Leilah sat beside her, her head slumped against her own shoulder, sleeping peacefully. Aleisha, for one moment, had a desperate urge to shake her, to wake her up, and shout, ‘Mum, talk to me! Let’s talk!’ But just as quickly as the urge arrived, it dissipated.
She pulled out the reading list from her phone case, unfolded it and folded it in her hands, and then she slowly took To Kill a Mockingbird out of her bag. Someone had taken care with this list – they’d curated it. What was in these books? Why had they chosen these ones? Had the reading-list author known their scrap of paper would become someone else’s reading list too?
She looked at To Kill a Mockingbird and felt a drop of awkwardness, remembering how flustered she’d been when she first opened it – as though everyone in the library had been scrutinizing her, wondering what she was doing, acting like some kind of bookworm. But here it was just her, alone. No one here could judge her.
She bent the pages back over the spine and began to read, self-conscious at first, whispering each word cautiously, as if she was reading out loud in an English class, until she allowed herself to enjoy her own gentle rhythm, letting each word linger. Every few lines, she looked over, to see if Leilah showed any signs of waking: but her mum didn’t move at all. She noticed how this book was allowing her to step into two worlds – the world she was in right now, beside her mum, in her house, the air muggy from the heat of the day – and another world, the world of two children, Scout and her older brother Jem, who lived somewhere called Maycomb, a small town in Alabama, where they’d play outside, being foolish, being … children. She would do anything to see life through a child’s eyes again; a time when life wasn’t so serious, and scary neighbours were nothing more than a fun pastime, and family just meant home. From the first few pages, she could tell that Scout definitely cramped Jem’s style, but he put up with her all the same.
‘Mum,’ Aleisha turned to Leilah, whose eyes were still shut tight. ‘What do you reckon about Scout and Jem? Remind you of anyone?’ Aleisha smiled, not expecting a reply, as she caught sight of the photo displayed on the mantelpiece: Aleisha and Aidan, aged 7 and 15, embracing each other （forced to by Leilah, who was directing from behind the camera）， with their faces screwed up in mock disgust. She smiled to herself.
Then Aleisha met Scout and Jem’s father. The narrator, Scout, just called him Atticus … it made sense only because he was important. ‘Dad’ seemed too generic for Atticus. He was a lawyer. Wise, kind, fair … She turned to Leilah, her face pulled into a grin. ‘Mum! He’s a lawyer!’ she whispered. ‘A big-shot one in their small little town, it sounds like.’ She could see Atticus through Scout’s eyes – a large man, powerful, someone to be respected. She remembered thinking of her own dad in that way before, a long time ago. It was strange how, once childhood left, your parents became simply human, with fears and worries just like your own.
‘Mum,’ she said in hushed tones. ‘I think I’m getting the hang of this.’ For one small moment, she thought she saw Leilah stir, saw her eyes open just a bit, and she wondered if she was about to say something to her after all. When she said nothing, Aleisha curled up onto the sofa, tucking herself around her mother, in the way she used to when she was a kid. She held the book in her arms, and allowed her eyes to close.
When Aleisha woke up the next morning, the book was cradled in her hands, its soft, plastic jacket sticking to her slightly clammy skin. She looked around the room, and for a second, she thought she saw a small child sitting in the chair opposite her: scabby knees, shorts, legs a bit dirty from the Alabama dust – Scout. For that first waking moment, she wasn’t in Wembley any longer, she was in Maycomb. She looked to the other end of the sofa, expecting to see Leilah, wondering if Leilah was sharing this moment too. Leilah wasn’t there, and Aleisha was all alone. But, for the first time in a while, the silence in the house wasn’t so cloying; she could breathe.
Chapter 7
MUKESH
BEEP. ‘PAPA, IT’S ROHINI, I have to go into the office today, so I’m going to drop Priya off with you for a few hours. It’s an inset day at school. I’ve done her a packed lunch because she’s being a bit fussy and she’ll have a book, so don’t worry about entertaining her. I’ve booked her in for a hair appointment on Wembley High Road at five, so can you drop her back with me there? Will be good for you to get a walk in today if you can. See you later, Papa. I’ll be round at eleven-ish.’