As soon as Uncle Mike was back, I left the house. I had no idea where I was going, but as I walked to the park I found I couldn’t stomach going there. It’s not that I have anything against ducks . . .

I found myself in a shop on the main street that I had never been to before. There was a good reason for that. It sold various items of clothing that had probably never been in fashion and certainly weren’t now. It called itself Country Woman, but sold nothing in the way of wellington boots or the kind of waterproofs that would also protect you from projectile farm-animal crap. No. This was a place where silk scarves and embroidered knitwear were prominently displayed alongside posters of women who looked like they had never been near the country, let alone a cow. They had a small but ghastly collection of swimwear, maybe for those country women who fancied a dip in the dam, should it ever be full, before cooking canapés for other country women who dropped round for prosecco and mahjong.

I chose a one-piece that had an appalling pattern in primary colours. The brighter the better, I figured, especially since I would be wearing it only the once. I shelled out most of the money I’d earned from the kids’ parties Simon had organised. Then I went to the public swimming pool.

I’d never been there before and the admission price left me as close to broke as made no difference. I got changed. I hadn’t brought a towel, I realised, but I could drip dry if necessary. Then I walked to the edge of the pool and looked down into the water.

There was a school group mucking around in the shallow end. Lots of screams, but also plenty of tiny tackers who seemed part dolphin. I can’t swim. As I have mentioned before, the closest I ever got to a swimming pool was when I forgot about the school sports day and had to sit in the bleachers watching over-competitive schoolmates thrashing around. I walked around the edge of the pool until I got to the deep end, which was mercifully free of anybody. I looked into the water again. I even curled my toes around the pool edge, for all the world like someone thinking about executing a perfect dive, cutting through the water without a ripple, rather than just jumping in and creating a tsunami.

I couldn’t swim. I hated water. In a few days I’d be sitting at the bottom of a pool with chains around me and a weight attached to my legs. Not for the first time, I wondered if I had made the right choice for my grand magic performance. I mean, on mature reflection, being able to swim was probably a good idea.

Confront your fears, Grace, I said to myself.

Then I thought, Stuff it.

I walked back to the changing rooms, got into my clothes and left. I’d worry about it when the time was right. Not that the time was ever going to be right.

When I opened the door to Gran’s house, Uncle Mike was standing there in the corridor, which was both unexpected and slightly alarming. He was smiling, which was also alarming.

‘Mum is sitting up and having a cup of tea,’ he said. ‘She’s even eating a Wagon Wheel.’

I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but it was difficult. Uncle Mike and I went into Gran’s bedroom and she was indeed sitting up, a cup of tea on her bedside table, a Wagon Wheel in hand. She gave a weak smile when she saw me.

‘Grace. My favourite granddaughter!’

‘Your only granddaughter,’ I pointed out.

‘True,’ she said. ‘So I guess you’re also my least favourite granddaughter.’

‘I’m touched,’ I said. I sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand – the one that wasn’t holding a circular chocolate biscuit. The question couldn’t be avoided any longer. ‘How are you feeling, Gran?’

‘In pain,’ she said. ‘But not in as much pain. I think . . .’

I leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

‘Just between us, Gran,’ I said. ‘Just between us.’

She nodded. I’m not a fan of secrets, unless you count how I do some of my tricks, but I thought it was best to keep my placebo routine away from Uncle Mike. He would’ve taken the piss but, to be honest, I just don’t like giving him any information if I can help it.

‘My mother would like to come and see you,’ I said.

Gran took a sip of tea, looked at the Wagon Wheel and put it on her bedside table.

‘I never knew dying would make me so popular,’ she said. ‘I should have done it sooner.’

I just cocked my head to one side. Gran smiled.

‘The other thing about dying,’ she said, ‘is that old feuds seem to lose their significance. If she would like to see me, then . . . fine. Get her people to talk to my people, see if they can make it happen.’

‘I’ll sort it,’ I said.

‘Which is why you’re my favourite granddaughter,’ she said. ‘And my least favourite.’

‘Shut up, Gran,’ I said.

The following day Sonja dropped round early, examined Gran and then came out to talk to me and Uncle Mike. I managed to get in a quick word on the way to the kitchen, asking her not to mention the placebo thing to Uncle Mike. She nodded.

