But Aminah doesn’t stop there, no matter how much I try to grab on to her and tell her to. Because I’ve made the same mistake before . . . or, I suppose, after.

I didn’t care that Mum was upset. I was too angry, so I kept pushing. And so does Aminah.

‘I can’t wait to go away so I never have to see you again,’ she says.

Mama’s crying now, and it’s like cracking an egg, its shell hard and firm, only to find the soft yolk in the middle.

She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead she sweeps past Aminah and up the stairs, her perfume, anger and hurt lingering in the room after her.

Aminah sits there triumphantly.

Fog fills the room until all I can see is black. It crawls up my nostrils, down my throat and underneath my fingernails.

When I wake up in the hospital I swear the fog hovers around Mum’s bed, following me down the hall and all the way home.

Chapter 29

‘Safiya!’ Dad calls up the stairs.

My eyes flutter open slowly.

‘I’m awake . . .’ I groan, and turn to look at my phone. It’s only 7 a.m. Why is he waking me up so early?

‘I have a meeting I need to get to now,’ he reminds me. ‘Make sure to have some breakfast!’

I mumble a yes, already drifting off again.

I was up late last night working on the competition entry with the girls and we managed to get most of it done. I even came up with the idea.

A group of princesses-turned-pirates, who were all trapped in the tallest towers and guarded by dragons and goblins and witches, go on a mission to free the rest of their kind. The story begins in one particular tower, just as the main character – the latest princess to be recruited – wakes up from an eternal slumber.

When the girls ask me what the tower looks like I describe the house from Mum’s memories.

When they ask about the world, I talk about sand dunes and sun, palm trees and wildflowers.

And when they ask what the main character looks like I send them a photo of Aminah when she was our age.

They all love it.

Somewhere in the distance the door slams shut, and I drift back to sleep thinking of houses and perfume and starry nights.

When I next open my eyes it’s gone 8 a.m. I swear, loudly. Lady looks up at me from the bottom of the bed, scandalized.

‘Sorry,’ I mutter sarcastically as I jump out of bed. ‘But why didn’t you wake me up?’

Predictably she just stares at me and yawns. I roll my eyes at her. I hate being late for school.