‘Here’s what’s going to happen, Simon,’ I said.

‘Please call me Si.’

‘I will if you call me Gr.’

He laughed.

‘I’ll try. What is it that’s going to happen, Gr?’

I held up a hand.

‘Never going to work, Simon,’ I said. ‘Grrr? Sounds like you’re either going to attack me or you’re making the most revolting sexual advance. Either way, it’s not on. So.’

We’d given up the bench today, partly because someone else was sitting there but also because I didn’t want other students thinking we were some kind of romantic couple. Of course, Simon and I were still spending time together, but as we were now wandering around the yard (the school refers to it as the ‘campus’ but they’ve always had ideas way beyond their station), we were a kind of moving target for potential rumours. I don’t know why I was bothered by that. I normally don’t give a stuff what others think.

‘I agree to the kids’ party idea,’ I continued, ‘and I’m happy for you to organise it. You’d make more money working at Macca’s, I should point out, but it’s your financial funeral. What I really want from you is help in creating an online presence for Amazing Grace.’

‘You like the name then?’ said Simon.

‘Not really,’ I said. ‘But I’m sure I could think of worse. Anyway, I’m thinking TikTok, because that’s where most young people are. And that platform is perfect for short visual magic. Plus, I won’t use any patter, as you call it. Just short videos of me doing amazing stuff—’

‘How about—?’

‘Don’t interrupt me, Simon. Or I’ll make your vocal cords disappear.’ At least the sun was out today. It seemed a little unenthusiastic, though, because although I could sense its presence on my skin I still felt cold. One kid we passed was giving another kid what used to be known as a Chinese burn, twisting the skin on his wrist with both hands turning in opposite directions. The victim was screaming in pain but seemed to be enjoying himself. None of the teachers on yard duty reacted, so I guess torture on the campus was tolerated, if not positively encouraged.

‘You will take the videos, Simon, and they will be absolutely genuine. None of that pulling long loaves of bread out of small bags where you can see the digital trickery going on. First task.’ I held up one finger. ‘We get to one thousand followers because we signal that we’re building up to a final bit of magic that will be both spectacular and live. Second.’ I held up another finger, showing mastery of digital manipulation. ‘We get to one hundred thousand followers. Then we get money from tips that our followers are encouraged to donate. Any questions?’

‘How about—?’

‘Good. I’ll leave you now so your friends and fellow students don’t think you’re some kind of creepy stalker with a thing for younger girls. Set up the TikTok account, Simon, and then we’ll talk.’

I walked back past the Chinese burns kids. There were tears and there were howls. Bit like life itself, really.

‘Did I tell you about the time I met George Clooney?’ said Gran. ‘What a flirt that man is. I tell you, I wouldn’t climb over him to get to you in bed, Grace.’

‘Gran, that comment is disgusting on almost every level.’

‘I do my best,’ said Gran.

I’d popped in on my way home from school with a pack of Wagon Wheels in my bag. Gran likes Wagon Wheels, though she always points out that in the past they were much, much, much bigger than they are now. She reckons they were at least the size of manhole covers and cost something like ten cents a pack. The world is getting smaller and more expensive all the time, according to her.

We sat in our respective chairs, Gran with a pot of tea in front of her and a half-eaten Wagon Wheel in her right hand. Small slivers of chocolate wafer were gathering in her lap.

‘Ah, George Clooney,’ sighed Gran. She pointed the Wagon Wheel at me for emphasis and a few more crumbs drifted down. ‘He could have had me, you know. Those twinkling eyes, that cheeky grin. He—’

‘This was the George Clooney you met in the freezer section of a supermarket in town?’ I asked. ‘The George Clooney who was apparently buying cut-price vanilla ice cream in a small shop in an out-of-the-way corner of country Australia?’ I’d heard the story before.

Gran beamed happily. ‘That’s the one,’ she said.

‘Gran,’ I said, ‘we’ve had this conversation. That was Mr Armitage who, incidentally, doesn’t look anything like George Clooney, is at least seventy and frankly, if his purchases are anything to go by, struggling financially.’

‘And how do you know this?’ asked Gran, with the air of a prosecuting lawyer who’s found the fatal flaw in the witness’s testimony.

‘Because you pointed him out to me when we went shopping once and said, “There’s George Clooney,” so I went up to him and asked who he was and he told me his name. Mr Armitage. Bert, if I remember rightly, though I’m not a hundred per cent on that.’

Gran sipped her tea.

‘Probably getting into the part of a character he was playing in some Hollywood film. Many actors do that. Method acting, I believe it’s called. That man who used to do gangster roles invented it. They become the character, won’t answer to any other name. Live it, twenty-four seven. George is like that, obviously.’

I bit into my own Wagon Wheel.

‘Obviously,’ I said. ‘I can’t wait for that movie to come out, Gran. The Freezer Section, starring George Clooney as Bert Armitage.’

‘We’ll go to see it together, dear,’ said Gran.

‘See what?’

I hadn’t heard anyone come into the house, but I must have left the front door ajar. It’s got a dodgy lock mechanism. Uncle Mike stood in the doorway of the living room.

‘A new George Clooney film,’ said Gran.

Uncle Mike smiled. He’s a short guy with a receding hairline, which he makes up for with a moustache that some would probably call luxuriant. Cheery. Relentlessly cheery. I give him the same back. We both play the misdirection game, but I am patient and I will win eventually.

‘What’s it about?’ he said.

‘A nondescript small-town man living in poverty,’ I said, ‘who falls for an ageing grandmother over cut-price vanilla ice cream. Rotten Tomatoes seventy-five per cent.’

