I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE FUNNY | ✓

▬ 28

THE DISADVANTAGES OF BEING WHOLE

            The chime of the bell when we exit Hannah's Pantry jerks my memory. 'Ya Allah, I almost forgot.' I freeze on the threshold until Miles nudges me over it so I don't block the door though as soon as we're out of the direct lane into the café, I grab my new Xperia from my pocket. 'Look.'

Since Iya and Baba refused to take a pence of the money I saved up, I decided it was a ripe time for a cell that's actually mine to cover in as many stickers as I like. I also bought back my bike and my books (at twice the price I sold them for, mind you — Johan is a cretin). The rest, I'll use on birthday presents so I can sneak it to them whether they want it or not.

I slide the screen up and back onto the keyboard with rapid flicks to ensure they note the full QWERTY pad which enables me to type quickly and annoy everyone in public places with the click of the keys the way businessmen do with their Blackberries. 'I reckon I'm officially cool now. I mean, it's no iPhone, but it's got Google and everythin.'

My eyes find Miles in three-forward-two-back movements to gouge his response. He's watching my hands with a lopsided grin stretching the right corner of his lips. 'You're gonna break the hinge if you keep doing that, you will.'

'Can you let me enjoy this for five seconds?'

I turn to Sonia for back up but she picks his side instead. 'He's right. I broke the hinge on my DS and now I can't lie on my back to play because it shuts.'

'Okay, I get it. You both hate me. I'll never speak again.' My hands remain raised in mock surrender for only a moment before I point at her with my phone, held like a plastic gun in my hand. 'For the record, this ain't mean I'm textin you while you're in Italy cause I'm not a millionaire.'

She smiles with a gentle shake of her head. 'My dad always brings his laptop. I'll email you.'

Since Sonia's leaving for Florence tomorrow where she'll stay for three weeks, this is our final meeting until mid-August. On Tuesday, my swim with Miles exhausted the little energy I had gathered and I slept from the afternoon to the next morning, but on Wednesday I told her everything. Though I managed through it considerably more calm than I did for Miles's version, it didn't go without occasional roundabouts and pauses to wait for the lump in my throat to ease up. Sonia listened patiently through all of it, and I've seen her, along with Miles, every day since.

Dal too. Neither he nor Iya told me a word they exchanged that night in the back garden, but they must have reached an understanding because, aside from the occasional disapproving frown, she hasn't opposed. Nor has he kicked me out when I show up at his flat.

When I told Iya and Baba about Oxford and my bike tyres and the way I had to police every inflexion of tone or tension in body language for all seven years at North Chapel, they listened without taking it into themselves for the first time in my memory. I think they still feel guilty. And maybe they wished they sent me to Providence instead, spiralling about what-ifs and all the versions of me that might've developed. I don't think they'd be parents if they didn't. But they left the guilt in second place in their list of priorities, and that effort means everything to me.

'Speaking of,' Sonia says, reading a text on her phone, 'he's going to pick me up in a few minutes.'

'But it's not even two yet!'

'We're going to our neighbours' for dinner and I've got to practice my violin, and walk Winnie, and be alone for a bit, and change first.'

All entirely valid reasons, but my pulse skyrockets.