‘How about sunshine yellow for one wall? That’ll brighten up the place a bit.’

Mum folds the colour chart so that I can only see a little oblong of yellow card.

I shake my head. ‘That’s Kez’s favourite, not mine.’

‘Well, let’s put some posters up at least. These walls look so empty with all the gaps. How about we make a start on Sunday?’

‘I’m seeing Kez on Sunday. It’s the only day she can meet.’

The landline goes.

‘Oh! That’ll be Mira,’ Mum says. ‘She was out when I called earlier.’

I take up position on the landing.

‘Do you think you’ll be able to come back to see Janu? If it’s the expense . . . I’ll let you know when we’ve got his dates. Apparently he’s really keen to see you. No, not yet. She’s still sleeping on the landing – see if you can have a word. No! No more snakes in the kitchen or anywhere else! Don’t think so . . . the sign’s still up on the tree. I’ll just see where she is . . . I can take a guess . . .’

‘Laila, Mira wants to talk to you,’ Mum calls up.

I pretend not to hear.

‘Maybe she’s in the bathroom. I’ll get her to call you back later.’

I go through to Mira’s room and take the lid off the little varnished box. I like the colour. It’s sort of orangey-red and the bonsai tree is delicately painted in gold. It’s such a shame there’s a crack in it. I take out the little silk purse and place Nana Josie’s chime inside to keep it safe. I feel a bit nervous about taking it out of the house for the first time. I would hate to lose it, like Mira lost that artichoke charm that Nana gave to her. I place the letter from Simon and the purse into the big front pocket of my dungarees. The charm sticks out a bit, but I pull on my hoodie and zip it up so you can’t tell it’s there.

‘What time will you be back, Laila?’

Mum’s finally letting me go out on my own sometimes, but this is always the last thing she asks before I walk out of the door. It kind of spoils the going out in the first place.

‘I don’t know! I’ll be out all day probably. I need to catch up with Kez.’

I glimpse myself in the hallway mirror. I try twisting and piling my hair into a beehive like Kez’s, but it’s too flat and shiny so it just flops down. I give up and let it trail down my back.

‘Don’t forget your coat. I think it’s going to rain. You got your mobile on you?’ Mum asks.

I feel for it in my hoodie pocket.

‘Yes, it’s here! See you later!’

I pick up my coat, but when Mum goes back through to the kitchen I dump it back in the hall. It’s not even cold.

I suppose in a way Kez’s parents have turned their flat into a sort of showcase for their work. Janu’s going to love it. It’ll give him so many ideas. Each of the walls is a screen that can be pulled back so the whole thing opens out into one massive box and then can be closed up again. I love the way the buildings they design can be small or huge, depending on how many boxes you have. I can see why they’ve won awards for coming up with the idea. But they say they would never have thought of it without Kez’s input, so the awards should belong to her too because everything was done in consultation with her. I think that’s true, because they’ve used her experience of what it’s like not to be able to get around your own home easily to create it, like the invisible wall grips and easy-grip floors so she doesn’t have to use her chair so often

Mum and Dad don’t understand why it’s such a big deal for me that Kez won’t come to ours any more. But why would she when she can be completely independent here? I suppose when our house was built, about a hundred years ago, they didn’t think about access or stuff like that.

I remember when Kez moved back into her flat after it had all been redesigned. I gave her some parachute silk to hang from her ceiling to make her room look like a rainbow marquee. Kez’s mum strung fairy lights along the edges of the coloured silk, and we used to lie on her bed staring up at the ceiling, talking for hours. In the summer Kez opened the window and the breeze would get under the parachute silk and it would billow and blow like sails, projecting its colours right across the wall. It made me feel like we were in our own little cocoon. I wanted it to be like that for us two in my new room too, but now it looks like that will never happen.

I ring Kez’s doorbell and Bubbe answers.

‘Ah, my Laila!’ She smiles, and squeezes my shoulder. It feels strange now that I’m taller than her.

Kez walks slowly out into the hallway and opens her arms wide. I didn’t expect this. We hug for ages, like we’re long-lost friends, which I suppose we are in a way. This feels like the sort of hug Kez gave me after she came back from her summer camp though, as if she’s been on this huge journey without me and she wants to make me feel better because I’ve missed out.

I have a word with myself.

Laila, don’t make such a big deal about it. You can always come and see her here . . . and after her bat mitzvah’s over she’ll have more time for you. If she’s not in pain, and things improve, maybe she’ll come over to yours then and sit on your bed in your new room and you can plan it all out, maybe decorate it together, and things will be more or less back to how they were before.

