But why is he telling me to get the next train?

Someone gets up and Elle wrestles me a seat.

Three. And why would he ring Elle too?

I bury my head in my hands. Elle is stroking my hair. It helps.

Four. I’m sorry for yelling at you, Mum. I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.

‘When’s our train?’ I ask as we step off the Tube.

‘Ten minutes. We’ll make it.’

But I’m not so sure we will. I feel like a broken puppet, my strings hanging uselessly by my side, with no control over my legs or arms. As we make our way up the escalators I walk around in a daze. Eventually Elle picks up my strings and leads me, like all those years ago.

I don’t recall going through the ticket barrier, searching for our platform, or making my way on to the train.

But suddenly I’m in my seat and my phone is in my hand. Dad’s contact details are up on my screen.

‘You can do this,’ Elle says, squeezing my hand. And it’s like time has started all over again.

I call Dad.

The phone rings.

And rings.

He doesn’t answer.

The train is filled with excitable children, fuelled by sweets and fizzy drinks. They laugh and it sounds weird. Wrong. I want to switch places with them, to pretend everything’s OK. How are they so happy, so full of life when mine feels like it’s about to end? I watch two of them chase each other, giggling uncontrollably. But then one of them accidentally trips the other and suddenly both of them are in tears, each of their parents cuddling them for comfort.

Elle and I find a quiet corner and watch the world go by as the train pulls away from the station.

My phone vibrates in my hand moments into the journey. My fingers ache from squeezing it so tightly. ‘Hello?’ I say, my voice shaky.

‘Safiya?’

‘Dad, what’s happened?’ I ask. There are already tears in my eyes ready to fall. I take a deep breath, and then another.

‘It’s your mum,’ he says, and it’s like a lead brick slams hard against my abdomen. ‘She’s . . .’

Dead, I think. Just say it. Just tell me. But I can’t speak.

‘ . . . in a coma.’

‘But she’s alive?’ I wipe my eyes and cheeks with the sleeve of my coat.

I can sense Elle’s body stiffen, as she connects the dots of the one-sided conversation she’s hearing.

‘Yes.’ Dad exhales as he speaks. ‘Where are you now?’

‘On the train. I’ll be at the station soon.’

‘OK. I’ll pick you up. I tried to see her but it’s too soon for visitors.’

‘Dad?’

‘Yes, Saff?’

‘H-how . . . What happened?’

‘They think it was a stroke,’ Dad admits, his voice shaky. ‘I don’t know anything more just yet.’