‘… and the department has responded to student concerns as quickly as possible. We are doing our best to support our …’
A groan from the bed and I press the remote. The screen goes dark and I look round. She’s holding her hand up in front of her, a slight smile tugs her thin lips into a toothless grimace. ‘Thank you. I like pink, always have.’
I lean over, tuck the sheets around her emaciated frame, ignoring the wafts of decay that hit my nostrils. Her frail hand grips my arm and I pause, turning my head towards her. ‘What, Mum? What is it?’
Her smile widens, and I try not to flinch at the bloody cracks at the corner of her mouth and the gaps inside. She nods once and swallows. I go to lift the half-filled glass from the bedside table but she shakes her head – a painful movement that pulls a frown across her forehead. When she speaks her voice is low and raw. ‘Promise me.’
I lean closer, hardly able to hear her words.
‘My last request – you’ve got to promise that you’ll do it. Live your dream. Do everything you always planned to do before this.’
Her hand gestures towards the TV. She saw it. I haven’t been quick enough.
I bow my head and promise her. I’d promise her anything right now, but still, I keep my fingers crossed. I curse my carelessness but there’s no point, for when I glance back her eyes are closed. She is on her final journey and, as if on cue, my entire body responds to the smash of a train hurtling through my core, pummelling me to the ground and, as she gasps her last breath, I cower on the floor hugging my knees tight to my chest. My heart shatters into a jigsaw of fragments that can’t ever reconnect; a sense of relief coddles me like a woollen blanket and guilt and anger swamp me.
*
Days pass with those whose slurs had previously scorched us, now offering platitudes. Each false word drips like acid, as I take in the detritus that is my life from here on in, and all the time her last request plays in my mind like an annoying jingle.
There’s nothing else for it. I’ll have to do something about that.
Dour rain pummelled the cobbles that ran between the two rows of houses on Willowfield Terrace, making them sleek and dangerous underfoot. Except for the oppressive, grey clouds that promised more of the same, the alleyway was deserted. The air hung heavy, waiting to embrace the latest drama involving the Parekh women as Detective Sergeant Nikita Parekh flung open the back door and stormed out. Anger emanating from her every pore, she flew down the steps into the yard and out the gate, followed by her daughter. Leather jacket flying loose, she ignored the spatter of mucky water that her trainers kicked up the back of her jeans. With a plastic bag looped over one wrist, she raked her waist-length hair back into a ponytail and slipped a scrunchie round it. She was on a mission and nothing would deter her.
‘Mum … Mum! Wait up.’ Charlie, a foot taller than her mum, ran behind, hitching her schoolbag onto her shoulder. Unlike her mum, she tried to avoid the puddles created by the worn cobbles.
But Nikki was already pushing open the back gate of the neighbouring house and striding up the steps. Using her fist, she brayed briefly on the door before turning the handle and pushing it open, not waiting for a reply. Entering the kitchen, she glanced at the hijabed woman cooking a fry-up in a huge frying pan on the cooker. ‘Where’s Haqib?’
The woman puffed her cheeks out in a ‘what’s he done now?’ expression and, shaking her head, pointed her spatula towards the kitchen door. ‘Front room.’
Stopping only to grab a bite from a piece of buttered toast on a plate on the worksurface, Nikki marched out of the kitchen, through the small hallway and into the living room. The room was in semi-darkness, with just the light from an Ikea tabletop lamp and the TV illuminating the area. She went straight over to the large bay window and swished the curtains open, allowing the scant light from outside to penetrate.
‘Oi!’ All angles, acne and attitude, Haqib, slouched on a bright red leather sofa, TV blaring, remote control in his hand, bare feet balanced on top of a glass-topped coffee table. ‘What d’ya think you’re doin’? Can’t see the telly, can I?’
Nikki turned with her hands on hips, and glared at him, the spark in her eyes forcing him to back down.
Charlie panted into the room, the knot on the top of her head wobbling as if it might fall off, her cheeks spattered with raindrops. ‘Mum, if you’d just hang on a minute.’
Nikki extended her hand, one index finger raised to her daughter, just like her own mother had always done, ‘Chup kar.’ She rounded the bulky couch and positioned herself right in front of the TV.
Charlie folded her arms under her boobs, one hip extended towards her mum, pure sulk dripping from her pursed lips.
Haqib bobbed his head, first to one side and then to the other, trying to see the TV, his tone a little less confrontational this time. ‘Can’t see.’
Nikki bent over and swiped his feet off the table.
‘Hey.’ He glanced from his aunt to his cousin, his hands splayed before him. ‘What’s up? What’ve I done now? You can’t just come in and do that, you know?’
Nikki snorted before tipping the contents of the plastic bag she was carrying onto the table where Haqib’s feet had been. Haqib stopped, mouth open. If Nikki had been in a better mood she’d have laughed, but right now she was fuming. Really fuming. Haqib’s eyes moved from his aunt’s stern face to the bags filled with multicoloured pills, then up to Charlie. The pills with their smiley faces, love hearts and winky eyes incensed Nikki. Over the past few months she’d seen umpteen cases of kids in the city taking E and landing themselves in Bradford Royal Infirmary. This new batch was potent – three deaths and a brain damaged kid testified to that. It made Nikki’s piss boil. She snatched the remote from her nephew and switched off the racket that boomed from the speakers. ‘Spill!’
Haqib clipped his mouth shut, then opened it, before once more closing it like a minnow about to get swallowed by a shark. That analogy appealed to Nikki. All she wanted to do was to swallow the lad up, chew him till he squealed and spit him out.
‘I … erm, I …’ He looked at Charlie as if expecting her to bail him out.
Nikki moved closer, breathing heavily, her anger exuding from every pore. ‘You selling MDMA to my 14-year-old, are you? Got a death wish, have you?’ Another step and Haqib was trying to mould his body into the leather couch.
‘You all right in there?’ Nikki’s sister, Anika, called from the kitchen.
Nikki glowered at Haqib. ‘You’d better start spilling before your mum comes through.’
‘For God’s sake, Mum.’ Charlie, her face perfectly made up, eyeliner on point and her school skirt too damn short, flounced forward and flung herself onto the sofa beside Haqib, sliding her schoolbag round till it rested on her lap. ‘If you’d give me half a chance to explain. Haqib didn’t sell me it.’
Nikki