‘Have you heard this one? I love it.’ Kez plays a song on her phone that I’ve never heard of. She holds a pretend microphone to her mouth and sings the whole thing. ‘I’m thinking about doing this for the audition for that school concert. What do you think?’

‘It sounds really strong. You’ll definitely get in.’

I take the little silk purse out of my dungaree pocket, loosen the drawstrings and tip out the chime.

‘I brought this to show you. You said you wanted to see it.’

‘It’s really sweet. I like the cut-outs! You should shine the silver up. I bet it would really sparkle.’

Kez half looks at the chime as she finds another track but then she checks out a photo that’s just been sent through.

‘I think I like it as it is, so you can see how old it is—’

‘Hang on a minute, Laila!’

She angles the screen slightly away from me, but I’ve already seen a picture of her and a boy with dark curly hair.

‘Who was that?’ I ask

‘Oh, that’s Adam,’ she says, and quickly flicks on to another photo that she doesn’t mind showing me.

Now she’s grinning at a photo of her and a whole group of people from her summer camp with their arms thrown around each other. I keep thinking she’s going to tell me who all these people are, but it’s like she’s back there with them now. Their faces are splatted in mud and Kez is still wearing a riding cap. It looks like they’ve been on a trek . I’m just about to ask Kez about the horseriding and the people in the one when she scrolls on to the next photo.

I slip the chime back into the purse in my pocket and wait for Kez to remember that I’m in the room.

‘Shall we do nails?’ She points to a toilet bag by her bed. I take out a bottle of navy-blue nail varnish. ‘Mine first!’ She reaches forward and rests her hands on my lap.

‘I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it!’ I say, opening the lid. It smells really strong.

I start with her left hand, easing her fingers straight as I brush in one direction over the first nail.

‘That’s so much smoother than I could do,’ Kez says, inspecting her nail and holding her hand out for me to continue.

‘How’s Pari?’ Kez asks.

‘All right.’ I shrug.

‘She seems really nice. I saw her the other day on her way back from school. Said she has to take the bus to the station and the tube home. It sounds a long journey.’

‘How about you – are you all right? Met some new people?’ I try to make the question not sound loaded, but it does.

‘Well, there’s Becks . . . I know her from Saturday school – you know, at the synagogue – but I didn’t think she was coming here. I thought she’d be going to Jewish school.’

Kez pulls her hand away from me so she can flex her fingers, then rests her hand back on my knee again. She seems really stressed. ‘Honestly, Laila, I couldn’t believe it when she sat next to me in tutor time on the first day. Her sister’s in Year Eight so she’s introducing me to a few people . . .’

She trails off when she sees the look on my face. We both sit there in silence for a moment, trying to find something to talk about. I can’t get used to these empty pauses between us – like the ghost pictures on Mira’s wall, it feels like this is turning into a ghost friendship.

‘I know I’ve been giving it all the beehive and eyeliner . . .’ Kez breaks the silence. Then she winces and waves her fingers in the air.

‘Sorry, am I hurting you?’ I ask.

‘It’s more of an ache!’ She gives me this really sad look like she’s not talking about doing nails at all, and then she slowly relaxes enough for me to take back her hand. ‘I’m sorry we haven’t got to see each other much. I can’t believe how busy the week is with shul Friday evening and Saturday too. I’m behind with everything . . . homework included.’

‘You hardly ever used to go to the synagogue,’ I say.

Kez looks a bit exasperated with me, like I just don’t understand.

‘It’s for my bat mitzvah, Lai Lai. I want to get it right. Anyway, except for Becks, everyone else is learning Hebrew at Jewish school so we’re getting together later . . . Bubbe’s going to help us. I didn’t think I would get so into it, but you know how Bubbe makes everything into a story.’

I do know. But it feels like it should be me and Kez sitting together with Bubbe while she tells her stories . . . not Kez and Becks. I finish Kez’s nails in silence. I wish I didn’t feel so jealous all the time.

‘Do you want me to do yours?’ she asks, wafting her fingers around.

I shake my head.

‘What time are you seeing Rebecca today then?’ I ask.

Kez blushes. ‘Not till later.’

‘That’s OK then!’

‘But . . . Sorry, I forgot to say . . . I missed my physio this week too, so Dad reorganized it for today. He didn’t know you were coming over and he only told me this morning or I would have called you so I’m going to have to leave in about half an hour. If I’d known about that I wouldn’t have organized for Becks to come over later. Really, Laila, you wouldn’t believe how much there is to learn for shul. I’ve only just got to grips with translating my parsha . . .’

I have this knot in my throat that I can’t seem to swallow.

‘What’s a parsha?’ I ask quietly.

