“I was here,” says Abi. “I sat with her all night and I just popped out into the garden with Piper this morning for a few minutes and when I came back she’d gone.”
Dad says nothing but his back is still shuddering with emotion. Piper is lying on top of Nana’s feet as if he’s guarding her body.
Someone has put an orange lily on the pillow next to Nana Josie’s head. All the windows are open, and the room smells fresh and empty. I look over to the studio. The window facing the hospice is flung open and the window on the far side is open too. Maybe Nana did get to look around that room after all.
Dad sits in the chair next to Nana’s bed, hardly moving at all. His body is almost as still as Nana’s. I thought I would be afraid to look at her, but with the life gone out of her, it’s as if Nana’s body is just an empty shell.
This is not like I thought it would be…the end…so quiet and still and final.
Doris and Question Mark say we can stay in the room with Nana for as long as we need to. Of course, now that Nana has gone, it’s all about what we need. But we don’t know what we need so we start packing Nana’s clothes away, because it doesn’t feel right to sit and stare at her body when it really does feel that Nana has left it behind. So all of us help to pack away her clothes and everything we’ve brought to the hospice. The way we move around the room, folding and packing away, is like a strange silent ceremony. Mum goes to pack up Krish’s Aboriginal drawing but I ask her not to, not yet. I tell her to leave it till last. I don’t know why. Then we take Nana’s clothes out of the wardrobe and pack Nana’s belongings neatly away into her soft canvas bag.
There is a knock at the door. It’s Doris with Laila. Doris has been doing a tour of the ward, showing Laila off to all the patients…to give Mum a rest.
“Here’s your darlin’,” Doris coos, gently handing Laila back to Mum, who takes her up the corridor to the Family Room, where Krish has been watching football with the man who got married.
Then we all wait for Dad and Aunty Abi. When we get up to leave, it is four o’clock.
“See you later, mate,” the man who got married says, ruffling Krish’s hair.
“See you, Joe.”
I didn’t even know his name. I didn’t realize Krish knew him so well, but I suppose they’ve watched a few matches together since the wedding. Joe gets up and waves to us from the door, but Krish just stands with his hands in his pockets, looking up at Joe.
“I could come and see you, if you want,” offers Krish.
He’s trying to make it sound as if he doesn’t care either way.
“No, son, you get out there and get on with it.”
Then suddenly Krish runs at Joe and hugs him round the middle. They are both crying now. We are all crying, because now we understand about real life endings…how hard it is to say good-bye forever.
“Come on, you Spurs!” calls Joe as we walk down the corridor.
We pass the Men’s Room, where the woman who got married to Joe is arranging flowers in a vase. She comes over to say good-bye to us. Mum hugs her and rests her hand on her tummy, which I think is an odd thing to do, so I look at her, and see, for the first time, that she’s going to have a baby.
“Keep in touch, Lyn.”
My mum scribbles our number on a scrap of paper.
Dad and Lyn hug, Aunty Abi and Aunty Mel hug her too and even Piper tries to jump up at her.
Everyone’s faces are red and puffy and soaking wet with tears. I feel sad for us that Nana has gone. But for Joe, Lyn, and the baby, who isn’t even born yet, everything’s in the wrong order.
We pass the room where Doris and Question Mark and the other nurses sit. My dad says, “thank you.” I have heard those words so many times in my life, but I have never heard anyone say them in the way my dad thanks Doris and Question Mark.
“It was our privilege,” says Question Mark, holding Dad’s hands in his.
Dad asks if Dr. Clem’s on duty. He’s not, but Doris says he knows about Nana and he was planning to drop in and see us before we leave. Somehow it doesn’t feel right to leave without saying good-bye to Dr. Clem.
