I lie on the landing sofa staring up at the ceiling, wondering about Pari’s journey home and trying to imagine where she lives from the bits and pieces that she’s told me. I don’t know why I feel so happy that she’s asked me over to hers, but I do. I slip Nana’s chime out of the drawstring bag, rattle it and let the sound fill the air . . . and these thoughts come to me really clearly.
I won’t really get to know Pari until I’ve seen where she lives. It matters that it’s not just me inviting her to mine. But she seems so worried about me going there, it’s making me a bit nervous now. It can’t be that bad where she lives, can it? Anyway, how can we be true friends unless we know more about each other?
Maybe that’s the same with Kez . . . why it counts so much that I can only go around to hers now and she doesn’t feel comfortable any more to come back to mine.
I hear the key turn in the front-door lock.
‘Mum?’ I call down.
‘It’s Janu!’
He’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, cleaning his feet with wipes he keeps in his backpack. I can’t believe he’s actually going through with this barefoot thing.
‘Hi, Landing Laila! That’s what I’ll call you.’ Janu laughs as he comes up the stairs and heads through to the bathroom to wash his feet properly. I suppose the wipes and the washing are his way of taking his shoes off at the front door.
‘That’s better,’ he says, coming out again and sitting next to me on my perch. He unpacks his iPad and opens his Barefoot Blogger site. ‘Let’s see if there are any more donations . . .’
He reads out loud:
‘£10 from Heathrow Airport!’
He laughs. ‘Well, she was as good as her word, I have to say!’
I read the next one over his shoulder.
I met you on Parliament Hill. I have been despondent about the world recently and meeting you and your little cousin gave me hope! £500 donated.
With heart ’n’ sole!
Lizzy Melrose
‘Ah! The Bhopal lady. She hasn’t forgotten. Thank you, Lizzy Melrose!’ Janu says ‘The kindness of strangers.’
On behalf of the Tagorian Society. We have discussed at our board meeting and researched your project . . . we think it is fittingly poetic! Tagore himself would approve. £1,000 donated.
Dilip Sen-Gupta
‘The man on the bus! I can’t believe it! So generous. I wonder who he is . . . I’ll look him up.’
Janu flips over his iPad screen and leans back on Nana Josie’s sofa with his arms behind his head.
‘What’s happening in your world, Laila?’
I’ve noticed from the teachers at school that people have questions they get into the habit of asking. A lot of the time they don’t really want your reply or to know what you really think . . . That’s why ‘fine’ does fine for most questions. But some people, like Mrs Latif and Janu, have a way of asking that actually gets you thinking. Janu seems to know how much I hate it when Mum and Dad always ask me about school.
‘You first,’ I say.
‘OK!’ He rubs his forehead for a moment while he thinks. ‘I would say . . . my perception of this city being so different to back home is wrong. Today I visited a place called Centrepoint with Hannah. Do you know it?’
I shake my head.
‘Well, it’s for homeless young people. Not unlike my refuges. Many of them seemed to be struggling in their minds. I can’t believe there is so much of this here too. I didn’t expect it!’
I nod. ‘I had this thought that I won’t get to know Pari until I go to her home. And . . . I think Mum might be a bit nervous about me going . . . she’s so overprotective.’
‘She’s your ma!’
‘But she might not let . . . well, I was wondering . . . if Pari does invite me at the weekend could you take me over there?’
‘No problem.’ Janu nods and smoothes his hand over his head. ‘That is partly the reason why I came here, to see where you and Krish and Mira live.’
The front door clicks open.
‘Hi, Laila! How was school?’ Mum calls up.
‘Fine!’ I call back.
Janu’s grinning as he flips the cover of his iPad over and heads off to Krish’s room, leaving me alone to chat to Mum. He winks encouragingly at me as he goes.
