Asha had tidied the bookshelf. She had done it all by herself, and it had taken ages.
“Done!” she shouted.
Mum came to look. She looked at the top shelf, which was neat. She looked at the middle shelf, which was very neat. She looked at the bottom shelf, where a tall pile of books leaned over like someone trying to hear a secret.
“Not yet,” said Mum, and she smiled. “You’re nearly there. That pile’s going to fall on someone’s toes.”
Asha’s face went hot. Her tummy went small. She didn’t hear “nearly there”, and she didn’t see the smile. She only heard “not yet”. Inside her head it turned into “no”, and “no” turned into “wrong”, and “wrong” turned into “you are no good at shelves”.
She went and sat behind the sofa.
After a while, a very small star came and sat on her knee.
“That was a big feeling,” said Pip.
“She said no,” said Asha.
“She said not yet,” said Pip. “They’re different. Shall I show you?”
Asha didn’t say anything, which Pip took to mean yes.
“Can you ride a bike?”
“Yes.”
“Could you when you were five?”
Asha thought about it. She had fallen off quite a lot when she was five. There had been a plaster on her knee for most of that summer.
“Not yet,” she said slowly.
“Did that mean you were no good at bikes?”
“It meant I hadn’t finished learning them.”
“No is a door that’s shut,” said Pip. “Not yet is a door that’s stuck. You just give it another push.”
Asha looked out at the shelf from behind the sofa. The pile leaned. From here, she could see that it really was going to fall on someone. Probably her brother.
She thought about that for a moment. Then she got up anyway.
She took the pile apart. She put the big books on the bottom and the small books on top, and the pile stood up straight. It took about a minute, which was annoying, after all that sitting behind the sofa.
“Done,” she said, a bit more quietly this time.
Mum came to look. She put one finger on the pile and gave it a tiny push. It didn’t move.
“Now that,” said Mum, “is done. And you fixed it even though you were cross. That’s the bit I like best.”
That night, Asha found Mum in the hall, fighting with a fitted sheet. Mum held it up by two corners and tried to fold it. It turned into a ball. She tried again. It turned into a bigger ball.
“Mum,” said Asha. “Can you fold a fitted sheet?”
Mum looked at the ball. She had been trying for twenty years.
“Not yet,” said Mum.