Out of the Ashes. Vicky Newham

are.’

      She began gathering up her bag and jacket, then stood still for a moment. ‘I was sorry to hear about your brother last year.’

      ‘Thank you. At the time, his suicide was a terrible shock for all of us. Particularly Mum.’ I felt my eyes filling up and my throat tighten. This wasn’t like me. Was it Jackie’s kindness?

      ‘Maya, I know how much you cared about him and—’

      ‘. . . It’s Mum I worry about. She’s never recovered from Dad leaving. It’s like a huge black cloud rolled in front of her and she can’t seem to emerge from behind it.’ Mentioning Dad reminded me that I still hadn’t opened the forensic results. ‘When Sabbir moved back to Bangladesh, she took it personally, as though it was another betrayal and he was leaving her rather than a life that wasn’t the right shape for him.’

      Jackie was nodding gently, and I appreciated her not churning out comments about ‘sympathising’ and ‘time healing’.

      ‘. . . She was never going to understand Sabbir committing suicide. Do you know the really sad thing though?’ I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and looked at Jackie. ‘It shouldn’t have been a shock to any of us. All the warning signs had been there for years. We just didn’t see them.’ I paused. ‘The truth is, I can’t stand on Brick Lane without remembering him and wondering whether I could have done things differently.’

Brick Lane, 1984 – Maya

      Jasmina holds the packet of Love Hearts to her nose and sniffs. ‘You have a go.’ Her giggle rings out in the enclosed space of the shop. She stuffs the packet at my face. ‘It’s like breathing in luuuurve.’ She makes her voice go all dreamy and breathy as she says the last word, and pulls a silly face.

      ‘Urgh. They’re too sickly.’ I push her hand away, grabbing several Cough Candies instead.

      ‘Come on, you two.’ Sabbir’s frustrated plea falls on deaf ears as usual. He’s at the door, flicking through a magazine which he’s already paid for. ‘Dad’s waiting.’

      ‘I wouldn’t worry,’ Mrs Feldman whispers to Jasmina and I conspiratorially, and it sends me into giggles because she’s deliberately made her voice loud enough for Sabbir to catch. ‘If I know them, your father will be having a good chinwag with my husband.’

      Sabbir’s demeanour relaxes and he returns his attention to his magazine.

      Jaz peers at the contents of my paper bag. ‘I don’t like Cough Candy. They cut the roof of my mouth. You always get Parma Violets. How can you say that Love Hearts are too sweet and like them?’ She chuckles.

      Coming to Mrs Feldman’s shop is such a treat. Dad came home in a good mood and announced that he was taking us out.

      ‘The wholesaler delivered some new sweets this morning,’ Mrs Feldman says. ‘My son put the order through and only told me when they arrived. Shall I get him to bring them out for you?’

      Jasmina and I beam at her.

      ‘Thanks, Mrs F,’ says Jaz.

      ‘Knowing him, he’s probably putting through a few more orders while his father’s not looking.’ She chuckles, as though she’s secretly proud of Tomasz’s interest in the shop. She disappears out the back and begins calling. ‘Tomasz? Tomasz, love, could you bring the new sweets through for the Rahman girls?’

      A few moments later, she arrives back with a mousey-haired boy in tow. He’s about Sabbir’s age but taller. I’ve seen him in the shop before. He’s carrying two boxes with an air of cool about him.

      ‘Here you go, girls,’ Tomasz says. ‘Lemon Sherbets and Black Jacks.’ He places the two boxes on the glass counter and his smile warms the room. ‘Bet you haven’t had them before.’ He gives a friendly chuckle. Rips open a black and white packet and offers us a wrapped cube.

      ‘My Agnieszka loves the Black Jacks. Soft and chewy, she says, but they make your tongue go black.’ Mrs Feldman looks a little worried.

      ‘Chill, Mum. They’re only sweets. No-one’s going to die.’

      ‘Cheeky wretch.’

      Sabbir’s face softens and he joins us at the counter. ‘Alright, mate,’ he says to Tomasz.

      ‘Thanks, Thomas,’ Jasmina says, and it makes me giggle, because she’s said his name wrong. I catch the way she avoids eye contact with him, and blushes when he speaks.

      ‘Thank you,’ I say and don’t even try to say his name. ‘What else shall I have?’ I wonder aloud. ‘I need to add up what it comes to. We could get some Aniseed Balls and share them?’

      Jasmina isn’t listening. She’s pretending to count her sweets but I can see her, watching Tomasz Feldman out of the corner of her eye.

      ‘What about Gob Stoppers? Shall we get some of them?’ I elbow her. ‘Or some rhubarbrhubarbrhubarbrhu . . . ?’

      She hasn’t realised I’ve stopped talking.

      ‘You’re dribbling,’ I whisper.

      ‘Am not.’ She elbows me, recovers her poise and smooths her hair.

      ‘I’m off now, Mum.’ Tomasz glides towards the door of the shop. ‘I said I’d pick Agnieszka up from Brownies.’ He sees us watching him. ‘Definitely the Aniseed Balls,’ he says and gives us a huge wink, and I honestly think I’m about to burst.

SATURDAY

Maya, 7 a.m.

      First thing the next morning, I grabbed a shower and steeled myself to check the media coverage of the arson. I hoped it would be reported responsibly but experience told me it was too good a click-bait opportunity to pass up.

      From the lounge, I heard the soft burble of the television news. Dougie had stayed over, so I made a fresh cafetière of coffee and took it in with a couple of mugs. ‘On a scale of one to ten, with ten as perfectly hideous, where are we?’ I slid the tray onto the coffee table and sank onto the sofa next to him.

      ‘Eleven.’ He picked up the cafetière and began pouring.

      ‘Shit.’

      ‘I’ve screenshot them for you.’ He passed me his iPad.

      The City Eye headline said: LOCALS FEAR COPY-CAT ARSON ATTACKS.

      ‘Tony couldn’t resist, could he?’ I swiped at the images on the screen. The broadsheets were benign. The Messenger had taken ethnicity as their angle: IMMIGRANTS’ SHOP BURNT TO THE GROUND IN RACIST ATTACK.

      ‘Scumbags.’ I took a swig of coffee. ‘What about the news channels?’

      ‘BBC News seems to be sticking to the facts.’

      ‘That’s a relief.’ I continued to scroll through Dougie’s screenshots. ‘WHO IS THE MYSTERY WOMAN IN THE FIRE? Blimey. I hadn’t expected that from Sky. Who’s told the press there was a woman in the fire? Media Liaison haven’t released the information yet and I didn’t mention it.’

      ‘Someone must’ve been blabbing.’ Dougie didn’t sound surprised and continued checking his emails.

      ‘Anything from Suzie?’ She’d be hard pressed to come up with anything worse than the City Eye or The Messenger, but milking national concerns wasn’t Suzie’s style. Her penchant was to go for people, personally, and her favourite target was me.

      ‘Nothing on their website yet.’

       *

      Dan