After that little episode, it was odds on I was going to be suspended from school but, as it turned out, that didn’t happen. I left the grounds, though I can’t remember exactly how that came about – my memories of the whole incident remain pretty murky – and went back to Gran’s place. The principal of the school tried to ring Mum, but she wasn’t answering her phone, so she went to the second person on the list. Uncle Mike. Yes, I have my mother and my uncle as the only people on the school’s contact list in case of emergencies. If that doesn’t speak volumes about the mess that is my life, I don’t know what does.

Uncle Mike apparently went to the school and gave the principal all the sordid details about Grace McKellon. My dying grandmother, my role in her last days and the situation involving my mother. Word had got around about Mum’s arrest, as I knew it would. He offered to buy the kid whose phone I’d broken a new one and that set him back a couple of grand, since the freckle-faced arsehole demanded only the newest, the best and obviously the most expensive. Turns out I’d done him a massive favour by my vandalism. After the principal heard all that, she agreed that no disciplinary action would be taken against me, but it was also agreed that a couple of weeks away from school, by mutual consent, would be beneficial for my ‘mental health’.

All of this came out later. Uncle Mike left immediately when I went back to Gran’s. At the time I thought that he was glad to get out of there, maybe get in some window shopping before his inheritance, but that was when he went to the school to sort out the mess I’d created.

I sat in a chair across from Gran and we gazed at each other for a few minutes.

‘You look like shit, Grace,’ she said.

‘Says someone who’s on the brink of death,’ I said. ‘You’re no oil painting yourself, Gran.’

She laughed, even though it caused her pain.

‘The deal was always about honesty,’ she replied. ‘I can’t complain you’re not keeping up your end of the bargain.’ She shifted slightly in her chair, gave a small gasp, composed herself. ‘Want to watch a DVD?’ she asked. ‘I’m in the mood for a romcom. How about Love Actually?’

‘How about actually not?’ I said. ‘I want to talk about the accident. When my father and brother were killed and, by some miracle, I survived.’

I didn’t think it was possible that my grandmother would age more, but that’s what seemed to happen. She flinched. Then she flinched again as the action brought her pain. Here I was, supposedly bringing her some relief in her last days, but doing the opposite. Causing pain, emotional and physical. But I just sat there and kept my eyes fixed on hers.

‘That’s not something I like to talk about,’ she said after about twenty seconds of silence. ‘And I can’t give you answers anyway. You know what happened. Well, I know you don’t remember, but you know everything that anyone knows. Why make me go over it for no reason that I can understand?’

‘The deal was about honesty, Gran,’ I said. ‘And it cuts both ways. Yes, I know the facts as far as they’re known. But I don’t know why your relationship with my mother fell apart after that day. That’s one answer you could give.’ I’d got that much from my mother and the occasional word from Uncle Mike, though nothing from Gran herself. Before the accident, I’d worked out, she’d tolerated her daughter-in-law. They weren’t mates, but they got along, probably for the sake of my father. Afterwards, it was like she blamed her for what had happened, even though Mum was nowhere near. What had my mother said? I think your Gran wanted me to have died instead. Something like that. There was a story there and it was time for it to come out.

I said as much to my grandmother. I even pointed out that time was running short. She nodded. I expected her to hate me, but she just nodded. Then she closed her eyes.

‘As you know, your father was driving to come and see me.’ She sighed. ‘At my request, which is something I’ve never been able to forgive myself for. He had you and Jake in the car because it was really you I wanted to see. My grandchildren. My only grandchildren.’ She lapsed into silence for so long that I wondered if she had fallen asleep. But then she stirred, opened her eyes.

‘The reason I was so desperate to see you was that you’d all been on holiday for a few weeks, driving around Western Australia. A huge trip. The day of the accident your father had been driving for ten hours straight. Your mother should have taken up some of that driving duty, but she didn’t. She . . .’

‘She was drunk,’ I added.

‘I don’t know, Grace. I really don’t. Here’s all I know. Your father rang me when he dropped her off at your home. He dropped her off because he said she was feeling under the weather. I’d known about your mother’s under-the-weather ways before. So, yes, I think she’d been drinking.’ Was there a tear in the corner of her eye? It was difficult to tell. ‘But I’ve no idea how much. Then your father drove here. If I’d known then the amount of driving he’d already done, I would have put him off. What did one day matter? But he drove.’ Gran took a very deep breath. ‘It was a half-hour drive from where you were living then. As they said at the inquest, he must have fallen asleep at the wheel, driven into that lake. My son and grandson didn’t survive. You did. They found you on the bank of the lake, covered in mud, but alive. That’s all I know, Grace. Are you satisfied?’