We stand outside Heath Ward, waiting for the lift. It takes ages to come. Krish doesn’t even try to run down the stairs; he just stands very still, patiently waiting. When it finally comes, the lift is empty. At the bottom, the doors open and Dr. Clem is standing in front of us. He backs away to let us out, and leans his shopping bags against the wall. Dad sets down Nana’s bag and Dr. Clem glances toward it sadly. He says he’s glad he managed to catch us. He looks at us with his droopy eyes, each of us, one by one. This noise escapes from my dad’s mouth, which is something like a very low cough that shakes his body. Dr. Clem holds Dad, as if to steady him. Then Dad grasps onto Dr. Clem, and they hold each other, their hands patting hard on each other’s back. It makes me think of gorillas comforting each other. Dr. Clem must have seen thousands of people dying, but he still cares for Nana Josie and for us. When Dad and Dr. Clem finally let go of each other, he sees me and Krish peering into his shopping bags full of crisps and lemonade.
“They’re for my daughter’s birthday party…so I’ll always remember your nana, on this day.”
He has obviously only come here today to see us, because now he turns round and walks back out again.
As we follow him out onto the pavement I hear Headscarf Lady calling to us. We have forgotten Krish’s artwork.
“Your Nana Josie loved that so much. I think it helped her, in the end. Whenever she opened her eyes, she just seemed to be lost in it,” Dr. Clem says, resting a comforting hand on Krish’s shoulder.
Krish nods with his head bowed low. Then he turns to Headscarf Lady. “Here, you have it.”
She shoots Mum and Dad a look, as if to ask if it’s OK, and I see them both smile and nod.
Headscarf Lady gathers Krish into her arms, before he has time to protest, and squeezes him tight.
“You’re an angel,” she says. Krish just looks up at her and shrugs.
Dr. Clem walks up the road, clanking his party bags. At the corner, he stops and glances up at a flock of tiny birds wheeling through the sky. I follow their path, arcing upward, riding the air. Dr. Clem smiles, turns the corner, and is gone.
The sky is bright blue and there’s a real heat in the sun today. It’s a holiday atmosphere. It’s like the whole of London has decided to walk on the Heath. I like the fact that all these people don’t know that Nana has died. We walk past the ponds where people are swimming in the gloopy green water and up Parliament Hill, like we have so many times before with Nana and Piper. Krish doesn’t race Piper up the hill like he usually does. There are kite flyers zigzagging all over, getting their tails tangled…Dads, mostly, on a promise to get their children’s kites to fly, but the day is too still.
“Where are we going?” asks Krish.
“To Nana’s flat,” answers Dad.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because it feels to me like the right thing to do,” he sighs.
It doesn’t feel to me like the right thing to do.
“I’m staying here,” I say to no one in particular.
Mum and Dad give each other that look, where they’re checking out what the other one thinks. Mum shrugs. Dad shrugs. Everything’s changing. No one knows anymore what’s the right thing to do.
“Be back at Nana’s in half an hour,” Mum says, handing Piper’s lead to me. “Are you wearing your watch?”
I tap my wrist to show her.
“That’s not fair! Can I stay?” moans Krish.
“No!” Mum wraps her arm round Krish’s shoulder and leads him off down the hill with Dad walking beside them, pushing Laila in the pram.
Mum turns back to me when she’s halfway down the hill.
“Have you got your mobile?” she shouts.
I wave it in the air for her to see. Then I slump down on the bench where Nana and me always used to sit. I look up at the bright blue sky, but there is no Nana Josie flying
through the air on Claude’s back, no Jidé either. It’s nothing like my dream. Piper jumps onto the bench, nuzzles up to me, and whines, as if he’s looking for Nana too.
Then he’s off, running down the hill, barking, tail wagging frantically, and, as I try to catch sight of him, that’s when I see her walk toward me.
“Mira!”
Pat Print sits down next to me and I see Piper bounding back toward us. We watch Moses and Piper frolicking around like a couple of puppies.
“On your own?”
I try to speak but my voice gets choked by the sadness that rises up in me like a surging wave. It’s very hard to say the words, especially the first time you say them…as if you make it real by saying it…
“My nana died this morning.”
It comes out as not much more than a whisper. Pat Print doesn’t know what to do or say. What she does is stroke Piper on the head. I think this is her way of comforting me. Piper whines.
“Poor old Piper…Shall we walk?”
We trail off down the hill, following Piper and Moses on their windy path of pee trails. Then Piper disappears into a bit of woodland at the bottom of the hill.
