meaning to tell me, wondering if it had anything to do with Grandma. I want him to remember because August 18th is getting closer, but no matter how many times I’ve said it, he doesn’t know why he asked me to remind him. None of us have birthdays on that day, no anniversaries, nothing like that, I checked. I think it must be to do with a memory Grandad has, something important that scoops him up and takes him back to another time so he can feel those things that happened all over again.
I think of how important it is for all of us, but especially for Grandad, to remember the bright things from the past. There must have been so many of them to make him so special, or maybe just one extraordinary thing. I hate that Alzheimer’s doesn’t always let him go back to times and places he loved the most, when I can, just like that, if I want to.
I’m still on the kitchen floor with Jodie.
“Do you remember Grandma?” I ask her.
“Not much.” Jodie looks disappointed with herself for a moment. “She had soft cheeks, that’s what I remember, and she always had toffees in her cardigan pocket. You could hear the papers rustling.” She pinches my cheek and pushes a chocolate bar into my hands. “You’re little and soft like Grandma was,” she smiles.
Grandad comes into the kitchen. “Time for breakfast,” he says.
“I’ll make you some more toast, Grandad,” I say.
I cut some more bread, put it in the toaster this time and turn the timer up high.
“My class is going on a field trip down to the quay today,” I tell him as we sit to eat our toast. “The mayor is unveiling a statue of a lifeboat. They’ve put a big cover over it so nobody can see it until today. Would you like to go down at the weekend and see it too?”
Slowly Grandad turns towards me. “We’ll hide my boat at Hambourne where nobody will find it.”
Right then I feel as if I’m on my own in the boat at sea, and I can’t see solid land on the horizon, and there’s nowhere safe to go. I’m about to tell Grandad that his boat is in the garage, but sometimes when I correct what he says he gets confused and I don’t want to upset him.
The dark edges of his toast crumble and fall into his lap. He doesn’t notice.
“Hannah,” Jodie says, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “we’d better get going.”
She picks up her bulging book and some photographs fall out from between the pages and scatter on the table. Three are of my grandma, Hannah Jenkins, who I never knew; three are of me, Hannah Gray. All of the photos are rippled and flaking from the dampness in the cupboard.
Grandad’s eyebrows furrow as we all look at the photos.
“Where’s Hannah?” he says. “I haven’t seen her this morning.”
Jodie stares at me, chewing the pad of her thumb. I try to hide what feels like a stone dropping in my stomach. She doesn’t say what I know she’s thinking, that neither of us knows whether he’s forgotten that Grandma died over ten years ago or if he’s now starting to forget me.
Jodie goes to the front door, but I can’t leave, not yet. I want to believe that when I come back this afternoon Grandad will be as he always was. I lean my hand on the table and kiss the white beard on his cheek.
“We’re going to school now,” I say.
His eyes brighten for a moment and he doesn’t know what he’s just said, but I see something unfamiliar in his face.
“Grandad, please remember the story you were going to tell me. About the deer, about a journey. It’ll be August the eighteenth soon.”
His eyes flicker as if he’s searching for something. He rubs his beard and I hear the bristles. I see brightness in his eyes, as if he’s found something.
“Hannah!” Jodie calls. “We’re going to be late!”
Grandad moves his hand and mine disappears underneath his.
“It’s quite a story, Hannah, about the greatest power on earth.”
I’m not sure if we can wait until August.
“Hannah, you have to come now!” Jodie shouts.
“Tell me about it after school, Grandad,” I say and kiss him again. “Today!”
“Today, after school, I’ll be waiting,” he says. “Let’s see if we can find that whale.”
“A whale?” I say, but Jodie has come back in and is dragging me away. “A whale, Grandad?” I call.
“Don’t forget,” I hear him say.
5.
THE MAYOR’S GOLD CHAIN LOOKS HEAVY, AND AT last he stops talking to the crowd and holds up a huge pair of scissors to cut the red ribbon around the statue. Four people are behind him, holding the corners of a big shiny black sheet so nobody can see what’s underneath.
Josh Beale makes a noise like he’s dying for some unknown reason, so our teacher tells him to shush, but he carries on gargling. I want to blank him out because I’m trying to think about what Grandad said this morning. I thought he wanted to tell me an important story about the deer, but he said we were going to find a whale. I don’t understand. I’m thinking about how Alzheimer’s disease is making me confused too.
A photographer from the local paper tells the mayor to wait a minute.
“Can we have some kids from the local school up there as well?” he says. “And a teacher.”
I am one of the children who get picked and we line up either side of the mayor and pretend we’re helping to hold the ribbon.
Everyone counts down, three, two, one. The scissors snip.
The four people let go of the cover and it billows above our heads, puffed up by the sea breeze. I feel the cool shadow over me as it ripples over our heads, falls and shrouds us. For a second the world goes dark and I smell something metallic. The people who were holding on to the cover drag it away again and everything seems just as it was. The crowd gasp then clap, but I have a funny feeling, like someone is standing behind me.
I turn round. The life-size statue is of a smooth golden-bronze figure, with no nose or eyes or mouth. It is leaning over the bow of a boat and reaching an arm to someone who is in the sea who doesn’t have a proper face either.
“Hey, you, little girl,” the photographer says, “look this way. Everyone smile.”
I can’t stop looking at the statue of the people with no faces. I see how hard the person in the boat is reaching for the one lost at sea.
I nudge Linus Drew who is standing next to me.
“Who is it?” I ask him.
“Who’s