‘Well,’ she said, as I stuck the kettle on and brought out the tea bags, ‘she seems much more comfortable today, which is great news. In fact, she asked if she could get out of bed, and I think that is probably a good move if she really feels up to it. As you know, lying in one position for an extended period of time creates all sorts of problems in itself, so if she can move then I’m all for it.’

‘Is it normal,’ asked Uncle Mike, ‘that she should experience less pain at this stage of her illness?’

Sonja glanced at me and then cleared her throat.

‘I certainly wouldn’t call it normal,’ she replied. ‘But if I’ve learned one thing in the course of my career, it’s that people’s experiences differ, sometimes dramatically. One person may never have high levels of pain, while another can suffer enormously. The disease isn’t predictable either. One size doesn’t fit all.’ She sighed. ‘We have a great deal to learn because so much of how the body reacts to disease is a mystery. We should just be grateful that she’s feeling better, though it’s my duty to tell you that this may not last.’

We didn’t say anything to that. But between the three of us we got Gran into a wheelchair and then into the front room. She hated the wheelchair – Uncle Mike had liaised with Sonja to borrow one from the hospital – and insisted we move her into her beaten-up old chair. She didn’t even flinch when we got her under the arms and eased her into it.

‘Ah, that’s better,’ she said. ‘I was getting sick of that damn bedroom. When I cark it, I want to do it in this chair, preferably with a cup of tea in my hand.’ She took a sip of tea and her hand barely trembled. ‘Unless, of course,’ she added, ‘George Clooney drops round, in which case get me back into that bed as quickly as possible.’ She smiled. ‘Now that would be a good way to go.’

The next couple of days passed and not much happened, except that Gran appeared to be getting better and better. She got herself to the bathroom, though I followed her every inch of the way and stayed outside the door, just in case. She even wanted to shower herself, but I drew the line at that.

One time, when Uncle Mike had popped to the shops, she took my hand and squeezed it.

‘I’m not in any pain now, Grace,’ she said. ‘None. You are a miracle worker.’

I bent my head. This was what I’d hoped for – of course it was. Taking away some of Gran’s pain, making her more comfortable. It’s why I had done that stupid trick in the first place. And probably, when all this was over, I’d consider it my greatest performance. But I wasn’t a miracle worker, because there is no such thing as a miracle. I’d tricked her mind, like I’d tricked so many minds before. And her mind had tricked her body. Simple as that. But what could I say? I couldn’t explain that to Gran, because it was her belief that was crucial. I couldn’t make that disappear without undoing everything.

‘Even my arthritis,’ she continued. ‘I’ve lived with that so long that I really didn’t notice it much anymore. But that’s gone too. Thank you, Grace. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome, Gran,’ I said. ‘But you know that your disease is still there, right? I can’t do anything about that.’

She patted my hand.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know. But all I ever wanted was to die without any pain and I think you’ve made that wish come true.’

I was tired of this misdirection. I was tired of so many things. I was grateful when Uncle Mike got back and I could go to my room, take some deep breaths and try to get my feelings under control.

The day before the big TikTok performance I met up with Simon. He wanted to come to Gran’s house, but I needed air, so we met up in the park. The ducks didn’t seem impressed to see me again, but that was okay. They didn’t impress me much either. Simon and I sat on a bench and watched them. Quiet on the surface, paddling like shit beneath it. As it turned out, we had a lot in common. Who knew?

‘It’s all sorted for tomorrow, Grace,’ Simon said. ‘Five-thirty. I’ll pick you up from your grandmother’s at quarter to five and take you to my sister’s place.’

‘How did you get rid of them?’ I asked. ‘Your family.’

He scratched his head, sighed.

‘I booked a meal for them in a restaurant in the next town,’ he said. ‘Paid for a special banquet in advance, so they couldn’t really say no, not without losing me a lot of money. Told them it was a Christmas treat, as I’d probably be away when Santa rocks up in a couple of months.’

I laughed.

‘Simon . . .’ I said.

‘Call me Si.’

‘Simon,’ I said. ‘How can you afford that? I mean, seriously. You’re a student.’

He looked a little embarrassed, gazed at the ducks for a moment.

‘I had a part-time job in Year Eleven,’ he said finally. ‘Saved most of my earnings for when I go to uni.’ He shrugged. ‘No big deal.’

I whistled.

