A Pocketful of Stars. Aisha Bushby

bury my head in my hands. Elle is stroking my hair. It helps.

      Four. I’m sorry for yelling at you, Mum. I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.

      ‘When’s our train?’ I ask as we step off the Tube.

      ‘Ten minutes. We’ll make it.’

      But I’m not so sure we will. I feel like a broken puppet, my strings hanging uselessly by my side, with no control over my legs or arms. As we make our way up the escalators I walk around in a daze. Eventually Elle picks up my strings and leads me, like all those years ago.

      I don’t recall going through the ticket barrier, searching for our platform, or making my way on to the train.

      But suddenly I’m in my seat and my phone is in my hand. Dad’s contact details are up on my screen.

      ‘You can do this,’ Elle says, squeezing my hand. And it’s like time has started all over again.

      I call Dad.

      The phone rings.

      And rings.

      He doesn’t answer.

      The train is filled with excitable children, fuelled by sweets and fizzy drinks. They laugh and it sounds weird. Wrong. I want to switch places with them, to pretend everything’s OK. How are they so happy, so full of life when mine feels like it’s about to end? I watch two of them chase each other, giggling uncontrollably. But then one of them accidentally trips the other and suddenly both of them are in tears, each of their parents cuddling them for comfort.

      Elle and I find a quiet corner and watch the world go by as the train pulls away from the station.

      My phone vibrates in my hand moments into the journey. My fingers ache from squeezing it so tightly. ‘Hello?’ I say, my voice shaky.

      ‘Safiya?’

      ‘Dad, what’s happened?’ I ask. There are already tears in my eyes ready to fall. I take a deep breath, and then another.

      ‘It’s your mum,’ he says, and it’s like a lead brick slams hard against my abdomen. ‘She’s . . .’

      Dead, I think. Just say it. Just tell me. But I can’t speak.

      ‘ . . . in a coma.’

      ‘But she’s alive?’ I wipe my eyes and cheeks with the sleeve of my coat.

      I can sense Elle’s body stiffen, as she connects the dots of the one-sided conversation she’s hearing.

      ‘Yes.’ Dad exhales as he speaks. ‘Where are you now?’

      ‘On the train. I’ll be at the station soon.’

      ‘OK. I’ll pick you up. I tried to see her but it’s too soon for visitors.’

      ‘Dad?’

      ‘Yes, Saff?’

      ‘H-how . . . What happened?’

      ‘They think it was a stroke,’ Dad admits, his voice shaky. ‘I don’t know anything more just yet.’

      I nod, and then realize he can’t see me. ‘OK,’ I say. It comes out strangled, more a wail than a word. More tears follow. They fall easily now.

      The ticket lady starts to make her way down the carriage. ‘Tickets, passes and railcards!’

      ‘I have to go now,’ Dad says. ‘I’ll speak to the doctor, then head straight to the train station. Are you with Elle?’

      I swallow before replying; it’s like gulping down a stone.

      ‘Tickets, passes and railcards!’

      ‘Saff?’

      ‘Yes, I’m with her.’ I wipe snot on my sleeve.

      ‘Good. Not long now, I promise.’

      I put the phone down and stare ahead at the chair in front of me. A piece of mint-green chewing gum is lodged between the back of the seat and the tray.

      ‘Tickets, passes and railcards!’ the woman repeats, marching down the aisle with purpose. When she reaches us Elle whispers something to her.

      She glances at me before nodding at Elle.

      ‘Come on,’ Elle says, grabbing my arm and my things. We crawl to the back of the train, my vision blurred from the tears. She slides a door open, and it’s only when I walk through and feel the heat that I realize she’s lead me to the posh carriage.

      No one’s in here, just us.

      ‘Is your mum . . . ?’ she asks, trailing off. ‘Is she . . . ?’

      ‘She’s in a coma.’ I whisper the words, testing them out on my tongue.

      And that’s when I know things will never be the same again.

      

      The next day we’re at the hospital I was born in. We couldn’t see Mum last night because the doctors were busy operating on her brain. For some reason, when I imagine it happening, all I can think of is that old-school game, Operation, where you have to remove different body parts without setting off the buzzer.

      They called Dad this morning to let him know how it went, and to say that we would be able to visit Mum in the afternoon. So, I guess, the buzzer never went off. It’s not GAME OVER.

      ‘She’s in the intensive care unit,’ Dad explains, leading the way.

      We follow the yellow line on the wall like Dorothy and the Scarecrow on their way to Oz. Except, instead of the Wizard, we’re going to see Mum.

      My mouth is all dry and I feel sick. It doesn’t help that everything smells like antiseptic.

      Still, we walk and walk and walk, until we turn a corner where a reception desk sits in the semi-darkness, surrounded by rooms.

      ‘James and Safiya Fisher to see Aminah Al-Adwani,’ Dad says.

      Aminah. I forget that’s her name sometimes. I’m so used to her being Mum.

      ‘Are you a relation?’ the nurse asks. I look down at his badge and read the name Edward Hussein.

      ‘I’m her ex-husband, but I’m still her emergency contact. I was, uh, I was here yesterday.’

      Edward nods at Dad before turning to me, a sad smile on his face. ‘And you must be her daughter?’

      I swallow, and it’s like a great big stone is sliding down my throat landing, thud, in my chest. I can feel it right next to my heart.

      ‘If you could both take a seat, I’ll call you when she’s ready,’ he says, like Mum’s just in a meeting.

      I don’t want to speak, so I play on my phone to distract myself.

      Elle messages me just as I’m feeding my pets on this new app I downloaded. Lady, our Cavalier King Charles spaniel, would be horrified if she knew about my virtual cat. She gets jealous pretty easily. Once I had to look after our class hamster for the weekend, and I swear Lady wouldn’t look me in the eye for days after.

      Elle: Hope you’re OK xxxxxx

      Safiya: Going to see her in a minute. I’m scared. Xxxx

      Elle’s message makes it all real again, and suddenly I can’t play the game any more.

      In the next room there’s an old man lying in one of the hospital beds alone. He stares at the same spot on the ceiling for ages, and all I can think about is how no one is there to see him. And then I think about how I wasn’t there to see Mum yesterday at her flat, before she was called into hospital