this was your dad’s then?” I ask. “My great-grandfather’s?”
Granny smiles. “That’s right,” she says. “I managed to rescue it when… well, you know when.”
“I wish I did know, Granny,” I say, “but I don’t because you won’t tell me anything, remember? I wish you’d given it to Dad. It might have kept him safe.”
“Didn’t do a lot for my father,” she says, “did it?”
“Don’t you believe in the Bible and God and stuff then?” I ask.
Granny sighs, plonks a fresh pot of tea and a huge pile of toast on the table and sits back down.
“That’s a hard question, Mima, when you’ve had a life like mine,” she says. “It’s one of the many questions that have been puzzling me since I was nine. If there is a God, see, then why does He let such bad things happen all the time?”
I nod and stir my tea. I haven’t really thought about it before. I sing along with all the hymns in assembly and I mumble along with the prayers. But I’ve never wondered before if I actually believe in the words.
“I heard Mum say last night that when Dad’s away it’s like she’s waiting for bad news. Like the bad news would be better than the waiting,” I say, “and I understand her. I wish there was something I could do, Granny. Something to make certain that he comes back home.”
“Life’s never certain, Mima,” says Granny. “We can never tell what’s round the corner; I should know. You just have to trust, see. Live for today and get on with loving as best you can. None of us knows how long we’ve got.”
“When Dad left, he said, ‘Trust, Mima, trust,’ but what do you both mean?”
“I never managed to answer the God question,” Granny says, “so I eventually settled on trusting in life and trusting what feels true in me. There’s not a lot else you can do. You have to trust that life will work out in its own mysterious way. That’s the beauty of it.”
“Well, I’m not leaving it to life to work it out,” I say. “I’m going to find a way to bring him back and then I’m going to find a way of making sure he never leaves again. Jess keeps saying bad things; she keeps saying our dads might die and that wouldn’t be mysterious, Granny, that would just be sad.”
Granny tuts.
“She’s trouble, that one,” she says. “You can see it in her eyes. Don’t listen to her, pet. Keep your thoughts on the bright side.”
I turn the red Bible in my hand and think about how to make all these pictures and stuff into a presentation and am just about to put it back in the box when a small photo of a boy drops out. His face is solemn. His eyes are big and soft. I flip the photo over, looking for where the spider scrawled his name, but it’s blank.
“Who’s this, Granny?” I ask.
Her watery eyes sparkle like Christmas.
“There he is,” she smiles. “I’ve been searching everywhere for him. This is the friend I lost.”
She takes the photo from me and plants a kiss on the face of the boy.
“You cheeky thing,” she says to the boy, “hiding all this time.”
“Who is he?” I ask.
“Him?” she smiles. “He’s Derek, my childhood sweetheart. We used to have so much fun together.”
She sifts through the box and pulls out the photo of the two girls on the beach.
“These were his sisters,” she says, “Barbara and Sonia. They disappeared too. It was all a bit of nonsense really, but we were such good friends. And Derek and I had something special. We shared a birthday, and the war did strange things to us all. People got married at the drop of a hat and we just got caught up in the spirit of it. We were only children, but we crossed our hearts and vowed to be sweethearts for ever. We started making all these silly promises and then poof – like magic he disappeared. I never ever saw him again. See what I mean – you never know for certain what’s going to happen. But think on it, if I’d have married Derek then I wouldn’t have met your grandpa and Daddy wouldn’t have had you. Trust life, Jemima; flow with its mystery.”
A single diamond tear tips on to her cheek.
“But it would’ve been nice to hear from him again. Just once. Just to know what happened.” She laughs. “You’re a smart one. Determined to get me talking.”
“Do you think he’s dead, Granny?” I say.
“Probably by now, pet.”
After breakfast, Mum starts getting ready for the car boot sale.
“You go with Milo,” I say, “and leave me here with Granny. I hate hanging out with Jess.”
Mum gives me her beady eye that means, ‘Please do as you’re told, Jemima, because I am not so full of patience.’ But I ignore it. I do not want to do as I’m told. I do not want to go to the car boot sale!
“Don’t start, Mima,” she says. “Not today.”
I have a beady eye too, but I wait until her back is turned before I give it to her.
Milo clings on to my leg.
“Please come, Mima,” he says. “Please come! Please come! Please come!”
He hangs off me like I’m a tree and twists the skin on my leg.
“Mima! Mima! Mima!” he chants like I’m a football match that needs cheering on.
“Ouch, Milo,” I say. “You’re hurting me!”
“I said, don’t start, Mima!” says Mum. “Today is hard enough for us all without you making things worse.”
When she turns her back I poke out my tongue. I wish I could stand up and say, YOU’RE THE ONE WHO IS UNHINGED, MUM. But I don’t. The things I really want to say always get choked up in my throat until I’m forced to swallow them down. It’s the same with Jess. She says worrying stuff that frightens me, she gossips with her mum and tells me stuff my ears don’t want to hear. So many times I want to say, SHUT UP, JESS! But as hard as I try I just can’t.
I hope one day my voice will unblock itself like a drain and I’ll be able to speak up so clearly, like LALALALAALLLAAAA! Then everyone will hear everything that’s all blocked up inside.
It’s heaving at the car boot sale. Everyone shoves and pushes in search of pathetic old treasures and silly magical gems. Milo has a pound burning in his fist. He rummages through buckets and baskets of wrecked toy cars looking for trucks and tanks.
“Look, Mima,” he says, holding up a rusty old tank. “Isn’t it great? D’you think Dad drives one like this?”
Jess
