Mira in the Present Tense (5 page)

“I haven't ordered it yet. They need your exact measurements.” Aunty Abi looked suddenly sad when she said this, as if she had only just realized that it was Nana who had to fit inside the coffin.

Nana ordered me to go and hunt around for her tape measure. When I'd found it, she got up off the sofa and lay on the floor. Aunty Abi and me just stood and stared. Without saying another word, Aunty Abi measured Nana from her head to her toes.

“Write this down…five foot,” said Abi.

“Five foot what?” Nana asked.

“Five foot nothing, Mum,” whispered Abi, which made Nana laugh, but there was no sign of a smile on Abi's face.

Next we had to measure across the widest part of Nana's body, but the truth is, it was quite difficult to find a widest part. Abi told me to write down “under one foot” and that included quite a bit of extra space.

“Only
you
could make your daughter and your granddaughter measure you up for your own coffin,” groaned Abi.

“Well, someone's got to do it. Come on, I need to get this thing painted while I've still got life left in me. Get on the phone and tell him my vital statistics!” Nana bossed Abi along.

So Aunty Abi called Eco-Endings back and asked for Moses. Nana was drinking some water at the time, but when she heard the name Moses she burst out laughing, splattering her water halfway across the room.

“Ask him if that's his real name!”

That set Aunty Abi off laughing, but her laugh was the kind that could just as easily turn to tears at any moment. Nana was still choking on her water when Abi finally calmed down and gave Moses Nana's measurements.

“Five foot…No, I'm sorry, you'll have to convert it yourself. We're very retro here—we only do feet.” As Abi listens, her eyes fill with tears. “He wants to know if we're sure. Apparently that would be the smallest adult coffin that they've ever made. Moses says we should make it a bit bigger otherwise it might look like a child's coffin.”

Nana just shrugged. “Suits me.”

And I remember the chill that that thought sent through me…a child's coffin…how wrong is that?

Just like Pat Print predicted, the past does come creeping its way in. Ordering that coffin was in the past, but now it's sitting right here in front of me in the present. Not much of a present, is it? There's nothing funny about it; not even Krish can make us laugh now.

In the silence I can hear the tinny ticking of my new watch as if someone's turned up the volume…
tick…tick…tick…
it's as if the coffin is waiting for Nana to die.

“Mira, you're supposed to eat your cake, not sit in it!” teases Krish, pointing to a brown stain on the back of my new skirt.

I can't stand anymore of this, so I run into the bathroom and lean hard against the door, swiveling my skirt around to inspect the damage. I take it off and rinse it under the tap, but it doesn't come out. What does it matter? Everything's ruined anyway. I slump down on the toilet seat. Then I see it, on my jeans, the same dark stain. I pull down my jeans and there it is again, not birthday cake, but a brown-colored bloodstain.

“Mira!” calls Nana, knocking on the door. I quickly pull up my jeans, keeping one foot against the door until I've done up my zip and button. Then I let her in.

She holds my hand and places her tiny artichoke charm in my palm, closing my fingers around it.

“I'm sorry this all had to happen on your birthday, but I want to explain something to you. I've given you this, Mira, because you're so special to me…how can I explain? Most people, by the time they get old, have grown themselves tough little shells around their hearts. Babies, like little Laila, start off with tender, loving, trusting hearts, but gradually, gradually, they learn to protect themselves and, as the years go by, grow tougher and tougher layers. Look at this! The outside layers of an artichoke are so tough they're not even worth eating, but they get more and more tender as you come closer to the heart. These tough outer layers stop you feeling so much, so people walk around with hard little hearts that no one can touch. Of course, there are some people who don't have a choice—they just never learn to protect themselves…now that can be a blessing and a burden.”

All I want is for Nana to stop going on about the charm and let me sort myself out. All I want is for Nana not to notice the bloodstain.

“What kinds of people don't have a choice?” I ask her to try and distract her from my skirt.

“People who need charms!” she smiles, kissing my hair. “You'll know them when you meet them. Mira, darling, I am sorry the coffin arrived today—that was bad timing, I'm afraid—but…I wanted to ask you…will you help me to paint it?”

I nod.

“I knew you would,” she whispers as she lowers my head onto her shoulder.

As soon as I get home I search the bathroom cupboard for the pads I've seen Mum store in there.

I peel off the strip and stick one into my knickers.

