The Fox Girl and the White Gazelle by Victoria Williamson

Author:Victoria Williamson [Victoria Williamson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781782504917
Publisher: Floris Books
Published: 2018-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

19. Caylin

Reema’s crying again and it’s making me feel really bad.

“It’s not true,” I try to tell her, “and you haven’t just got a headscarf, you’ve got lots of good memories to remind you of your brother, don’t you?”

That’s what people used to say when Grandad died. It didn’t help me feel any better, and it certainly didn’t help Mum, but maybe it’ll help Reema. It’s worth a shot anyhow.

“Don’t think about all the bad times, think about something good. What’s the best thing you remember about your brother?”

Reema thinks for a minute, then her eyes light up through her tears.

“Ice cream!” she smiles. “In summer when the sun is shining, Jamal comes for me after school. Baba says to go straight home, but we stop at the café and he buys me ice cream with the money from his weekend job. It is our secret.”

“That’s a bit like my grandad,” I grin. “I used to go to his house after school, and he’d give me money for the van and I’d buy ice cream and eat it on his back steps while he was making dinner. Mum never let me have ice cream before dinner, but Grandad always said it didn’t matter to my stomach whether I had pudding first or last. He was good that way, my grandad.”

I glance over to see that Reema’s frowning again, struggling to understand what I’m saying. I try not to feel disappointed, but it’s been so long since I’ve had anyone to talk to about Grandad that it’s frustrating she can’t keep up. It’s just typical that the only person I can trust with my secrets is someone who barely understands a word I say.

“Money for the van?” Reema asks, looking confused.

“The ice cream van. You know, the one that comes round the houses playing a tune and selling sweets to the kids at home time?”

Reema’s face is blank. At first it makes me think that talking to her about anything important to me is a waste of time. Then I have an idea. I know how to make her feel better about her brother, and how to make myself feel better about all the memories of Grandad swirling round my head and driving me half-mad with missing him.

I’m a genius.

“Right. We’ll wait at the gate after school for your wee sister, then I’ll show you what I’m talking about, OK?”

Reema nods, still looking a bit confused, and the bell rings for the end of break. Reema gets up and starts walking to where our class is lining up to go back in, but I head off a different way. I’ve seen a bunch of wee kids from the junior classes sneaking round to play by the bins outside the kitchen. They’re not allowed near there because of the lorries that stop for delivery and pick-up, and that means they can’t tell on me if I pinch their lunch money because I’ll just tell on them back.

I jog round to the bins and grab the nearest wee kid by his hood.

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