Closer (3 page)

I wonder what it's like to be a nurse. If I was a nurse I wouldn't want to work in here, I'd want to be in intensive care or something. I wouldn't be a nurse anyway, I'd be a doctor. Wonder which A's you need to be a doctor. Don't suppose you can do art. 

I mutter something about chairs and the nurse tells me to go and get them quietly because this is a hospital and I want to say I hadn't realised, I thought it was Tesco's. This is not turning out well. 

I lug three chairs up the ward by myself. The cot side is down and Hannah is sitting on the bed holding Granma's hand and crying under her hair so she can't help me. She is such a show-off, I can't believe it. George is looking at all the gadgets and oxygen and alarm buttons and things at the top of Granma's bed, so it's only Dad and me who need the chairs. I end up at the bottom of the bed, miles away from Granma. We're all arranged round this body but Granma couldn't care less, she doesn't even know we exist. I wonder if she knows she exists herself, but thinking about that does my head in. 

We sit there for a while but Granma doesn't say anything or move, except for her mouth which is kind of chewing but she's not eating anything. There's a plastic beaker like a baby's feeding cup on her table with cold tea in it and Mum tries to give her some but it dribbles down her chin and Mum puts it back on the table. It's dead quiet. Nobody knows what to say. You can't chat about the weather or the football or anything, not that I'm interested. Dad stands up and gives Granma a kiss on her cheek, not like he really cares or anything. 

“There's nothing we can do here. Let's go home.” 

He sounds really sad and I hold his arm and Hannah gives me a look like she's sorry for me. Bet she's only jealous. 

“But Dad, we've only just got here,” says George who's interested in the machines and is working out how to use the radio and the headphones. Or at least that's what I think they are. They could be the life support system for all I know. 

Dad heads off down the ward and we all get up to follow him. Mum puts her arm round Hannah, who's still crying, and leads her gently towards the door. George drops the headphones and runs after them. 

“Take back those chairs,” says Mum, turning back to me. I don't see why it's my job when nobody else fetched chairs, but I do it anyway. The nurse is there again watching that I put them back properly and I wonder why she's got nothing better to do than look at me like I don't belong visiting, when hospitals are meant to be there for people like Granma and us. I realise I haven't said anything to Granma and on the way back I go to her bed for a last time and have a good look at her, and she isn't moving her mouth any more. She's fallen asleep, and her eyes are closed. For a minute I think she's dead, but you can still see her breathing. 

I make myself take in her wrinkled face and the hair, short and white and thin so you can see her scalp through it, and her arm on top of the sheet, skin on top of bone so you can see the elbow joint, and her hand's a claw gripping nothing. And I smell her old person smell and disinfectant and wee and hear the sounds of the relatives and the tea trolley coming to take away the tea she'll never drink, and I wonder about how it will be when I'm old and can't do anything and I'm going to die. 

“Bye, Granma,” I say, and my voice sounds funny and I realise she won't be able to hear me. I force myself to pick up her scraggy hand. It's really light and cool, and I can feel the bones underneath the wrinkly skin. Then I put it back down on the sheet and make myself turn away from her. The last thing I hear is her catching her breath and making a little noise in her throat. I pull back the curtain and go on down the ward to catch the others up. That nurse is still looking and I think about sticking my tongue out at her but I decide not to give her the satisfaction of thinking she's right about me and the whole teenage race, and instead I do my best sexy walk all the way down the ward, but I don't think she notices and I feel all wrong. 

Dad has gone in to talk to the sister on the ward, and they're in the office for a while and we stand and read the notices on the board and look at the leaflets about diabetes and incontinence and then Dad comes out. 

“Let's go. They don't know how long she'll take.” 

He's cold and cut off and we trail after him to the car park. George kicks up about going in the middle so I give him a push and he shrieks and gets in and I look out of the window with my MP3 on loud all the way home. 

