Nowhere Girl by Ruth Dugdall

for comfort, as Auntie found the key deep in her apron pocket, opening up the door that was smaller in height than even Amina. It was a surprise that Auntie could even make it through, and she looked uncomfortable, stooped in the attic room, blinking as if she had forgotten what it looked like in there. Jodie too could not stand fully upright, but Amina was small enough to walk easily. The blessing, the thing she noticed first, was the small window, at floor level, but offering light and a view of outside. It didn’t look like it opened, but Amina was still counting her blessings, she so desperately wanted this new life of hers to be a good one and for Omi’s sacrifice to be worthwhile. The cost of
harraga
had been great. Omi had sold the vineyard, and though the burned grape vines were worthless, the land itself was shaded by the mountain and had good soil. It was their only asset, sold secretly and quickly. When Samir came back down from the mountain or returned from Paris, he would discover her gone, and the land sold. Omi would be in trouble, there would be consequences. But she had told Amina to leave, to be safe.
    The attic room had two mattresses on the wooden floor, each with a blanket thrown on it. There was also a bucket, and Amina knew immediately that this was their toilet. A wooden crate served as a small table, and on it was a carved hand-held mirror that was so much like her mother’s she wanted to hold it to her chest. That was all the room offered, yet with Jodie alongside her, Amina felt it might be enough.
    “Thank you, Auntie,” said Amina, offering the woman a smile.
    Auntie accepted the thanks with a nod and a quick slick of the eyes over her body and face. Then she said, “I think you’ll do very well, Amina. You seem a nice well-raised girl.”
    This made her happy. She could write and tell her mother this, when she found a way to send a letter. Her mother would be pleased.
    “Settle now, and sleep. You have had a long journey.”
    Auntie left and Amina tried not to hear the key being turned into the lock. Jodie threw herself down on the mattress nearest the window and said, “I take the bed with the view, okay, long-face?” She then picked up the mirror and studied her reflection. Neither girl had washed for three days and Amina hadn’t been to the toilet since they left Spain. She looked at the black bucket in the corner, but couldn’t bring herself to go. She thought things were supposed to be more civilised in Europe, not less. She contented herself by going to the window.
    Lying on Jodie’s mattress, side by side, both girls looked out of the low window. They saw the road, with cars, the tall houses opposite and, to the right, a church spire. Not like the rounded mosque with its smooth white walls in Tizi Ouzou, this was like a stone dagger inserted into the sky, sharp and serious. Amina could not imagine praying in a temple as spikey and unwelcoming as that.
    “What country you think this is, Jodie? Is it Paris?”
    Jodie made a dismissive sound, and Amina though she might spit if they were outside. “No, not Paris. Not anywhere in France. This here Luxembourg, Uncle Jak said.”
    Amina tried the word, found it difficult.
    She had never even heard of this country that was now her new home. She placed her bag of belongings at the foot of her mattress, wishing again she had been able to keep her wooden box and wondering who had it now. Someone, surely, would have rescued it from the cave on the beach. She thought about emptying her belongings onto her bed though she would have preferred to do this alone. Jodie was already lifting the few items from her bag and placing them in a line on the floor.
    Amina opened the bag, hoping that nothing had been damaged by the journey. Inside, folded so neatly, was a beautiful corn-yellow Kabyle dress that she hadn’t seen in her haste when she opened the box on the beach. But now she could see that this was a gift, and a very precious one. Omi