Название: A Pocketful of Stars
Автор: Aisha Bushby
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Учебная литература
isbn: 9781405293204
isbn:
Mum sank down on to the sofa, her head in her hands. I thought for a moment that she was crying.
‘I’ve got a splitting headache . . .’ she said, rubbing her temples.
I thought it was an excuse, a way to stop us fighting.
So instead of backing down, I kept pushing; maybe this time I could win. And I picked the button I knew would hurt most.
‘Dad gets it,’ I said, relishing the way my words made Mum flinch. ‘He was going to take me to a gaming convention this summer. But then you took us to that stupid play, and I missed out on tickets.’
‘Oh, Safiya,’ Mum said, sounding annoyed now. She was still massaging her head. ‘Why did you come then if you hated it so much? Elle seemed to enjoy herself . . .’
I shrugged. ‘Because I had to.’
I could tell that upset Mum, but she swallowed down the hurt and carried on.
‘Look, I know you get along better with your father.’ I could taste the bitterness in her voice. ‘You don’t half remind me of it every day. But maybe you could just push yourself a little and –’
‘Just stop it, Mum!’ I interrupted. ‘I’m not going to the theatre group,’ I said with finality. ‘I don’t want to.’
Was it my fault? Did this happen because I upset her?
I want to ask the doctors these questions, but I’m too afraid of the answers.
I’m now right in front of the door to Mum’s hospital room. It’s open, just a crack. And then I see her face. My heart jolts and I turn away. I sit on an abandoned chair outside, head in my hands, blocking out the rest of the argument.
I shut my eyes, take my glasses off, and press the palms of my hands hard against my eyelids, until white spots form against the black. I try to erase the picture of Mum in her hospital bed, to go back to a point before all this happened. I imagine that I’m staring at the solar system, and I try to believe – really believe – that I’m somewhere far away.
A while later I’m still sitting there, eyes trained on the floor now, avoiding the door. A nurse walks out, letting out a startled ‘Oh!’ It’s almost comical, the way she jumps back. All I see are her white shoes acting out her surprise.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, wiping the tears that now fall freely down my face. ‘My m-mum is in there and I c-c-c–’ I break into sobs, barely able to breathe.
The nurse kneels in front of me, but I don’t look her in the eye. Instead I stare at her name badge, which says ‘Amanda’ on it.
‘Deep breaths,’ Amanda says. ‘Come on, darling, you can do this. Breathe with me.’
She inhales, holding her hand to her chest, and I copy her. She exhales and I follow.
After a few moments I’m breathing normally again. Someone else comes to bring me a cup of water. It tastes metallic and I only sip enough to wet my lips.
I put my glasses back on, stand up and turn back to the door, making sure to keep focused on the wheels of Mum’s bed, and not her face.
‘Are you sure?’ Amanda asks.
I nod.
‘OK.’ She leads me in and guides me to Mum’s bed. ‘I’m going to slide the curtains shut, give you some privacy, but I’ll be on the other side if you need me. All right?’
‘Thank you,’ I mumble.
Amanda looks at me for a moment, before shutting the curtains behind her.
It takes me a full minute to look up at Mum once we’re alone.
Slowly I move my eyes up from the base of her bed, across the thin sheets that cover her legs, all the way up to her hands and the tubes attached to the back of them, and finally to her face.
The first thing I think is how great she looks. It sounds odd, but she does. Her skin is almost glowing. Right now, there aren’t any dark circles to show the hours of staying up late working at her computer, no frown lines to shape her concentration, and her mouth isn’t downturned in disappointment, the way it often is when we speak.
I’m sorry I was so horrible, I think, but I can’t say it aloud.
Every time Mum and I argue about one thing, three or four previous arguments get dragged into it. We’ve now battled out each of our issues so many times that they no longer make sense. We’ve never managed to resolve anything either, so our problems just grow and grow, like a monster that feeds off our frustration with one another.
It wasn’t like this before secondary school. Saturdays used to be fun. We would play and laugh, and Mum liked me for me. But then it changed, and now it’s like I can’t do anything right.
Our last argument felt like it grew so big that the monster had taken over Mum’s flat entirely, suffocating us both.
Mum looks relaxed now, almost like she’s smiling. Like she has a secret.
Her long, brown hair is fanned out across the pillow, her curls perfectly placed. She looks like Sleeping Beauty, hands clasped over her chest, waiting for the kiss of life.
Without thinking, I stand up, lean over her, and stroke strands of hair away from her face. The smell of her musky perfume has somehow managed to linger on her skin, even after everything that’s happened. It makes my chest tighten.
Mum’s had the same perfume since I can remember. It’s surrounded every hug she’s given me. But we don’t hug much any more and I’d forgotten how much I missed it.
I kiss her on her forehead and my tears sink into her skin.
I sit back and wait for the magic to happen.
But this isn’t a fairy tale, and princesses don’t wake up after kisses.
‘Wake up,’ something whispers into the darkness. ‘Safiya, wake up.’
When I next open my eyes I’m lying on my back staring up at the sky. The stars wink at me, brighter than I’ve seen them before. There are thousands of them, millions, coating the land like a great big blanket. The moon greets me shyly in a crescent wave.
I sit up. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust, for me to get my bearings. I’m in some sort of courtyard.
It’s hot, hotter than I’ve ever СКАЧАТЬ