Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow Page 9

  “Thank you. I was named after my mum’s hero, Stevie Nicks.”

  “Seriously?” Lauren’s eyes light up. “She’s my hero too. Here …” – she presses the CD into my hand – “take it. It’s a gift.”

  “But…”

  “‘Rooms on Fire’ is one of my all-time favourite songs,” Lauren continues.

  “Mine too!” I squeak like a total fangirl. “I loved your slide guitar,” I add.

  “Thank you. You ever play slide before?”

  I shake my head. “I’d love to though.”

  She reaches into her guitar case and pulls out a slide. It’s shiny and rose-gold and looks brand new. “Here, why don’t you have my spare?”

  “What? Oh no. I couldn’t. I mean, won’t you need it?”

  She laughs. “Don’t worry, I have loads.”

  I take the slide from her, hold it in the palm of my hand. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “If you want a real mellow tone the trick is in the muting,” she says, picking up her guitar and slide. “Like this, see.” I watch as she places a finger behind the slide, muting the string.

  “Cool. Thank you.”

  “Uh-huh.” Lauren puts her guitar down and gives me a hug. She smells of a rich, musky perfume. “It was lovely meeting you, Stevie. You keep hold of that music dream, ya hear?”

  “Don’t worry. I will!”

  Lauren turns to greet the queue of people waiting to have their CDs signed.

  Somehow I manage to stammer goodbye to Simon and make my way through the crowded shop and out into the street.

  I stand beneath the glow of a street light and look at the CD and the slide in disbelief. I feel like a musical version of Cinderella … who just met her country-and-western fairy godmother.

  HAFIZ

  Ever since dinner I’ve been lying on my bed, slowly driving myself mad, checking and rechecking my phone for a message from Aahil or my dad. Finally, when I feel as if my head is going to explode from frustration, I get up and look out of the window and there is Stevie. There she is, standing in the orange glow of the street light, staring at something in her hand. And she’s really smiling. More than I’ve ever seen her smile before. But why? What is she doing? I pull a hoodie on over my T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms and quietly make my way downstairs. Uncle Samir and Aunt Maria have just started watching a comedy movie. I can hear the rapid-fire of Jim Carrey’s voice followed by their laughter. I open the front door without making a sound and slip outside. Stevie is still there but she’s putting whatever she was looking at into her pocket and looks as if she might be about to leave.

  I cross the narrow street. “Hey,” I say softly.

  “Hafiz!”

  It’s the first time I’ve seen her without her black eye make-up. She looks younger, softer, and her eyes are even greener.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Oh, I – I’ve just been to a gig,” she replies. “In the record shop.” She points to the store at the end of the row opposite my aunt and uncle’s house. “It was amazing!” Her face is lit up. “The woman who was singing gave me one of her CDs and this.” She pulls a pinky-gold metal tube from her pocket. “It’s a slide – for the guitar. You put it on your finger to change the pitch of the strings. It makes an amazing sound.”

  “That’s so cool.” But all I can think is, Stevie is so cool. The way she plays the guitar and goes to gigs. It’s so weird that she doesn’t seem to have any friends at school. Maybe she hangs around with other people outside of school. Maybe that’s who she went to the gig with. I look up and down the road but, apart from a couple of adults coming out of the record shop, there’s no one about.

  “Where are you off to?” Stevie asks, putting the slide back in her pocket.

  “Nowhere. I was just – I was looking out of my bedroom window and I saw you standing there. I thought I would come and say hello.” I cringe. Does that sound really lame? Does it make me sound like a weirdo?

  “Oh. Right.” She smiles. “I think I might be living in a parallel universe.”

  “A what?”

  “Nothing.” She looks embarrassed. “It’s nice to see you.”

  “Yes, you too.” This is starting to feel really awkward and I’m beginning to wish I’d never come out. At the far end of the street a drunken guy is stumbling from the pub. He clatters into a rubbish bin and veers off into the kerb—

  “Hafiz!”

  I jump at the sound of Uncle Samir’s voice. He’s standing, silhouetted, in the doorway of his house.

