|Nadia|

      Whatever cyclone swept the western shores made its way to me. Except, it wasn't a cyclone was it? It was a hurricane. They were the same things named differently depending on the locality on earth. In South Asia we had cyclones, in England we had hurricanes. Rarely of course, nothing to touch the pristine drizzled mornings of Britain, except maybe the hurricane of its governing body. But today I felt a cyclone in me.      

   I need to talk to you. Meet me at the cafe behind the kiosk in the mall.

   That was all the text said. Kazim didn't hedge around any bushes, if he needed to talk then he needed to talk. That didn't stop my nerves from filling with dread. When a person set out to privately investigate matters it was often they would hope that there wasn't anything to be found. But when it was, that was a whole other ballpark.

   We were to meet at Capers Lounge today. I was already there, two decks below, indulging in some non-intoxicating but close-enough beverage. I went through a coffee, then an espresso, and a coffee again. Anything to last me the night and keep my dreams at bay. My shaky hands fumbled with the item I was coveting like a holy book. 'The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells, a spectacular extrapolation of a 19th century class system brought to the many time periods the time traveller could dwell in. And all the while Nessa gabbed on about it in our last book club session, I wished I was in the book, controlling the contraption that would take me back to those I loved, for they were no longer in the present for me to reach.

   My evenings used to be full of birthday planning, clothes shopping, mending, planning graduation gifts and homework help. When Danyal was here he had his hands full with fractions, though he was more interested in the colours of the world. He would often paint or take pictures with his little Kodak his dad gave him on his seventh birthday. After his short lived life there was June, and she was at odds with me at times, but what mother-daughter relationship wasn't strained at times?

   Now my evenings were filled to the brim with books, the odd sort, the fun sort, the adventurous sort. I made sure to avoid the sad sort. At first we set up shop in an old Asian centre formally for multilingual and cultural get-togethers. We'd share the building on most evenings, on the ground floor, at times the first. Nowadays, we were like a travelling circus, flitting from place to place, never staying in one place for too long. Never wanting to see the strobe lights of reality breaking through our rose-tinted sunglasses.

   Lathered in morning primrose, I held the handle of the mug, the bubbles in the drink reminded me of smaller hands chasing them down sun-dabbed pavements. Did most mothers think of their kid's childhood? Was it all a big 'reminisce' of the golden days for us? I refused. I refused to just remember the good times, the easy times. Instead I remembered the head teacher summons, the write-ups and temporary exclusions, the tardy slips and the tears in the evenings, the slipping out of houses, the mother-daughter squabbles, the burnt toasts, the laughter, the jokes, the friendship, the smile on the last day. The most beautiful I had seen on her, pity it was on the phone, video call, how most of out communications resorted to those days. 'You wouldn't believe it, mum. I have something to tell you later.'

    Now, in all my waking dreams, I chased and screamed and banged against the door keeping me from reaching out and begging her. What did she want to say? Life's biggest regret was not knowing or having the chance and never doing. June spoke in such a jubilant way, a way that the rhythm of her voice picked up, a way in how her dad's eyes were bright against her tanned skin, how the flicks of her hair like mine bounced in waves. A way she hadn't looked at me in years, not since Danyal's passing. But I couldn't even grasp the folds of her sleeve or the smooth lock of her hair. 'You wouldn't believe it'. Yes, sweetheart, I wouldn't, I couldn't, I refused to think you're anywhere but somewhere happy now that you left us.

   I don't want you doing this alone. I should be there with you, Nad.

   Elaine texted me again, the fiftieth time today, and I treasured each and every one. We were at odds at first, but call it a trauma bond we became the best of friends. She would want to know what Kazim had said, just so she could rub my shoulders and treat me to a lavish theatre show or whatever we fancied that day. She was a widow and she had also lost her child, painfully. She was a sorry looking thing, drenched in rain, carrying a broken umbrella when she first arrived. The wind hit the wind chimes of the Asian centre, as if it was comically announcing her weathered presence. 

   The rest of the group welcomed her in while I watched her from my chair in the corner of the room. Elias would call me observant. I had an uptight look apparently that would have people dying to know me. Elaine died to know me, until she didn't, and only then I found common ground and felt the compassion of another woman who also felt like her home was a tomb she couldn't visit. So we hung out anywhere but. Besides, how do you do drab and uncaring without sounding like my husband these days? He was practically a pro. But I was too jittery on coffee to presume he was anything but the cold man I married. At least when I played the indifference card I didn't try to be as frigid. 

   Gone were the days of laying in bed and watching the ceiling conjure images of the past. I lived there for a while, I probably still did, but now I did it with movement. With a quirk of a lip when the breezed past by, with a nod at my fellow readers, with a cross of the handle to morning cafes, croissants and hot cross buns, to Bistros in the afternoon, to my treasured book club, because what better to escape with then living a life of another? 

   I almost jumped from my seat as another chair scraped against the floor. A waiter set down a Turkish tea, perfectly timed with my personal investigator taking a seat. He was wearing a suit as usual, a nazar visible on his woven bracelet, always ready for business. With the grim set of his face, my lips froze halfway to a smile.

   "Tell me," I said. Two words. No waiting around for the how-do-you-do's and the pleasantries. I never liked his profession. It was a person getting paid for intruding, prying, poking into people's personal lives. It was sleazy, the bottom barrel of security jobs. I never liked it until I needed it. Kazim's eyes turned warm, as if he forgot he was here with a client and not a suspect.  

   "There's not much to tell but I thought I should give you this." 

   He hands me a slip of an item. A little, light blue thing, a non thing if anything. 

   "What did the kids call it?" He grumbled.

   "It's a Popsocket." I said.

   It was a pretty Popsocket, but it was frayed at the edges, the sticky backing was discoloured with whatever it had torn off. A phone probably, that's what they went on. Someone must have had to yank it pretty hard to take off a good portion of the phones paint. On the front, the Popsocket had a crescent moon and clouds, and read 'take me to the moon'. I sucked in a breath. Eyes watering. This Popsocket was familiar. What sealed the deal was the initials carefully crafted on the bottom, J.R.W.

   June Rae Whitlock.

   With now shaking hands I placed the object with a resounding clack on the glass table. 

   "W-where did you—"

   "Juniper Heath Inn," Kazim replied, his baritone voice sombre.

   My mind flashed to the campus, to the woods where they recovered June. 

   "But that's nowhere near the woods."

   Kazim levelled me with a look no imploring could take away. If I just had my ten minutes back, if I just had the time machine. My breathing was coming in short pants now.

   "Mrs Whitlock. There's no light way of saying this, and for that I apologise deeply, but... I have reason to believe your daughter did not commit suicide. I thought you should know."

   I let out the breath I was holding hostage, pretending this tidbit of information wasn't demolishing the entire foundation of my world.

   "Are you saying she was murdered?"

   "I'm not saying anything other than her suicide was suspicious. For all we know it could have been an accident."

   "How much would you need?" I asked, grabbing at thin air for my purse before a large hand stopped my pursuit.

   "Mrs Whitlock—"

   "Nadia," I corrected.

   "Nadia. You know this is on me. I couldn't find Danyal but I'll be damned if I don't uncover the truth of June's death for you."

   With a tenner on the table and a swish of his coat, he was gone. 

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