When we go past the park I see Raj up there with his mates playing football and I ask Mum to stop and let me out so I can go for a walk. She tells me not to be late and I head off into the park, glad to be seeing Raj and to be free for a while.

“Hi.” I'm a bit shy round all Raj's mates. They're older, and they're mostly Asian so they are different, but we've known each other all through school so it's kind of different in a way you know really well. 

“Hey,” Raj runs off the pitch and he's smiling at me and I feel better. He's tall, skinny in a good way, fit, and his face opens up when he smiles. “Where've you been?” 

“Visiting my granma in the General. She's ancient and they think she'll die soon.” 

“Wow. Bet you'll miss her. I'd really miss my gran if she died.” 

“Yeah, well, she lives with you. Granma's lived in a home for ages. And I don't know, it doesn't feel good with her. She's never liked Mum, or us. Didn't approve or something. Whatever I did it was wrong. Now she doesn't know who we are so it doesn't matter.” 

“Wow.” Sometimes I think Raj must think we're really strange. His family sounds close, and there's loads of cousins and everything, and they have these huge parties. And sometimes I feel jealous of him about all that when it's just me and Mum and Dad and Hannah and George and we don't act like we're a family, and we don't have anyone round or anything. 

It's not Granma I'm sad about, it's me, us. Seeing her in the hospital, I saw we were all going to die. Not that I didn't know that, but I knew it differently. Different from when the gerbil died when I was seven and I thought it would come alive again next day. It feels like I'm sad about life, about death, about the whole stupid thing. I mean, why live when you know you're going to die? 

“Hey, I have to get back to the game. You going to hang around till we finish?” 

“No, I have to go home.” 

“See you then.” He's running off to the pitch and I watch him and think about one day he's going to die and my eyes go all swimmy so he's blurred and he's running and I turn away and wipe my eyes. I break into a run myself and I'm slamming my feet down on the pavement and pushing myself to go on and on till I'm nearly home and I'm sweating and breathing hard and I know, I know I'm alive. 

I get home and Mum's there on her own, looking like there's a funeral going on already. 

“Somebody died?” I say, just for a laugh. 

“Granma,” says Mum and I feel so embarrassed. I never thought she would die so soon, and it's weird to think of her just a couple of hours ago in the hospital. And I was the last one in the family to see her alive. Maybe that funny breath was the last one. I go all shivery and cold inside. Mum sighs and bangs the kettle on. 

“Your dad's gone down there.” 

I get a glass of water and go up to bed. I think about Granma, and me and Raj.

I'm under the duvet and my mobile goes. It's Chloe. 

“Where've you been?” 

“Up the General. My granma's died.” 

“Did you see her die?” 

“I was the last – I saw her take this funny breath.” 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah. It's a pain. Haven't got my project done or anything.” 

“You are so rubbish. Here I've been sweating over a hot essay and you're out having a life.” 

“You've done it?” 

“Yeah – Dad helped. But it was me in the end.” 

“Y'know, my dad offered to help – that's a first. Not that he could. He was rubbish at school.” 

“You dad is so cool. Not like a dad.” 

I'm looking at my fingernails, wondering if I need some new varnish, and Dad walks in. 

He stops when he sees I'm on the phone. 

“Yeah.” I turn away from him. I feel bad about it, but I need some space right now, from all this death and stuff. 

I hear him close the door after him as he leaves. I snuggle down under the duvet. 

“So, tell me, how's everything with Raj?” 

“Chloe, it's nothing, really!” 

“You are such a bad liar, d'you know that? I know you're all loved up over him.”

“Yeah well, you just keep on knowing and I'll do whatever I'm doing. How about you?” 

“Me and Lan, we're going out on Friday – pictures or something.” 

“Cool.” 

“But there's something going on at home, Mel.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Her voice gets quieter, like she's making sure nobody hears. “I don't know, I've just got a feeling.” 

“What kind of feeling?” 

“It's like there's a secret somewhere, like people aren't saying it.” 

