Tender Earth

Mum stands for a while on the pavement, then turns towards the house, climbs the front steps and closes the door behind her.

‘You all right up there, Lai . . . la?’ Mum’s voice sounds weak. She coughs and tries again. ‘You know what – I think I’ll have a cup of tea,’ she says, as if that’s a revolutionary idea. Then she stops and looks up. ‘Do you fancy one, Laila?’

Now this is a revolutionary idea! It’s the first time she’s got my actual name right without hesitating, and it’s the first time anyone in this family has ever thought to ask me if I want a cup of tea.

‘Um . . . yes!’ I call down. But I don’t know. Do I have milk and sugar?

‘I do clean from time to time, you know!’ she tells me, but I’ve hardly ever seen anything move off those shelves. And from the amount of dust Mum’s whipping up, it looks like a very long time since anyone’s even dusted them.

I’m on the computer, flitting about on YouTube. I take a sip of tea. I’m not sure I like the taste it leaves on my tongue.

‘I think that’s enough computer time now,’ Mum says as she finishes clearing a shelf.

‘I’m watching Priya’s new music video. She’s done the choreography on it. It’s got loads of comments. Want to see?’

‘What a talented family we’ve got!’ Mum says, and comes over and reads the title over my shoulder: ‘Holi-Spring!’

I press PLAY and we watch the dancers in their bright silk clothes padding out rhythms with their feet on a huge drum. It looks like they’re outside Janu’s House of Garlands refuge in Kolkata . . . Now one of the dancers breaks through the skin and there’s this slow-motion fall to another drum and the dancers are suddenly on a New York street, moving to a dub-step beat. Then all the dancers start throwing powder in rainbow colours. Powder reds, blues, yellows and greens fly from the hands of the children in Kolkata on to the faces of the New York dancers. It’s funny and beautiful. Then the two streets and all the dancers sort of merge together and they’re doing a dance that’s a sort of fusion of everything – just a mass of colours moving.

‘Stunning! When I was growing up I used to have to imagine your Aunt Anjali dancing – I never actually got to see her perform till I went to India. She must be so proud of Priya and Janu . . . they’re proper trailblazers in their different ways, aren’t they?’ Mum says.

Trail-blazers . . . what does that mean? That they’re bright flames . . . brave, I suppose.

I do a huge uncontrollable sneeze and say, ‘I think you’ve had enough cleaning time, don’t you?’

‘Laila, why are you itching?’ Mum takes hold of my hand, turns it over and inspects the crook of my arm.

‘Your skin’s really dry just there. We’ll have to keep an eye on that. You haven’t had it that badly since you were a baby!’

‘How could we let it get this dusty?’ Mum tuts. ‘I’m not having you getting eczema again. This house is going to look worse before it looks better, but I think it’s time we had a proper spring clean.’

Now Mum decides that one shelf at a time won’t do, so she’s taking everything off and making a pile in the middle of the room.

I press Kez’s photo ID on Skype, listen to the dialling sound for a few seconds and then her face appears. I lean in to get a closer look.

Me: Have you dyed your hair?

Kez: Yep! Like it?

Me: Yeah, looks good on you.

Kez: Have Krish and Mira gone then?

Me: Yes.

Kez: You OK?

Me: It feels weird here! I saw your mum. She said to come and see you. You free?

Kez: Sorry, Laila, I’ve got Saturday School.

Me: How long for?

Kez: Pretty much all day.

Me: I thought it was just in the morning?

Kez: There’s loads of preparation to do for my bat mitzvah. They’re putting on extra classes at shul for us now.

Me: Tomorrow then?

Kez: We’ve got family over.

Me: After the first day at school?

Kez: Mum thinks Sundays will be the easiest for us to meet up – till after my bat mitzvah anyway. She’s worried I’m going to get too tired with Saturday school, physio and everything.

Me: Are you tired?

Kez: A bit. Got a few more tremors than normal. Nerves don’t help.

Me: About school?

Kez: Yeah! It’ll be all right though; once I find my way around . . . get to know where the lifts are and everything.

Me: We can go around together, if you want?

Kez: You don’t know where you’re going either. Anyway, we might not be in the same tutor group.

Me: Yeah, we are. Seven Dials. Didn’t you get the letter? I like the name . . . Like in Covent Garden. All the tutor-group names are based on things to do with seven, apparently. Krish told me the tutors choose the names, so you can kind of see how interesting they are before you meet them . . . or not!

I watch Kez’s face. She tips her head forward so her bright red curls fall across her face and I can’t read her expression.

Kez: It doesn’t always happen, getting in the same tutor group.

Me: Yeah, but we will definitely be together, won’t we? That transition woman said she thought—

Kez: She said friends can’t always be together.

Me: But we will.

Kez: I’m in Seven Oaks . . . apparently.

Me: You can’t be – they must have made a mistake. Kez: I don’t think so, Lai Lai! It’s not that bad. We’ll see each other all the time—

I start to cough uncontrollably. I’m trying my hardest to stop so I take a glug of tea, but that makes it worse and now I’m spluttering all over the screen. I wish I could get a hold of myself. Mum brings me some water and eventually the coughing stops.