Untitled Adam Baron 2

‘Friend. I don’t have a brother – or a sister,’ I added, which seemed to be a mistake because Nanai stared at me before getting a little panicked, until she turned to the photos on the table by her chair. There was one of a big ship, another of people who looked like they were probably her parents. She grabbed the third one, though – just her as a young woman with another young woman who looked just like her.

Nanai clung to the picture, tight, mumbling to herself as she drifted off to sleep.

Veronique reached forward and pulled Nanai’s rug up over her knees. ‘She holds on to it all night,’ she said, meaning the photograph.

‘What? Why?’

‘It’s a photo of her and Thu,’ said Veronique.

‘Thu?’

‘Her twin sister. You know I told you Nanai was a refugee?’

I did know. It was one of the things that made Veronique and her family SO interesting. Nanai had been one of what British people called the Vietnamese boat people – refugees, like the people fleeing horrible things now are. They were Hoa, Chinese people living in Vietnam, and they had to escape from Vietnam because the government was burning their houses.

‘Well, their ship sank,’ said Veronique. ‘Or something like that. I’m not too sure. Nanai was rescued. Her sister wasn’t.’

Oh NO.

I looked down at Nanai, that second time I met her, and felt like such an IDIOT. Talking about not having a sister! I couldn’t believe I’d done it.

‘Not your fault,’ said Veronique, guessing what I was thinking. ‘Come on.’

She pulled me into the garden.

‘I should have told you,’ she said, ‘about Thu. It’s why Nanai hates being asked about being a refugee. She won’t talk about it.’

‘Blimey. And they were twins? Were they identical?’

‘No. Nanai was a tomboy, she says.’

‘You can tell that by the football.’

‘But Thu was quiet and arty. Musical. And really beautiful. Nanai says that’s where I …’

‘What?’

Veronique blushed. ‘Doesn’t matter. Anyway, I wish I had a sister, don’t you?’

I blinked at Veronique, not knowing how to answer. For some reason I thought about Stephan’s two little girls, who he brings over at the weekend sometimes. They’re okay and the little one’s cute, actually. She climbs on my knee and calls me Thimbeline. She draws pictures of me that are hilarious.

But I just shrugged.

I couldn’t get the image out of my head, of Nanai clutching that photo like it was a swimming float. Something to keep her safe.

It made me feel close to her and for a second I didn’t know why. But then I did. You see, I’ve lost someone too. It happened when I was tiny, though, and I never knew them. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Nanai to lose her twin the way she did.

I shivered, and then Veronique’s dad called us in for supper. All through it I thought of that photo in Nanai’s hands, and how frail and tired she looked as she clung on to it.

(#ulink_a421ad86-83fa-536a-a088-31e5e5f96d8a)

So when Mum drove me round after school and I saw the ambulance in the driveway I was really scared – for Nanai.

And, sure enough, when Mum and I walked into their kitchen, Veronique’s dad told us that Nanai was ‘having a little trouble with her breathing’.

I swallowed. ‘What kind of trouble?’

‘They’re not sure, Cymbeline,’ he said, trying too hard to sound cheerful. ‘They’re taking her into hospital. Just a precaution,’ he added, putting his hand on Veronique’s shoulder. ‘The medics are just having a little look at her before they go.’

‘Can I go down and see her?’

Veronique’s dad said better not, which was a shame. He was going to go with her to the hospital and Veronique’s mum was away playing music concerts, so Veronique was coming home with us.

‘For a sleepover?’

‘Yes,’ Mum said. ‘And she’s very welcome, isn’t she, Cymbeline?’

Welcome? A sleepover – ON A WEDNESDAY? And with Veronique, who I used to like so much I couldn’t even talk to her?

‘Suppose,’ I said.

‘Can I bring Kit-Kat?’

‘PLEASE!’ I bellowed, knowing I shouldn’t be too excited, because Nanai was ill. But I couldn’t help it.

‘Course,’ Mum said, ‘though I think we’ve got some Mars bars at home somewhere, so …’

Mum didn’t get to finish because Veronique ran off up the stairs, while we went out to the car with the bag her dad had packed for her.

Mum got in the car while I climbed in the back. Mum and Mr Chang chatted quietly through the window until Veronique came out. She was carrying a big plastic box, covered in a cloth, which she set on the seat between us. Mum was already getting the car started so she didn’t see it – not until we got back to our house. We parked opposite and Veronique lifted the box out.

‘Oh …’ Mum said, ‘Kit-Kat. Silly of me. I thought you meant … But what is that?’

‘He’s a—’

‘HAMSTER!’ I shouted, as we started to cross the road.

‘How sweet,’ Mum said, and then spent five minutes hunting in her bag for the house keys.

Now, what I’d just done is BAD, and I certainly don’t want you to think that fibbing to my mum is something I do very often. I was only trying to protect her, though, because Mum is afraid of EVERYTHING. Daddy-long-legs make her scream like that kid in Home Alone. If a wasp flies in the kitchen window, she makes me hide under the table with her until it’s gone. She asked Uncle Bill round for lunch last Sunday and I swear it was only because she’d seen a spider on the bathroom ceiling the night before. When he arrived, she shoved the sweeping brush in his hand and pushed him up the stairs.

‘And hurry up!’ she shouted. ‘I really need a wee!’

So, I did fib, but fibbing about Kit-Kat’s true identity was not as bad as you might think. Because he is not, as I told Mum, a hamster.

He’s a RAT.

And he is epic.