesn’t believe me.

  ‘Where have you been, Laila?’

  ‘Just walking.’

  ‘So you’ve been walking around for the whole afternoon in the rain and you found this umbrella and so you just kept walking . . . for – what’s it been – nearly four hours?’

  Mum lays a hand on my shoulder, leads me to the table and practically pushes me into a seat. I feel like I’m about to be interrogated. She sends a text to Dad and I hear one pinging straight back. She shows me his message on the phone.

  I called the police. Told them she’s safe. On my way back now.

  Give her a hug and hello for me. Love you X

  I feel really guilty. I hadn’t really thought what would be going through their minds. Mum sits down next to me with her hands folded on her lap; the top hand stroking the bottom one like she’s trying to calm herself down.

  ‘Well? I’m waiting.’

  Is it always wrong to lie?

  Is it always right to tell the truth?

  Mrs Latif’s voice echoes through my head. A bit of me wonders what would happen if I actually told Mum the truth, but I know that if I did, she would make me hand the Protest Book straight over to Mira and I wouldn’t even get to read it properly. Mum’s definitely going to ground me anyway.

  ‘I had an argument with Kez and went for a walk. That’s all,’ I tell her.

  She nods slowly.

  ‘What was the argument about?’

  ‘I don’t know really . . . we weren’t getting on, that’s all.’

  ‘So let me get this right. You had an argument and you went for a walk for hours on end and happened to find a nice expensive-looking umbrella along the way? Where did you walk to?’

  ‘I went up Parliament Hill . . . I sat on Mira’s bench and someone left the umbrella leaning against it.’

  Mum’s face softens a bit. I know she’ll be wondering if I’m missing Mira and Krish too. It’s frightening how good I’m getting at filling in the details.

  ‘And you couldn’t text me or Dad and tell us that?’

  ‘My phone ran out of charge.’

  Mum holds out her hand. I reach into my pocket and pass my mobile to her.

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t switch it off? Let me see.’

  She plays with it for a bit and, when she realizes that it actually is dead, puts it back on the table.

  ‘Can I go now?’ I ask. I get as far as the first step of the stairs.

  ‘No! Laila, I think you’ve been gone long enough – come back here right now!’

  I carry on up.

  ‘Have you got any idea how dangerous it is to go off on your own like that without telling anyone, without being in contact?’

  Mum’s stomping up the stairs after me. I manage to get to Mira’s room and half close the door . . . I’m still holding the handle when Mum pushes it hard and makes me stumble backwards.

  ‘You nearly made me fall!’ I shout at her.

  ‘We called the police, Laila. We thought you’d been abducted. If you weren’t back in the next hour they were going to start looking for you,’ Mum shouts.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m fine, Mum.’

  ‘Well I’m glad about that, because I’m not!’

  Mum takes a deep breath and sits on Mira’s bed. She taps the duvet for me to sit down next to her.

  ‘Please don’t ever do that to us again, Laila.’ Mum sighs. ‘What can we do to help you and Kez sort out this argument?’

  ‘Nothing! You can’t fix everything for me, Mum. Please can I just be on my own now?’

  Mum nods and tracks around the empty walls of Mira’s room. ‘Let me know when you’re ready to talk . . .’

  She gets up off the bed, closes the door quietly behind her and walks down the stairs. When Dad comes in I tiptoe out to the landing and sit on my perch.

  Mum’s talking and talking. Dad’s voice is raised. They sound like they always do when they try to convince me they’re not arguing.

  ‘It’s not like Krish and Mira never went off on their own for a few hours without telling us, Uma. Remember when Krish ran off after Mum died? He was much younger than Laila and he didn’t even have a mobile. She probably just needed a bit of space! It’s all change for her too, remember.’

  Dad heads for the hallway. I try to get up and creep back into Mira’s room but Dad hears me as he comes up the stairs.

  ‘Which bit of that did you hear?’ he asks.

  I shrug.

  ‘Thought so!’ Dad holds out his arms wide and crushes me in a hug.

  ‘Dad! I can’t breathe.’ I try to pull away.

  ‘Well, that’s what you get for worrying us stupid!’

  ‘Sorry!’

  ‘You’d better say sorry to Mum too. You won’t be allowed out next time unless your phone’s fully charged. We’ve got to be able to trust you to tell us the truth.’ Dad pauses and leans against the banister. He speaks a bit louder, I think so that Mum can hear him telling me off. ‘And . . . you’re grounded.’

  ‘Till when?’

  ‘Till you convince us you can be trusted again.
’

  ‘I never go anywhere anyway,’ I say. But all I can think is: how am I’m going to get the Banner Bag and Nana Josie’s Protest Book back from Bubbe . . . ?

  ‘Well, you went somewhere today!’

  ‘Think I’ll go up and sort out a few things in my room,’ I say after dinner.

  Mum and Dad look really pleased, and they leave me to it till they come up to bed. Not that I’ve done anything except lie on Mira’s bed and try to remember everything I read in the Protest Book. I wish that I had it with me right now.

  ‘Night, Laila, sleep well,’ Dad calls.

  ‘Can I come in, Laila?’ Mum knocks and peers around the door.

  ‘I’m really sorry I worried you, Mum!’ I say.

  She comes over and hugs me.

  ‘So what have you been doing up here all evening?’ she asks, pulling away from me and looking around the room to see if anything’s changed.

  ‘Hung up a few more clothes!’ I say, pointing to the closed wardrobe doors.

  ‘OK, well, it’ll be good for you when you’re properly settled in here.’ She tests the mattress. ‘This is a lovely comfy bed, Laila. Get a good night’s sleep so you’re not tired for school tomorrow.’

  Without even asking me she takes hold of one arm and then the other, takes the cream off the bedside table and starts smoothing it into my skin.

  ‘I think you’ll have to wear gloves to stop the scratching. Or a onesie with hands in. I’ve seen them advertised.’

  ‘What? A babygrow! Don’t think so.’

  She ignores me. I’m not sure if she’s soothing me or herself, but I close my eyes as she does it and start to feel waves of tiredness spread over me. But there’s only one place I want to sleep.

  ‘I love you, Lai Lai,’ Mum says as she kisses me goodnight.

  ‘Love you too, Mum,’ I whisper back.

  When the house is quiet after Mum and Dad are in bed, I take my duvet and Nana Josie’s chime with me and let the sound sing through me until I fall asleep.