‘Of course I did, Neena. All teenagers do. But you grow up, and you realize there’s so much more to love than “crushes”. We’re just trying to protect you.’
I press my hand against my heart. ‘I know, Mum. But you don’t need to protect me any more. I need to find my own way.’
My eyes fill now because I’m realizing the truth of what I’ve just said. Mum’s eyes dart around my face. She looks very worried. ‘Shhhhh,’ she says. ‘It’s OK.’ And her eyes soften and she reaches out and touches my arm. ‘I want you to be happy more than anything, my jaan. And healthy.’
I take some deep breaths. I just want her to hug me again.
‘No one’s going to force you into anything. Let’s forget about the marriage stuff, until you want to get married one day? And then we can talk and I promise I’ll listen. Does that sound OK?’
I nod. Mum looks as relieved as I am.
‘One more thing,’ I say, ignoring the nerves making my stomach flip. ‘I want to meet Josh over the next few days. But I don’t want to lie any more. I don’t want to hide.’
Mum frowns a bit. But she nods. ‘OK. But don’t tell your dad.’
My heart sinks. ‘More secrets? Is that really the answer?’
‘No, my jaan, it’s not. But this … this would be too much for him right now. These things, they take time. I’ll work on him. Until then, this is my secret, not yours – you don’t need to worry. Understand?’
I’m still not convinced this is the answer, but I do feel a bit lighter. And it means I can see Josh. ‘Yes. Thanks, Mum.’
She manages a smile. ‘Be careful,’ she says. ‘The heart is a fragile thing.’
After our talk Mum gives me my morning medication and goes to the kitchen to make breakfast. I hear her singing hymns and praying for me loudly. Ignoring her, I look for my phone, finally finding it in my bedside drawer. I haven’t messaged Josh or spoken to him for days – I’ve been too embarrassed and haven’t felt myself. Plus I’m still trying to make sense of everything. But I need to speak to him, I realize now. Need to know what he’s thinking and feeling.
I turn on the phone but it’s out of juice, so I plug it into the charger and try again. After a few minutes, it turns on and the messages come in. A few from Raheela, about five hundred from Fi, the rest from Josh. I scroll through his, reading the oldest first.
You OK Neens? Want to see you – your parents at hospital? Call when you can. X
Trying to call you but don’t think you got your phone?? J x
Let me know when safe to visit you – really want to see you. x
How are you today? Worried about you. Sorry keep messaging. Don’t know what else to do. Tried emailing too. Love, J x
Hi, Neens, really want to talk. You getting my messages? x
School’s crap without you. Teachers stressed. So much revision. Had lunch under willow tree on my own today. The tree misses you & so do I. J x
Josh’s messages make me smile and cry at the same time. He loves me. He’s missing me. I quickly message him to explain that I haven’t had my phone but that I’m OK and will call as soon as I can.
Mum comes back into the room with toast just as I send the message. She sits on the edge of the bed and watches me eat. ‘You’ll be up and about soon,’ she says. ‘You look a bit better today.’
I suddenly feel sweaty, sticky. When did I last wash? I push the empty plate into Mum’s hands. ‘I’m going to shower,’ I tell her, pushing my phone under my pillow and pulling the duvet off me.
Mum’s face brightens. ‘Oh, Neena,’ she says, smiling. She draws me in for a hug. ‘That’s wonderful, my jaan. Wonderful!’
I roll my eyes. ‘Calm down! It’s just a shower, Mum.’
But she grins back at me and I think maybe she’s right. I do feel a tiny bit of my old self fighting to come through. I do feel a bit better.
I hurry past Akash’s room without looking at the door. I ignore the sharp smell of paint that stings my throat. In the bathroom, I peel off my pyjamas and get straight into the shower. Then I relax as warm water glides over my skin.
It feels like a huge weight has been lifted, telling Mum about Josh.
I close my eyes and imagine lying next to him on his bed, his body pressing against mine. But what does he think about what happened, I wonder? I shampoo my hair; the smell of orange and cinnamon comforts me. I lather myself in too much shower gel and imagine the soap washing my illness away.
My tears merge with the water and my heart skips beats, as if it’s forgotten how to work.
Psychosis. It’s such a big word. Amid all the noise of that word, how will I ever find myself again?
Then I think about Akash. My brother. He was my rock. Losing him is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. But somehow I need to piece myself back together. I understand that now.
The skin on my fingertips is wrinkled by the time I get out of the shower. I wrap a soft towel round me and walk over to the mirror. I can’t see myself because it’s misted over. But I press my fingertips against the glass and draw circles for faces, dots for eyes, curves for smiles. I swallow. I want to be happy but maybe Mum’s right. Perhaps I’ve been searching in all the wrong places.
Neena Gill, I write in the middle of all the smiles. Sometimes you need to remind yourself who you are, don’t you?
My bedcovers have been changed when I return from the bathroom. It’s like Mum was just waiting to pounce on them! The window’s open, a fresh breeze blowing in. My phone’s charging on my bedside table. I pull on the jeans and T-shirt that Mum’s put out for me on the bed, wrap my hair up in a towel and check my phone.
I have a message from Josh. My heart races.
So glad you’re OK! Can’t wait to speak to you! x
My heart races as I message him back.
Just waiting for some privacy …
When I look up, Mum is standing in my doorway. Talking of privacy … But, instead of sighing, I smile. How can I be angry with her, after everything we’ve all been through?
‘Dad’s back and I’ve made halva,’ she says. ‘Have a little, huh? Almonds. Good for your brain.’
I laugh, and it feels so good. I can’t remember the last time I laughed. Mum looks at me in surprise.
‘What’s so funny?’ she asks.
I shrug. ‘Just strange how some things never change,’ I try to explain. ‘Even when everything else does.’
She looks at me blankly. ‘So you’ll have some halva?’
I laugh again. ‘Yes, yes! I’m coming!’
Dad’s already sitting at the dining table, staring out into the garden. He’s shaved and he’s wearing his work suit. Although he looks smart, his face is thin and his eyes are puffy. The pungent scent of his aftershave has mixed with the smell of fried almonds and sultanas. He glances at me, and smiles.
‘You’re looking stronger, betee,’ he says. ‘Come, sit. I’ll make tea.’ He gets up and fills a teapot.
When he returns, he sits next to me instead of in his usual place. He fills three mugs with steaming tea, tops them with milk, hands me one. There’s something different about his body language. He seems looser, more open. Every time I glance at him, he smiles at me kindly.