Dad puts his head round the door again, mimes blah blah blah at me. 

“Look, I've got to go, right? See you tomorrow.” 

“See you.” 

“And hey…” 

“What?” 

“Don't worry.” 

I sigh and turn to Dad.

“Mum, I feel sick.” 

I almost begin to believe it, feel my stomach heaving. A vague frown passes over her face, like she's not sure. 

“Again? We'll have to get you to the doctor's.” 

“No, it's just a bug. Everyone at school's got it.” 

“Are you sure you're really ill? You're not feeling sad about Granma?” 

“No. Yes. Yes I'm feeling sad.” But I'm not. Granma's just an empty space inside me. 

“Do you think you'd better stay at home today, love?” 

“I really want to be at school, we've got French.” Like I'd want to go to French. If it was art today I'd be there, even if I was throwing up all over the place. 

She looks at her watch. “No, I think you should stay. You need to take care of yourself.” 

That makes her a good mum, does it? She doesn't think of having a day off work to look after somebody sick in her family. She cares more about the brats in her school than she does about me. I'm not important enough. Not that I'd want her around anyway. 

“Suppose.” I try to sound disappointed. Hannah gave me a look, like she's disgusted. As if I'd care what Hannah thinks. She can go off to her special course at uni. Wish she was going somewhere else, not staying at home like Dad wants her to. 

Now everyone's gone. The house is so quiet. Dad escaped first, giving me a quick grin as he left. He's going off to sort out the death certificate and all that. Then Hannah, then George with Mum, fussing as usual. 

A carrot, an apple, a small pot of fat-free strawberry yogurt. 

I line them up on the kitchen table, leaving a space so they don't look like some crappy still life in art. Then I move the apple: it looks better that way, don't ask me why. Sit and stare at them for a while. 

“You'll be all right, Mel? You look pale. I'll phone school when I get to work. You make sure you eat something, okay?” 

“Yeah Mum, whatever.” 

Carrot, apple, small pot of yogurt. 

This house feels like a dead body. It used to be Granma's and Grandad's of course, so maybe that's right. Perhaps houses have feelings too. I go in the living room and turn the TV on, loud, louder. Dad brought pizza back from the take-away last night, and the box is still on the floor, and the blinds are down. The smell makes me feel sick, I open the blinds and the windows to let the smell out and the sun streams in. I take the rubbish in the kitchen and put it in the bin and I wash the oil and tomato and garlic stink off my hands with loads of soap. 

I'm not really ill, Mum must know that. 

I text Chloe to say not to wait for me. Wish I could tell her about all this but I don't think I can tell anyone. She might understand, and her family too. Go upstairs, avoiding myself in the landing mirror. I see the fat though, on the way past. Must have put on something. 

Head for the scales in the bathroom. No sign of an extra pound, but I had jeans on yesterday, which adds something. So I should be lighter today. Blink this time when I see the mirror so I don't have to look at the flab. 

I get to the end of the landing, my bedroom, then stop at the door and look. In Chloe's bedroom you have to search for a bit of floor to stand on. Everything's covered in clothes and magazines and old makeup and plates and mugs. Mine's mostly empty. 

I catch sight of Mum and Dad's bed in their room opposite, not made, like they just got up, duvet all over the place. I shut their door, who wants to look at that mess in the morning? And that smell. 

Pull my door to. Head for the front room again, sit and watch the blah but can't focus. I should have gone to school, this is no good. 

The place I go to in my head, nobody can get me. There's a sound like a washing machine churning round the clothes. It drowns out the voices. Everything seems far away, faded. People look like they're in a movie with the sound turned off. They look mad, all of them. It's like seeing through some of those special lenses Dad has for the cameras. They can't touch me in here. It's good, it's the best. I can hang out in here for hours. Books are good too, the ones you can't stop reading, you don't read every word because you can't wait to know what happens next. Except when they finish. TV works sometimes, not often. Not now.