A Pocketful of Stars - Aisha Bushby

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the interval Mum goes and grabs her and Elle an ice cream – vanilla for Mum, strawberry for Elle. She doesn’t ask me, even though she knows chocolate is my favourite.

      ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t realize you wanted one. We both said we would get them before the play started, but you weren’t here.’

      Mum’s all smiles and warmth, but her eyes are a warning, like a lioness ready to pounce.

      ‘Anyway, did you count?’ Mum asks, turning to Elle.

      ‘Yes!’ Elle says. ‘You were right.’

      Mum nods, satisfied.

      When the play is over I’m the first out. I wait for Mum and Elle, but they take ages.

      ‘Saff, your mum said I could come round tonight for dinner,’ Elle says when she finally catches up with me.

      ‘We’re going to watch The Wizard of Oz,’ Mum chimes in. ‘It’s my favourite, Elle. You’ll like it, I think. I’d love to see the theatre performance of Wicked one day . . .’

      Elle and Mum walk off, talking about the rest of the play, heads bobbing enthusiastically. I hang back a step or two. They’re both confident, so it makes sense that they get along, that their relationship is easy. I should be glad, but it’s a bit like playing my favourite video game, Fairy Hunters, and my team wins even though I didn’t cast a single good spell. I want to be happy, but then I feel like I don’t belong, like I’m not good enough. And the bad feeling takes over the good.

      I know it’s weird not wanting Elle to come round, because she’s my best friend. But Saturday nights are supposed to be our night. Mum and me.

      Ever since Mum and Dad divorced, and I decided to live with Dad, they set up these Saturday visits as part of the custody agreement. Mum and I hang out in the afternoon, and then we have dinner together and a sleepover. Usually Mum cooks, sometimes it’s a takeaway, but it’s always just been the two of us.

      Until today.

      I can’t help but think that maybe Elle’s the daughter Mum should’ve had, the daughter she would’ve wanted.

      But instead she ended up with me.

      

      ‘Roar!’ I growl, leaping out from behind a mirror.

      Elle squeals and giggles and then she hides behind a rail of clothes.

      We’re shopping in London today, using vouchers from our Christmas presents. I found a big fur coat so, naturally, I put it on and pretended to be a bear.

      Abir and Izzy widen their eyes at one another, as if to say ‘how immature’, but I catch Izzy grinning at me.

      ‘You’re so funny, Saff,’ Abir says a little flatly, in a way that suggests the exact opposite.

      I ignore her. She takes herself a bit too seriously sometimes.

      ‘Hey, Saff !’ Elle calls from across the shop. A couple of older shoppers look on disapprovingly as Elle gallops across in a zebra jacket, and suddenly I feel like shy Saff again, worried they’ll tell us off the way that man did at the coffee shop last week.

      The truth is, I’ve been trying to distract myself from everything going on today. This is the first Saturday in ages that I haven’t seen Mum. Last week, after we got back from the theatre and Elle had gone home, we had an argument – a horrid argument – and I stormed out of Mum’s flat. She never called or texted afterwards, and I didn’t text her either, so I assumed I wasn’t going round today.

      I glance at my phone. Nothing. And somehow that hurts more than Mum’s angry words. Suddenly I feel annoyed all over again. I switch off my phone, as if to get back at her for ignoring me.

      ‘OK, let’s be serious now,’ Abir says, like we’re running some sort of covert operation. ‘Meet at the changing rooms in half an hour, yeah?’

      ‘Come on, Saff,’ Elle says, grabbing my hand and leading the way. ‘I need your help.’

      I follow Elle obediently, just as I followed her on the second day of primary school. She decided we were going to be a snake, right in the middle of the playground. Elle, of course, was the snake’s head. I was behind her, hands on her shoulders. I felt silly and embarrassed at the time. Everyone was going to laugh at us, I was sure. But Elle was confident. She hissed and ran and giggled, and soon half of the playground joined us. Elle at the front, me following right behind. And that’s how it’s been ever since.

      When we’re alone again we fall into that easy sort of conversation we have when it’s just the two of us. Sometimes we even forget where we are because the Saff and Elle bubble is indestructible – even an army of goblins couldn’t break through it.

      I ask Elle what she’s been reading, and she asks me about gaming. I tell her that I just ranked up on Fairy Hunters, and she describes a series of books about an undercover alchemist. It’s set in a boarding school, like Harry Potter, and sounds really cool. We agree to have a three-day sleepover, where we binge on our favourite TV shows and films over half-term, and never change out of our pyjamas.

      Later, when we stop for some food, Elle gets a message. ‘It’s your dad,’ she says, frowning, showing me her screen. ‘He wants you to look at your phone.’

      That’s weird. Why would Dad message Elle? As soon as I see the stream of missed calls, voice messages and texts I know something’s wrong.

      Dad: [Missed Call]

      Dad: Saff, can you call me as soon as you get this?

      Dad: [Missed Call]

      Dad: [Missed Call]

      Dad: Can you catch the next train home?

      I know something big has happened, and I know when I find out that everything will be different.

      I grab Elle’s hand and squeeze, like maybe it’ll stop time. She squeezes back. I wordlessly hand her my phone and wait for her to tell me what to do.

      ‘We’ll go now, OK?’ she says, before turning to the others to explain. ‘See you later, yeah?’

      Abir and Izzy nod solemnly. I hear them whisper to Elle and ask her what’s going on, but I don’t hear her response. I don’t even say goodbye.

      We leave in a rush, our food half eaten, and head to the Tube station.

      I quickly text Dad before we go on the Underground. My hands are shaking.

      ‘Shall we ring your dad first?’ Elle asks.

      I shake my head. I can’t here. Not now. I need everything to stop, just for a little while. Because the truth is, I don’t want to know what Dad has to say.

      Saff: Getting on the Tube. I’ll ring you from the train. Be about 20 mins.

      Elle holds my hand the whole way down, even as we go through the barriers.

      Four stops to King’s Cross. Four stops for me to imagine the worst. Dad must be OK. I don’t have any grandparents, or aunts and uncles, apart from Mum’s sister . . . Is it Mum?

      One. Mum cycles everywhere. Did she get hit by a car? Does she wear a helmet? I can’t remember.

      Elle and I don’t speak. She just squeezes my arm every few moments. I don’t cry, but my heart is beating so fast I feel like I can’t breathe.

      The Tube is too hot. I might pass out.

      Two. Maybe she just tripped and broke a leg, and I’m overthinking it all? Dad’s just ringing to make sure I don’t go straight to her flat. Right?

      But

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