Mira in the Present Tense (32 page)

The moment when Nana died, when her heart stopped beating, we were driving past Hampstead Heath on our way to the hospice. I think I know the exact moment because I checked my watch at exactly 10:05 a.m. At exactly 10:05 a.m., eighteen minutes ago, I looked up at the people: young people, old people, children, walking dogs in the sunshine, great big dogs, tiny yapping dogs, all sorts of dogs. I remember having the thought that all these people could be my Nana Josie in different parts of her life, and then I thought about something that made me feel happy. When Nana is dead and I walk on the Heath or in Suffolk…I could always step into the exact same footprints as she did. Even with my math, I worked out that Nana has done so much walking in these places that the probability of stepping where she once did could be quite high. That thought made me feel happy at exactly 10:05 a.m. That was the moment my Nana's heartbeat stopped. I suppose that is a number fact.

The
no entry
sign is still up in Nana's Dying Room. Aunty Abi sits in the armchair next to her bed. Dad and Aunty Abi give each other a long hug. Dad's back is heaving up and down and he's making a horrible strangled crying noise. Aunty Abi is calm, but her eyes are sore and puffy.

“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.