Dream Land by Lily Hyde Page A

got no brains and nothing better to do. Want to come to my place, and Safi can wash her hands? Are you Safi’s brother? You look really similar.”
    You know he is, Safi thought crossly. And we don’t look that alike, because no one goes around gazing after me, although perhaps, one day, when I’m fifteen… She hardly allowed herself to think.
    Lena was playing with her hair, letting it fall loose, pegging it up again with the pencil. “Come on. It’s just up here, and we’ve got some
zelyonka
for those cuts.”
    There was no one in at Lena’s house. Lena dug out the green-dyed iodine from a cupboard, and Lutfi dabbed it onto Safi’s palms, doing the protective big brother act while Lena flirted about.
    “So how come you’re living out by Mangup-Kalye? Why didn’t you buy a house in Krasniy Mak or Bakhchisaray?”
    “No one wants to sell houses to Crimean Tatars,” Lutfi said, glowering. “Haven’t you heard? If we can’t buy houses we can’t get residence permits; if we can’t get residence permits we can’t go to school or get jobs; if we can’t get jobs we’re illegal; if we’re illegal…”
    “I get the picture. That’s really unfair. Still, you could build a house nearer the village. I mean, there’s not much out at Mangup-Kalye. Just a load of old ruins.”
    Even if no one else in Krasniy Mak wanted them, Safi thought Lena would be quite happy to have Lutfi as a neighbour. “It’s where our grandfather’s village was,” she told her. “Adym-Chokrak. There were lots of houses, and a mosque, and our Grandpa lived his whole life there until he was seventeen.”
    “You’d never know,” Lena said thoughtlessly. “Seems a bit weird, going back to something that’s totally disappeared. Life’s crap here anyway. My dad says Crimea’s totally going to the dogs since perestroika. Don’t know why you wanted to come back here really.”
    “Because it’s home—” Safi started to say. But Lutfi interrupted her.
    “That’s because you’re Russian, and the Russians have ruined Crimea. It doesn’t mean anything to you. You’re just occupiers; you don’t know what home is.”
    “Actually I’m half Ukrainian,” Lena returned coolly. “And my home’s right here, thank you very much. Isn’t it time you got out of it and went back to your amazing invisible village?”
    Safi was furious. Lena might have been flirting annoyingly, but she was nice. After Lutfi had stomped out Safi lingered, feeling divided in loyalty.
    “Thanks for the
zelyonka
and stuff.”
    “What’s up with your flipping brother?
I
don’t mind if you’ve come back. Makes life more interesting if you ask me.”
    “I don’t know what’s up with him,” Safi said honestly.
    “Oh well,
you’re
all right anyway. See you on the bus tomorrow. Don’t worry about the others; I’ll look after you.” Lena’s expression was friendly and conspiratorial as she closed the door.
    Safi trailed back to their valley behind Lutfi, who quickened his pace every time she tried to catch up until they were both almost running.
    “Stop!” she called at last. “Please! I’m getting a stitch. I want to talk to you.”
    “I want to get away from that dump of a village,” Lutfi growled. “I never even got to post my letter because of those scumbags.”
    “They aren’t all like that. Lena’s nice.”
    Lutfi just snorted contemptuously.
    “Please don’t tell Papa about today, Lutfi. I want to keep going to school.”
    That made her brother stop. He turned round to face her, a light in his green eyes. “What did you say?”
    “I want to keep going to school. It isn’t that bad.” Safi wanted to joke about enjoying lessons, like Mama had, but she didn’t recognize the look in Lutfi’s eyes. “It’s nice being with other kids, even if a few of them are idiots. There are some Tatar children there,” she added, wheedlingly. “You’re all so busy building the house, and it’s so quiet. And Mama wants me to