‘Good news?’ I ask, because it still doesn’t make sense, doesn’t explain why Mum’s been so sick. Has she just been overdoing the fried stuff every week?
‘Yes,’ she says. And I breathe, and breathe, and breathe. But then Mum starts crying again. It’s all very confusing. ‘You tell her,’ she says to Dad.
Dad strokes Mum’s hair. ‘Neena,’ he says, ‘you’re going to have a brother again!’
I feel dizzy. My brother. I’m going to have my brother again?
How? Is he back?
My breath is stuck in my throat, but I force the words out. ‘Akash is here?’
I’ve dreamed of this moment. In my dreams, Akash would be standing in front of the fridge, stuffing his face with a cream cake. Or I’d hear the strumming of his guitar while I was painting in my room. Once, I heard him laughing in the garden in a dream, and when I woke up I quickly pulled back my curtains. But he wasn’t there.
I’d have to remind myself that he wasn’t here, and it would be fresh all over again: that sharp ache in my stomach, the huge, gaping emptiness that I fell into again, and again, and again. But now …
‘Is this really happening?’ I ask, breathless now. ‘Where? Where is he?’
But Mum and Dad aren’t smiling any more. They’re staring at me, wide-eyed.
‘No, no,’ Dad says, shaking his head. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
And then it hits me: the sickness; a brother. I look down at Mum’s stomach.
‘Yes, I’m pregnant,’ Mum says, nodding.
And now I’m the one feeling sick.
Mum reaches across the table and grips my hand. ‘A baby brother!’
My head spins. But what about Akash? My big brother. I want him.
Mum’s still speaking. ‘I’m hoping the sickness will calm soon. It should have stopped by now – I’m just over twenty weeks.’
I feel like I’m floating outside my body. Like everything is very distant.
‘We didn’t want to tell you … until we’d had the scan to check things. With my age and everything … But everything looks good.’
I try to focus on Mum’s words. ‘So Akash isn’t here?’ I ask, just to be sure. I have to be very, very sure. Nothing is making much sense and I need to check if my brother is back.
Dad glances at Mum and she reaches into the drawer behind her, pulls something out of there and pushes a small black-and-white photo towards me. It’s a blurry photo of a baby. I can make out a small head, a round body, tiny hands and feet.
‘No Akash,’ Mum says. ‘But this is good news, Neena.’
‘I want Akash,’ I say, and that makes her cry again. Dad rubs his head like he’s got a bad headache.
The front doorbell rings. But none of us move.
‘No one knows yet,’ Mum says, taking the photo back from me. ‘We … we’ll tell them soon. Just not yet …’ She tucks it back into the drawer.
Then the door opens and Aunty Jasmine’s voice calls up the hallway. ‘Helloooo. Anyone home? Ready or not, we’re coming!’ She laughs, like she’s cracked a hilarious joke.
‘We’ve got gajar ka halwa,’ Aunty Sunita adds, which makes Mum dry her tears.
And then there’s a commotion in the hallway, shoes being taken off, laughter, chatter, and I need to get out of there. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ I say, standing up. I feel unsteady on my feet, but I try to focus. I can’t stay here any longer.
‘Of course,’ Mum says.
‘Don’t be too late,’ Dad adds.
But I don’t really care what either of them says any more. I stumble out into the hallway and squeeze my way through Mum and Dad’s friends, ignoring all the hellos, dodging the hugs. I feel like I’m in a weird dream. It’s hard to breathe.
Finally, I escape out of the front door. I’m hoping that I’ll feel better the further I get from the house. But no, it doesn’t work like that. My ears are roaring and my heart is pounding and the pool of emptiness I try so hard to keep shut has been ripped open and is swallowing me whole.
All I can do is walk.
I don’t know where I’m going, but at the same time I do. I’ve only been there once since everything happened with Akash. I think it was a few days after, but it’s a blur, so I don’t remember it properly. Now, I have no choice.
My feet: they’re leading the way.
The Ridgeway was our place. Akash’s and mine. It’s the local beauty spot, which means anyone can come here, but it was ours.
I stand at the top of the long bank, looking out at the lush green rolling hills in the distance, at the curves and the slopes and the dips, and all the tiny houses in between. The sky is clear and bright. You can see across the Severn Estuary from up here; we thought it was the top of the world when we were kids. ‘Little Switzerland,’ Mum called it. ‘Witzerland,’ I would say, which made everyone laugh, especially Akash. But it was later that it really became our place. When we were teenagers.
My ears ring.
My heart races.
Behind me is the bench we always sat on. We came here when Akash wanted to smoke. And when he passed his driving theory test. When I got a crappy mark for one of my first pieces of GCSE art, I sat beside him on that bench and cried, and he told me how talented I was, that I just had to practise. Here we figured out who we were, away from Mum and Dad and all the noise of the world.
And then he left.
Dad’s words replay in my head: You’ll have a brother again.
I feel full. So full of everything. ‘Akash!’ I call out. Perhaps Mum and Dad are wrong. Maybe he really is coming back. He could … he could be here already. ‘Akash?’
I shut my eyes and pretend I’m a child again.
I remember. I remember so clearly.
He’d make me race him down this hill. My stomach would bubble with excitement and nerves as we stood at the top. I can see his wide grin. Eyes dancing. ‘One,’ he says. ‘Two …’
‘Don’t go too fast,’ I say. ‘Give me a chance!’
‘But it’s a race!’ he says, laughing. ‘Ready? Go!’
I run down the bank and it’s like a long green slide. We run. I feel like I’m flying as my feet leave the ground. And then we’re falling, rolling, rolling, down, down, down.
I stop abruptly in a heap at the bottom. Covered in grass. Mud. Aches. Akash’s laughter pierces the air. Makes me laugh too. I look round, expecting to see him, forgetting, almost forgetting, he’s not here.
I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest. As I catch my breath, I grab fistfuls of grass. I want to talk to him. Tell him Mum’s having a … a … a baby. A fucking baby. It’s ridiculous. A joke. She must be near the menopause. Forty-four, for God’s sake.
I wrap my arms round my knees and close my eyes. I imagine a baby taking over Akash’s room. Filling it with his things. His noise. His smell.
My throat burns.
I don’t want some other new younger brother.
I want my old one, my big brother – I want Akash.
My thoughts spin and spin and spin. Mum and Dad’s voices replay in my head. Pregnant. No Akash. A baby brother. And I think I knew, didn’t I? Out in the garden, when she was being sick. It was like a part of me realized. But I didn’t want to believe it. I still don’t! A new brother. How can that be? I bury my face in my hands and try not to scream. If I could just trace Akash’s steps … If I could find out what happened that night … If only I’d gone to the party with him …