Untitled Adam Baron 2. Adam Baron

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      It was a surprising question and I didn’t know how to answer it at first. But I talked about Saturday football, which we do on the heath, and then Charlton, and how I hoped they’d be up in the Premier League by the time I started playing for them.

      ‘You want to be a footballer, then?’

      ‘Of course. Jacky Chapman’s even got his own helicopter! He’s got a pilot’s licence and he flies himself around.’

      ‘Jacky …?’

      ‘Chapman. He’s the captain. I’m doing my Person Project on him.’

      ‘Your …?’

      ‘You have to find out about someone amazing,’ interrupted Veronique. (She does that. I mean, a lot.) ‘And do a presentation. I’m doing a scientist.’

      ‘Einstein?’

      ‘No. Niels Bohr.’

      ‘Niels Boring,’ I said. ‘Jacky Chapman’s going to fly me to a match and he’s going to fly me home.’

      ‘Is he?’

      ‘Well, I’ve written to him. I asked if he’d fly his helicopter to school and pick me up. Haven’t heard back yet.’

      ‘Seems you really like football, Cymbeline.’

      ‘Course. Did you ever play?’

      Nanai said no, and when I told her how Daisy and Vi, and Vi’s sister Frieda, were all really good, she pushed herself up from her chair. I fetched the ball I’d given Veronique for Christmas (which looked suspiciously clean) and we played in their garden. Nanai hopped about like crazy. Defensively she was very strong (her walking stick helped). As an attacking midfielder she was also impressive. She might not have got round Jacky Chapman, but she nutmegged Veronique no bother and scored a goal between two flowerpots. She was tired then, so I only added two minutes on for stoppages. We helped her back to her chair and she beamed at both of us. Veronique especially.

      Veronique sat on the edge of her chair and Nanai took her hand before doing something a bit weird. She pushed Veronique’s index finger into a triangle and gave it a little nibble! Veronique rolled her eyes.

      ‘She says it’s because I’m so delicious,’ she explained. ‘When I was a baby she wanted to eat me.’

      Nanai giggled, and Veronique rolled her eyes again (though I could tell she secretly loved it). And then Veronique brought Nanai up to date on her French and Chinese classes, fencing competitions, violin, clarinet, ukulele and piano lessons, and how she’d recently got into Tolstoy.

      ‘At your age! Do you like Tolstoy, Cymbeline?’

      ‘I like Toy Story. Lance has got a Buzz Lightyear.’

      ‘Your brother, is he, this Lance?’

      ‘Friend. I don’t have a brother – or a sister,’ I added, which seemed to be a mistake because Nanai stared at me before getting a little panicked, until she turned to the photos on the table by her chair. There was one of a big ship, another of people who looked like they were probably her parents. She grabbed the third one, though – just her as a young woman with another young woman who looked just like her.

      Nanai clung to the picture, tight, mumbling to herself as she drifted off to sleep.

      Veronique reached forward and pulled Nanai’s rug up over her knees. ‘She holds on to it all night,’ she said, meaning the photograph.

      ‘What? Why?’

      ‘It’s a photo of her and Thu,’ said Veronique.

      ‘Thu?’

      ‘Her twin sister. You know I told you Nanai was a refugee?’

      I did know. It was one of the things that made Veronique and her family SO interesting. Nanai had been one of what British people called the Vietnamese boat people – refugees, like the people fleeing horrible things now are. They were Hoa, Chinese people living in Vietnam, and they had to escape from Vietnam because the government was burning their houses.

      ‘Well, their ship sank,’ said Veronique. ‘Or something like that. I’m not too sure. Nanai was rescued. Her sister wasn’t.’

      Oh NO.

      I looked down at Nanai, that second time I met her, and felt like such an IDIOT. Talking about not having a sister! I couldn’t believe I’d done it.

      ‘Not your fault,’ said Veronique, guessing what I was thinking. ‘Come on.’

      She pulled me into the garden.

      ‘I should have told you,’ she said, ‘about Thu. It’s why Nanai hates being asked about being a refugee. She won’t talk about it.’

      ‘Blimey. And they were twins? Were they identical?’

      ‘No. Nanai was a tomboy, she says.’

      ‘You can tell that by the football.’

      ‘But Thu was quiet and arty. Musical. And really beautiful. Nanai says that’s where I …’

      ‘What?’

      Veronique blushed. ‘Doesn’t matter. Anyway, I wish I had a sister, don’t you?’

      I blinked at Veronique, not knowing how to answer. For some reason I thought about Stephan’s two little girls, who he brings over at the weekend sometimes. They’re okay and the little one’s cute, actually. She climbs on my knee and calls me Thimbeline. She draws pictures of me that are hilarious.

      But I just shrugged.

      I couldn’t get the image out of my head, of Nanai clutching that photo like it was a swimming float. Something to keep her safe.

      It made me feel close to her and for a second I didn’t know why. But then I did. You see, I’ve lost someone too. It happened when I was tiny, though, and I never knew them. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Nanai to lose her twin the way she did.

      I shivered, and then Veronique’s dad called us in for supper. All through it I thought of that photo in Nanai’s hands, and how frail and tired she looked as she clung on to it.

      

      So when Mum drove me round after school and I saw the ambulance in the driveway I was really scared – for Nanai.

      And, sure enough, when Mum and I walked into their kitchen, Veronique’s dad told us that Nanai was ‘having a little trouble with her breathing’.

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