Mary

Now:

Eleanor’s gaze lingers at the far horizon where the sky meets the sea, which shimmers and winks, like diamonds falling. She sips her drink and stretches long legs out, lazily. There are no worries, no pains, nothing to rush to. Her gaze falls onto the white sand where a lone sunbather lies in the heat on this exclusive beach.

Then:

Eleanor opened the envelope. Quickly, she took out the contents. She felt sick. It was a feeling of having her sense of self drop through the floor; of layers of personality being pushed away by new feelings she had never dared to own: Hope? Joy?

No! Stay calm! She still had to deal with the cousins!

Before:

“Embers.”

“Did she just say ‘Embers’?”

“Embers … growing up!”

The thin voice reached a high trill.

Paul and Shaneequa looked at each other, puzzled. “Who knows! She’s doolally,” Paul shrugged.

“Paul!”

“What? She can’t hear me! She’s as loopy as a box of hamsters. Come on!”

He stood up, pushing his chair back strongly so that it grated on the floor.

“I’ve had enough of this.”

“But Paul!” Shaneequa’s plea was a long drawl. “We’ve come so far! It might just be a few more days. Come on! Cheer up, she might be dead soon.” The two ‘carers’ left, noisily.

Mary sank back into her pillows. These displays were tiring her out, but what else could she do?

Shaneequa was her cousin’s daughter and Paul had appeared in tow, one afternoon in a crumpled, pale blue suit, ostensibly, to visit. But it soon became clear that the two of them had heard about the family mystery.

There was a fortune hidden somewhere and it was rumoured that Mary knew exactly where it was.

They were subtle. They were playing the long game, Paul and Shaneequa.

They visited her day after day for months, trying to wheedle some details out of her. She knew they were ransacking her home from what they said to each other when they thought she was asleep.

Mary was tired. So tired. The care home was such a lonely, dreary place, but their visits made it seem like a mental asylum – one that came to visit her everyday and sat in her nice pink chairs. Death might be better after all. At least death wouldn’t reek of cheap cigarettes and turn her TV over to daytime game shows.

She had not been allowed to bring her books, her paintings had all been sold and her music – her beloved music that reminded her so clearly of her Walter and her lovely Julia – where was it? Tears began to flow, unbidden, down her cheeks. Why can’t people who love each other so much, go together? Die together? Her husband Walter was gone, her daughter Julia was gone. Stubborn, rebellious thoughts surfaced into her mind. Anyone observing this tiny, frail 80-year-old sitting up in her bed this afternoon, would plainly see the wilful child she had been. A child who wanted an ice-cream she would never have.

Stubborn little old ladies who used to be wilful little girls don’t cry for long. What is the use of wasting that kind of energy? It is all self-pity anyway. No. She had to think!

She was not going to give anything away to those two…two… gargoyles. She would much rather it was lost forever. No, if anyone were to have the family legacy, it should be her only granddaughter – Eleanor. But how?

***

“She’s turned blue!” Shaneequa’s shrieks echoed along the damp, beige corridors. “Someone come, quickly!”

Mary was lying in bed, her eyes and lips swollen beyond reason. Her breathing ragged. Paul was standing, helpless by her sink. Indecision had turned him into a useless puddle on the floor. Reflections of his fiancé’s disfigured second cousin competed with horror in his eyes. Some people cope with emergencies like elegant ballerinas. Paul was no ballerina.

Mary reached out a swollen hand to him and tried to speak, but her turgid lips would not form words.

“Shaneequa!” he yelled and ran out of the room.

Eleanor:

“She might only have a few more days. We thought it best that everyone came to say their goodbyes.”

In her coat pockets, Eleanor’s hands clenched involuntarily. Her fingernails dug into her palms, but she didn’t flinch. She had not seen her grandmother, Mary, since… She couldn’t see her. No-one understood it. She didn’t want to. Her mother, Julia had looked very much like Mary. There were too many memories. But now… the lady from the care home had said that this might be the end. So, here she was.

Mary was lying in a bed. She looked so old and frail. Her skin looked like the dried-up crust of a chocolate brownie. But when Eleanor touched her hand it felt soft and warm.

Her cousin, Shaneequa was already in here holding up a tissue to her nose, and there was a man with her in a crinkled blue suit. Eleanor recognised Shaneequa’s fake crying from when they were kids and she wanted to get her own way.

“Oh, hi, Eleanor,” Shaneequa said with fake concern in her voice.

Mary’s eyes opened.

“Embers!” she said faintly.

“Embers… growing up… inside.”

“It’s the only thing she says now,” Shaneequa whispered.

Memories came! Things that had been long forgotten surfaced so easily. Ember!

Ember! Eleanor wanted to shout that name, but all she could do right now was to squeeze Mary’s hand. Ember had been Eleanor’s name for herself when she had been a baby and when she got her first toy, of course, it had been called Ember. Ember the bunny!

Why did Mary want her to find Ember? Eleanor had no idea! But she knew where to look. ‘Growing up.’ It must mean that she had to go to the attic of Mary’s house where there were notches in the doorpost from measuring Eleanor as she grew. What else could it mean?

Sure enough when she looked, there was a faded, one-eyed bunny of indeterminate colour sitting next to the doorpost which had her growing up notches.

But Mary had said, ‘inside?’ Inside Ember? She picked him up and felt his tummy. There was something hard in there, flat. She turned him over, a Velcroed compartment in his back came open easily enough. Inside Ember, there was a little black book. It was cute, with a mat finish that was soft to the touch. Always drawn to stationery, Eleanor tucked Ember under her arm and started to flick through the book. Every page was full of descriptions and images: A trip to Vienna, an afternoon spent walking along the Seine, Lourdes, the Parthenon, Hungary, Dublin. It was amazing!

The middle of the book held something more amazing. A Ziplock pocket held something hard. She opened it and took out an envelope with her name written in black ink. For Eleanor. Inside was the largest diamond ring Eleanor had ever seen. She felt sick.

Now:

Eleanor takes another sip of her drink as she remembers the value of that diamond ring: $20,000. More money than she had ever seen.

She looks across the table at Mary, who has fallen asleep in the afternoon sun. Wilful, stubborn Mary, who chose shellfish from the menu one day, knowing full well that she was allergic and that it might kill her, just to get her granddaughter to visit. Mary, who hid her diamond ring away when her family forced her into a care home. And Mary, who only needed some good care from a loving granddaughter. The stories of her life and adventures have been astonishing. Mary, her grandmother.

Eleanor flicks through a new little black book whose pages are empty. She smiles: Where should she go first?