  “It’s my uncle,” I mutter to Stevie. “Hi, Uncle Samir!” I call back to him, like it’s the most normal thing in the world for me to be standing outside in the dark, talking to a girl.

  “What are you doing?” he calls.

  “Just chatting to a friend,” I say. Now I really wish I hadn’t come out. Could this get any more embarrassing? Yes, clearly it could, as Aunt Maria joins Uncle Samir in the doorway.

  “Hafiz! Thank goodness you’re all right,” she cries.

  “You should have told us you were leaving the house,” Uncle Samir says. “We’re just going to make some popcorn. We wanted to know if you’d like some.”

  My entire body is now crawling with shame. “I’d better go,” I say to Stevie.

  “Why don’t you invite your friend in?” Maria calls. “Would she like some popcorn?”

  “Oh. I – uh – I don’t know.” I turn to face Stevie, trying to block their view. “It’s OK, you really don’t have to,” I whisper.

  “Oh.” She looks disappointed.

  “Unless you want to?”

  Stevie grins. “OK.”

  I turn back to Uncle Samir and Aunt Maria. “OK!” I say, gesturing awkwardly in the direction of the door. In my head I see my dad throwing up his hands in horror at the fact that my knowledge of the English language seems to have become limited to a single word. I take a deep breath and follow Stevie into the house.

  Stevie

  It’s official. I have entered a mind-bending parallel universe where things actually go right for me. Not only have I just met the coolest singer ever but it turns out I’m also now somebody’s friend! Hafiz said so and so did his uncle and aunt – although they were just copying what he said, so obviously that doesn’t count – but anyway, Hafiz said that I was his friend. And now I’m in his kitchen. And his aunt’s making popcorn and his uncle’s talking about Jim Carrey and I have to keep pinching myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  Hafiz pulls one of the chairs out from under the table and offers it to me. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “Sure.”

  I sit down and glance at the clock on the wall. It’s almost nine thirty. Not that it matters. It’s not as if Mum ever comes to check on me. I feel a sting of resentment as I think of how worried Hafiz’s uncle and aunt looked when he’d gone missing from his room. And how relieved they were to find him on the street, talking to me. But then, after what he’s been through to get here, I guess it must have made them extra protective.

  “Would you like an apple juice?” Hafiz’s Aunt Maria asks me. She looks really nice and smiley. And she’s wearing fleecy pyjamas covered in cartoon dogs, which I’m hoping is an ironic thing, as she has to be about forty.

  “Yes, please.” The smell of the freshly popping corn is delicious and triggers a rumbling deep in my stomach. I only had beans on toast for dinner and I’m suddenly starving.

  “So, you two are in the same class at school?” Hafiz’s uncle says. He has the same accent as Hafiz but not as strong.

  “Yes.” Hafiz sits down next to me and runs his hand through his hair. He seems pretty stressed for some reason. I hope that reason isn’t me.

  “We sit next to each other in class,” I say.

  “I see.” Samir looks at me. His eyes are big and dark brown. He looks really kind and wise.

  There’s an awkward moment of silence, thankfully broken by Maria placing a large bowl of popcorn on t
he table.

  “Here you are,” she says. “And here are your drinks.” She puts two glasses of apple juice down in front of us. “OK, Samir, shall we leave them to it and get back to our film?”

  Samir thinks for a moment, then nods. “But no more disappearing acts,” he says to Hafiz.

  “OK,” Hafiz mutters. “Sorry about that,” he says to me as soon as his uncle and aunt have gone.

  “Why? They’re really nice.” I take a handful of popcorn. It’s still warm and it tastes delicious.

  “So, do you go to many gigs?” Hafiz asks.

  I nearly choke on my popcorn. If only! “No, not really. Tonight was – well, it was a bit of an accident, actually.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I hadn’t planned to go there. I just went out for a walk and thought I’d try doing that thing we did in Brighton the other day, you know, the following-your-heart thing? And I ended up coming down this road and I heard the music, so I thought I’d investigate.”

