Mum pushes open the front entrance and kicks junk mail off the mat. Two doors separate the house into flats. Mum opens a red one with scuff marks along the bottom and drags my suitcase up a flight of narrow stairs.
‘Here we are. Come on,’ she says. She huffs as she plonks the case by the stairwell. She sweeps her arms wide. ‘Home sweet home,’ she says. We are in a large sitting room with a small kitchen tucked into one corner. Piles of boxes, like giant building blocks, are scattered around the room and the couch, the only piece of furniture in the room apart from a tiny dining table, is covered in clothes.
Dust dances by the open windows. The room smells of burnt toast.
‘What do you think?’ Mum asks.
‘It’s got loads of potential,’ I say as cheerfully as I can. It doesn’t look like a home yet, but she’s just moved in.
Mum smiles. ‘Exactly. Loads of potential. We’ll get some pictures up and maybe paint the walls. It’ll be unrecognisable. I love the open-plan living, don’t you? Makes me feel like I’m still in the States.’
Mum goes to the kitchen. She rummages in a box and pulls out a saucepan. She fills it with water and places it on the hob.
‘Let’s have coffee.’
‘OK,’ I say.
‘But I want to give you the full tour first. I think you’ll be surprised,’ she says. She opens her handbag, which is slung across her body, and takes out a packet of cigarettes. She pinches one between her lips and lights the end, drawing in deeply and exhaling the smoke through her nose.
‘You smoke,’ I say.
Mum pulls the cigarette out of her mouth and looks at it. ‘I know. Disgusting. I meant to give up in the New Year but it never happened.’ She laughs and inhales again. She goes to the open window and blows the smoke outside. She swats the air with her free hand. When she’s finished her cigarette, I follow her to the hallway.
She pushes open the first door, revealing a pink bathroom. The side of the bath and sink are crowded with bottles of shampoo, soaps and make-up. ‘Little girls’ room,’ Mum says. ‘And this is my room.’ She opens the door opposite. ‘Thinking of painting it a duck-egg blue. And I like butterflies, so maybe one side of wallpaper. What do you think?’
‘That would be nice,’ I say.
Mum pulls her bedroom door behind her. ‘A bit of a mess, but I’ll get there.’
At the end of the hallway is one more door. Mum is beaming. ‘And this is your room.’ She turns the handle.
I step inside and almost screech with excitement. Instead of a single bed in the corner and a large sensible desk, like at Nana’s, Mum’s bought a yellow bunk bed and two green beanbags. ‘It’s so fun!’ I say.
‘Phew! I was worried you’d think it looked childish. But I thought better a bunk bed than two separate beds squished in.’
‘Huh?’
I feel something coming. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know. I put my hands in my pockets and make fists.
‘Rain? Rain, are you awake, my darling?’ Mum says.
The covers on the top bunk shift, and from beneath them a head appears. A red head with frayed plaits, curly at the ends.
The tired eyes of a kid.
A girl.
She rubs her eyes with her fists.
‘This is Apple. I was telling you all about her, remember? You’re going to be best friends, I know it,’ Mum says.
The girl sits up and blinks. She finds a pair of large round glasses under her pillow and slips them over her nose. ‘Hi,’ Rain says.
I don’t reply. I’m just about managing to stay on my feet.
‘Apple?’ Mum says. Her voice sounds like it’s coming from another room. From behind a wall. ‘Apple?’
‘Yes?’ I look at her, fixing my mouth into a jagged smile.
‘This is Rain. She’s your sister. Aren’t you going to say hello?’