‘It’s a modern interpretation of the twelve Olympians. I like it,’ says Mum, standing back and surveying.
‘That’s because you like anything to do with Ancient Greece,’ I say, pushing her on the shoulder.
‘Exactly,’ she says, pointing to the fireplace below, where a terracotta vase sits. ‘I think it’s a nice contrast with my amphora.’
The amphora is Mum’s prized possession, and from what I understand, worth a lot of money. She got it when she left home,taking a solo trip to Greece against her parents’ wishes. She never turned back. We now see Nani and Papa twice a year, for their birthdays. They live in East London and every time we go over it feels formal and stilted.
Mum sits down on the sofa. She struggles getting down, because of the stiffness in her knees.
‘Do you want help?’ I say, rushing over to her, just as she manages to sit.
‘I’ve got it,’ she says, holding a hand up.
‘How are you feeling?’ I say. ‘It looks worse than normal. Do you want me to get you some painkillers?’ Following Mum’s diagnosis I’ve become an expert on the different types of painkillers you can get. I also know where to find them on each floor of the house.
‘I’m just having a flare-up. Good old rheumatoid arthritis. I’ll be fine, Selena. You need to stop worrying about me. I’m your mother, not the other way around.’
Easier said than done: I know I’m all Mum has. What would she do without me?
Six
He was a young boy
Chasing dreams through the starlight
Until one fateful night
He saw the girl with the blue eyes
‘A Night In Hollywood’ fromDreamers
After nodding politely along to one of Mum’s speeches about art, I head to the garden to sit in the sun and read. I’m meant to finishThe Great Gatsbybefore term starts in a couple of days, and I have a few more chapters left.
As I get to the part where Gatsby is clearly never going to be called back by Daisy, a voice calls to me from over the fence. An American voice.
‘Hey.’
My new neighbours are American?
I get up and walk over, and see the younger brother on the other side.
‘Hi,’ I say, waving at him.
He’s small and young, with a temple fade and big eyes. He’s wearing a long-sleeved top and cargo shorts.
‘I saw you over the fence,’ he says. He looks at me curiously. ‘Do you live here?’
‘Well, I didn’t break into a random garden,’ I say, smiling. ‘Yeah, we’re neighbours. My name is Selena.’
‘I’m Daze,’ he says. ‘I wanted to say hello, since we’ve moved here and all.’
‘Paul!’ shouts out a voice from the house. ‘Dinner is up in ten minutes!’
‘Thanks!’ he yells back. He looks back at me, abashed. ‘Okay, my real name is Paul.’
‘That was poor timing for you.’ I laugh.
‘I’m really trying to get Daze to stick,’ he says, waving his arm around. ‘It feels, y’know, cooler. Like a stage name. And as we’ve moved here, it feels like a good time to, what’s it called . . .’ he pauses, scrunching his face up in concentration, ‘reinvent myself.’
