BECKY

Becky had done many spontaneous things without thinking them through in her life, most of which ended up with her black-out drunk, naked and regretful but this surely was one of the most reckless.

One of her mother's church friends had called the house phone to whisper rumours about her, the accusatory gasps enough to drive her mad and eventually Becky had run out of the house with her mum screaming from behind. Without a penny in her pocket and a phone battery that was almost dead, she dialled Mohammad's phone in sheer desperation of taking her mind off the words her mother had spat at her.

He had invited her to spend the day with him at his house, an offer he hadn't allowed her to refuse. She had been to Mohammad's house before when they first met, being partnered up for an English project months ago.

This was no longer for school, however, and she was no longer willing to use someone's body to help her forget everything. Her days of casual sex were over. Becky had gathered enough of a reputation around her gossip-filled neighbourhood to scare her into an early grave, if she was even a smidge weaker. But she refused to let their insults carve through the skin she had built around her and despite not caring what others thought, she decided it was time for a little abstinence.

The problem was, however, that if she didn't have one-night stands with strangers, how was she supposed to forget how often she was insulted?

Her desperation had led her to Mohammad's front door, only this wasn't the house she had visited before. A handful of months ago, his house had been on the other side of town; the posher side. It was large and decorated beautifully, with marble-like flooring and wide windows letting natural light pool in. But as the time had passed, he had grown a little quieter, a little sadder, a little tenser. Eventually, on their annual school trip to Rome he had confided his family's financial problems to her, shirking behind a barely legible reasoning. He had said his sister was sick without any elaboration and Becky knew him enough to know not to push.

How sick was she, though, for this to be the outcome?

The block of flats in front of her were appalling, the paint peeled off and a dusty grey colour clouding them. There was rubbish piling out of the bins on the street, stray dogs tearing into the black bags in search of scraps as loud threatening voices permeated the air. Becky pulled her brother's sweatshirt tighter around her body, standing straighter in an attempt to change her line of thought. What did it matter where he lived or how crap it was? Mohamad was still her friend and it was kind of him to invite her over on such short notice purely because she was having a bad day.

With a tug at one of her braids in nervousness, she walked into the building, holding her nose as she peered at the lift. There was graffiti outlining the dull metal and instead of risking it not working, she decided it would be quicker to take the stairs. Thankfully, he lived on the first floor and it didn't take long before she was standing in front of his door.

With a deep breath to regulate her breathing, she pressed down on the doorbell, grazing over the faded paint beneath her knuckles. Mohammad's mum opened the door, all wide smiles and warm eyes, welcoming her in. The contrast was so clear cut between her own mother and his – the way Nada Hatoum was a whirlwind of joy compared to the calmness her mum evoked, one that was so carefully constructed it was ice cold.

"Good afternoon, habibti," his mother cooed, her lips lilting with her accent as she welcomed her into the small flat with a flourish. She was clad in a long black dress with intricate red thread woven into patterns around the fabric; material that seemed so regal in the cramped space around them. "Come on in, darling. Would you like something to eat?"

Becky smiled shyly, nodding slightly. Although she wasn't particularly hungry, Mohammad had warned her the very first time she had met his mother to never refuse food in fear of causing offence. He had told her that in his culture, food was a form of showing love.

She paused at the hallway, unsure of whether she should slip her shoes off or not. Becky had enough Muslim friends to know that it was usually customary to not wear shoes in the house and whilst she had taken them off in Mohammad's previous house, she didn't know what to do now. The cream carpet, although probably as clean as it could be, was still a dull grey from an accumulation of marks over the years.

"Yo yo yo," Mohammad's voice rang from behind her, the sound joyous enough to make her smile automatically. He was wearing a burgundy jumper about three sizes too large for him and a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms, curls standing on edge. "About time you got here then, innit? Ah, just leave 'em on."

She rolled her eyes at him but left her converse on, following him into the small living room. The kitchen was open plan, an aroma of spices lingering around her as his mother's hands expertly rolled dough. Although Becky had initially had her reservations before walking through the door, judging it by the group of teens loitering on the streets and the police sirens faintly shrieking in the distance, she was glad she had come. His flat – although miniature and incredibly cramped – was exactly what she thought a home should have been. It smelled like freshly baked bread, bright blankets layered over the sofas in an array of intricate patterns and photo frames proudly lining the shelves.

"This is beautiful," she said in awe, inky eyes lingering on everything she saw, taking it all in. "There's so much character, I love it."

Mohammad seemed surprised at first, mouth dropping open as he clearly hadn't expected her to actually like the small place in such a run-down area, but he slowly smiled, the corners of his lips brightening up his entire face. "You're a star," was his only response as he gestured for her to sit down.

