I stare at Kez’s text for a while as the dust floats through the air around me.

Are you pissed off with me about something, Lai Lai?

No, should I be?

You shouldn’t, but I feel like you are x

I am.

There are too many things floating around that no one’s talking about . . . Not just dust either. Why isn’t Kez kicking up a stink about us not being in the same tutor group? If anyone can fight for something they really want, Kez can . . . unless . . .

I start to cough again, and scratch at my arm. Mum’s abandoned the shelf mess on the floor in the middle of the room. It looks like a junk heap.

‘Mum!’ I call out for her and I’m halfway up the stairs when the letter box opens and an envelope slides through. I run back down and pick it up. It’s addressed to Mira. The writing’s all swirly, kind of old-fashioned.

I’ll take it up to Mira, I think, and then I remember she’s not here. I suppose Mum’ll post it on to her. I drop it on my perch.

‘Mum!’ I call again.

‘In here!’

I find her in Krish’s room, picking up clothes he’s left strewn around and hanging them back in his wardrobe. She pushes the door further open so I can see even less of her face. I think she’s trying to hide her tears from me.

‘Mira and Krish are coming back you know, Mum.’

‘I know I’m being over the top!’ Mum says from behind the wardrobe door, where she stays sorting clothes for much longer than she needs to. Eventually she blows her nose and comes to sit next to me on Krish’s bed. She wraps her arms around my shoulders too tightly. Her eyes look pink and sore. She picks up my arm and turns it over. ‘Laila, you’ve got to stop scratching this or you’ll make it bleed.’

‘I’ll stop scratching if you stop cleaning and crying!’ I say.

At least this makes her laugh.

‘Deal! I don’t know what’s got into me really.’

‘I’ll help you put the things back on the shelves if you want.’

‘That’s sweet of you. You know me; I’ll feel better after a good cry – but I wish I’d never started on those shelves downstairs.’

I scan Krish’s bedroom. At least Mum hasn’t tidied everything up . . . yet. Krish’s things are all still here. His Tottenham posters, his festival programmes, Grandad Kit’s beret with medals . . . and that funny painting that Nana Josie did of Grandad Kit eating fish and chips where the fish on the plate is actually eating the chips! All waiting for Krish to come bowling back in. Even though it looks stupidly tidy in here, it doesn’t feel so final, him going away – he’s only gone to stay at Nana Kath’s after all.

‘I’m going to get changed,’ I tell Mum, and walk through to Mira’s room, where all my clothes are now stacked up in her wardrobe. Mira’s bedroom feels different. I can’t get my head around this being my room. I scan the patchwork of empty frames where Mira’s photos, pictures and posters used to be. It’s so empty in here.

‘How about we decorate! You can choose the colour – within reason!’ Mum’s remembering the time Krish wanted to paint the whole room black with light-up stars on the ceiling. ‘What do you fancy?’ Her voice is all high and broken, like she’s forcing herself to talk. ‘Any ideas?’

I shrug. ‘When will Dad be back?’

‘Monday afternoon. He’ll be here by the time you get home from school.’ Mum sighs. ‘It’s quite a drive to Glasgow and he’s got to drop Krish off in the Lake District with Nana first. That’s a long drive, and then I suppose it’ll take a bit of time to settle Mira in. He’s booked into a hotel for tonight, then he’ll break the journey and see Mum and Krish on the way back.’

‘Didn’t you want to go too? See where Mira’s living?’ I ask. ‘I could have stayed over with Kez.’

Though I wonder. Last summer there were only two weeks when we didn’t see each other. This summer we’ve only seen each other for two days. She’s always got something else on. So, thinking about it, I don’t know if it actually would have been possible for me to stay with her . . . Seems like every time I ask, she’s busy.

‘I can’t miss your first day of secondary! No, I’ll visit Mira soon; find out how she’s settling in. Anyway, I don’t think they could have squeezed me in that car! And you know what Mira and I are like – maybe best not to get too emotional!’ Mum smiles.

I nod a bit too enthusiastically, which makes Mum laugh.

‘Why don’t you ask Kez to come over and help you plan out your new room?’

‘How many times do I have to tell you, she’s not coming over any more?’

Mum looks a bit taken aback.

‘Sorry, Laila. Yes! I forgot. Dad told me it was a bit awkward when she was over the last time.’

‘Just a bit!’

‘When did you last see her? Have you been over—’

The home line rings. There are only a few people who call on it now that Dad’s had this code put on to stop the marketing calls. Mum says we only really keep it for Nana Kath, because she never thinks it’s a proper call unless it’s on the landline.

‘Sorry, Laila. I’d better get that,’ Mum says as she runs down the stairs.

I sit on my perch and listen to Mum chatting away to Mira – I can’t believe she’s calling her from the car – she isn’t even at college yet! Afterwards she speaks to Krish, and it’s hard to describe how I feel, like nothing’s left here for me.

I’m sitting on something, so I shift over. I’d forgotten about the letter. I read the envelope. The writing’s sort of shaky, as if the person was finding it difficult to keep their hand steady.

On the back is written something that makes me think that whoever this is from hasn’t met up with anyone in our family for a long time.

If the addressee no longer lives here, please return to:

Simon Makepeace

The Caring Community

22 Railway Road

Finsbury Park

London, N4

I’m about to call down and tell Mum about the letter when she comes running upstairs, grabs the little wooden stool on the landing and heads into Mira’s room. I follow her through.

‘I thought this was supposed to be my room now. What are you doing? Mira said I could have those books.’

Mum’s standing on the stool, reaching for something pushed to the back. She takes down two books with Mira’s drawings all over them.

‘What are they?’ I ask.

Mum sort of hides them under her arm like she doesn’t want me to see.

‘Oh, they’re Mira’s diaries. She forgot them. She wants me to store them up in the loft.’

I hold out my hand for Mum to pass them to me because it looks like she’s struggling to keep her balance, but she won’t hand them over.

‘You haven’t read them, have you?’ Mum asks, looking at me strangely.

‘No! Have you?’

‘Of course not,’ Mum says.

‘You’re not even tempted?’ I say as she heads for the door, but she doesn’t answer me.

Mum is right above me in the loft storage cupboard putting Mira’s diaries away. I wonder what’s in them that she so desperately doesn’t want me or anyone else to know about. I pick up the letter for Mira and turn it over. I don’t know why I feel annoyed with Mira for not wanting me to read her diaries . . . after all that is the point of diaries, to keep things to yourself. But it’s like no one in this house thinks I’m capable of understanding anything.

‘You all right there?’ Mum says as she comes back down to the landing. ‘What’s that?’ she asks, looking at the letter.

I place it by my side so she can’t see.

‘Nothing! Just a letter Kez sent me when she was at her summer camp. It’s private!’ I can’t resist saying.

‘Has something happened between you two, Laila, because if it has you can always talk to me . . . ?’

‘No! Everything’s fine!’

‘OK!’ Mum says, like she doesn’t believe me but she’s decided she’s not going to push any harder for now. ‘Do you fancy giving me a hand with the shelf-mess?’

‘Yeah! I’ll come down in minute,’ I say.

When Mum’s gone I slip the envelope inside the little velvet cushion cover, zip it up and hide it behind some larger cushions. No one’s going to look in here.

As I walk down the stairs I knock into the frame of an old black-and-white photo of Nana Josie when she was young. She’s on the South Bank by the river, selling her paintings. Now I stop to look, I can see that it’s true: I really do look like her.