“Piiiiiper,” I call, but he doesn’t come out. So we go to investigate, Pat Print and me.
He is rooted to the trunk of an oak tree, barking like a lunatic. It’s probably a squirrel. I look up into the tree and a flash of red catches my eye. That’s when I spot it, Nana’s hat…her cherry-red crochet hat, caught on a high branch.
“That’s Nana’s. She lost it on a walk with me last Christmas. She had me searching all over for it.”
“How on earth did it get up there?” says Pat, peering up through the branches.
“Do you think I could get it?” I ask her.
Pat Print shakes her head.
“No, but I can,” and before I can argue with her she is climbing up the tree, branch by branch. She seems to know exactly where to place her feet. Pat Print is an expert tree climber! She is dangerously high up—most people wouldn’t even think of going up that high…At the trunk, Moses is barking wildly. Pat Print reaches out for Nana’s hat, but she can’t quite get hold of it so she knocks it loose and it falls toward me through the branches, just as it fell from Nana’s head in my dream…leaving her long black hair streaming like the dance of a kite behind her. I catch it and put it on.
“Suits you,” smiles Pat Print, jumping down off the last branch.
“You’re a brilliant climber.”
“I’m never happier than when I’m sitting at the top of an ancient tree. I’ve always dreamed of living in a tree house,” she laughs. “I’ve climbed a tree just about every day of my life since I was four years old.”
We walk off down to the bottom of the hill where the path divides in two. I am so grateful to her for not asking me anything about Nana. It’s a shame they never met, because I think Nana Josie and Pat Print would have really liked each other.
“Did you manage to write the rest of that diary?” she asks.
“Every day, so far.”
“I had you down as a diary writer,” says Pat. “I’d love to read it, if you want me to. You can give it to Miss Poplar. Well, this is my track.” Pat Print points toward the nature pond.
“And this is mine,” I say, pointing up dog-poo alley toward the road.
“Well, I’m sure our paths will cross again,” Pat smiles. “Moooooooses!” she calls…and he chases after her.
Sunday, 29 May
Question Mark phoned Dad to tell him that tomorrow Nana’s going to be on the radio program called Start the Week. Question Mark didn’t want us to come across it by chance, in case we had a shock, hearing her voice.
There is nothing to do. On Sundays we always visit Nana. Even though Dr. Clem said we are always welcome to drop in and see them at the hospice, it would seem odd without Nana. Anyway, Nana’s body’s not even in her room anymore. It’s been moved to what they call the Chapel of Rest. We could go and see her there, I suppose, but Dad says he doesn’t feel the need.
I lie on my bed reading the same lines of my book over and over again, without taking any of the meaning in. It doesn’t feel like I’m alone because of Nana’s easel. It’s a bit like having another person sitting in the corner of the room, watching me. I couldn’t sleep last night. I just kept feeling Nana’s hand clasping my wrist and chanting, “Wear the charm, Mira…wear the charm…Why aren’t you wearing the charm?” This morning my head aches as if someone’s tightening a clamp round it, so I could really do without Mum in my room right now. She’s brought up a bag of Nana’s old clothes for me to look through.
“Some of this is real vintage stuff, Mira. It would be a shame to throw it away. Have a look and see if you want anything.”
I suppose she gets the hint when I don’t answer, because she closes the door quietly behind her, leaving me alone with the bag. As soon as I open the zip, Nana’s sandalwood smell fills the room, like a genie escaping from a bottle. There’s a suede green jacket that looks 1960s, two pairs of jeans, and lots of pretty Indian tops, strappy sandals, and walking boots. I try on the jeans and they fit me perfectly. I put on Nana’s orange beaded top that still smells of her. I love the feel of Nana’s clothes against my skin. I am trying to work out if wanting to wear them is weird, but it doesn’t feel wrong…it’s just like a memory of her, and that’s what’s left when someone you love is dead…and their smell.
