Gran was still in her chair when I got back. Still breathing.

I made her a cup of tea. Then I sat opposite her and waited. This was the way it was going to be, I thought. Me here, waiting for when she wouldn’t be. I shook my head. Not helpful.

‘Show me some of your magic, Grace,’ she said.

So I did. I got out my packs of cards and went through part of my routine. A bit of ACAAN, making cards disappear, the whole nine yards. I even did a few with smoke effects. I’d watched the Shin Lim episode on Penn and Teller’s Fool Us many times. Like Penn, I’d worked out some of Lim’s illusions, but others were still beyond me. I loved the way he used smoke in a few of his tricks. It was theatre, and that’s what magic is all about. Gran didn’t say very much throughout my performance, but I could tell she was watching closely, trying to work out how I did the things I did. Like I’ve said, she’s all there. For now.

‘That was wonderful,’ she said when I finally put my stuff away. ‘You are very talented.’

For once, I was lost for words. Then I found some.

‘Thank you.’

Silence.

Gran shifted in her chair. Was it my imagination, or did I detect that she was uncomfortable, a hint of pain that came out of hiding, betrayed in the way she moved her mouth when she shifted position? The moment was gone before I was sure.

‘What do you want to do with your life, Grace?’ said Gran.

This time I shifted in my chair.

‘When I grow up?’ I replied.

‘Yes,’ said Gran.

I smiled.

‘Are we having a serious conversation, Gran?’ I asked.

She nodded. ‘We are.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the time for them is running out and I want to know.’

There’s not much you can do when it’s expressed like that. I didn’t want to talk about the future – all of that stuff about exams and qualifications and what university you’re going to and what degree you want to study and how that is going to lead on to a career in . . . what? Law? Medicine? Maybe a simple nine-to-five that means you can afford a nice house in a nice suburb with a nice husband and nice kids and all those other illusions that people trick themselves into believing? Like I said, magic is all in the mind.

‘I want to be a magician,’ I said. ‘That’s what I want to be. It’s all I want to be. I don’t know if I can earn a living from it. Maybe I can’t. But when I think about the future, that’s what I see. Getting better at what I do. Pushing the boundaries as far as I can. Taking the skills I have and working on making them better.’

‘And that will make you happy?’

I thought about that. Gran deserved honesty, now more than ever.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I believe in happiness. Maybe it’s another trick we play on ourselves. The great illusion that we can never achieve.’

We stayed silent for the longest time.

‘I think that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,’ said Gran. ‘And I’ve heard a few.’

‘It probably is,’ I replied. Then I got up. ‘I’ll make you another pot of tea,’ I added.

‘That would be nice,’ said Gran. ‘And maybe we could watch a DVD. I’ve got Forrest Gump somewhere.’

I’d seen Forrest Gump before. It is one of the reasons, in my humble opinion, why happiness is unattainable.

Settling down in the spare room was as grisly as I imagined it would be. It’s weird how you get used to a place. My own bedroom, where I spent so much time sleeping, thinking and working, was a familiar cocoon. Now I was surrounded by the strange. The bed wasn’t as uncomfortable as I thought it might be, but the texture was wrong. There weren’t the normal hills and valleys sculpted by my body over the years. The whole landscape was foreign and foreboding. The curtains were so heavy and dark that when I closed them, virtually no light could get through. The room became solid and suffocating, so I kept the curtains open just a little. Even that didn’t help much. There was a dark bulkiness around me – the wardrobe, a heavy Victorian thing, and a chest of drawers that was just too . . . too . . . too bloody huge. It was a place where all those monsters that had haunted my childhood belonged. It was their territory. Something could extend a clawed hand from under the bed, or the wardrobe door could creak open, revealing red eyes suspended in the dark. It felt like it could happen at any moment.

So I kept my light on and my eyes and mind open.

I remembered how I discovered that Uncle Mike was a thief.

It was three years earlier. I can’t remember why I was at Gran’s house. It was probably just one of those times when I stopped by after school. Uncle Mike was there, keeping Gran company over a cup of tea. There was laughter. The place was bright with affection.

