Looking after Mum: Part II: Chapter 12

Chapter 12
“When are you going to start confiding in me, Amelia?” Susannah asked. We were in the middle of yet another counselling session and I was still remaining quiet and reserved.
I looked at her blearily and shrugged. “There’s not much to confide,” I mumbled.

“Why are you saying this?” said Susannah. “You know there is as well as I know. I need to hear it from you. I need some kind of break-through here, Amelia, and you’re not making it very easy for me to help you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Look, I don’t want your apologies, Amelia. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. It’s just this will be a waste of both my time and yours until you start talking.”
I sighed. “There’s no point,” I whispered.
Susannah frowned. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
On Sunday I got up especially early, as I was going to venture into town, to go looking for a birthday present for Mrs Brown.
I dragged my feet along the cobbles of the high street, feeling self-conscious as I normally did, with my body stuffed into a dowdy puffer coat because I felt the cold so much in September. That wasn't the worst. I hated my round plastic glasses and tight, ugly jeans choking my thighs to death. And I hated the humiliation of watching teenagers my age, with their slender limbs and fashionable clothes, walking lightly and confidently, their heads held high, swinging shopping bags from expensive arcades I wouldn't even venture into. The minute I passed a group of them I flushed bright red; looked down at my shoes and hurried past, wishing again and again they wouldn't notice me.
Suddenly, I caught sight of a group of teenage boys. I recognized them – year 12's from my school, total stereotypes. They were messing about, swigging drinks from cans and smoking. They flirted about with the girls who were walking past, but then suddenly caught sight of me. The boys jostled around a bit, smaning, and then made a bee-line for me. Oh no. I wasn't going to be made fun of now.

I swivelled round desperately and raced into the nearest shop, where I hurried to the back and hid behind a row of coat hangers, peering up, seeing if I could glimpse through the shop window. Yes, the boys had passed. I was safe.
"Hi," came a voice from behind me. I spun round, panting, and stared. There was a girl, about my age, standing in front of me. She had the strangest, wackiest hair – cut short and sticking up, electric red, and bright red lipstick to match. She had on a colourful, off-shoulder top saying, embarrassingly enough, 'I'll get naked if you will'. She wore a weird patent skirt with uneven, zigzagging patterns colliding around it, and scary black biker boots with chunky toes and spiky dog-collar round the tops.
I couldn’t fathom why on earth she was talking to me? Was I going to be the victim of yet another take-the-mick-out-of-Amelia session? I cleared my throat and backed away, blushing. The girl flashed a smile, revealing pointy, creamy teeth, and said, "I'm not gonna eat you."
This made me blush even more violently – I must have seemed a weird, pathetic, scared little girl. I gave a sort of nervous, confused half-smile, still not knowing what to expect.
She grinned, then casually slipped a pendant from the shelf into her patent skirt pocket, put a finger to her lips, and was off.
I stared after her in disbelief. I was sure I hadn't imagined her – though I did often conjure up smart, interesting people out of my imagination. She was real enough, but why had she acted so normally with me, like I wasn't an utter dork?

I decided it was a big pity she had left so soon – though she had actually shop lifted so I should have been shocked. Maybe the right thing to do would have been to report her, but then it was just a pendant and she hadn’t been unfriendly. She was long gone, anyway.

I looked around me. I hadn't had time to get used to my surroundings, I'd just dived in the nearest shop, like I said, to escape the Year 12's. The shop had a nice, musty smell to it, and was dim and warm. It had oriental objects hanging on the racks, like Indian saris, Middle-Eastern kaftans, and Japanese kimonos. The pendant the red-head had nicked had one of those quirky Chinese patterns on it; it might have been yin and yang.

I was going to leave, but then caught sight of some shawls hanging on a rack at the end of which was a really beautiful scarf. It must have been misplaced, as the rack held chains and bangles. I read the label, and it said: Pashmina Scarf. Do not Bleach.

Pashmina. It was such a beautiful word, it rolled around in your mouth, sweet and dreamy but telling of spices and adventure.
I fingered it and let the tassels run through my fingers. It was made of a incredibly soft, fine wool and it was lovely to touch. It had gorgeous sweet, warm colours in it - a mix of honey and damson mainly - with gold-dyed tassels. I held it to my face and breathed in. It was slightly scented with spices and blossoms, and it made me feel slightly lightheaded, but in a pleasant way.
I was sure that this was the right present for Mrs Brown.
Without hesitation I brought it to the counter, where a small, dark-haired lady with large black eyes framed with kohl smiled at me. She chattered away in a pretty, broken, sing-song accent, every minute adjusting her dove-blue sari. She talked about how she had moved to England from India at the beginning of the year, about her husband working as an accountant in India, who would come and join her soon, about how she lived in a cosy little flat above the shop. Her name tag read Amal Hakim.
“And I have little baby live with me in flat. My husband no see her yet, but you can.” She reached down on the seat next to her behind the counter, and brought out a smooth ebony cradle with simple but beautiful framework.

"My girl," she grinned, her teeth pearl white against her glossy mahogany skin. "No have name yet. I think one soon."
I was enchanted by the tiny little baby inside, loving her dark, wide, long-lashed eyes and parted, smiling lips. The baby held out a small, honey coloured hand, the fingers tiny and dainty with pearly, clean nails. She reached out furtively and snatched my index finger putting it in her mouth with a light, pretty giggle, her dimples like little almonds.

"Bad!" said Mrs Hakim, and pulled the baby’s hand away with a light slap. "I hope you no is minding. She acting too friendly sometimes."
"Oh no," I gabbled quickly. "I don't mind. She's beautiful. I hope you'll name her soon."
Then she remembered I was meant to be buying something. "Ah, of course!" she said, slapping her forehead with her palm and rolling her eyes. "I sorry, sweetheart, I forget. I talking too much."
I smiled shyly and handed over the Pashmina scarf. She handled it gingerly, deftly folding it into a perfect square with slim, nimble fingers. "Is gift for someone?" she asked, looking up from the fabric.
I nodded. Immediately, she brought out a beautiful roll of wrapping paper, enveloped in crinkly plastic. I'd never seen any like it before. It had silver crescent moons swooping across the border, crimson suns, white stars and blazing flames dancing on the paper. I breathed in quietly but sharply.

"Is pretty paper, no? I hope is OK for you."
"Oh, oh yes. Oh yes. Very pretty," I stuttered, watching as she pulled off the plastic covering and cut off just the right amount, wrapping the scarf just as skilfully as she had folded it. Then, she got a wide, sumptuous ribbon, laid it round, and tied a perfect bow in the middle. She grinned again, her eyes lighting up. "You like?"
“I love!” I burst out rapturously. “It,” I added quickly.

“Here,” she said, handing it over in a plastic bag. “I no charge you for gift wrap.”
I smiled at her. “Thank you very much...Miss Hakim.”

“Amal!” she said, laughing – a honeyed, rippling laugh, like silver bells. “No Miss Hakim. Always Amal.” She smiled at me, balancing the baby on her hip and rocking it gently. “You will come again soon, ah?"

"I...I hope so," I said, unfolding a banknote onto the counter, knowing sadly that there would not be any visits into town in the near future, because I needed to stay with my mother. “See you soon.”
Mother and daughter both waved hands, smiling at me through deep, dark, dewy eyes.