‘Yes, Gran,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’

But I wasn’t really. Satisfied or sorry. Her story explained some things. Not all, but some. Gran’s feelings of guilt because she was the one who asked Dad to drive over that day, when he should have been relaxing rather than doing his duty to his mother. Her guilt that her grandson lost his life before it had even really started. Lost just because she wanted to see him. A trivial reason, criminal in its selfishness. Anger at my mother because she should have been driving. If she hadn’t been drinking then maybe the accident wouldn’t have happened. If, if, if. I remembered Gran standing there on the day of the funeral, looking off into either nothing or something that no one else could see. Guilt. Anger. Grief. All there in that long gaze.

What it couldn’t explain, of course, that story of hers given through so much pain, was why I survived and they didn’t. It didn’t explain the guilt I felt ever after, the guilt that still tormented me. I survived. Could I have helped them, my father and brother? Was the chance there, and I didn’t take it because I was too concerned about saving myself? Yeah, I was only six, but still . . . Maybe the answer was somewhere in my head, but I didn’t know where and I had no idea how to find it.

‘Shall I put on Love Actually?’ I asked Gran.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said. There was only tiredness in her voice. ‘Put on The Green Mile again. That seems more . . . fitting.’

Sonja came round just as the movie was finishing. She watched the end of it with us and then ran through her routine with Gran, topping up her pain medication, taking her blood pressure, checking her respiratory rate. When that was done, she let Gran know that Doctors Gardner and D’Ath were talking and would be back in the morning, when they hoped to be able to give some news regarding Gran’s request for voluntary assisted dying. Gran listened, but she wasn’t paying much attention. I think she was mainly back in the past, going over conversations with her son, my father – those she’d had and those she wanted to change. Another reason for me to feel guilty. The thought hurt, but then again, I deserved to be hurting.

Sonja and I went into the back garden when Uncle Mike got home. We sat for a while without speaking.

‘Gran is in terrible pain,’ I said. ‘Is there really nothing else you can do?’

‘We discuss and review your Gran every day,’ she said, ‘and increase her medications accordingly.’ She sounded tired. It crossed my mind again how a job like hers must wear you down. It’s bad enough dealing with your own pain without taking on the burden of others’. ‘We’re doing what we can. It’s not just pain medication she’s on but a whole range of other things, and all of them are designed to make her as comfortable as possible. That’s the aim, anyway. Sometimes it doesn’t work out quite like that.’

We sat in silence again. I offered her some tea, but she turned that down.

‘There’s one thing I could suggest, Grace,’ she said, ‘but I don’t think you’ll be very impressed by it.’

‘Try me,’ I said.

‘A placebo. You know what a placebo is, I take it?’

‘It’s a fake drug given to people that’s designed to have no effect whatsoever. Isn’t it used in drug trials so that scientists can tell if the real drug is actually any good?’

‘Pretty much,’ said Sonja. ‘But placebos are complicated things, as it turns out.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘It’s an interest of mine.’

‘Go on.’

‘I say placebos are interesting things, but of course they aren’t really. They’re a trick. It’s the mind and the way it reacts to placebos that is the really interesting part.’

She went on to explain. For many years placebos were used in clinical trials to test how effective a treatment was. One group would get the actual drug while another group would be given something with no benefit whatsoever, a pill containing nothing. It was considered very important that neither group knew what they were being given. A blind test. A control group. Then the reactions of the groups would be compared. If those receiving a placebo had the same reaction as those getting the drug – whether that be improvement, worsening or no change in the condition – then the drug obviously didn’t work and that line of research could be discontinued.

‘The truth is, though, Grace,’ she continued, ‘that sometimes placebos can have positive effects, especially when it comes to pain management. There’s no medical reason why they should, but they do. This is what’s called the placebo effect. So when it’s said that a placebo has no effect whatsoever, that isn’t quite right.’

‘It works because the patient believes it’s doing them good, even though it isn’t?’

‘Again, not quite that simple,’ said Sonja. ‘It’s still not understood how it happens, but it’s not just mind over matter. It’s not magical or mystical, because the science tells us that physical changes in the body occur, neurobiological reactions, sometimes leading to an increase in endorphins and dopamine, the body’s natural painkillers. Scans of the brain sometimes show greater activity in regions linked to moods and emotions. In short, the placebo effect is how your brain tells your body what is needed to make it feel better.’

