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Chapters (86)
  1. Title Page
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Love
  4. Before
  5. One
  6. ONE
  7. Two
  8. TWO
  9. Three
  10. THREE
  11. Four
  12. FOUR
  13. Five
  14. FIVE
  15. Six
  16. SIX
  17. Seven
  18. SEVEN
  19. Eight
  20. EIGHT
  21. Nine
  22. NINE
  23. Ten
  24. TEN
  25. Eleven
  26. ELEVEN
  27. After
  28. One
  29. ONE
  30. Two
  31. TWO
  32. Three
  33. THREE
  34. Four
  35. FOUR
  36. Five
  37. FIVE
  38. Six
  39. SIX
  40. Seven
  41. SEVEN
  42. Eight
  43. EIGHT
  44. Nine
  45. NINE
  46. Ten
  47. TEN
  48. Eleven
  49. ELEVEN
  50. Twelve
  51. TWELVE
  52. Thirteen
  53. THIRTEEN
  54. Fourteen
  55. FOURTEEN
  56. Fifteen
  57. FIFTEEN
  58. Sixteen
  59. SIXTEEN
  60. Seventeen
  61. SEVENTEEN
  62. Eighteen
  63. EIGHTEEN
  64. Nineteen
  65. NINETEEN
  66. Twenty
  67. TWENTY
  68. Twenty-One
  69. TWENTY-ONE
  70. Twenty-Two
  71. TWENTY-TWO
  72. Twenty-Three
  73. TWENTY-THREE
  74. Twenty-Four
  75. TWENTY-FOUR
  76. Twenty-Five
  77. TWENTY-FIVE
  78. Twenty-Six
  79. TWENTY-SIX
  80. Twenty-Seven
  81. TWENTY-SEVEN
  82. Twenty-Eight
  83. TWENTY-EIGHT
  84. Eleven Months Later
  85. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  86. Copyright

I didn’t know it would be like this. Even after all this time, it feels like I’m getting to know her all over again. The colour of her skin, pale as moonlight, and her mouth, warm as sunshine. Then she touches me – really touches me – and it’s enough to make something in my chest flare then collapse in on itself.

And I understand then what Mr Moreno means when he says that’s how galaxies are made.

Nine

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NINE

As soon as I put my key in the front door, I can hear Keith Waithe, which means that my father is cooking.

Could this evening get any better?

I walk into the flat to find him and Rosh dancing in the kitchen as he stirs something on the stove. The scene couldn’t be more different from the one I just left at Poppy’s. Music fills the flat and as I stand in the doorway of the kitchen, I realise how small it is. So small that my father and Rosh barely fit in there at the same time.

When I first walked into Poppy’s house, I might have been embarrassed to bring her back here, given her parents have an entire floor to themselves while Rosh and I share a room. But watching my father and sister, dancing around each other as the window steams up, how could I be?

There’s more life in this tiny, hot kitchen than in the whole of her house and I think she’d love it. I think she’d love Keith Waithe and helping my mother clean and cut up okra while Rosh asks her question after question about the library at Roedean.

I know then that I want to tell them about her.

I want to bring her home.

Not now, though. The kitchen is a mess. There are onion peelings on the counter and the floor beneath and a splatter of tomato sauce up the tiles behind the stove. My mother would cuss us all out if she was home right now.

‘Ashana!’ my father sings when he sees me standing in the doorway. And I wonder if he knows.

If he knows what I just did.

He mustn’t because he beckons me into the kitchen, still dancing.

There’s no room, but I step in anyway. ‘What are we having?’

‘Spag bol!’ he and Rosh say in unison.

I punch the air. His spaghetti bolognese is undefeated, even if he refuses to add carrots and celery and uses too much chilli and garam masala for it to be regarded as an authentic spaghetti bolognese.

‘How was the Tate Modern?’ Rosh asks, taking three plates out of the cupboard.

‘Cool. Very cool.’

‘Did you see the iceberg?’

‘Yes! It was incredible. Surprisingly moving.’

‘Did you take photos? Can I see?’

‘After dinner, OK?’ I hope my father doesn’t see the face I pull at her behind his back.