The two friends talked for a while, the distance between them on the sofa growing slightly smaller with every hour that passed, as his mother fed them freshly baked cookies made of semolina until powdered sugar lined her full lips. Becky wriggled on the sofa, tugging at her leather skinny jeans, when she realised how much time had passed.

"You're welcome to stay for dinner," he said, now lounging back with his head tilted in her direction. "If you don't wanna that's no problem, I'll convince my mum to let you go but if you'd like, it'll be nice for you to stay."

She paused, wanting to say no but unable to find the words. His eyes were bright, glowing as the sunlight poured in and lit up his skin in an array of gold. "If you really don't mind, I don't want to be a bother."

His mother had long since retreated upstairs, leaving her son with a 'you-better-behave' look that didn't go unnoticed. Mohammad laughed, the sound bubbling against his throat and making something inside her twist. "Yeah right! You're not a bother, mama will be ecstatic, just you watch. She'll act like you've never eaten a thing in your life."

The floorboards behind them creaked slightly as his mother returned, her arm wrapped around a girl Becky vaguely recognised from school. She usually wore a navy hijab wrapped delicately around her head at school, matching perfectly with her uniform but today her curls bounced against her shoulders with every step. This was Mohammad's little sister, all tanned skin and wild hair as she smiled shyly. "Hiya," she whispered, fingers trembling slightly. "I'm Layla."

Becky beamed brightly, forgetting the hint of sugar still resting against her lips. "Oh hello! It's nice to see you again, how've you been?"

Layla shrugged half-heartedly but despite the smile still on her face, Becky almost wished she hadn't asked the question. Before she could dwell on the slight awkwardness that was lingering in the atmosphere, however, the siblings' mother gestured at them all to sit down.

"Help yourself, kids."

Becky was a little overwhelmed at the amount of food covering the small dining table, eyes widening as she took in the various dishes surrounding her. Whilst their mum had always given her a snack whenever she had come over to work on their essay, never before had Becky had a meal at Mohammad's house. She wasn't even sure where to start – there was a rice and meat dish in the very middle, various salads on the sides, small buns that smelled amazing, hummus with a sprinkle of red chilli powder and a collection of homemade pita breads.

Layla was reaching over and carefully lacing spoonful's of a little bit of everything into her plate, her mother pouring lemonade into tall glasses as Mohammad laughed at Becky's expression. Without a word, he reached across the table and grabbed hold of her plate, filling it for her as her heart clenched at the unexpected sweet gesture. "Here ya go."

She mumbled a thank you, trying not to think about the leftover takeaway that her brother was probably eating now, their mother at work. When was the last time Marie had cooked for them? When was the last time either of the twins had bothered to cook for themselves? She felt a little ashamed at that thought, comparing the dining table in front of her to her one at home and vowed it was time to make a lifestyle change.

"So Rebecca," Mrs Hatoum asked, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes deepening with her smile. "How have your exams been going?"

Becky didn't miss the way Mohammad rolled his eyes at the question, stifling a giggle at the thought of the lecture he would get later on. As smart as he was, the boy was incredibly lazy and she knew perfectly well that he had barely picked up a text book all month long. "They've been okay, thank you," she answered, her spoon hovering between her plate and her mouth. "Maths was a little hard but I'm just glad it's over, the rest have been pretty good actually. I think I've done okay, fingers crossed."

"Well, it's nice to know you have some ambition, that's wonderful! Unlike someone I could mention," Mohammad's mum pointedly raised an eyebrow at her son as he groaned loudly.

Layla laughed at that and although it shouldn't have been unusual, both her mother and brother turned to look over at her with wide eyes. "Well, I hope that when I get to your year, they'll be easy for me too. I bet it's so exciting waiting for university replies, what did you wanna do?"

Becky wasn't really used to opening up about her dreams but how could she resist when Layla was looking over at her like she wanted to hang onto every word? In between exclamations of how good the food was, she slowly told the family about her ambition to study astrophysics at university, an uphill battle she was determined to succeed in.

"That's very ambitious, you must be so proud of yourself!"

She hadn't really thought about it before but with that one sentence, she realised that she was proud of herself. Perhaps she took after her mother more than she thought! "Thank you! My mum grew up in a small town up North where she was the only black person in her whole school. And I guess she's always worked so hard in everything she does to make sure that she succeeds – because if she didn't, she always says who would represent people like her? So I guess I got my determination from her."

The conversation stilled around school and university, dreams and ambitions as the four finished their meal. A pair of slow, precise footsteps came from the other room as Layla gulped back the water her mother forced into her hand – holy water Mohammad had said with a I'll-explain-later look. "Baba's up," his mother said as he froze.

