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  Rain pounds on the car roof. We are stuck in four lanes of honking traffic again. This time, travelling in the other direction. Home.

  “There’s something in the boot I want to show you when we get home,” says Dad.

  “Is it a body?” asks Amit.

  “It’s new fabric. I’m thinking of expanding the factory.” Dad glances at me in the rear-view mirror. “School skirts and tunics.”

  Amit rolls his eyes. “I would prefer a body.”

  “Lola, I’d like you to have a look.”

  “As long as it’s not green like mine,” I shout over the rain. “Can I go to Bella’s house on Saturday?”

  “What about me?” says Amit.

  “We can do stuff on Sunday. Unless you want a makeover?”

  “Who else will be there?” asks Dad.

  Dad’s never actually said he doesn’t like Bella, but his voice changes when I talk about her. He knows she doesn’t get good grades at school, and the school we go to is one of the best in the city.

  “Just a couple of girls—Yasmin and Asha, me and Bella.”

  “OK, but you will have to take a taxi. I am going to visit a new supplier at the weekend. It’s a long drive and the rains are bad, so I’ll have to stay overnight.”

  “So I’m going to be on my own?” says Amit.

  “Mila will be staying. You can invite a friend over if you want.”

  “I don’t have time to make friends at my school. When it’s not lessons it’s singing, and when I’m not singing, it’s traffic,” Amit moans.

  “Well, the holiday will fix that. You can get some rest, then you will be ready for your new term. It will feel new again for everyone then, not just you. That’s the best time to make friends.”

  “Dad, when am I going to get a mobile phone?” I ask. “All my friends have one.” We have this conversation every couple of months.

  “You see plenty of your friends as it is, without having to spend every waking hour on the phone to them too.”

  “Then can we move to the other side of the city? There’s nothing to do here, and it’s so far from everyone. And everything,” I add for maximum effect.

  “Our new apartment has everything we need. It’s not far from everything. There are plenty of shops and restaurants.”

  “Not any good ones.”

  Dad is silent for a second and I wonder if I’ve pushed it too far.

  “I know the traffic is a problem,” says Dad. “But houses on the other side of town are not value for money. You pay extra just to say that you live there.”

  “Well everyone else’s parents don’t seem to mind.”

  “Well I’m not everyone else’s parents,” Dad says.

  “But—”

  “That’s enough, thank you, Lola.”

  I slump back in my seat. It’s not fair. Dad says only little kids argue about fairness. Grown-ups try to find solutions. Maybe I’m not ready to stop being a little kid yet.

  Mila

  As we walk through the front door, I know something is wrong.

  There is a faint smell of burning.

  “Mila?” Dad shouts.

  “Mila!” I shout more loudly. I kick off my shoes and rush towards the kitchen.

  Mila is kneeling on the floor, her hand against the wall. Smoke billows from a frying pan of onion and spice.

  Dad rushes silently to the hob and turns it off, then crouches next to Mila.

  “What happened? Talk to me,” he says gently.

  Mila blows air slowly through her lips. She is staring at the floor, her face covered in a sheen of sweat.

  “I think the baby is coming early,” she manages to whisper, before slowly breathing out again.

  “We must take you to a hospital,” says Dad. “Lola, get some water for Mila.”

  “I can’t see her water bottle,” I reply. Mila doesn’t share our plates and cups and knives and forks, even though Dad says she can.

  “Lola, a glass. Now!”

  “Home,” whispers Mila.

  “Hospital. I will pay. I will call your husband. He can tell your mother-in-law.” I’ve never seen Dad speak sternly to Mila. “Can you walk?”

  Mila nods. Gently, we help her to stand.

  “What’s happened to Mila?” Amit’s voice wavers. He is pressed up against the kitchen wall, watching wide-eyed.

  “Mila is in labour. She’ll be OK. Amit, find her bag.”

  Slowly, slowly, we help Mila through the door and to the lift, which goes down to the underground parking space.