  “That is very cool.” Thankfully Hafiz is smiling – and not in a mocking way. “My dad’s story was right. Great things happen when you follow your heart.”

  “Yes, yes, they do—” But before I can say anything more, Hafiz’s uncle bursts through the door.

  “Hafiz!” he cries, holding out his phone. “It’s Tariq. I’ve heard from Tariq!”

  HAFIZ

  My fingers tremble as I take the phone. Can it really be true? I’m expecting to see a text message but the screen shows that it’s a call. A call! I bring the phone to my ear.

  “Dad?” The word comes out more like a gasp.

  “Hafiz! My son! Oh, thanks be to God!”

  “Dad.” I crumple forwards, like a balloon deflating. “Where are you? How are you?”

  “My son!” he says again. And even though the line is faint, I can hear that he’s crying.

  “Are you OK? And Mum? Is Mum OK?”

  “Yes, my son, my Hafiz. We are OK.”

  Aunt Maria comes into the room, stands behind Uncle Samir and puts her arms around his waist. I take a deep breath. “Where are you, Dad?”

  “We are in Athens.”

  My heart nearly stops beating. “What? Where?”

  “Athens.”

  “But Athens is in – it’s in Greece!” I look around the room just to make sure that I’m not mistaken and that Athens isn’t actually in Syria. But Uncle Samir and Aunt Maria are nodding.

  “Yes. We are on the same continent. Thanks to God.”

  “But how – how did you get there? What about Grandma? Can I speak to Mum?”

  “I will explain all soon, Hafiz. I can’t talk for long. We are in a refugee camp. I’ve had to borrow someone’s phone. I just needed to hear your voice. Find out how you are doing.”

  “I’m good, Dad. I love you, Dad.” I don’t care that the others are here. Mum and Dad are alive – they’re no longer in Syria. My eyes fill with tears.

  “I love you too, son. Can I speak with Samir again? I promise I will call again soon.”

  “Of course. Oh, Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been doing what you told me. I’ve been searching for my story.”

  There’s a moment’s silence, then: “And have you found it?”

  “No. Not yet. But I will keep looking.”

  “Oh, Hafiz…” I’m not sure if it’s the line breaking up or Dad’s voice. “You make me so proud.”

  “Thanks, Dad. Speak to you soon.”

  “Bye, my son.”

  I hand the phone to Uncle Samir. He starts talking to Dad and leaves the room. Aunt Maria follows him. I wipe the tears from my face but they just keep on coming. For so long I’ve been so worried, thinking of Mum and Dad trapped in Syria, trying not to think the worst. And now they’re free. They’re free!

  Stevie is looking at me, confused, and I realize she wouldn’t have understood a word of my conversation with Dad.

  “My parents – they’re in Greece,” I say, tears still sliding down my face. I know I should feel embarrassed, crying like this, but I don’t. My relief outweighs everything. They’re alive! Mum and Dad are alive. And they’re in Europe.

  “That’s amazing.” Stevie smiles. “And you didn’t know they’d left Syria?”

  “No. I hadn’t heard from them for weeks. None of us had. They’d been hiding in the mountains, where there’s no phone reception. I had no idea that they’d left.”

  Stevie’s eyes widen. “It must have been so scary.”

  “Yes. Syria is a very scary place now. They must have been through hell.”

  “No, I meant for you. It must have been so scary not knowing how or where they were.”

  “It was.” I blink away my tears. It feels so nice to have someone who understands how I’ve been feeling. It makes me want to cry even more, but I can’t, I have to pull myself together. I go over to the fridge and take out the juice. “I bet you didn’t expect all of this to happen when you followed your heart tonight.”

  Stevie laughs. “I didn’t really expect anything that’s happened tonight.” She stands up. “I should go.”

  “Oh. Why?”

  “You probably want to be with your family – talk about what’s happened.”

  “No. I like it, you being here. And anyway, I need you to celebrate with me.” I top up her glass of juice. Now she’ll have to stay a bit longer.

