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I shrug. ‘I don’t think so. I think she just likes to keep the memories to herself. But maybe she finally wants us to learn about Sketch. Don’t you see? Nana didn’t paint, she wrote. And these are her words right here.’ I drag my eyes away from the paper to look at Ben. He’s listening, and he believes me. Or at least he wants to believe – maybe. ‘This is what Nana is looking for, Ben. This is what she’s been trying to tell Marcy about. This is Sketch’s story.’
Ben strokes his chin between his forefinger and thumb like a dodgy James Bond villain. It’s hilarious, and I struggle to keep a straight face.
‘Go on, say it,’ I tease, knocking my shoulder against my brother’s.
Ben rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
‘Go on…’ I probe.
‘Okay, fine,’ he moans. ‘Good job, Hols. Your snooping paid off.’
‘This is awesome, right?’ I begin to gather the pages resting on my cardigan and place them back onto the original pile, taking care to keep them in precise order. ‘I can’t believe Nana wrote a book. I know she reads like crazy, but I didn’t know she ever wrote anything. It’s so cool. Oh my God, I’m so excited to read it.’
‘Okay, Holly. Calm down,’ Ben says. ‘I thought you hated reading.’
‘I hate reading that history-fact crap that you’re into, Ben,’ I grumble. ‘But I do like chick lit, actually.’
I finish reuniting the stray pages from my cardigan with the larger pile and relish the depth of the mound. An entire book handwritten. By. My. Grandmother.This is so bloody fabulous.
‘This isn’t just any old book, Ben. It’sherbook. Her life.’ I sigh deeply, half broken-hearted and half-overexcited.
‘Yeah. Okay. Okay,’ Ben says, standing up and shaking his legs out one at a time. ‘Ouch. Pins and needles. Oh, shit. Ouch, ouch, ouch.’
I scoop the stack of paper into my arms, taking care not to dog-ear any corners, and stand too. ‘Should we read this to her?’
Ben’s bottom lip twitches to one side and he stands still. ‘Um. I don’t know. Do you think it would upset her?’
‘Marcy says talking about Sketch makes Nana happy,’ I explain.
‘I thought Marcy said talking aboutartmakes her happy?’ Ben corrects.
‘Yeah.’ I pull a face at my know-it-all brother in frustration. ‘We’ve been over this. Marcy doesn’t know the full story.’
‘And you do?’ Ben says.
‘Well, no,’ I mumble. ‘Not yet. But I will when I read this.’ I tilt the pile of paper towards Ben. ‘ArtisSketch. I told you!’ I snort, raising a smug eyebrow. ‘C’mon, Ben. Aren’t you as curious as me? Don’t you want to know all the secrets of Nana’s life?’
‘Yeah, a secret.Nana’ssecret. Oh, Hols. What are we doing?’ Ben’s face grows suddenly pale.
I’m not used to seeing my brother like this. Ben is a year and a half older than me. I’ve always looked up to him as if he could protect me from anything. But he can’t protect me from how much life without Nana is guaranteed to hurt. Right now I’m holding a piece of her in my arms. In spite of how frightened I am about what faces us downstairs over the coming days – coming hours – I feel content to have found this book. I was meant to find it.
FIVE
HOLLY
I wake up to the sound of cows mooing. I’d forgotten the noises of the countryside in the mornings, but it all feels so familiar now, like a warm hug from an old friend. I stand and stretch. I’ve a crick from hell in my neck, and I decide I’m too old for this sleeping-on-a-couch business. I knew I wasn’t going to get much sleep whatever I did, so sitting up on the couch reading for a while was appealing. I must have fallen asleep sometime in the early hours and never made it as far as the single, lumpy bed in the downstairs spare room. I’m regretting the decision now as my bones creak and my muscles groan, unimpressed by dozing for a few hours curled up in a ball.
I run my hand over my trousers and straighten them out against my legs, trying to dismiss how grubby starting the day in yesterday’s clothes is making me feel. The house is eerily silent, and I want to check the time. I wish I hadn’t left my watch on the kitchen counter last night. Pulling back the curtains, I decide it must be early.Good. Maybe I have time to go to the local grocery shop before anyone wakes up, even if it’s just to pick up a toothbrush and a comb. Smearing some toothpaste across my teeth last night with my finger didn’t really count as brushing. If the bakery in the village is open I could buy some scones. They might be a nice pick-me-up for everyone. I scoop Nana’s handwritten manuscript off the coffee table in front of me. For safekeeping, I wrapped my scarf around the bundle of paper last night when my eyes grew too tired to read any more. Curly blue letters peek out at me from under the silk turquoise bow. They’re pretty and calling to me to read more. But my tummy rumbles loudly, and I know if I don’t line it with something right now I’ll be sick for the rest of the day.
I sneak up the stairs, taking care not to make the timber steps creak under my weight. I peek my head through the gap of the master bedroom door. Nana is sleeping comfortably. I sigh and instantly feel lighter. Marcy’s head flops to one side as she sleeps in the beside chair. I hope she hasn’t been in that position all night. I tiptoe to the edge of the bed and pull the light blanket that has fallen to the floor back over Marcy and place the manuscript across her knee. I watch for a moment to make sure I haven’t woken either of them. I consider leaving a note, but I know I don’t need to. Marcy will understand as soon as she sees the paper.
I’m back at the house in less than an hour, which is impressive considering the icy January roads. I’m met at the front door by my mother, and she’s smiling brightly. I haven’t seen her smile like that in a long time. Not since Nana’s check-up for a nasty cough turned into a lung-cancer diagnosis five months ago.
‘Nana’s awake,’ Mam says, taking the brown paper bag full of scones that dangles from my finger. ‘She’s having a good day today, Holly. She’s even sitting up in bed. She’s asked for a cup of tea. Can you believe it?’
‘Tea?’ I repeat, unable to think of anything else to say.
‘I know. I know,’ Mam says. ‘She’s always been a coffee kind of lady, but this is great. I can’t believe she’s turned a corner like this. It’s a miracle. A real miracle.’