‘And this could make Gran more comfortable?’

‘It’s possible. Maybe not likely, but possible. Of course, a placebo could never treat a disease. Cancer cannot be cured by a placebo, but it might – I repeat might – make the pain more manageable.’

‘Then how could it work? I mean, she’s already dosed up. What would giving her another pill achieve?’

‘It’s about expectations. If a patient thinks it will do them good, then it might. But they have to believe that and to believe it, the placebo must come from a respectable source, someone the patient trust and believes.’ She scratched her head. ‘I seem to remember a very interesting case study where someone showed a definite improvement in their perception of pain when they were given big red pills from a medical professional they trusted. There was nothing in the pills but they appeared to have an effect.’

‘Big red pills?’

‘Yes. For some reason, the more dramatic the appearance of the placebo, the more likely the mind is to believe it will do them good. Big and red does the trick.’

‘Not sure Gran will buy that,’ I said. ‘As we know, she’s still dealing from a full pack.’

‘Yes. And I’m not sure she would consider me a trusted professional. We haven’t got the history for that. But it might be worth trying, that’s all I’m saying.’

I thought it over.

‘What have we got to lose?’ I said.

‘Exactly,’ said Sonja.

I spent a couple of hours in my bedroom that evening, practising my magic. Whatever had screwed over my skills at school had disappeared, because the routines I went through were all smooth. In fact, some of the tricks I did turned out better. Mind over matter.

When my phone rang it could only be one of two people, Mum or Simon, since Gran and Uncle Mike were in the living room, drinking tea and eating Wagon Wheels. Well, Uncle Mike was eating Wagon Wheels.

It was Simon. I felt sad that it wasn’t my mother. And then I felt worried. Either she didn’t want to talk to me or she was so drunk she couldn’t talk to anyone, or she was dead. None of these possibilities sounded good.

‘Hi, Simon,’ I said. I don’t know why I answered. I don’t normally. This time I just felt like it. Plus I owed him for trying to give me comfort in the schoolyard. Then I thought again. I didn’t owe him. He did what he considered was the right thing, so that was down to him and had nothing to do with me.

‘Hey, Grace,’ came his voice. ‘How are you?’

‘No longer batshit crazy,’ I replied. ‘Well, no more than normal.’

‘So still fairly batshit crazy then?’

‘What do you want, Simon?’

There was quite a long silence.

‘I wanted to find out how you are. That’s all. You had me worried.’

‘Do you want to come round?’

‘What?’

‘Do you want to come round to my place? Maybe we could do another video.’

There was another silence.

‘You’re going to tell me where you live?’

‘No. You’re going to have to guess. Of course I’ll tell you, dipstick.’

Silence. He was fond of them, it seemed.

‘Okay.’

I gave him Gran’s address and he said he would be there in twenty minutes. Then I went and told my uncle and grandmother that we were expecting a guest, though if Gran was too tired or not in the mood for company, we could stay in my bedroom. Gran gave a smile.

‘A boyfriend, Grace?’ she asked.

‘He’s a boy and he thinks he’s my friend. That’s it.’

‘I would love to meet him,’ said Gran.

‘Will you be on your best behaviour?’ I asked.

‘Doubtful,’ said Gran.

So I guess I’d been warned.

It didn’t start well.

‘Aren’t you a sight for geriatric eyes?’ said Gran when Simon had shaken Uncle Mike’s hand and then greeted her. ‘Do you go to the gym?’

Simon gave an uneasy smile and caught my eye.

‘It’s best to ignore my grandmother,’ I said. ‘It works for me.’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs McKellon,’ said Simon, ignoring my advice and thus leaving himself wide open.

‘I should warn you,’ said Gran, ‘that if you have any romantic desires towards my granddaughter, then you should be aware that she bats for the other side.’

‘Gran!’ I said. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that I am not gay? I have no romantic interest in anyone, male or female.’

‘I stand corrected,’ said Gran, meeting Simon’s eyes. ‘Obviously, she’s gender neutral. I’ve heard it’s all the rage these days.’

‘Gran! Just hurry up and die.’

‘I’m trying my hardest, dear,’ said Gran. She smiled.

Uncle Mike and Simon both looked appalled at our exchange. Well, Simon looked confused, but my uncle wasn’t pleased. I didn’t care. Neither did Gran.