Even though it's supposed to make me feel grown up, having a period, this actually reminds me of one of Laila's nappies. It doesn't hurt, just like Mum told me it wouldn't, except for the ache in my belly and the strange rusty taste in my mouth. I suppose I should tell Mum, but she'd just make a big fuss of me and try to celebrate or something. I don't think I can take any more celebrations, even if it does mean I can get my ears pierced. That's when Mum said I could (when my periods start), but, just for now, this is one birthday present I'm going to keep to myself.

We are reflected in the bathroom mirror, Nana and me. I am wearing my birthday skirt. My shoelace is undone, so I bend down for a moment to fasten it, but right next to my shoe there is a tiny circle of blood, about the size of a one-pound coin.

“What's this?” I ask Nana, but when I stand up again she's not there. I run into the front room to look for her, but the room is empty; all the furniture has gone—everything except the coffin.

Nana's coffin is painted with bright blue waves, leaping dolphins, butterflies, and birds; birds everywhere. Right in the corner, peeping out at me, is a little dog that looks like Piper. When I peer closer, I can see that the dog has his leg cocked over the corner of the coffin, sprinkling yellow pee across the sea. I laugh. Then I see her…Nana Josie, lying in her watery coffin…floating…her face half covered. I reach for her hand through the icy cold. “Nana, wake up, wake up,” I whisper, but she doesn't open her eyes. I try to lift her body, but she slips back under. Then I see something moving under her blouse, and I think she is alive after all—that must be her heart beating—so I lift up her top, and thousands of tiny birds fly out. I look down at Nana. The coffin is empty, plain wood, no water. A dog yaps wildly, and the painting of Piper jumps off the coffin and runs out into the garden. Leaves rustle and tiny birds swoop round and round the room.

Now the waves begin to roll on a rough sea. Dolphins surf on the wind, diving down into the deep water. The birds panic, battering their wings against the windowpanes, desperate to be freed. I fling the window wide open and let them escape into the garden. They gather and sway on currents of air, separating and coming together, migrating birds, agreeing on their moment to leave. They are so high now…faraway dots in the clouds. I stand and watch until the sky is empty.

I go back into the flat and find Piper's bright red leash. Out on Hampstead Heath I try to walk fast, but people stop me and ask, “How is Josie?” and I say, “I think Josie has flown away,” but people keep on following me. More and more of them, people with dogs, asking where my nana is, over and over again. I try to get away from them, but they follow me up Parliament Hill, hundreds of people with dogs. Big dogs, little dogs, all kinds of dogs. “Where has she gone?” they ask over and over. I start to run.

I climb to the top and look behind me, but the people have all disappeared. There are hundreds of dogs running free all over the Heath, all except for one huge black dog, like a bear, plodding slowly up the hill—Nana's Newfoundland, Claude. Beside him is my Nana Josie in her cherry-red crocheted hat and long trailing scarf. She smiles at me. Piper starts to bark, pulling the leash as hard as he can to get to her. She waves to me and climbs up onto Claude's back. He breaks into a trot. Now he pounds toward us with his great big bear paws. Just at the moment when I reach for Nana's hand, Claude's front paws leave the ground…one last kick with his back legs and he is flying. Nana's hat slips off her head and her long black hair streams behind her like the tail of a kite. Piper yaps like crazy and leaps off the ground to catch her.

Now I am running with Piper, flapping my arms hard so I can fly after her. I'm hurtling down Parliament Hill, flapping, pushing off with my feet, but no matter how hard I try I can't kick the ground away, and that's the moment when I see him: Jidé Jackson walking closer and closer up the hill, with his arms outstretched toward me.

“You were thrashing around a bit,” Mum explains. She is lying next to me in my bed.

“I was trying to fly. Me and Piper were trying to catch up with Nana,” I tell her, still out of breath.

“Where was Nana?” Mum asks.

“Flying away on Claude's back.”

“Just a dream,” Mum says, like in
The Wizard of Oz
when Dorothy wakes up and the whole story is make-believe, even the nightmare bits. I wish it was—just a dream—except for the end. I wish I could click my red shiny heels together and make it all go away…the blood, the coffin…make it all go away…except for Jidé Jackson.

11:59 p.m. I wait for the last minute of my twelfth birthday to tick away before I take off my new watch.

Maybe if I don't wear it time will slow down and things will go back to normal. Since I strapped it to my wrist this morning something strange has happened to time. I can hear it beating, all day long, under the surface of everything.