Gran had a swollen finger. Maybe it was an insect bite, or she’d hit herself with something from the kitchen, or she’d twisted it scrubbing those damned floors. I don’t remember. But it was swollen and getting worse. So she’d taken off her engagement ring before it got to the point where it would start cutting into flesh. She put it on the counter in the kitchen. Even now I can see it clearly in my mind, catching light through the kitchen window and glinting, a little spark of beauty among the pots and pans, the kettle and the toaster.

It was gorgeous. Even I knew that and I was never a kid who was dazzled by sparkly things. Gran hadn’t talked about it too much. In fact, she never really said much about her husband, my grandfather, who had died when I was only a few months old. But she’d twist the ring around her finger when she talked, like it was a comfort, even though she clearly didn’t know she was doing it. There must have been eight or ten smaller diamonds around a large central one. I couldn’t call myself an expert, but I think it was worth quite a bit. And I know it was valuable for Gran.

It disappeared from that counter. One moment there, the next gone. When Gran discovered it wasn’t there, she tried not to appear upset, but I could tell she was. Uncle Mike and I scoured the place. Nothing. It was like someone who was good at sleight of hand just palmed it, maybe on the way to make another cup of tea or something. You wouldn’t have needed much skill. Hell, you could’ve just picked it up and put it in your pocket.

There were only the three of us in the house that day. Three people who might have taken it. It’s fair to remove Gran from the list of suspects. I didn’t steal it. And when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. I think it was Sherlock Holmes who said that, though I suspect it wouldn’t have needed his remarkable skills to solve this particular crime.

Like I said, I’d loved Uncle Mike up to that point. Even then, I tried, desperately, to find another way to explain it. Good old Uncle Mike, smiling and chatty and cheerful. Couldn’t be. But of course you could smile and smile and still be a villain. Shakespeare said that and he knew his shit when it came to human nature.

Now when I looked at Uncle Mike, when he beamed and chatted and laughed, I saw a smiling monster and it made me . . . sick.

Monsters in my new bedroom, monsters in my mind. And then, just to make it a full house, Jake rocked up. One moment not there, the next sitting on the carpet near to the window. Like Gran’s engagement ring in reverse.

‘Dear God, Jakey,’ I said. ‘Can’t you leave me alone, just for once? Piss off, willya?’

But he didn’t say anything. I think I must have dozed for a few minutes, because when I looked again, he’d gone.

I didn’t sleep well.

Sonja, the palliative care nurse, turned up at ten in the morning. She gave a big smile, one that reached her eyes, when I opened the door, but it still took me a moment to realise who she was.

‘Hi, Grace,’ she said. ‘How’s your grandmother doing?’

I opened the door further to let her in.

‘She’s been better,’ I replied. It was true. Gran had been grumpy ever since I got up at about eight-thirty. Given I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep, I thought this was pretty early, but Gran told me she’d been awake since five-thirty, which made me feel bad, like leaving her alone in the early morning for three hours was some kind of dereliction of duty. But then I thought she’d been living on her own for God knows how many years, so I shouldn’t beat myself up about just a few hours of solitude. I was prepared for the big stuff – the washing, the cleaning, the getting her onto the toilet – but it was these little guilt trips that were probably going to wear me down more than anything.

Who was I kidding? I wasn’t remotely prepared for the big stuff. Or the small.

‘Do you mind me asking how old you are, Grace?’ said the nurse.

‘Yes, I do.’

She laughed.

‘Fair enough. It’s just that I was going to offer you my private number and I didn’t want to appear . . . inappropriate.’

‘Why would I need your number?’

‘In case you need any help outside of my visits,’ she said. ‘For advice or just if you need someone to talk to. I could come round if necessary. Twenty-four seven. Just give me a call.’

‘You’d do that?’ I couldn’t imagine why. If I had to think of the worst job in the world, it would be looking after someone who was dying. I mean, I could understand why a person might take on that job – it pays, presumably, though obviously I had no idea how much. But it would have to finish at the end of the working day. Go home, get pissed, smoke some weed. Shake off all the gloominess. Why would anyone volunteer to take on additional misery? Then I realised that that was exactly the job I’d put myself down for. But Gran was family. That was a big difference. Or maybe it wasn’t.

