Mira in the Present Tense (15 page)

“So why did he want my number, Millie?”

“Why do you think?” Millie grins. “Ben asked me if I'd go to the end-of-year-seven dance with him.”

“What did you say?”

“Yes. I figure I might as well go with someone who's vaguely OK.”

“Do you like him then?”

“He's all right.”

“So you think Jidé's going to ask me?”

“Probably…and he was going on about some sort of student committee his mum wants us to get involved with…to improve the Rec. Ben's planning a skateboarding bit and Jidé's into football—now she says she needs a girl's perspective. I think he wants us to go round there after school one day.”

Whatever the reason, I won't find out why Jidé asked for my number till Monday, unless Notsurewho Notsurewhat can intervene on my behalf and make him ring me over the weekend.

We arrive at the hospice at about 4:30 p.m. for a “family conference” with Dr. Clem and the nurses who are going to look after Nana Josie. The whole family is gathered, everyone except Laila, who's at her first-ever play date. As we settle ourselves, Clara and Crystal sit up in their beds as if this is their business too.

The doctor—we have to call him Clem—says they will need to try out different drugs to take away Nana's pain. He says it might take them a little while to adjust the medicines so Nana doesn't feel pain anymore, but eventually, he can assure us, they will get it right. Dr. Clem explains that Nana has an appointment this morning at the hospital to have a “procedure” to get her lungs drained, because they are filling with liquid, like drowning.

Doris pulls the curtain around Nana's bed so she can help her into her clothes.

“That's right, Josie, nice and slow, no hurry now.”

I can see Nana's bony ankles, like a sparrow's legs, below the lime-green curtain. Then suddenly I hear her breathing change.

“I can't do this anymore…I can't…I can't breathe…” Nana gasps.

I see the little birds from my dream, battering their wings against the glass.

I would like to rip open the curtain and hug Nana, but that soft material might as well be a sealed brick wall.

She's in a private world with a strange new family now.

A man nurse approaches silently. His body is twisted as if something is weighing him down. And he has these eyes that look like he can understand exactly how you feel. I read the name on his label,
mark
. That's exactly what he looks like, a question mark. He's small with sandy brown hair and watery blue eyes, too big for the size of his face, but what you really notice about him is his way of looking. Most people look out of their eyes to see things, but Question Mark's eyes seem to drink in feelings. He glances down at me and smiles, holds the curtains back for Dr. Clem, and quietly they walk in together.

“He's special, that one,” Clara tells me, nodding in the direction of Question Mark. Looking under the curtain I can understand how Question Mark is so light-footed. He's wearing sheepskin slippers. Nana's feet have disappeared from the floor. I can hear her voice mingling with Doris's and Dr. Clem's…liquid voices flowing into each other.

Doris opens the curtains and there she is, my Nana Josie, sitting up in bed, with a weak smile on her face.

Even though I'm not wearing my watch something strange is definitely happening to time. It's as if we've stepped out of it.

Nana has an oxygen mask over her mouth and she's leaning back on her pillow. Dr. Clem and Question Mark pull chairs up to Nana's bed and ask everyone to sit down. Dr. Clem sits next to Nana Josie, leaning into the bed but resting one foot, to steady himself, on the floor. That's how he sits with patients as if to say, “I'm on your side.”

“Josie has asked me to speak to you.” Dr. Clem's warm smile spreads over us again.

Nana Josie lifts her head up and nods encouragingly to Dr. Clem, as if she has given him her blessing.

“As you have probably gathered, we tried to move Josie just now, and she became very anxious. She's in a state of exhaustion, but she has managed to tell us what she wants, or rather, what she doesn't want.”

Dr. Clem takes a deep breath, as if he's gathering the courage to speak.

“The purpose of the procedure we were planning was to ease Josie's breathing. It would certainly give her more time, but after a short while the fluid in her lungs would only build up again.”

Like drowning.

Dr. Clem speaks very slowly, as if he's rehearsing what he's saying in his head before he actually speaks.

“Josie has decided that, now that she's here, she doesn't want to be moved out of the hospice.”

Dr. Clem pauses, looking around at each member of the family in case we want to ask him anything, but no one says a word. Nana Josie lifts her arm and pats him on the shoulder. Something has changed. Now Nana doesn't look worried anymore. Even so, for the whole meeting, my dad sits with his head practically on his knees as everyone else listens to Dr. Clem.

Krish even puts his hand up as if he's in class and asks Nana straight out. “Do you actually want to die now, Nana?”

She just looks at him in a kind way and turns to Dr. Clem.

“She doesn't want anymore pain, and that's what we can do for her here in the hospice, make sure she has no more pain,” explains Dr. Clem, taking hold of Krish's hand.

Nana nods. She looks like she's about to cry and so does Dr. Clem, but instead he takes a deep breath and carries on. He tells us that the pain relief will make Nana sleep more and that she might have very strong dreams. He says we can come to the hospice whenever we want. All the time he's talking, Dr. Clem is trying to get my dad to look at him and after the meeting he takes Dad by the shoulder and leads him out of the ward. They sit in a room at the end of the corridor, talking. By the time Dad comes out he looks better, more settled.

So here we are, my dad and me, holding Nana's hands and watching her sleep. Now it's my turn to cry. Dad strokes my hair as Nana sleeps.

“I'm not sure I agree with all this,” Crystal pipes up, pointing vaguely in my direction. “Is it really necessary to drag the children through it?”

I don't know who Crystal's talking to. Some adults do that, talk about you as if you aren't in the room. She doesn't really talk to Clara. I don't think they like each other much, so I suppose she must be talking to Dad, but he's miles away, lost in his own thoughts. To answer, Clara shoots Crystal a stony look and reaches out to me. Something about her thin, veiny arms reminds me of the oak outside the window, stretching its gnarly branches toward us.

No sign of Notsurewho Notsurewhat.

No call from Jidé Jackson.

Crystal is still “beautifying” herself, applying her bright blue eyeshadow and pink dolly cheeks.

“You've caught me putting on my mask!” she jokes.

“When do you
ever
take it off?” snaps Clara.

Crystal ignores her as usual, patting the covers on the bed for me to sit down next to her. I think it might be rude not to, so I do. She whispers to me so that Clara can't hear.

“I've been looking after myself like this since I was about your age. You've got good skin too,” she says, touching my cheek.

It's a good thing my spot has disappeared as mysteriously as it arrived.

“I used to have smooth skin like yours…Plenty of young men will want to kiss you.” She squeezes my cheek. I feel myself turning bright red. I hate it when people do that, as if you're a pet.

“Still, my time passed long ago—there's nothing for it but to make the best of it,” she sighs, puffing white powder on top of her pink blush.

I can't think of what to say to Crystal so I smile politely and say nothing, remembering what Mum always says: “If you can't think of anything kind to say to someone, don't say anything at all.” I think Crystal wants me to say that she still looks good, but there is no way I could bring myself to say anything like that without blushing bright red and revealing to the whole world that I was lying.