Mum leans against my desk. She smells of fried onions and garlic. ‘You’ll eat with us today,’ she says. ‘I know you’re studying, but you need a break.’
I look up at her puffy cheeks and messy hair. ‘But I’ve got so much to do!’ My throat tightens with worry as I glance back at the revision timetable above my desk: I still need to do maths and history.
Why is she trying to stop me? Does she want me to fail?
No – I push the bad thoughts away. No one’s out to get me: that’s what Josh said.
‘I’m not hungry,’ I say honestly and without thinking. ‘I’ll just work through.’
Mum’s face drops.
‘I mean, I am hungry,’ I say quickly, correcting myself. ‘But … can you maybe make me up a plate? I’ll heat it up later. Please?’
Mum shakes her head. ‘You’ve been sitting at this desk for three hours, Neena. You need a break. And you need food.’
Her eyes glide over my body and I feel uneasy, remembering what Dad said about me looking like I’m on drugs. I wrap my arms round myself. I know I’ve lost weight, but that was harsh. I hope Mum’s not thinking the same.
‘OK, Mum,’ I say, to reassure her. The last thing I need is any more hassle about anything from my parents. I’ll do whatever keeps them happy. ‘I’ll eat.’
Mum smiles and nods. ‘I’ll call you when it’s ready.’ She goes to move, but then she leans back against the desk again. Her fingers pick at a spot on her chin.
Then she crouches down next to me and looks me straight in the eyes. ‘We want to talk to you about something over dinner,’ she says. ‘And I just want you to hear us out. That’s all I ask … OK?’
I swallow. This is about the cheating. They’re going to ask me about it again. Suddenly I can’t take any more of everyone being so disappointed in me. I need Mum to know the truth. I need her to know everything.
‘I haven’t exactly been cheating,’ I tell her. I’m light-headed as I speak. I can’t believe I’m going to tell her, but I know I need to. ‘It … it’s Akash. He helps me.’
Mum covers her mouth. She hiccups. Her eyes fill and I have no idea what she’s thinking. Is she angry that he’s been helping me? Is it cheating, even though I didn’t ask him for help? Or is she upset that he hasn’t been to see her too? Maybe she’s thinking something else altogether.
I need to explain properly. ‘The thing is … he … he taught me everything I know about art. He’s always helped me. That’s why he’s helping me now …’
Tears roll down Mum’s cheeks. She nods. ‘I know,’ she says. ‘Oh, my darling, I know.’
‘You do?’ I’m breathless now. Am I hearing her right? She knows? How? Has she seen the alcohol? Has she seen the paintings? Has she seen him?
Mum sniffs and wipes her face. ‘Of course I know. He’s your brother. He’ll always help you, Neena.’
My body feels so weak. ‘And that’s OK?’ I ask, my voice tiny.
Mum tilts her head. Her eyes fill again. She reaches forward and gently places a hand on my cheek. Usually, I feel so awkward when she does this, but today all I feel is her warm, soft skin. She’s looking at me with so much tenderness and, as I look into her eyes, I feel bad for doubting her earlier, for thinking that Mum and Dad were trying to harm me. How could I have thought that? They’re my mum and dad. My family. Just like Akash.
‘Of course it’s OK,’ she says. ‘Of course.’
A weight lifts from my stomach. I feel feather-light, flimsy. I wish Mum would hug me tight, tell me everything’s going to be OK. I don’t know if it’s true, if anything will be OK, but I just really want to hear it right now. And it’s been so long since she’s given me a hug. I can’t even remember the last time.
‘I love you, Neena,’ she says. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I do.’ And the lump in my throat burns with all the love I have for her.
A fat tear rolls down Mum’s cheek. She presses her hand against my face harder. ‘We just want you to be well,’ she says. ‘You want to be well, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I say, though I’m not sure what she’s on about. I am well. Aren’t I?
‘Good,’ she says, nodding. She peers at me a bit longer, and then pulls her hand away from my face before kissing me on the forehead. I get a waft of her sweet, lemony perfume before she stands up.
‘Come through when you’re ready, huh?’ she says, glancing at my books. ‘Take your time. I still need to make rotis.’
Once she’s gone, I glance over my English essay. I feel a surge of happiness. So many words! Good words. And Mum loves me so much. I open my maths book to do some revision, but my stomach starts rumbling. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Maybe Mum’s right – I do deserve a break. And food will help with my revision, as Mum always says – energy for the brain. Maybe she’ll even peel me some almonds.
But, before I leave my room, I go on my phone. Now that I know I can’t trust Fi, I need to somehow get information from Jay myself. I don’t want to see him until I’ve got something solid to talk to him about, so I’ve started doing my own research online. I’m not on social media – I came off after everything happened with Akash – so I log into Mum’s Facebook account and check Jay’s timeline. He hasn’t got very good security settings and I can see quite a lot of his photos. I looked earlier, before I started my English essay, and couldn’t find any of Akash. But I’m going to keep checking. I flick through, but most are of Jay’s beautiful face, which just makes me feel more and more guilty again for kissing him. I log off, my heart sinking. Nothing yet.
As I’m about to leave the bedroom, I catch my reflection in the dressing-table mirror. I’m shocked by what I see. I don’t look like me. My school trousers and sweatshirt are baggy. My face is gaunt. Hair messy. And my eyes, they’re open too wide, like I’ve seen something shocking.
I don’t look like Neena Gill.
My phone buzzes, and I’m glad for the distraction, so that I can stop looking at the person in the mirror. But then I see that it’s Fi. She’s been trying to get hold of me all afternoon, but I don’t want to speak to her, not after she betrayed me with the teachers.
Leave me alone. We aren’t speaking.
I send a quick message to Josh too, while I’ve got the chance, thanking him again for earlier. Then I make my way to the kitchen.
I pause in the hallway. Mum and Dad’s voices are raised. Something’s wrong.
‘… but what else can we do?’ Dad is saying.
‘I know, but is it really the answer? Maybe we should be getting her help here? Maybe … we should get someone in, to pray for her?’
I freeze. I’m not exactly sure what they’re on about, but I know they’re talking about me. I push myself up against the wall and move a little closer to the kitchen door to hear them more clearly.
‘I don’t know,’ Dad says. ‘I’ve tried taking her to church. I pray for her every day. Everyone’s praying for her.’