‘Of course,’ Sonja said.

‘Why?’

Sonja stretched as if to iron out some aches in her back.

‘Because it’s a privilege to be with someone in their last weeks, days, hours, and to make them comfortable, ensuring the pain is well managed and dignity is preserved.’ She smiled again. It was a great smile. ‘Does that sound really pretentious?’ she added.

‘Yes,’ I said.

She laughed again.

‘Pretentious or not, it’s true. Now, let’s see how Gran is getting on.’

Gran sat where she always sat, in her battered old armchair, a cup of tea in front of her. She barely looked up as Sonja came into the room.

‘Hi, Mrs McKellon,’ said Sonja. ‘I’m Sonja, your nurse.’

‘I remember,’ said Gran. ‘I’m dying, not stupid.’

Sonja took a chair and brought it close to Gran’s. I thought it was a good idea to get the hell out of there. Sonja had used the word ‘dignity’ and what right did I have to witness something so personal to Gran? Or maybe I’m just a coward.

‘I’ll get you a cup of tea,’ I said to Sonja.

‘That would be lovely,’ she replied.

But I didn’t. Well, I put the kettle on, but when it boiled I just stood there, leaning against the counter by the sink. There wasn’t much of a view from Gran’s kitchen, only a small amount of lawn that could barely justify its name. Maybe I should do something about it, get some grass seeds and water them in. Then I thought about how Gran wouldn’t have time to enjoy it, even if I did one of those garden makeovers that free-to-air television seems to love. All gazebos and decking and water features. It would only make the house more saleable.

Uncle Mike would love it.

So that wasn’t going to happen.

After about fifteen minutes, Sonja came into the kitchen. I almost jumped.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m getting your tea now.’

I warmed the pot on autopilot, got out another cup, put the tea bags in. Gran would have another one. Guaranteed. I even got out the Wagon Wheels from the fridge.

‘How’s she doing?’ I asked.

Sonja sighed.

‘I don’t think she likes me,’ she said. ‘She’s quite . . . aggressive.’

‘Gran doesn’t like anyone,’ I replied. ‘Even me. Perhaps especially me. She’s a grumpy old ferret at the best of times.’

‘She’s got reasons,’ said Sonja.

‘Now, maybe,’ I replied. ‘But she’s been a grumpy old ferret for as long as I can remember.’

I picked up the pot, the cup and the pack of biscuits. Cream and sugar were already in the front room, along with my glass of water. I’d probably have had a cup of tea but I like to be the odd one out.

‘I’ll have a quick word with you before I leave,’ said Sonja. ‘The medication she’s on, when I’m coming again, that sort of thing. But for now, she’s doing okay physically. Blood pressure fine. As far as I can tell, the pain isn’t too bad, though that might change, obviously.’

I nodded. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Then I did.

‘If you want Gran to like you,’ I said, ‘tell her that the Wagon Wheels seem to be getting smaller.’

Sonja wrinkled her brows, puzzled.

‘That works, does it?’

‘Trust me,’ I said. ‘She’ll probably nominate you for nurse of the year.’

Sonja laughed.

‘I’ll give it a go,’ she said.

Gran hadn’t moved, as far as I could tell, when we went back in. She took another cup of tea like she took another breath, without thinking about it. Then she picked up a Wagon Wheel.

‘Is it my imagination,’ said Sonja, ‘or are these getting smaller?’

‘It must be your imagination,’ said Gran. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

Sonja glanced at me. I gave a small shrug in apology.

Twenty minutes later I saw her out. At the front door, she told me about the tablets that Gran was on, and she gave me a card with her mobile number on it. I nodded and stuck it in my pocket.

She walked down the path, stopped and returned.

‘And you look after yourself, Grace. You hear? This must be incredibly hard. Remember. Ring me at any time, okay? Even if you just want to unload.’

I nodded and watched as she got into her car and drove off.