Artichoke Hearts (17 page)

‘Written your adventure story yet?’ Ben asks Millie.

‘Yep, it’s in my bag. Want a sneak preview?’

Ben nods.

So we sit together, just the three of us, listening to Millie read her story.

‘Lock
Heart by
Millie Lockhart.’ Just the way she reads the title makes you know it’s going to be good.

‘You’ll have to dig deep,’ he had said. Beatty didn’t even know if she believed him. Could anything really stay hidden for all this time? As she dug into the cold
soil, she heard what she thought was a voice calling to her, but it was only the sound of the wind whistling over the plain. Already a mound of earth about half the size of her own body mass was
growing by her side, and with each spadeful it was getting harder for her to reach into the pit to clear more soil. Just as she was considering how, if she jumped into the hole, she would ever get
out again, her spade struck something hard. She had to find a way of levering it out slowly so as not to damage it. She tugged several times, but it kept slipping back into the soil as if it
didn’t want to be disturbed. Now there was no going back. So, without knowing how she would clamber out, she eased herself into the hole.

It was surprisingly cold in the earth She leant her back against one wall of the pit, her legs straddling the opposite side as she levered up the heavy silver box. She brushed off the mud and
was just about able to decipher the remnants of a pattern on the lid. There were indents, which looked like they might once have held jewels, but now they were hollow like empty eye sockets. She
tried again to cleave open the box lid, but it was locked tight. She would have to wait till she got home. Her heart was beating hard with the excitement and the effort of digging.

Suddenly the pit grew dark and she found herself cast in a giant’s shadow.

‘I told you, Lockhart, if you dug deep enough, you’d find it. Now hand it over-’

Whenever you’re getting really into something at school, the bell always interrupts.

‘That’s sick!’ booms Ben.

‘Thanks,’ grins Millie.

‘What happens next?’ asks Ben.

‘Your guess is as good as mine!’ Millie laughs.

‘Want to come up the skatepark after school?’ Ben shouts, even though Millie’s standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

She pulls a doubtful face. ‘I could
try,’
she says. I have to stop myself laughing, because the thought of Millie Lockhart in a skatepark . . . well, let’s just say she
might not fit in. But probably that’s what you do when you go out together . . . hang out, even if it’s something you don’t really get, like skateboarding.

At lunch break I decide to text Jidé, but there’s already a message waiting for me in my inbox.

Two words. Five kisses. So it’s not that hard to text him back.

Crystal’s not in her bed and the curtains are drawn around Clara. Nana is sitting propped up on her pillows. She smiles weakly at Doris as she walks out from behind
Clara’s curtain.

‘Where is everyone?’ I ask.

‘Clara died early this morning,’ Doris says gently. ‘Your nana sat with her all night, and Crystal’s been moved to a private room.’

‘Did Clara’s son ever come to see her?’ asks Krish, staring at her drawn curtain.

‘Not a soul came for Clara, except maybe your Nana Josie,’ answers Doris as she eases Nana into her wheelchair and pushes her towards the Staffroom. Krish and me follow behind
them.

‘You don’t mind if we go to the Staffroom today, Josie?’ Doris goes on. ‘It’s all hotting up in the Family Room.’

‘No dear, I could do with a change of scenery,’ sighs Nana, patting Doris on the hand to reassure her.

‘But do you think she ever had a son?’ pursues Krish. ‘I only know I never met him,’ sighs Doris. ‘Did she ever call him by his name?’ Doris stops pushing
Nana for a second and looks down at Krish as if she’s trying to remember. ‘Do you know, I don’t think she ever did.’ Krish nods.

When we get to the Staffroom, Doris slumps down in a chair next to Nana. It just feels right to ask them if I should make them a cup of tea. They both nod. I get the impression
that we’re only here because they don’t want us on the ward with Clara lying there. After a while Question Mark appears at the door and nods to Doris.

‘You want to stay here for a while?’ Doris asks Nana.

She shakes her head and Doris wheels Nana back to the ward. Halfway down the corridor Krish takes hold of one of the handles of the wheelchair.

‘You want to push, son?’ asks Doris, smiling at him and moving aside.

As we approach the ward, Krish pauses in the entrance. The space where Clara’s bed once was is empty. I wonder who else, except for our family and the staff here, will remember Clara. Not
to be remembered must be a sad ending . . . and soon, I suppose, her place on the ward will be taken by someone new. It feels wrong to be so easily replaced.

Dad peers around the door of the ward.

‘Coming, Mum?’

Nana smiles and shakes her head. ‘Send them my love,’ she whispers.

Music is coming from a room along the corridor. It’s Mozart, Nana’s favourite. She has her eyes open and she’s listening as if she’s hypnotized. Then her eyelids grow
heavy, like the blinking eyelids of a china doll, and she’s drifting away to another place. Everything about her says, ‘Do not disturb.’

I follow the music and a sweet scent as it floats down the hallway from the Family Room, which has been decorated with lilies and pink and white roses. Everyone’s here: Mum, Dad, Aunty Mel
jiggling Laila on her hip, and Aunty Abi and Krish, standing with some of the other visitors, patients, doctors and nurses. Mum smiles at me.

