iBoy

1110

Gram was in the front room watching TV when I got back. She looked as pale and worn out as ever — her face too thin, her eyes too tired, her skin too old for her age. She wasn't that old — fifty-four last year — but her life hadn't been easy, and the years of struggle had taken their toll.

She'd spent most of her life on her own.

In the same way that I'd never known my father, my mum had never known hers. Her father had been just as unknown and absent as mine. So Gram had spent most of her adult life as either a single mother, bringing up her daughter on her own, or as a single grandmother, bring­ing up her dead daughter's son on her own. And she'd done all this while trying to make a living from some­thing which neither paid very much nor gave her any enjoyment at all.

So I guess she was entitled to look a bit worn out.

"Hey, Gram," I said, sitting down next to her. "What are you watching?"

"Just the news," she said, muting the TV and smiling at me. "How's Lucy?"

"OK, I think ... well, kind of OK, you know ..."

Gram nodded. "And how about you? How's your head?"

"Fine ... no problems."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah ..."

"No dizziness or anything?"

"No."

(Just a world of wonder and madness.)

"Any headaches?"

"No."

(Just phone calls and emails and texts and websites...)

"You haven't been hearing any voices then?"

I looked at Gram. "What?"

She smiled. "It was a joke, Tommy."

"Right. . ." I said. "Yeah, very funny."

She put her hand on my knee, "I'm glad you're OK, love. Really. I was so worried when you were in hospital ... I thought, you know ... I thought ..." Her voice trailed off, and she wiped a tear from her eye. And I knew she was thinking about my mum, her daughter ... and I could barely imagine how hard it must have been for Gram when I was in hospital, and she was sitting with me, not knowing whether I was going to live or die ...

I put my arms round her neck and rested my head against hers. "Don't worry, Gram," I said quietly, I'm going to be absolutely fine, I promise."

She smiled at me through her tears. "You'd better be."

"Trust me ... I plan on living until I'm at least as old as you."

She laughed, playfully slapping my leg, and then she took a tissue from her pocket and started wiping the tears from her face. There were so many things I wanted to ask her then, things about my mum, but I knew that she wouldn't want to talk about it. Gram never liked talking about what happened to Mum. It was just too much for her, I think. Too painful, too sad ... and I understood that. Or, at least, I tried to. I mean, it was mostly OK ... I didn't really mind too much. And most of the time I didn't need to know any more than the facts — i.e. that my mum had been killed by a hit-and-run driver when I was six months old.

That was enough for me ...

Most of the time.

But sometimes, like now, it wasn't enough.

Sometimes, for whatever reason, I felt the need to know more.

"Gram?" I said quietly.

She sniffed. "Yes, love?"

"Was it the same ... with Mum, I mean?"

She looked at me. "The same as what?"

"Did she ...? I mean, was she in hospital for a while, like me ... or was it, you know ... was it quick?"

Gram held my gaze for a second or two, then she turned away and looked down at the floor, and for a while I thought she wasn't going to answer me. But then, after sniffing and wiping her nose again, she said, very softly, "She didn't suffer, Tommy. It was very quick. She wouldn't have known what was happening."

"She died straight away?"

Gram nodded. "Georgie ... your mum, she was going to work ... she got off the bus, started to cross the road, and a car just came out of nowhere and ran her over. She died instantly. She wouldn't have known anything, thank God ..."

Gram's voice was broken with tears, and I could see her hands trembling.

"I'm sorry, Gram," I said. "I didn't mean to —"

"No, no," she said quickly, looking up at me. It's all right, Tommy ... it's just me ... it's just..."

She couldn't finish what she was trying to say. She smiled sadly at me, wiped another tear from her eye, and as she gently took my head in her arms and gave me a long hard hug, I could feel her shaking all over.

Later on, after we'd had something to eat and watched the end of a late-night film together, I asked Gram if she'd ever heard of Howard Ellman, the man that Davey had told me about, the one they called the Devil. Her reaction was totally unexpected. At first, she didn't do anything — she just sat there, completely still, staring straight ahead ... not even breathing — and for a moment or two I wondered if she'd actually heard me. But then, very slowly, she turned to face me, and I could tell by the look on her face that she had heard me. She looked stunned — totally and utterly stunned. It was as if she'd just heard the worst news in the world.

"What's the matter, Gram?" I said. "Are you all right?"

"What?" she whispered.

"Are you OK? You look terrible."

She blinked, frowning at me. "Sorry ...? I was ... uh ... I was miles away. What did you say?"

"Howard Ellman ... I asked you if you'd ever heard of him."

"Why ...? I mean ..." She cleared her throat. "Why do you want to know about him?"

I shrugged. "No reason, really. It's just that Davey told me he's the one who runs all the local gangs ... well, he doesn't actually run them, but he pretty much pulls all the strings."

Gram nodded, smiling tightly at me. "So why are you asking me about him? Why would I know someone like that?"

"I don't know ... I just thought you might have heard of him, that's all. I mean, you've lived here a long time, you know a lot of people, you hear a lot of stuff ..." I shrugged again. "It doesn't matter, Gram. It's not impor­tant or anything. I was only asking ..."

She nodded again, her eyes fixed on mine, and for a moment I thought that she was going to tell me some­thing, that she wanted to tell me something ... something really important...

But I was wrong.

She just glanced at her watch and said, "You'd better get off to bed now. It's getting late. I'll see you in the morn­ing, all right?"

A few minutes later, as I was closing the door to my room, I looked back down the hallway and saw Gram sitting bolt upright on the settee. She was perfectly still, her hands laid flat on her knees, and she was staring straight ahead, staring at nothing. She looked as if she'd just seen a ghost.