  “Amit, you sit in the front with me. Lola, you sit in the back and hold Mila’s hand.”

  Silently we follow our instructions. Even Amit doesn’t complain about getting back in the car.

  The last time Dad went to hospital was when Amit was born. Dad came home with Amit, but without my mother. I’m glad I don’t remember anything about it. He says that Mum would have died whatever happened, but in a hospital at least they could save Amit.

  *

  Three hours have passed since we first came home from school. Two of those were spent driving to hospital and back in the rain. One of them was spent at home afterwards, trying to plug the gaps left by Mila.

  “When can we call her?” asks Amit. His face is pale.

  “Babies arrive in their own time,” says Dad, putting his arm round Amit’s shoulder. We are clearing up together, after a dinner made of leftovers from the fridge. “We’ll call in the morning.”

  “But how do we know she’s OK?”

  “She’s in the best place. Those doctors have delivered thousands of babies. Her mother-in-law is there too, to look after her.”

  Amit seems younger since Mila has been gone. I guess Mila has always been a part of his life, and none of us were expecting her to leave it tonight.

  “I still have to visit the supplier on Saturday, but I will try not to stay overnight,” Dad says.

  “Who’s going to do all the house stuff now?” Amit asks. This time I don’t squash his foot.

  “We’ll manage for the rest of this week, and I’ll find someone to start next week. Even if it’s only someone temporary.”

  “What about Mila’s friend?” I ask.

  “Good idea,” says Dad. I’m not sure he’s properly listening.

  Even though I know Mila is in hospital having a baby, it feels a bit like she’s abandoned us.

  I look over at Amit. Tears shine in his eyes. He wipes them away before Dad notices.

  “I am going to make breakfast tomorrow morning,” I announce. “Flatbread-egg sandwiches. How hard can it be?”

  “Maybe you should start now,” says Dad, “if you’re going to be ready on time.”

  Amit can’t help a little smile. “Can I have two?” he asks.

  “Two for you, and none for you.” I point at Dad.

  The next day I am epically late for school.

  “Lola, I have to know,” says Miss Roy, my biology teacher, as I try to creep to my seat. “What is it that you have for breakfast, which takes so long to eat?”

  There is a murmur of laughter around the classroom.

  “Our housekeeper had a baby last night, Miss.”

  “At your house?!” she pretends to be shocked.

  “No, Miss, but the baby came early so we weren’t prepared.”

  “OK. Well I suppose that’s a fairly good excuse.”

  “Thank you, Miss.” I can tell that Bella is totally bursting to ask me what happened, but even she can see that I have to make up for some lost time.

  At break time her squeals travel down the corridor as we walk along together. “A baby boy! Soooo cute!” Then her face falls. “She didn’t actually have it in your house, did she?”

  “No, we had time to drive her to the hospital.”

  “Wait, you drove her to the hospital? Wow, Lola, it’s almost like she employs you, not the other way round.” Bella raises one perfectly manicured hand in the air then lets it drop as if it, too, despairs. “It’
s probably good that you’re going to get someone new. I’ll ask Mum if you can borrow one of ours for now.”

  “Thanks, but I think Dad has someone in mind. A friend of Mila’s.”

  “She’ll be expecting the same treatment. I bet Mila has told her your dad is a soft touch.”

  “Dad’s not a soft touch,” I say to her back as she disappears into the washroom.

  “Does he have a name?” Yasmin asks, minutes later, when Bella joins us in the playground and tells everyone about the baby. I put my water cup down.

  “I don’t know anything else apart from that it’s a boy.”

  Asha nods, then says, “When our cleaner came back after having a baby, Mum caught her stealing milk powder from the kitchen.” Bella gasps. “She said she couldn’t afford to buy it and she couldn’t feed the baby herself because she had come back to work. Mum said it sounded like she’d be better off not having a job at all then.

  “Apparently the cleaner started sobbing, saying then she wouldn’t be able to feed her family.”