It was Simon’s idea to video a trick for the TikTok channel in front of Gran and Uncle Mike. Gran, in particular, was keen – not only because she loves watching me do my thing but also because she liked the idea of being in a video that was going to be watched by thousands. Perhaps she was hoping that George Clooney would spot it and recognise the woman of his dreams.

Simon set up his phone and I got my stuff from the bedroom. I hadn’t thought too much about what I was going to do, but I reckoned it was best to keep this as simple as possible. Simple, but impressive. So I decided on close-up card tricks. Simon positioned the camera so that Gran was in frame, as well as my hands on a small table I brought in. He gave me the thumbs up and I started.

The first part was straightforward but also looked good to those who had no idea how it was done. I fanned out the pack, showing it was a standard deck with a blue design on the back, brought it back together, ran a hand over the top card and then fanned out again. This time the pack was completely blank on both sides. I passed my hand over again and it was the standard deck but this time with a red design on the back. I did this a few times at high speed, alternating the colours, before putting the cards face down. I picked up the top card and turned it over. It was the nine of diamonds. I flicked it onto the table and it was the ace of spades. I turned it over to show the red design and then turned it again to show the nine of diamonds. Turned again to show the blue design. Then I placed my hand flat on the card and when I lifted my palm the card had gone. I reached forward towards Gran’s head and took the nine of diamonds and the ace of spades from behind her ear, put them flat on the table . . .

Listen, I could describe the whole routine, but close-up magic only works when you’re watching. Words can’t do it justice. Suffice to say that I was in good form, my hands moving in a blur, the cards doing all sorts of apparently impossible transformations. I caught a glimpse of Uncle Mike from the corner of my eye and even he seemed impressed, though I imagined he knew how some of this was done. He was watching my hands closely, but I didn’t think he’d be able to spot anything. Like I say, I was on form.

I brought the routine to an end by ripping a couple of cards into quarters, placing them into my closed hands and then opening to reveal them intact, framing a single red rose which I handed to Gran.

‘Cut!’ I said.

There was a silence for about two seconds and then everyone started applauding. I think the act of clapping caused Gran pain, but she did it anyway.

‘That was terrific, Grace,’ said Uncle Mike.

‘Brilliant,’ said Simon.

Gran took my hands in hers.

‘You are a wonder,’ she whispered. This time I knew there were tears in her eyes. ‘You can do anything with those hands, Grace. Anything. I’m so proud of you.’

I lifted her wrinkled hands to my mouth and kissed them.

When I showed Simon out he told me the TikTok was going really well, that I had a quarter of a million followers or something silly like that, and that the videos had been watched . . . well, I can’t remember the exact number of times, but it was an impressive one.

‘I reckon you’re going to get a huge online reaction to your final trick,’ he said. ‘It’s in less than a week, remember?’

I’d forgotten. Less than a week? I had the routine organised in my head, but I hadn’t been able to get in any practice holding my breath underwater because Gran’s place only has a shower. I’d have to go home at some point. I also had to see what was going on with Mum. Here I was trying to help Gran, but I hadn’t really tried to help my own mother. The thought had been gnawing at me for a while.

‘I’ll be ready,’ I said to Simon. I was going to tell him that it might not happen if Gran’s condition got worse or if her date with death, assuming the doctors got their shit together, coincided, but I didn’t. It wasn’t any of his business, just Gran’s and mine and Uncle Mike’s.

‘Have you got the pool organised?’ I said instead.

He frowned.

‘Working on it. It’s not easy getting a whole family out of their own house when they don’t want to leave.’

‘I have faith in you.’

‘That makes one of us,’ he said.

‘I hope your girlfriend knows how lucky she is,’ I said, as he walked away down the front path. He stopped and turned. Why had I said that? It was totally unlike me. And I also worried he might think I was coming on to him. This is why I generally don’t like talking to people. Words are trickier to manipulate than playing cards.

‘Apparently not,’ he said. ‘She dumped me.’

‘Why?’

He shrugged.

‘It appears that hugging a friend of mine on school grounds wasn’t acceptable behaviour.’

I wasn’t sure what to say, but it seemed important to say something. So I went for the obvious.

‘I’m sorry.’

Simon smiled.

‘Don’t be,’ he said. ‘It was only a matter of time anyway.’

I couldn’t sleep, though for once that wasn’t because of Gran in the next room.

I couldn’t sleep because a number of things were swirling in my mind. David Blaine. Frogs. Sonja. Magic is always in the mind of the audience. Trick medicine. Tom Hanks. A performance. It was an unlikely mixture, but out of it a plan was starting to form.

I had no idea if it would work.