Uncle Mike laughed. ‘Sounds like a shoo-in come Oscars time,’ he said.

I got him a cup from the kitchen and he poured himself some tea. He’s another who seems to think it’s as necessary as breathing. Then he helped himself to a Wagon Wheel. I didn’t like that. I’d bought them myself, so I looked upon it as stealing, but I kept quiet. Grace plays the long game.

‘These appear to get smaller and smaller,’ he said.

‘They do,’ said Gran. She became instantly energised. ‘The price goes up and the size goes down. I should tell Tracy Grimshaw on A Current Affair.’

‘She’s gone from that show, Gran.’

‘Really? Why didn’t anyone tell me?’

‘I just did.’

After that, I mainly watched while Gran and Uncle Mike chatted. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear that he was devoted to her. The smiles at the nonsense she came out with, the occasional pat on her arm, the warm radiance of apparent devotion. It was interesting, in a way. I watched carefully because I thought I could learn a lot from Uncle Mike. Finally, he turned his attention to me.

‘How’s the magic going, Grace?’

‘Good, thanks,’ I replied. ‘Working hard.’

‘Anything new?’

‘Always.’

Gran jumped in. ‘Oh, yes, Grace. I love your magic shows. Please do one for me.’ Then she turned to my uncle. ‘Of course I love your magic too, Mike, but Grace is . . . well, she’s . . .’

‘Good?’ said Uncle Mike.

‘I was going to say young,’ said Gran.

Now here’s a thing. I had any number of new tricks I could show Gran, but I didn’t want to do one in front of my uncle. So I picked something that he would know and would think was really sad.

‘I can read your mind, Gran,’ I said.

Gran took a sip of tea. ‘Not sure it’s worth the effort, dear,’ she replied. ‘I do it all the time and, trust me, it’s boring in there.’

‘Can you do simple maths in your head?’ I asked.

Gran put her cup down.

‘Despite all the evidence,’ she said, ‘I am not yet senile.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Then think of a number between one and ten.’

‘Four,’ said Gran.

‘Don’t tell it to me,’ I said. ‘Just think it.’

‘Okay. It’s not four this time, by the way.’

I held up my hand.

‘Don’t worry. Now multiply that number by nine. Can you do that?’

She turned to her son. ‘What part of “I am not yet senile” was so confusing?’ He laughed.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘If your answer has two digits, add them together and then subtract five. Yeah?’ I didn’t wait for an answer. Gran’s scorn can be a withering thing. ‘Now I want you to think of the alphabet and give each letter a number. One for A, two for B, three for C and so on. Go to the letter of the alphabet that corresponds with the final number in your head. Got it?’ Gran nodded. ‘Excellent. Think of a country that starts with that letter. When you’ve done that, go to the second letter in that country’s name, think of an animal that starts with that letter and then think of a colour you’d associate with that animal.’

‘Goodness,’ said Gran. ‘Just how many steps are there in this?’

‘That’s the last one,’ I replied. ‘You have the colour in your head?’

Gran nodded.

‘The colour is grey,’ I said.

‘Not really,’ said Gran.

‘Not really?’

Gran picked up her teacup again. ‘Not unless black is a type of grey,’ she said.

Uncle Mike roared with laughter.

‘God I love you, Mum,’ he said. ‘What country were you thinking of?’

‘The Dominican Republic,’ said Gran. ‘And O was the second letter, so I thought of ostriches, which are generally black.’ She turned to me. ‘Though I suppose a good number of them might be grey, dear.’

Uncle Mike doubled over, wiped tears from his eyes. If there was any justice in this world he would have choked on one of my Wagon Wheels.

‘Did I do it wrong, Grace?’ Gran asked me.

I must admit I had to laugh too. She’s the only person in the world who can make me, though Simon had a recent success. That’s another thought. If Gran were to die – I mean, I know she will at some point – would I ever laugh again? I suspected that the episode with Simon was a one-off.

Uncle Mike turned to me. ‘Do you want to explain or should I?’

I waved a hand. ‘Go for your life,’ I said.

‘It’s the old grey elephant in Denmark trick,’ he told Gran. ‘When you do the maths, the number you get is always four. The fourth letter of the alphabet is D and nearly everyone thinks of Denmark, because there aren’t many countries that begin with D. Four or five, tops, and the others are pretty obscure ones like the Dominican Republic.’ He chuckled. ‘The second letter in Denmark is E and most people then think of Elephant and hence the colour grey.’ He patted her on the arm again. ‘It works ninety per cent of the time.’

Gran turned to me and there were tears in her eyes.

‘Oh, Grace,’ she said. ‘I am so sorry. I ruined your mind-reading trick. Can you ever forgive me?’ Then she started sobbing. ‘I am a stupid old woman. Of course I should have chosen Denmark and elephants and grey . . .’

I was stunned. So stunned I even turned towards Uncle Mike. This wasn’t like Gran. I could see confusion in his eyes as well. Luckily, normality came back on the scene quickly.

‘You bozos,’ said Gran. She was all briskness again and her eyes were dry. ‘Honestly, you’d think magicians would know better.’ She pointed a finger at me. ‘That trick was possibly the worst I’ve ever heard and, trust me, I’ve known a few in my time. Don’t insult me again, you hear?’

Uncle Mike laughed.

‘I had no idea you were such a good actress, Mum,’ he said.

‘George Bert Clooney-Armitage would be impressed,’ I added.

‘Did I ever tell you about the time I met the Dalai Lama in the Dominican Republic?’ said Gran.