  “Unbelievable,” Bella says.

  “So ungrateful,” I add, when they all turn to look at me. My cheeks burn. I don’t know if it’s because I’m embarrassed by the attention, or ashamed of what I’ve just said.

  Holiday

  I wake to the steady thrum of rain falling. Again. I’m about to get out of bed when I remember I don’t need to. It’s Saturday. It’s also the first day of the holidays. I reach for my book and lie back down to read. Bliss.

  The last few days of school took for ever. Actually, without Mila to sort things out, everything seems to take twice as long. I’m running out of clean clothes and we’ve been getting takeaways from a restaurant round the corner every night. The food is OK but it’s not the same as having it cooked at home. No second helpings for a start.

  “See you tonight. Look after each other,” Dad shouts from the hall.

  I scramble out of bed. “Where are you going?” I ask, watching as he slips on his shoes.

  “To see my fabric supplier. Remember?”

  I hadn’t. Dad kisses me on the top of my head, and ruffles Amit’s hair. I think he’s been watching too many family movies. “I’ve left taxi money and a bit extra for emergencies. It’s next to the television.”

  “Have a good journey. Don’t buy any green fabric!” I shout as Dad walks out of the front door towards the lift.

  “Bring me something back!” Amit shouts.

  “He’s only going for the day.”

  “Well he always brings you something,” Amit says grumpily.

  It’s true. Dad always brings me back a chain of marigold flowers when he goes away. Even if it’s just for the day. He’s been doing it since I can remember. Marigolds were Mum’s favourite flower.

  “Can you help me?” I ask. Amit’s expression changes to curiosity. “What should I wear for Bella’s, later?”

  “Not clothes again,” he groans.

  “Not clothes?”

  “I think you should wear clothes,” he adds, looking horrified. “I just don’t care which ones.”

  I know Bella will care.

  “Don’t forget to bring your music stuff. We can be your first proper audience,” I say.

  Amit looks happier. I felt sorry for him, having to spend the first day of the holidays on his own, so yesterday I asked Bella if Amit could come along and watch a film or something, while we do make-up stuff. She grabbed my hands and said, “Do you think he’ll do his audition routine for us? We could critique.”

  Amit said absolutely no way, but I know he won’t be able to resist showing off a bit.

  I check the time. “Oh no! Her driver’s going to be here in ten minutes. Quick!” Bella wouldn’t hear of us catching a taxi.

  “I’m ready,” says Amit. “You’re the one who needs clothes, remember?”

  The intercom buzzes just as I zip up my black jeans. There is no time to put my hair up, but then that’s the point of a makeover. Although I know Bella will already be looking perfect.

  After an hour we cross the flyover that separates the district near my school, where most of my friends live, from the rest of the city. We turn off and drive down a few smaller streets, then stop outside a large white building. Amit stares through the car window as the gate glides open and we drive in. Bella doesn’t live in an apartment. She has a whole three-storey house.

  The huge front door swings open.

  “You’re here!” Bella stands in the doorway beckoning to us. “I’m so glad you came too,” she says to Amit.

  Amit looks at her with a mixture of awe and apprehension. I realize that his expression probably mirrors mine.

  *

  I shouldn’t have worried about being the main focus of the makeover. Bella, Asha and Yasmin are totally mesmerized by Amit’s singing and dancing. They insist on giving him an “audition styling”, which he complains about, but I notice he sits very still while they apply black eyeliner. He spends a long time looking in the mirror afterwards.

  They don’t get round to doing my face until it’s nearly time to go. We are actually leaving Bella’s house when Amit reminds me that Dad will not be impressed with my gold eyeshadow and thick black eyeliner. It takes another twenty minutes and eight pieces of cotton wool to remove it all.

  Lucky

  We arrive home super late. It’s already dark.

  Amit knocks on the apartment door. When no one comes, I realize we are in luck. Dad must still be on his way back. I take the key from my pocket and unlock the door.