‘You’ve spent craploads of money on stupid banners and advertising and all that,’ I pointed out. ‘Now you’ve spent more on this. Can I ask why? Just curious. What are you getting from all this? Because it sure as hell isn’t a return on your investment. We’ve had, what? Two kiddies’ birthday parties, one of which you paid half yourself. I don’t understand.’

He leaned forward, rested his forearms on his legs and locked his fingers together.

‘You think I have ulterior motives?’ he said. ‘You think I have . . . designs on you?’

I laughed again.

‘Designs, Simon? Designs? That’s a great word, but I hate to break it to you, rarely used this century. Do you read lots of bad romantic novels?’

‘I like your magic, Grace,’ he said. ‘What you do makes me feel . . . it’s difficult to explain. It’s like most of the time there is nothing to excite me in my normal life. Television is boring. Social media pisses me off. The news is depressing. What you do . . . it’s fun, I guess. It makes me wonder. It’s an escape.’ He straightened and looked at me. ‘I like your personality, your I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks way of looking at the world. It’s refreshing.’ He put his head down again. ‘That’s my only motive, the one reason I spend time with someone so . . . so . . .’

‘Annoying?’ I suggested.

‘Oh yeah,’ he said. ‘Among other things.’

‘At the risk of being even more annoying,’ I said, ‘can you get hold of a pair of bolt cutters for tomorrow?’

He raised his eyebrows at me.

‘Bolt cutters?’

‘Yeah, big ones that can cut thick chain.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m going to be in the deep end of a swimming pool with sandbags weighing me down and wrapped in thick chain. I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, but hey, insurance isn’t a bad idea.’

He smiled.

‘If things go pear-shaped, you want me to leap into the pool and cut you free? Is that it?’

‘If the only alternative is me drowning, yes. Think you could do that?’

He put a hand to his face, rubbed his chin, stared off across the lake and the ducks.

‘I’ll think about it,’ he said finally. ‘You are bloody annoying, you know.’

‘Among other things,’ I said.

I didn’t stickybeak when Mum came round to talk to Gran. There was no point. But I stayed in the kitchen just in case the confrontation became physical. Yeah, Gran might’ve been on the verge of the Big Sleep, but I’d still back her in a fistfight with my mother.

I didn’t have to. I could hear the murmur of their conversation but I couldn’t catch any details. I even heard a little bit of laughter. Mum stayed about an hour. I let her out.

‘All good?’ I asked.

‘We’ve had a full and frank discussion,’ said Mum. ‘Not sure the hatchet is completely buried, but I reckon there’s only a little bit above the surface.’

‘Good to hear.’

She made it halfway down the path before she turned back.

‘Twenty-four hours without a drink, Grace,’ she said. ‘Not bad, hey?’

‘I’m impressed,’ I replied. ‘Here’s to the next twenty-four.’

‘To hell with that,’ said Mum. ‘I’m getting myself outside a glass of vodka as soon as I get home.’

It took some time for me to fall asleep that night. For one thing, I couldn’t hear Gran through the bedroom wall and that was both worrying and brilliant. Brilliant that she wasn’t gasping in pain, worrying that maybe . . . she wasn’t there.

I went over the planned performance in my head again and again. That wasn’t like me. I normally just work on instinct, let my hands do what they do, trust my abilities. But this was tricky, involving stuff I had never attempted before, so it was impossible not to think about how it might look, what could go wrong. I even checked my rucksack – the little box of tricks was never going to be enough for this one – to make sure I had all I needed.

When I lifted my head, Jake was there, sitting on the edge of my bed. I hadn’t seen him for a while, so it was a surprise.

‘Yo, Jakey,’ I said. ‘What’s happening, bro?’

‘I’ve come to say goodbye,’ he said.

‘What? You’re leaving? Why?’

He shrugged.

‘Come on, Jake,’ I said. ‘If this is your last visit, you must know why.’

He shrugged again.

‘Look, shit-for-brains,’ I said. Okay, I was impatient. ‘Just some clues, eh? What happened in that lake? Why did you come back? Why are you going now?’ I didn’t ask all of the is there a big G/heaven? type stuff. I figured I might as well save my breath.

He shrugged, the bastard.

‘How about next week’s lotto numbers?’ I asked.

‘Bye, Grace.’

And he was gone. The little shit.

I’d miss him. Assuming I could believe a word he said.