Krish has been bugging me all day. I want to tell him to get out of my room, but after yesterday I can’t risk upsetting him.

‘Why did you run off like that anyway?’ I ask him.

‘I didn’t think about it. I just ran.’ Krish shrugs.

‘What did you want to talk to Jo about?’

Will you two get into bed,’ Dad yells up the stairs. ‘It’s a big day tomorrow.’

When Krish finally leaves me in peace, I turn the light off, close my eyes and try to think of nothing. I am beginning to drift off when I hear the door open and somebody creeping on tiptoe around my room. In the half-light from the hallway I see Krish heading over to the easel. I don’t move an inch, but I clearly see him place Nana’s charm on the little ridge where the canvas sits.

I whisper his name. ‘Krish.’ He jumps and stumbles, crumpling himself and the easel into a great clattering mess on the floor. It’s strange that Krish is such a good runner, because he often falls over; like Laila’s spinning top, he’s only got his balance when he’s moving fast.

‘Why did you take it?’ I whisper.

‘She never actually gave me something, like she gave things to you,’ I hear Krish’s tiny hurt voice cutting through the darkness.

The light switch snaps on and I shield my eyes from the blinding brightness.

‘What on earth is going on in here?’ shouts Dad, staring at Krish as he tries to untangle himself from the easel.

‘Nothing.’

I jump in quickly, before Krish has a chance to answer. ‘He just fell.’

‘Please go to bed,’ Dad pleads, picking up my portrait and having a good look at it.

‘Is this you?’

I nod.

‘It’s good . . . makes you look older than you are though,’ says Dad as he bends down to pick up the easel. Then he drops down on to his knees and starts rummaging around on the floor.

‘You’ll never guess what I’ve found . . .’ Dad stands up triumphantly and hands me Nana Josie’s charm. ‘Shall I take it and fix it on to your bracelet so you can wear it tomorrow? It must have been there all the time,’ he says as I hand him the bracelet to fix the charm on to.

‘It must have been,’ I say, looking over to Krish, who’s refusing to meet my eye.

Dad kisses me and Krish goodnight, and practically skips down the stairs.

The sound of waves fills every sense in my body, as if the sea is flowing in and out of me. I hear a little girl humming . . . in and out flow the waves in even patterns . . .a sweet lullaby . . . in and out softly sighing shhhhhhhh. The girl floats towards me. She’s holding her fingers to her lips. Shhhhhhh sound the waves in and out, somewhere inside me, but still she floats on, the waves appearing and disappearing from my sight, a little girl of about four years old.

‘Who are you?’ I call to her, but I know who she is. She has Jidé’s face, his eyes, his expression.

‘Shhhhhh,’ answer the waves. She holds her finger to her lips and hums.

‘What’s your name?’ I whisper.

‘Shhhhhhhh,’echoes the sea.

The girl’s lips are sealed.

Then I catch sight of it under the waves, Jidé’s bright orange cloth shining through the grey water, floating towards me. I follow it through the wave, grabbing at it, until it’s safely in my hands. Shhhhhh, sighs the sea. Then the little girl takes her finger from her mouth, smiles at me and sings.