  As I feel around on the wall for a switch, it takes me a second to remember why we are in darkness and no warm cooking smells drift from the kitchen. After the noise and buzz of Bella’s house, the apartment feels strange without Mila.

  I flick the lights on. Amit stands in the hallway, like he’s forgotten how to move. I take the food containers from his hands. Bella insisted on loading us up with goodies now that we have No Staff.

  “Take your shoes off,” I call, as I put the food in the kitchen and wander over to the television control. Noises from the hall tell me that Amit has come back to life.

  It switches on to News 24. There is a story about farmers and rice crops. Next it flicks to an aerial shot of houses which have become islands surrounded by tea-coloured water. Normal stuff for rainy season.

  I flick over to the movie channel and leave it on for Amit while I heat up the food.

  We eat in front of the television with the volume up extra loud, singing along to all the songs, even though we don’t know the words to most of them. Halfway through there is a kissing scene and Amit runs into the kitchen making retching noises.

  Dad never lets us have floor picnics. It’s the perfect way to end the first day of the holidays.

  I start watching a second film when I realize that Amit isn’t singing along any more. I turn and see that his eyes are closed, his head resting sideways on the edge of the sofa. I tidy up the stuff from dinner then give his leg a gentle kick.

  “Come on, sleepy head.”

  Amit opens his eyes and squints, looking round the sitting room.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Maybe he had to stay the night after all. He won’t be impressed if we’re asleep in front of the TV when he gets back.”

  Freedom

  I open my wardrobe and stare inside. A reassuring laundry smell wafts over me. So many clothes are squashed beneath the hanging rail, they’re not really hanging at all. I tug a clean T-shirt from the shelf.

  As I turn to find my jeans, a car horn sounds right outside my window. I rush over and peer down. Two men are talking loudly on the street outside.

  Amit wanders into my room.

  “Dad’s not back yet,” he says.

  “OK,” I yawn. I want Amit to get out of my bedroom, but instead hear myself saying, “I’ll make extra egg flatbreads. He’ll be hungry when he gets here.”

  “I’ll help,” says Amit. “If you can do it, then it must be pretty ea
sy.”

  “It’s hard actually, I just make it look easy. Get out the flour from the cupboard by the fridge.”

  I get dressed and wander into the kitchen. “How are you already covered in flour?”

  Amit stands up holding a blue paper bag. There’s a dusty white patch on his chest. “Someone left the packet open yesterday.” He tilts his head to one side and raises his eyebrows.

  “OK, OK. But assistants don’t normally talk back, so put that down and get the frying pan.”

  Amit sighs but goes to look for a frying pan.

  I try to imagine my friends making their own breakfasts. Perhaps it is a good job we live so far away and I end up visiting them, not the other way round.

  At lunchtime there is still no sign of Dad. Usually if he spends the night away for work, Mila is with us, and Dad calls her if he knows he’s going to be late.

  I realize, with a little buzz of excitement, that this will be a really good argument for me having a mobile phone.

  “What shall we eat?” asks Amit.

  “Hmm… we have Dad’s flatbreads and we can eat the rest of Bella’s food.”

  Amit perks up. “Can I finish the chicken?”

  “If you load the dishwasher.”

  “Deal. When do you think Dad will be back?”

  “Definitely by dinner time. But more likely in the next five minutes,” I tease, “so you’d better finish up that chicken or else he’ll want to share it!”

  After lunch Amit disappears to his room. There is a sudden burst of music, then the song changes and as the new one begins, I hear Amit join in. It’s almost impossible to tell his voice apart from the artist’s.

  “Turn it down!” I shout, but only because that’s what Dad would have said. I like it loud.

  I sit on the bed and spread out my fingers, turning them to make the silver nail polish sparkle in the daylight. It’s the only clue to my day at Bella’s. Dad will make me take the polish off my fingernails straight away. He probably won’t notice my toes for a couple of days.