LITMIR.BIZ

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time on it.’

      Ray exhales, fiddling with a button on the sleeve of his brushed cotton shirt before looking at his son-in-law. ‘They’re not the type of family to take pride in their home.’

      ‘Really? Why’s that?’

      ‘They don’t really speak to anyone, and never come to the neighbourhood BBQs. The few times someone’s gone round to invite them, they’ve had the door slammed in their face.’ He grimaces, ‘You know I don’t like to speak ill of people, Henry, but their only saving grace is their son.’

      ‘The boy Leila spent that week with before we moved?’

      ‘Yes. Jake. He’s a lonely boy, but so bright and engaging. He struggles academically but whatever you tell him, he absorbs. He’s a thinker. If he can get out of that situation, he’ll do well.’ Pausing, he adds, ‘I don’t think everything is quite right in that house.’ Henry raises both eyebrows in question, but Ray shakes his head. ‘It’s not my place to say.’

      ‘Sounds like you’ve spent quite some time with Jake.’

      ‘He comes here sometimes to visit and helps me out with chores. We talk. He’s a good lad.’

      Jake’s face heats with embarrassment at hearing the truth of his family summed up so neatly, but at the same time, Ray’s words send a thrill through him. He thinks he’s bright and will do something with his life.

      ‘It’s been two years since Amelia left,’ Henry mutters, checking to see where Leila is before switching the topic. ‘Do you think she’ll ever come back? Leila still asks.’

      Ray looks uncomfortable, and it’s a strange expression on his face. Jake’s never seen him look anything but self-assured.

      ‘I don’t know,’ Ray answers Henry’s question after a long pause. ‘But I know she’s okay.’

      ‘How do you know that?’ Henry sits forward in the chair, the plastic groaning under his weight. ‘Have you spoken to her?’

      ‘She sent me a letter. I don’t where she is. There’s no postmark or forwarding address.’

      ‘You’ve had a letter from Mum?’

      They both jump in their seats.

      ‘Leila, I didn’t see you there,’ Ray exclaims.

      ‘Where is it? I want to see.’ She puts her hands on her hips, stepping closer to her grandfather. ‘What does it say?’

      ‘That’s probably not a good idea. I wouldn’t want you to get upset.’

      ‘I’ll be upset if I don’t see it. It’s my birthday. Please. I’m old enough. I just want to see it. I swear I won’t get upset.’

      Henry winces. ‘Is there anything … worrying in there?’

      Ray rolls his eyes up to the left, thinking. ‘No. It’s just general things. How she’s doing, what she’s doing. As I said, no location.’

      Henry touches Leila’s shoulder gently, and for a fleeting moment, Jake’s stomach flips over in pure jealousy. ‘Sure about this?’ he asks.

      ‘Yes.’ She holds her dad’s gaze, her lips pursed.

      ‘Okay, then.’ His fingers twitch, as if he too is aching to read the letter.

      ‘All right.’ Ray pushes himself from his chair and heads towards the back door. ‘Why don’t you start eating while I go and look?’ he suggests, before walking into the house.

      Father and daughter glance down at the birthday cake, and Leila shakes her head. Jake wonders if she’s too nervous to eat. She starts twirling the ends of her purple and red ponytail around her fingers, over and over, and Jake knows he’s right.

      A minute later, Ray reappears clutching a white rectangular envelope. There’s handwriting on the front, but Jake’s too far away to see what it looks like. Taking the letter out, he holds it toward Leila before moving to hover over her left shoulder. Henry rises to stand next to his father-in-law.

      Leila unfolds the paper. Her eyes moving from left to right, she reads its slowly, mouthing the words. Her face screws up and a single tear rolls down her cheek. ‘Not ready to come home yet?’ she shouts, throwing the letter onto the mown lawn and stamping on it with her high-top trainer. ‘She’s had long enough. She’s the most selfish person ever. That’s it. I don’t want anything to do with her!’

      Twirling around, she flees into the house before Henry or Ray can react. But Jake’s already scrambling down off the roof, sliding in through his bedroom window with little regard for the skin scraped off his back, flying down the stairs into the lounge. He wants to make sure she’s okay, having forgotten about his black eye and other injuries.

      Even though he’s sometimes jealous of her, she’s helped him and he’d like to think they’re friends. Yanking the net curtain back from the window, he sees Leila throw herself against the door of her dad’s van, scrabbling for the handle, sobbing. Henry follows her out, reaching for her.

      Just as he does, a heavy hand clamps down on Jake’s shoulder. ‘There you are, son,’ Terry says.

       Leila

       November 2004

       The Shell Charm & The Book Charm

      Frowning as the teacher scrawls famous Lady Macbeth quotes across the whiteboard in blue marker pen, I absentmindedly fiddle with the new charm that arrived this morning. With a solemn nod, Dad slid the envelope across the breakfast table towards me. For a moment I thought it was from him. However, when I sliced open the envelope with a butter knife, it contained a curled-up silver conch shell with a swirly pink interior, tiny and so very cute, with a typed note. Happy Homecoming. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask how Mum knows we’ve moved back to Bournemouth and if that’s the case why doesn’t she just visit, but Dad stood up abruptly and left the room.

      As he was closing the front door, he called over his shoulder he’d see me in time for dinner, and to try to be good at school, leaving me and my grandad staring at each other over my cornflakes and his marmalade on toast. The silence between us before I got up and tossed the dregs of my cereal and milk into the bin was uneasy. I’ve only seen him a handful of times since we moved away, and I never knew him that well when Mum lived with us.

      I was probably a bit snappy with him as I pulled on my forest-green school blazer over my striped blouse and said I had to go, but what do people expect? I didn’t ask for this. It wasn’t my choice. I didn’t want to be transplanted, taken away from everything I know. Again. I still can’t believe Dad made me move back here. Although it isn’t his fault Ray’s ill, and coming back to look after him is the right thing to do, did we really have to move in with him? Every time I catch sight of the peeling red front door of our old house, the gaping tiled roof, or the weed-choked garden, it makes me wince. Even so, I can’t stop looking. It’s like a scab you shouldn’t pick but do anyway, even though you know it’ll leave a scar.

      I wonder if Jake still lives there. I’ve not seen him since that half-term we spent together, which seems like a lifetime ago now.

      I also wonder if Eloise – or anyone else I might recognise – will be at this school. Despite our promises to be best friends for ever, Eloise and I didn’t keep in touch after I left. Still, there’ve been moments over the years when I’ve thought about her, wondering how she is.

      Now, flexing my toes inside my new black flats, heels stinging and rubbed raw by the walk to school, I tune out the teacher droning on about the core themes of Shakespeare’s play. Instead, I focus on the music playing in my left ear through

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