I wake up a few hours later in a good mood. I rush downstairs and hear the telephone ring. I pick up the receiver "Hello?" I ask in my most grown-up voice.
"Who is this speaking?" The polite if formal person asks.
"Emma Riley. Who is this?" I ask, my tone matching hers.
"Emma, I'm Jane I work at the nursing home where your grandmother is staying. Could I speak to your mother?"
"I'll take a message." I reply.
Jane breathes a sigh of uncertainty "Well if you’re sure." She mumbles partly to herself before continuing "Your grandmother is worse."
I ask confused "What do you mean, worse?"
The nurse pauses for a moment. "Just pass on the message. Goodbye."
"Wait! What..." But she'd already hung up. I place the receiver down calmly. The panic is slowly building up inside of me. I rush up the stairs and wake up Mike, Phoebe and Layla, who had fallen asleep here yesterday.
I brush Phoebe's curls out in front of the mirror and she asks "Is it school today?"
"Yeah, but you're already late so let’s go see Grandmother and you go back Monday. Okay?" I explain. Phoebe nods. I run the brush through her hair one last time and we head downstairs. We jump into Layla's car even though our destination is only a few streets away.
When we're finally outside grandmothers room I'm close to tears. I've always been good at hiding my emotions, even from myself but I find myself unable to turn the handle regardless. I should have seen this coming. The nurses knew, or at least suspected long before now. That was the reason for keeping my grandmother in this room. It had nothing to do with her falling down the stairs. But I didn't put the pieces together. Maybe because I didn't want to.
"Emma?" A voice from behind me asks.
"I'm fine Mike." I reply. I swing the handle down hesitation gone. I look straight ahead so when I walk in the first thing I see is grandmother wrapped in blankets sitting on the bed. She looks okay so I let Phoebe in and she bounds across to Grandmother to give her a big hug.
I frown suspiciously at grandmother. She knew we were coming. I can tell by the way she’s arranged everything to make her look less ill than she really is. She has a small oxygen tank covered in a blanket and partially tucked behind the bed. The tube snakes along the back of the bed and disappears under her pillow. She wraps the blankets tightly around her. She's shivering although its warm.
Grandmother notices my look but she simply waves her hand and says "Come sit down, I only have a bit of the flu it's not the end of the world."
I put my hand on my hip. "A 'bit of flu' can kill healthy people!"
Grandmother puts her hand on her hip. "I am a healthy person!"
I sigh. Unlike myself my grandmother doesn't believe in denial so that means either; she genuinely thinks she can have leukaemia and still be healthy or amnesia is a symptom of leukaemia. I shake my head. "Grandmother. Do you know what happens when you get leukaemia?"
She looks at me blankly.
"The nurses didn't explain?" I ask.
Grandmother pulls a face "They tried but I shooed them away. She kept stuttering, it was distracting me from my crossword, and the other one... don't even get me started!"
The nurse interjects at this point "I-I-I’m r-right here y-you kn-n-now!"
"See what I mean?" Grandmother titters critically. "The girl should speak properly." I tut disapprovingly at my Grandmother. Although the nurse could improve her speech it’s not her fault she stutters. Grandmother adds "And the other one pronounces all her vowels 'e'."
Phoebe picks the perfect time to interject "What’s leukaemia?" I had told Phoebe grandmother was ill but I didn't specify.
Grandmother answers "No clue sweetheart but it isn’t good."
I shake my head. Only Grandmother could be dying of a disease and couldn't care less about what it was. But that’s my grandmother for you. I go into the next room in search of Jane, and ask her to inform grandmother on her illness. Jane has neither a stutter or strange accent so this time grandmother has no excuses.
Afterwards I stand in the corridor for a few moments composing myself. My eyes burn with unshed tears. I glance in at the room next to me. A patient lies on the bed smiling. The nurse stands over her, obviously reporting good news. People surround the bed and the hope on their faces would normally make me smile. But there is nothing normal about visiting my dying Grandmother.
There, I thought it. Admitted it to myself. Because she is going to die. And there is nothing I can do. I can't push her out of the way of an oncoming car, I can't hide the truth so she won't be hurt by it, I can't lie to myself and everyone else by saying it’s going to be okay. Because this time, it’s not. I can't fix it. I can't do anything. And that’s what hurts the most. It’s like a stab to the chest knowing I'm standing by and letting her die.
And truthfully? If I could trade the happiness, the hope, the good news from the room I'm currently staring into and give it to my grandmother, I would. Then maybe that nurse would be giving good news and the hope would be glued to the faces of Phoebe and I.
I look at the people in the room. I imagine the woman lying in the bed is my grandmother. A bittersweet smile reaches my lips. The tears burn but I wipe them away before they have a chance to fall.
I turn my head away rapidly as I hear footsteps behind me. I snap out of my negativity. When have I ever been pessimistic? Okay pretty much whenever something bad happens. A genuine smile springs to my face. I fix it there before it can slide away. Maybe all things happen for a reason. Maybe not. But there’s always hope.