Then I see the man from the bed nearest the door in the Men’s Room, the one who’s not old, Mum says, maybe thirty. He’s standing next to the woman who visits him every day. She
looks so pretty with her hair all folded up and held in place with two Chinese lacquered chopsticks. She’s wearing a lime-green silk kimono top with a bright pink border, black silky trousers
and dainty pink and green Chinese slippers. She has long black hair and is very tall. The man is tall too, but bald, completely bald. He wears a silk Chinese dressing gown with silvery grey and
lime-green patterns on the edging. I think the woman must have really thought about what would be the most comfortable and beautiful thing for them to wear, and how they would fit together.

He’s just a little bit taller than her, but so thin. His cancer makes him look like an old man. Framed in their archway of flowers, they stand very close, looking deep into each
other’s eyes, repeating the marriage vows after the priest, but you can tell that they are lost in their own private world. No one else can really hear what they’re saying.

I’ve been to a few weddings, so I know the kind of thing the priest must be saying. Suddenly, I have this horrible thought that when he asks the question, ‘Does anyone know any
reasons why these two cannot be joined in marriage together,’ at that very moment everyone in the room shouts, ‘BECAUSE HE IS GOING TO DIE.’

When it gets to that moment, of course, no one says anything, but Laila does start to cry, and the bride turns round and smiles at her and I see that her eyes are brimming with tears. Aunty Mel
passes Laila along the line back to Mum.

Question Mark – he must be the best man -stands next to the groom and passes him the ring. The man’s hand is shaking uncontrollably, so Question Mark has to steady him and help him place
the ring on the bride’s finger. Then they kiss, on the lips. I mean really snog, with tongues and everything, for ages and ages, and in that kiss you can really feel so much love and sadness
at the same time – like the brightest and dullest colours all merging into each other.

I look around at all the people in the room. Every single person is crying except for Krish and me. After they’ve been locked into their kiss for what seems like forever, my brother says,
‘Oh! Gross,’ in a really loud voice, breaking the spell. My mum, who is crying her eyes out, of course, gives Krish a hard nudge, but everyone else starts laughing.

After the wedding, there is champagne. Dad says I can have a sip, but I don’t really like the sour taste. Krish wants some, but Mum says he can’t because he said ‘gross’.
Dad sneaks him a sip though, and he licks his lips. I watch Dad gulp his, like he’s downing a glass of fizzy water.

My mobile rings. I still haven’t found a ringtone that isn’t totally shameful. I rush out into the corridor to take it, thanking Notsurewho Notsurewhat that it didn’t go off
during the ceremony.

‘Hi, Millie,’ I whisper.

‘It’s Jidé. Why are you whispering again?’

It takes me a few seconds of my heart beating on loudspeaker for me to think of what to say, to get over the shock of him actually calling me.

‘Oh! Hi, Jidé, I’m in the hospice,’ is the best that I can come up with.

‘Want to come to mine after school next Friday? My mum wants to talk to you about being on some student committee for the Rec.’

‘All right,’ I say, trying to make myself sound not that bothered.

‘How’s it going, anyway?’

‘I’ve just been to a wedding at the hospice.’

‘A wedding? Are they really ill then? The people who got married?’

‘One of them is . . . the man.’

‘She must really love him.’

‘She does,’ I say.

I can’t believe I’m standing in the hospice at a wedding talking to Jidé Jackson about love. Then there is an awkward pause when neither of us can think of anything to
say.

‘Well, see you later,’ says Jidé.

‘See you.’

Nana was wrong about my mobile. I have got someone to call, and someone who wants to call me.

I amble along the corridor, wondering how it’s possible that just one call from Jidé can make it feel like we’re properly going out together. This is turning out to be the
weirdest mix-up-of-emotions day of my life.

I sit down next to Nana’s bed and watch her sleeping. That’s when I hear this message jump into my phone.

I don’t want to wake Nana up with the high-pitched beep that sounds every time I press the keypad because I still can’t work out how to silence it. At least it
doesn’t take me half the day to reply this time.

My thumb doesn’t even hover over the button before I press send.

‘I see you’re using that phone of yours now,’ sighs Nana wearily.

‘Sorry, Nana. Did it wake you up?’

‘Yes! So the very least you can do is tell me who you’re so keen to talk to.’ Nana’s wearing her most wicked grin.

‘I wasn’t talking, I was texting.’

‘Whatever!’

‘It was no one,’ I laugh, flipping the lid closed.

‘Is that a no one no one, or a someone no one, or a someone someone?’ she jokes.

I laugh, but don’t answer her.

‘A someone someone then! Good for you,’ Nana smiles, squeezing my hand. ‘There’s nothing sweeter than first love.’

‘Naaaaana!’ I squirm.

‘Talking of love. How was the wedding?’

‘I thought it was sad.’

Nana nods and closes her eyes.

‘Nana, why did they get married, when he’s so ill?’

She shakes her head and sighs as if she can’t answer my question. ‘It’s one of the many mysteries of the heart . . . They’re in love.’ Then she opens her eyes and
smiles, like the sun breaking through a grey cloud. ‘Life goes on, Mira.’

I wish I could find a chain for Nana’s artichoke-heart charm. Suddenly I feel as if now is the time I should be wearing it.