‘It’s like the portion of the Torah I’ve got to learn to talk about at my bat mitzvah. I’m only on the first Aliyah . . . ’

I know the Torah’s the Jewish holy book, so I suppose an Aliyah must be a verse or psalm or something like that. I don’t want to ask though, because not knowing for sure makes me feel a bit dim.

‘I was just really looking forward to hanging out today.’

Kez looks up at me through her tangle of hair and I can see she’s upset too. Even though we’ve been carrying on as if everything’s the same, nothing is.

For the first time ever, I don’t know how we’re going to find enough to say to fill even another half an hour. I definitely won’t show her the letter about Nana Josie’s Protest Book now. Or ask her if she thinks it would be safe for me to go and get it by myself.

‘Why are you scratching your arm?’

‘Got a bit of eczema, that’s all.’

‘I didn’t know you had that.’

‘Apparently I did when I was a baby . . . it’s come back.’

‘Hang on a minute. I’ve got cream for when I wear my arm brace and it rubs.’ Kez opens her bedside table drawer and takes a out a tube. ‘Try this.’

I pull my arm away from her.

‘No! I’m fine.’

‘Please, Lai Lai . . . let me!’

Kez gently dabs the cream over my arm. She looks up at me and whispers, ‘Promise you won’t get upset if I try and explain something. I’ve wanted to tell you the truth about this since I got back from camp. We’ve never lied to each other, have we?’

‘You have now!’ I pull my arm away.

‘Please don’t be in a mood with me, Lai Lai.’

Maybe this is one of those situations when telling the truth might not do any good at all. Because I’m pretty sure I know what she’s going to say . . .

She takes a deep breath, then comes straight out with it, like she’s been storing this up for ages. ‘I asked to have nobody I knew from primary in my tutor group.’

‘Nobody! Not even Becks?’

I say her name the way Kez does, like she’s known her forever.

‘Don’t be like that, Lai Lai. She’s not from primary . . . and I didn’t know she was coming to our school . . .’

I shrug like it doesn’t make any difference to me one way or the other.

‘. . . I thought it would be better for both of us to try and meet new people. Bubbe warned me I should explain to you before we started school – she said we should sit down together and talk about it. I wanted to, and I kept trying to find a way, but I . . . just couldn’t.’

‘I guessed anyway. I can tell when you’re lying.’ I keep my voice really flat and I won’t look at her so I don’t risk getting all emotional. ‘Thanks for telling me about Vimana too!’

‘Sorry, I should have . . .’ Kez’s voice trails away.

She looks like she’s about to cry. A bit of me wants to hug her and tell her not to get stressed out over us because I don’t even really know why all this has got to be such a big deal . . . except I can’t tell her that because to tell the truth I don’t think I’ve ever felt this angry with anyone before.

‘Lai Lai, I want you to understand; at camp it was like finding this really big family. I never thought I could go somewhere where I didn’t know anyone and then do all those activities. It was easier than I thought it ever could be and I met so many great people. I didn’t feel so on my own!’

‘But you’ve never been on your own! I’ve always been around and I’m always thinking about you . . .’ I’m having to bite the inside of my mouth really hard to stop myself from crying.

I look at Kez’s bedside wall; at all the photos of me and her when we were little. There’s one of us standing by our pegs with our matching drawstring bags. Kez and Laila, always by each other’s sides.

‘How’s your new room?’ she asks, keeping her eyes on the photo wall.

‘I dunno; it doesn’t feel like mine. Mum keeps on at me to decorate.’

We’re just surface-talking now. It doesn’t mean anything. I look up at the parachute silk and fairy lights.

‘My mum had this really good idea. Why don’t you take a video of your new room and we can all design it together?’ she suggests.

‘What’s the point? It’s not like we can hang out in there, is it? Even if you wanted to!’

‘Please, Lai Lai.’

The hurt feeling just bursts out of me.

‘You can call me Laila from now on.’

Kez winces.

‘But . . .’ She looks down at her nails.

‘Nobody’s calling me Lai Lai now. It sounds babyish.’

‘Am I nobody?’ Kez whispers.

‘No, but I am . . . Obviously or you wouldn’t have gone out of your way to ask for me not to be with you.’

Kez takes my hand. ‘I know I should have told you . . .’

I won’t look at her.

‘Laila, please . . . OK, if this is how you want it . . .’

‘Don’t turn it on me. It’s not about what I wanted.’

Kez looks up at the ceiling for ages, and when I don’t say anything she fills the silence with: ‘. . . We’re decorating too. The parachute’s coming down. I’m just going to have it plain – all this feels a bit childish.’

‘Yes, really childish.’ I get up and walk out without turning back.

‘Are you going, Laila? Everything all right with you girls?’ Bubbe calls out to me as I pass the kitchen.