Unspeakable by Abbie Rushton Page A

Jasmine yells as she bundles me through her front door.
    I almost trip over a box of shoes. The hallway is long, narrow and dark, the carpet ripped a little at the edges. But it’s brightened by a series of exotic paintings: elephants silhouetted against a savannah sunset, a landscape of paddy fields, scattered with figures wearing triangular hats.
    A plug-in freshener is lacing the air with a floral smell. When I take a further step inside, another freshener bursts into life, spraying droplets of citrusy perfume on my arm.
    Jasmine rolls her eyes. ‘I told you she’s into smells. She had those out before we’d even unpacked the kitchen.’
    ‘Muuuum!’ Jasmine hollers again. ‘Megan’s here.’
    A woman emerges at the end of the corridor, holding her hands out as if they’re covered in something sticky. ‘Megan!’ she half shrieks, half laughs, in a slightly accented voice. ‘You’re here! We finally get to meet you! Come in. Welcome. There’s plenty of food.’
    ‘There’s always plenty of food,’ Jasmine says, before whispering to me, ‘I should’ve warned you: she’s a feeder.Hope you’re hungry because she won’t stop until you puke!’
    Jasmine’s mum rushes down the corridor. Her skin has the same rich tone as Jasmine’s and her clothes are vibrant blues and oranges, like a kingfisher. A mass of grey-streaked curls are swept back into a ponytail, and her slightly crooked teeth peep out behind a smile so wide it stretches across most of her face.
    ‘I’m Eleni, Megan. It’s wonderful to meet you.’ She sweeps me into a hug and I’m surrounded by the scent of green tea, lavender and musky incense. ‘Arthur and I are thrilled that Jas has made a friend so soon. Apanagía mou , I’m sorry, I’ve just got oil on your back. I’m making dolmádes and I’m covered in the stuff. Take your coat off and I’ll try to rinse it. Your mother’s not going to be pleased with me. What an awful first impression! Signómi. Éla , come through.’
    Eleni continues to talk as she herds me into a small kitchen. Her English is fluent, though she peppers it with Greek, tossed in like chunks of feta in a salad.
    The kitchen smells incredible. Its counters are strewn with mess: a Greek yoghurt pot; sprigs of mint; onion and garlic skins; deflated lemon halves.
    ‘I’m making a feast!’ Eleni announces, throwing her hands in the air.
    A small head pokes round the door. Jasmine looks up and a smile breaks across her face. ‘Lily mou ! This is my friend, Megan.’
    Lily nods shyly, casting a furtive glance in my direction. ‘Hello,’ she whispers.
    I nod and try to smile back.
Don’t.
    I blush and instantly look down.
    ‘I’m Lily.’ She holds out a hand that’s covered with dried glue and pieces of glitter. ‘I’ve been making a birthday card.’
    I shake her hand. I’m Megan. I wish I could tell you my name .
Don’t say anything.
    I jump a little, then whip my hand away from Lily’s before she notices how much it’s trembling. Lily comes further into the kitchen and swipes a golden ball off a dish on the counter. Compared with her sister, her skin is paler, her hair not as dark and glossy, more of a light brown. She shares those big, beautiful eyes though, and they rove greedily across all the food.
    Jasmine points at the round thing Lily is nibbling. ‘That’s a falafel. Have you had one before?’
    I shake my head.
    ‘They’re ace. Technically not Greek, but we still love ’em! Try one.’
    She picks one up and raises it to my mouth, which drops open in surprise. The brush of Jasmine’s fingers against my lips sends tingles through me. I try to look normal and chew, even though there’s no saliva left. Jasmine turns away and I manage to swallow. It’s delicious – warm, crispy and herby.
    ‘These,’ Jasmine tugs my arm, gesturing at some knobbly,sausage-like patties, ‘are kofte . Lamb. Good job you’re not a veggie. Lily is, but she doesn’t know what she’s missing out