Chapter 24
‘This is full-on. Do you actually live here?’ Laila said in astonishment when they walked into Gemma’s kitchen.
It had taken both Gemma and Nick on speakerphone to convince Jodie to agree to letting Laila stay with her.
The tipping point was learning of Gemma’s involvement with the club which, Jodie said, Timothy hadn’t stopped raving about.
The joy on Laila’s face made their meddling worth it.
‘It’s like an archaeological dig and a garden shed combined,’ Laila continued.
‘I thought nothing could rival Gramps’ houseboat. ’
‘It would be nice to have a dedicated workroom but as I don’t, this table has to be it. Anyway, I only need to keep a small corner free for eating,’ she said, even though these days, more often than not, she ate on the sofa.
‘I didn’t mean to be rude. I kinda like it.’
Laila picked up something from Gemma’s small bone collection.
‘That’s a cow’s tooth,’ Gemma said. ‘They turn black when they’re in the mud for a long time. It was probably from butcher’s waste.’
‘Eww. And this?’
‘The bowl of a clay pipe. Isn’t it pretty?
The decorative carved theatre curtains mean it was probably sold at a theatre.
You wouldn’t believe how many pipes there are, especially at the city end of the river.
Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can find a teensy bit of original tobacco still stuck at the bottom. ’
‘Could you smoke it?’ Laila’s eyes lit up.
‘I don’t think so.’ Gemma laughed. She pulled out a chair and offered Laila a seat. ‘Do you want a drink? Tea, coffee?’
Laila sat down. ‘I only drink hot chocolate.’
‘That’s right,’ Gemma said. She sometimes forgot how young Laila was and how she may not yet have acquired a taste for tea or coffee.
Despite Gemma’s love of tea, she decided to join Laila in having a hot chocolate.
She pushed aside a pile of mudlarking paraphernalia to clear space at the table for the mugs and a plate of pink wafer biscuits that were probably stale but would have to do.
‘Don’t tell Timothy that we’re overloading ourselves with sugar,’ Gemma said.
At the mention of Timothy, Laila’s eyes smarted.
‘He’s going to be just fine,’ Gemma said. ‘I promise you.’
‘But he’s going to be so lonely in hospital. He’ll hate it.’
‘We’ll visit him, like Nick said. In fact, why don’t I message everyone and organise to go tomorrow? We could bring in a mudlarking find to talk about. He might like that.’ Without waiting for Laila to answer, she messaged The Mudlarkers’ Club on WhatsApp.
Laila sipped the hot chocolate and looked over some of Gemma’s other found objects.
‘So what’s happening about school?’ Gemma asked. ‘Can you take some days off?’
‘It’s still the holidays.’
‘Oh, right.’ Gemma had forgotten how long summer holidays used to be. ‘When do you go back?’
‘The beginning of September. I’ll probably go next term.’
‘Probably?’
‘Don’t you start,’ Laila grumbled.
‘I only want to understand.’
‘Well, school’s been hard. I’m not good at reading and writing.
That’s why I started skipping lessons. At first it was just the ones I didn’t like but then whole days.
Gramps got me dispensation to stay home for a couple of weeks for mental health reasons.
Not that I have a mental health problem.
Apparently, my “problem” …’ Laila mimed inverted commas ‘… is dyslexia. I mean why label those who can’t spell with a name no one can spell.
It should just be an emoji. I could draw that, easy. ’
‘You could! Why don’t you design one?’
‘Yeah, maybe … I really want to go to art school, but Jodie wants me to do hairdressing.’ Laila pretended to vomit. ‘Just because I like changing my hair every month.’
‘Jodie only wants what’s best for you. I guess she thinks hairdressing is a reliable job.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. But it’s not a passion. Anyway, who wants to touch other people’s hair every day?’
‘You’ve just been fiddling with a three-hundred-year-old wig curler that may have styled a wig made from the hair of dead plague victims,’ Gemma said, pointing at it with a wafer biscuit that really was very stale.
‘You’re making that up.’ Laila rocked back in her chair as if to avoid catching something contagious.
‘No, I’m not.’ Gemma shook her head. ‘Cheap wigs were made from animal hair but expensive ones from human.’
‘People paid more for human hair?’
‘It’s the same today. Many of my patients get wigs. Some, a selection. Anything to make going through a terrible time a little more dignified. But now synthetic fibre wigs are cheaper, more lightweight and easier to style than those made from human hair.’
Laila made another face. Perhaps Gemma shouldn’t have referred to the realities of chemotherapy. But wasn’t it good for kids to have some awareness of the struggles people can face?
‘You might find that having had a break from school will make going back easier,’ Gemma said.
‘Or harder.’
‘Do you want to get your A-levels?’
‘I guess.’ Laila sighed.
‘I’m sure you can get help for the dyslexia.’
‘Whatever.’ Laila waved her hands chaotically as if it was all getting too much. ‘Why do we have to keep talking about me? You’re trying to find out stuff about your past which is real-life personal mudlarking. That’s so interesting.’
‘Yeah,’ Gemma said unconvincingly.
‘What?’
‘It’s daunting, that’s all. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t just let things lie.’
‘I get it. I used to ask Mum about our Pakistani heritage but she’d never talk about it. It was like, because her parents disowned her, she disowned them and everything to do with them.’
‘Maybe one day you’ll be able to find out.’
‘Dunno. What bothered me more than that was eventually learning about her drug habit and the consequences of it. Unfortunately, it’s not all happy shit in your social services file.’
‘Huh,’ Gemma said, staring into the chocolate sludge at the bottom of her mug.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,’ Laila said quickly. ‘Look on the bright side, you could find out that your birth mother is an amazing person and that you have a sister. I always wanted a sister,’ she added, as if trying to make Gemma feel better.
‘Me too,’ Gemma agreed.
‘So there, don’t listen to me. Go and find her.’
‘Maybe. Anyway, before I forget, I should give you a key because I’ll be out at work every day. You also might want to bring a few of your things over from the houseboat.’
‘Thanks, Gemma. I’m happy to sleep on the sofa.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’ve got a spare bed somewhere underneath the junk upstairs.’ Gemma gestured to the ceiling.
‘You haven’t seen Gramps’ houseboat. I’m used to sleeping surrounded by junk,’ Laila said, as though she’s had to accept that mess is an indisputable part of life.