Becky had never met Mohammad's father before and as he walked into the room, she couldn't help wishing she hadn't had to. Mr Hatoum was a giant – tall and heavy-built in comparison to his wife's small frame, eyes narrowed together as he took the scene in. "Asalamu alaykum," he grunted to his wife, scowling when he caught sight of Becky seated beside Mohammad.

From beneath the table, she could see Mohammad's right hand curling up into a sharp fist, as though to control himself from lashing out. Becky wasn't quite sure what was going on or why his dad evidentially didn't like her but she had very rarely seen her best friend get so angry. Slowly, she wrapped her hand around his, her smooth skin running over his fingers until he relaxed slightly. "Thank you very much for the food Mrs Hatoum, I really appreciate it," she said, trying to sound as upbeat and polite as she could manage through her lie. "But I should probably get going. I promised my brother I'd help him with Physics which he's hopeless in."

With a warm smile, the older woman helped Becky up and hugged her. "No problem, darling. You get home safe, alright?"

With his lips pulled down tightly, as though to prevent sharp words slipping through, Mohammad also stood up. "I'll walk you home." His voice didn't sound like his own and the way it had dropped coldly almost scared her. She wasn't sure what to do or what not to do but before she could think about it, his father stopped him in his tracks.

"La tadhab," he almost growled, glaring at his son as both his wife and daughter squirmed in their seats. Becky didn't know what the words meant but she wasn't stupid enough to not realise the tension between father and son. As though Mohammad hadn't heard his father, he gestured towards the hallway and beckoned her to follow him.

It was only when they got outside, walking around the back of the run-down flats towards a small garage, when Mohammad relaxed a little. Instead of saying a word, she stepped a little closer to his tense frame, banging her shoulder against his own slightly. He was shaking slightly, irritation running through every vein until it lit him up, as he unlocked the garage door to reveal his motorbike. Becky had always known he had one but seeing the way he flung one helmet over his own head and one towards her made her mouth drop open.

She vaguely remembered Hannah complaining that he never let anyone else ride it and yet, here he was waiting for her to get on behind him.

"And you call me mad," she whispered, slowly lowering herself onto the seat beside him. She wanted to roll her eyes at him, to throw insults back and forth as they usually did, to make a joke out of it but it was evident that he wasn't in the mood. Becky wasn't quite sure what to do with her hands, having never been in such close proximity to him before but the second the engine turned on with a skid, she yelped and wrapped them around his waist from behind.

"Hold on tight, Bex," he mumbled, eyes on the road as he drove, twisting and turning at every corner as the wind whipped through their hair. She could feel her heartbeat pounding through their bodies, a mixture of nerves at being so close to him and the fear as the speed grew faster and faster with every second. The city passed by in a blur of colours blending into the night sky as the adrenaline inside her grew until she almost enjoyed it.

Her chest was pressed against his back, her arms laced around his torso and her hands resting somewhere near his stomach. She could feel every muscle of his back against her body, the heat warming her up until she was almost unsure where she began and where he ended. And suddenly, Becky cursed her stupid abstinence plan.

Thankfully, before her imagination could get going, he slowed down to a standstill outside her house, his body a lot calmer. She climbed off, trying not to notice how her legs had turned to jelly and slowly pulled the black helmet off. "Do you wanna come in for a bit?" she asked, head tilted to the side as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration before nodding.

Unlocking the door and wandering into the cold house, Becky flicked on the lights before realising her brother had clearly gone out somewhere and they were home alone. Usually whenever he had come over, they would sit in the living room but this time, Becky gestured for him to follow her upstairs. Mohammad looked around her room with interested eyes – as though he was peeling back all her layers whilst doing so – before falling down on her bed with a sigh.

"So, Momo, what's goin' on?"

He took a while to answer, a million emotions lighting up his eyes as he gently unclenched his fingers from where they had scarred into his palm. "My sister is going to die."

Becky didn't know what she expected but it definitely wasn't that; time seemed to stand still for what felt like eons as Mohammad's body shook violently, trying to control his emotions. She remembered when he had told her that Layla was sick, thought of the little girl she had met today and the way she had talked about her future. A future that clearly wasn't going to happen.

"When she talked about doing exams at our age, I just... I don't know. She isn't gonna make it to our age, fuck, we'll be lucky if she makes it during this summer. We're all on edge, constantly arguing but I don't know what we're gonna do when it happens. She's gonna die."

For the first time since she had ever known him, it seemed all his defences fell to the ground in a cloud of dust as a treacherous tear paved down his left cheek. Becky felt her heart wilt as she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, thinking of the girl she had met with the wild hair and determined eyes talking about a future she would be robbed off. How much faith Layla had when the very essence of life was stacked against her.

And there they sat, with Mohammad crying against her shoulder and Becky unsure if she should wish for an end to death or an end to a broken heart. After all, weren't they the same?