What else is in this bag? One whole boxful of Nana’s carefully folded wrapping paper. There are a few scraps of beautiful colors and full pieces that Nana must have bought ready to wrap…And there’s ribbon too, fine and wide, in every color of the rainbow…For each piece of wrapping and each colored ribbon, she had someone in mind…There’s some deep blue ribbon and white tissue paper and some stickers with runners on them. It’s Krish’s birthday in a week’s time. I bet that was meant for him.
I am thinking of moving Nana’s easel out of my room, because in the darkness, with only the landing light casting shadows around the room, it looks even more like a person standing in the corner, watching me. I am afraid to go to sleep. I don’t know what I’m afraid of, except that I hate the thought of Nana’s body still lying in the hospice. If only she could be moved to her flat, or even to our house, so that we could look after her ourselves. Dad says her body is just a shell now and that her spirit is free and I think he’s right. But the question is, where is Nana’s spirit? In the gloom, I look over to her easel. I swear it’s beckoning to me.
Monday, 30 May
I wake up wanting to tell Jidé about Nana dying…In a way I wish it wasn’t half term. For the first time in my life I wish it wasn’t the holidays. Then I remember my mobile. Even though I want to talk to Jidé most, I call Millie first. The phone goes straight to voicemail. I remember now that she’s away on holiday. It’s not the sort of message you can leave on someone’s answerphone, is it? “My nana’s dead, but you can listen to her on the radio this morning.”
So I just hang up and hover over Jidé’s name before pressing the call button.
“Yep!”
“Jidé!”
“Mira!”
He sounds happy and surprised to hear my voice.
“It’s about my nana.”
“She died?”
He says it for me.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Are you all right?”
“Not really,” I mumble. “She’s on the radio this morning; they recorded her in the hospice…I thought you might want to listen.”
I don’t know why I want Jidé and Millie to hear Nana talking, but if I had her number I would call Pat Print too.
“What time?”
I give him the details and after that I can’t think of anything else to say.
“I’ll listen,” he says. “When’s the funeral?”
“Saturday.”
“Do you want to meet? I mean…”
“I don’t think I can…with all this going on.”
“OK, just call me if you need me.”
Before I spoke to him, I felt all right, but now the tears are streaming down my face and my voice is all choked up.
“I hope it’s…well…I’ll be thinking of you.”
“Me too,” I squeak in my high-pitched teary voice.
Just as I hang up I hear him say my name…
“Mira?”
I wait to see if he calls me back, but he doesn’t.
If someone is dead and they come on the radio, it’s like they’re not dead at all. It’s just as if they’re really talking to you…ghost talking. If someone you love dies and you keep hearing their voice on the radio or see them in films or on the television, you could pretend that they’re still alive by listening to them or watching them over and over.
I was there when the woman interviewed Nana for the radio. But when I hear her voice, everything sounds different. For a start, they’ve added music, the kind they would play at the pope’s funeral. I want to tell Jidé that it’s nothing like my nana would choose. There are other people that I haven’t heard before, talking about what they believe in and how what they believe in affects the way they feel about dying. I wonder which of the people talking are still alive.
We sit around the radio, like I’ve seen loads of times in old films, when they show that moment when Neville Chamberlain announces that Britain is at war with Germany. We huddle around, waiting to hear Nana speak to us, and somehow it helps to feel that Jidé is listening in with me. It takes me a while to realize that Nana has already started speaking, because Laila’s making such a racket talking to baby Su Su, her doll. Mum says, “Shhhhh,” to Laila, who is alive, so that we can listen to Nana Josie, who is dead.
Nana’s voice sounds different, sort of velvety. Dad says the radio technicians can put your voice through a warmer to make it sound richer. I don’t think they should change people’s voices like that. Even the things she says, which I have heard before, somehow seem different…more important. First of all you hear someone talking about the pope. Then you hear Joe and Lyn talking about their wedding day and the baby and about how they have “faith in each other.” After that there’s a short bit with the supposed-to-be-famous person who turns out to be Crystal! Dad says she’s an actress, but none of us have even heard of her. Then you hear Nana talking. I know why the radio woman made Nana such a big piece of her story, because out of all of the people talking, my nana is the one who sounds the most alive.
Mira in the Present Tense Page 19