  “OK then, if you’re sure.” She sits back down and raises her glass. “To refound parents.”

  I clink my glass against hers. “Yes! To refound parents.” I notice that her smile has faded slightly. I wonder if she’s thinking about her dad. I wonder what’s happened to her dad; why she doesn’t see him.

  “So, will your parents be coming to the UK too?” Stevie asks.

  “Yes. I guess so. I hope so.” My heart sinks as I think of how hard it was for me to get here – all of the legal hoops Uncle Samir had to jump through. But I got here in the end. And my parents will too. They have to. Tonight is not a night for doubt. Tonight is a night for celebration. They’re alive!

  Uncle Samir returns to the kitchen. “So, what do you know, Tariq is in Greece,” he says with a grin.

  I smile back at him – and I have to stop myself from saying, “thanks to God”.

  Stevie

  I lie in bed and gaze up at the ceiling, slowly going over everything that happened this evening like I’m revising for a test – a test in the subject of miracles. I’ve left the curtain wide open and an almost-full moon is casting its silvery glow across my bed. It’s the perfect end to a perfect night. I ended up staying at Hafiz’s until ten thirty, then he and Samir walked me home. They insisted on walking me right to my door, which was a little bit stressful, as I suddenly panicked that Mum might have needed something in the night and discovered I was missing. But when we arrived the cottage was silent and dark, as usual. I crept up to bed and I’ve been lying here ever since, reliving every magical moment. I have to get up in five hours for my paper round but I don’t care.

  I don’t feel quite so excited when my alarm goes off at six. And I feel even less excited when I arrive at the Malling estate, laden down with an extra-heavy bag of papers. The strap is cutting into my shoulder like a blade. I wonder if Lauren LaPorte ever had to do a paper round. I picture her riding around an American neighbourhood on a bike, humming country-and-western tunes and slinging rolled-up papers onto vast manicured lawns. I wish I was delivering papers in America right now instead of Lewes. It turns out the Malling estate is full of flats. And it turns out that just about everyone living on the top floors wants their papers delivered. I made the mistake of wearing my school uniform to save time, but, after an hour of running up and down stairs and searching for the right numbers, I’m hot and sweaty and desperate for a shower. But I barely have time to return the bag to Tony’s shop and race home to get my school stuff.

  I arrive at school late and hot and flustered. My stupid buttonless shirt is stuck to my back with
sweat. I need to get to Lost Property as soon as possible to get another one to change into so I don’t have to wear a jumper all day. I hurry into the form room and take my seat next to Hafiz. As soon as he grins at me I remember last night and instantly feel better.

  “What are you doing this evening?” Hafiz whispers as Miss Kepinski searches her desk drawers for some information about a school outing.

  “This evening?” I echo back, too surprised to be able to come up with an answer.

  “Yes. After school.”

  “Oh. I – uh – nothing. Why?”

  “My uncle and aunt wanted to know if you would like to come to Brighton with us – for dinner.”

  “Oh.” My heart lifts and immediately sinks. Dinner equals money – money I don’t have. “I don’t know.”

  Hafiz looks at his lap and down falls his curtain of hair. “That’s OK. Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, it’s not that I don’t want to… It’s just that … I don’t have much money at the moment.”

  Hafiz sweeps his hair back from his face and frowns at me. “Why would you need money?”

  “For dinner.”

  He smiles. “Oh no, my aunt and uncle have invited you. You are to be their guest. You won’t have to pay. And anyway, we’re only going to Sanctuary by the Sea.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A centre – for refugees. They have a café there.” He suddenly looks embarrassed. “Seriously you do not have to come if you don’t want to.”

  “I do want to.”

  “Really?” He studies my face as if to make sure I’m not lying.

  “Yes. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “That is OK.”

  I lean back in my chair feeling hot and stressed but also excited. Hafiz has asked me to come out with him after school. I actually have something to look forward to – or I will do, as soon as I get my sweaty shirt sorted.

  The bell rings for first period.

  “I’ll meet you in the classroom,” I say to Hafiz. “I just have to go to the – uh – toilet.”