Once I got home, I dropped my bag and slumped on the sofa. There was no way I could concentrate on my homework. Coach phoned; I ignored it. Coach sent a HowzitBru text; I ignored it. Daddy sent a HowzitBru text; that one I read: Coach said you skipped practice. You fetch your sister?

No, I had not.

I considered replying, but it felt like too much work. Then daddy started calling. I let the phone ring and ring until another text popped up: Do I need to call the police? An ambulance?

Oh, hell no! I hastily replied: Sorry, stomach bug, had my head in the toilet. Not sure if fetching Joy is a good idea.

Sorry to hear that, Daddy replied.  Don’t worry, I’ll fetch her on the way home from work and bring you some ginger ale.

Ginger ale. I could be dying of cancer and my daddy would be trying to force the stuff down my throat. Man thinks it cures everything.

Although right then, some of it wouldn’t have been unwelcome. My stomach was bad. I knew it wasn’t food poisoning or a bug, but the random messages about Ma.

Peppermint crisp tart.

Hm.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that detail. Then again, not like most people don’t enjoy peppermint crisp tart. The stuff was amazing, until the smell reminded me too much of my Ma being dead. Nor was Ma’s death expected. But what if she gave somebody a letter, or a journal, or something, to pass on to me after she died.

Although if that was true, then why didn’t that person give it to me five years ago? Couldn’t have been a close family member or friend, they would be in my contacts. Then again, Ma did have friends that went overseas. Just because I didn’t know them, didn’t mean Ma and them weren’t close. After all, I was only eleven when she died. Ma didn’t tell me all her business, what mother would?

I picked up the phone and stared at the two messages. Tears leaked out of the corner of my eyes. I missed her so much.

But I couldn’t stop wondering: if this person really wanted to get in touch with me, why didn’t they leave their name?

Undecided, I crawled into bed, only bothering to take my shoes off. My body felt too heavy to do anything else. As my eyes began to shut, my phone buzzed again. Another text through the HowzitBru app: Oh, and darling, your mother is so glad you are reading Enid Blyton to your little sister, just like your mother did when you were the same age.

My stomach heaved. I don’t understand how anything was left after the taxi incident, but I only made it to the toilet just in time.

Maybe I was getting ill, for real.

***

Tell us: What would you do if you were Nevaeh?