Page 82 of When You're Gone

‘But she kept her secrets about Sketch too,’ I say.

‘Oh yeah,’ he sighs. ‘Nana, you dark horse, you.’ Ben chuckles.

‘We all have our secrets,’ Nana croaks, opening her eyes.

‘You’re awake.’ I smile, standing up from my chair at the end of the bed to hurry around to the side to hold her hand.

‘Would be hard to sleep through you and your mother shouting and arguing,’ Nana whispers.

My heart pinches, and I don’t know what to say. Mam and I had a blazing row less than an hour ago. I tried talking to her about taking Nana to the orchard, but she shot down the idea straight away without hearing me out.

‘She’s not well enough,’ Mam had barked.

I’d explained that Dr Matthews approved the idea, but that seemed to make her even more angry.

‘Holly, I said no.’ My mother had made the same face she used to make when I was a teenager and she caught me up to no good. ‘She’s too sick. Stop it now. I don’t want to hear any more of this crazy talk.’

Mam had walked away without another word, and I watched her as her head hung low and her shoulders shook. At first, I’d followed her, but I stopped myself halfway, suspecting she just wanted to be alone.

‘Nana, I’m sorry,’ I say, gently stroking the back of her fragile hand. ‘I hope we didn’t upset you.’

‘It would take more than raised voices to upset me, Holly.’ Nana’s lips look dry and sore as she speaks.

‘Do you need a drink?’ I ask, feeling helpless and desperate for a way to make her more comfortable.

‘Water,’ Nana mumbles.

Nate is beside me quickly with a cup of lukewarm water. I don’t know where he got it from, or how long it’s been in his hand, but he’s seemed to have exactly what I need when I need it all day, and although I don’t tell him right now, I think if he wasn’t here, I’d have fallen to pieces long ago.

I slide one hand behind Nana’s head and raise her a little; just enough to lift the plastic cup to her lips without spilling any. She struggles to pucker enough to place her lips around the plastic, and despite our best efforts, water dribbles onto the crisp white hospital bedsheet draped across her chest. Ben is over in an instant. He drags the sleeve of his jumper over his hand and dabs the sheets, drying up the excess water.

My ribs contract, and I feel as if my chest is crushing my heart. I wish I could retreat into the corner and curl up in a ball until this horrible fear of the inevitable passes. But I stay standing beside Nana’s bed, wide-eyed, and pretend to be strong. I pretend for Ben and for Nate. But most of all, I pretend for Nana even though I know out of everyone in the room, my grandmother is the one who can see through my veil of calmness the most. Even with her eyes closed again, I know she can read me like one of her old books.

I let Nana’s head rest back against the mound of pillows and slide my hand out. The usual rattle starts in her chest, and I know she’s struggling to catch her breath. Ben jerks upright at the terrifying sound of air and fluid battling for space in her lungs, and his eyebrows are raised and wrinkled.

‘That’s it, Nana,’ I encourage, rubbing my hand in circular motions on Nana’s chest just as Marcy showed me. ‘Big deep breaths, nice and slow.’

Ben watches intently. He drags in slow, deep breaths and puffs them out again, instinctively, as if he’s encouraging Nana to do the same. Within seconds, Nana is asleep again. Raspy snores punctuate her slumber and remind us all that her breathing is growing increasingly more laboured. I wonder if I should call one of the nurses or her doctor, but I’m not sure what more they can do.

Ben, Nate and I stand over her for a few minutes. None of us are speaking, but I suspect we’re all thinking similar thoughts. Nana is eighty years old, but her beautiful full lips and shoulder-length silver hair defy her age. Her face is weather-beaten, and the toll of time is evident, but you can tell at a glance how beautiful Nana once was. How beautiful she still is. I run my eyes over every detail of her face and try to take a photograph in my mind. I close my eyes and test the image. I repeat over and over, committing every detail I possibly can to memory; terrified that once she’s gone, I might forget a line or a wrinkle.

Later, I find myself alone with Nana. Nate and Ben have gone to get something to eat. I’m not hungry, but Nate says he’s not taking no for an answer. I agree to some takeaway soup, knowing I’ll most likely throw it back up later.

I sit in an armchair under the window. One leg is shorter than all the rest, and the chair wobbles as I rock back and forth on the spot. It’s surprisingly soothing, and I drift in and out of fitful sleep. My eyes open to the sound of the door creaking, and my mother’s head appears in the gap.

‘How’s she doing?’ Mam asks, looking over with sad eyes at Nana lying in bed.

‘She’s sleeping now, but she woke earlier and had some water,’ I explain.

‘Good. That’s good,’ Mam says.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask, knowing the answer my mother will give is very different to the answer she feels.

‘Yes. Fine. It was good to get home for a little while. I grabbed a shower, and your father made us a bite to eat.’

I smile.

‘Where’s your brother?’ My mother’s voice wobbles as she steps into the room and lets go of the door behind her.

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