Mum would have made me finish it, but she just smiled at Veronique and squeezed her elbow. Back upstairs we took it in turns getting ready for bed and when Veronique came out of the bathroom I blinked. I’d never seen her in pyjamas. These were Chinese ones that folded over in the middle. She looked really different and it made me think of the photos of Nanai, how she’d been rescued, how she’d come from another place, somewhere Veronique was linked to, though she’s so part of our school and Blackheath. It made me wonder if anyone in my past had run away from somewhere, though I didn’t get long to think about it. Veronique was pale. She was quiet as we blew her bed up, and through part of Narnia, which Mum read us. I don’t think it was because of the White Witch either because she was still like that as she climbed into her sleeping bag.
Mum kissed me goodnight and gave Veronique a hug. She put the light out and when we were on our own I stared down at Veronique through the faint blue glow from my ghostie light.
‘Is it still Nanai? Is that why you’re upset?’
Veronique didn’t answer.
I remembered what Mr Prentice said, the art therapy man I went to after Mum got ill before Christmas. You have to let it out. The thing you’re scared of. So I said, ‘Did something happen? Before the ambulance came, I mean?’
There was silence again but somehow I knew the answer was yes.
‘Did Nanai fall over?’
‘No.’
‘Or be sick?’
‘No,’ Veronique said, again.
‘Then what? What?’
‘I went down to see her. Earlier.’
‘To play football?’
‘Just see her.’
‘And?’
‘She was sitting there, in her chair. She didn’t even …’
‘What?’
‘She didn’t even want to nibble my finger. She just looked weird. So I asked her what the matter was.’
‘And?’
‘She told me not to worry.’
‘Well, then. Phew.’
‘She was really definite about that. It was all very normal, she said. And natural.’
‘What was?’
Veronique was about to answer but she hesitated, fiddling with the sleeve of her pyjamas. I looked down at her but she wouldn’t look at me, just lay there in the faint blue light. There was silence until Mum started banging pots around in the kitchen, after which the silence came back again. It grew bigger, sort of heavy, and dark-seeming, so that for a second it was like everything in the whole world had stopped.
‘What was?’ I insisted, and Veronique stopped fiddling with her sleeve.
‘She said she was going to die, Cymbeline.’
I had bad dreams. They seemed to last all night, though when I woke up they ran off like kids playing Grandmother’s Footsteps. Their place was taken by Veronique and I blinked at her. She was kneeling by my bed. With her face washed. And she was dressed. She even had her hair tied up.
‘Where’s your piano?’ she asked.
I groaned and pulled the duvet over my head. ‘You can’t miss it. It’s next to the Ferrari.’
‘Where’s that, then?’
‘It was a joke,’ I said, which made Veronique sigh because jokes are the ONE thing she’s not good at. They’re like apostrophes are to me. Marcus Breen is always getting her. We were in the lunch queue on Friday and he poked her in the ribs.
‘Look under there,’ he told her. Veronique frowned.
‘Under where?’
‘There!’
‘Under where?’ Veronique asked again, and Marcus sniggered.
‘You said “underwear”!’ he said.
‘I know, and you won’t tell me. Under WHERE?’
Marcus really burst it and Veronique asked why he was laughing.
‘No reason. What does a dog do when it’s hot?’
‘Pants.’
Marcus nearly went blue. I thought he was going to choke to death. When he’d recovered, he said that a teacher has five boys in her class, all named Will.
‘To tell them apart she calls the first one Will A, the second one Will B, and so on. So what’s the fifth one called?’
Veronique was about to answer, but luckily we got to the front of the queue and Mrs Stebbings dolloped out the curry.
Anyway, when I explained that we didn’t have a piano, Veronique stared like I’d said we didn’t have a sofa.
‘But my exam’s a week on Saturday! I didn’t get to practise last night because of Nanai. And I always practise on Thursday mornings because it’s fencing after school so I can’t play tonight. Or I can, but I’ll stay up late so I won’t be able to get up early the next morning. And that means—’
‘Calm down,’ I said, shoving the duvet aside and reaching for the art box.
After what Veronique had told me last night, I wanted to do all I could for her. I was upset about Nanai myself but she wasn’t my grandmother, was she? It was bound to be worse for Veronique and I couldn’t imagine what she must be feeling. So, downstairs, I got some sheets of paper and Sellotaped them to the kitchen table. Veronique told me where the keys all went and I drew a piano. Veronique said there should be pedal things underneath, so I got my wellies. She told me she was going to play a piece called the ‘Four Seasons’, which I was excited about – but it turned out it had nothing to do with pizza. It was still good, though – better than her piece in assembly, actually, because it was quiet and I could listen to it and Harry Potter on Mum’s phone at the same time. I recommend this kind of piano and would like to suggest to all classical musicians that they think a bit more about the people who may have to be sitting close to them when they’re playing.
I hoped that getting to practise would cheer Veronique up. But it didn’t, much, so I had another idea – I gave her the phone to call her dad.
‘So?’ I asked, after she’d hung up.
‘The doctors can’t find anything wrong with her.’
‘Brilliant!’
