Bit by bit Taz explained what had happened. You see, his grandma had died.
Not that he knew his grandma at all. He’d seen photos but that was it. Because when his mum decided to marry his dad, the family cut his mum off. Like, they didn’t want to have anything to do with her. It’s hard to get your head round that. To them, she was throwing away everything: her religion, her culture. She was rejecting them in favour of this bloke who worked in a factory, who drank in a pub, ate pork. They mourned for her as if she was dead. That’s what Taz told me.
But I can see why she would have wanted to do that. Just because you’re born in a family it doesn’t mean they’re going to suit you, does it? Like, you can’t choose your family. But anyway, Taz’s mum was regretful, but she was really into his dad, so it was OK. So Taz had grown up knowing about this other family he never saw, the ones that were responsible for the colour of his skin and the fact his mum got this faraway look in her eyes sometimes, or made chapattis for a surprise. His dad is all right, Taz said, but just a bit quiet. The sort of person who watches telly, reads the paper, doesn’t say much, just sits there. His mum tried to teach Taz stuff about his religion and when he was little he liked the stories. And at school the teachers just assumed he was Muslim and it was easier for him not to say anything. At secondary school, though, he did normal RE and he just reckoned all of it was rubbish. Well, you can understand that. I noticed you had a cross tattooed on your arm, Dave. Does that mean you’re a Christian? Weird.
But I’m going off the point. So a couple of days ago one of his aunties rang up – the one who secretly kept up contact, auntie Shaheen. His grandma had had a stroke; she was in the hospital. Hamira – that’s his mum – was devastated. Taz said it was like she’d only seen her mum yesterday, she was that upset. And she wanted to go and visit her in the hospital. Frank – that’s Taz’s dad – said not to bother, no one would want to see her. But Hamira wouldn’t listen. Taz didn’t want her to go to the hospital by herself so he went with her.
They made enquiries and found the right ward. Taz said they walked in past beds with screens round them not knowing which one the grandma was in, until Hamira clutched hold of Taz’s hand. He saw all these women and one of them was his auntie Shaheen. The women of the family were all around the grandma’s bed. And Hamira walked towards them, slowly, and auntie Shaheen looked shocked and welcoming all at once, and they got to the foot of the bed, and the grandma sort of raised her head and had this startled look on her face. And before Taz had time to work out what it meant women were ushering his mum away from the bed, talking in their own language but it was clear enough what they were saying – go away, she doesn’t want to see you, you’re upsetting her, you’re killing her – and Hamira began to cry in these gulping sobs. Taz said he wanted to smash someone’s face in.
They sat in the corridor for a while and some nurses asked if they were all right, and Taz said yes, he was looking after his mum. And eventually they went home on the bus and she couldn’t say a word. But when they got home she got her Koran out and sat there mumbling prayers. Frank told her to give over, that the past was the past.
Then that Saturday afternoon Shaheen rang to say the grandma had died. There was a big row in Taz’s house because Hamira wanted to go to her father’s house and help see to the body and Frank said she was daft, they wouldn’t let her past the front door. But she was going on about it being her fault, her mother dying so young, she had brought grief on them, and Frank said she was mad. So did Taz. Then she said she would never be at peace if she couldn’t be there. She broke away, went upstairs to find her salwaar kameez, and again it was Taz who went with her to her old family. His dad had given her up as a lost cause.
So they went round to the grandparents’ house. The women washed and prepared the body there, then later the men went to the mosque for the funeral. When Taz’s mum knocked on the door a couple of men answered it. Taz didn’t know who they were. At first they didn’t recognise her either, but then when they did it was terrible. They called her names, blocked the entrance, she was pleading with them, they looked at Taz like he’d just crawled out from under a stone. Taz swore at them, one of them got him by the collar and Taz was just about to lay into him when another older man came out – he guessed it was his grandad – and everything calmed down. He looked at Hamira and shook his head – there were tears in his eyes – and Hamira just turned and went. Taz went with her.
She tried to say the prayers at home but she couldn’t for crying. Taz couldn’t help because he didn’t understand. Frank wouldn’t turn the match off so they had to go into the bedroom. He got his mum to take some paracetamol and he tried to calm her down. He didn’t want to leave her. Then later Frank came upstairs and apologised but said he knew this would happen. But he was being kinder then, and told Taz to beat it. So he got the bus into town hoping I hadn’t got fed up waiting.
He told me all that when we were sitting on the embankment, in between gulps of vodka. I got really upset for his mum. I told Taz my grandma had died too. It was three years ago, but it didn’t affect us too much because she was living in a Home about sixty miles away. We only saw her once every six weeks when it was our turn. I was sad when she died and my mum was very brave. I didn’t go to the funeral. Mum said it was well conducted and helpful. I can hardly remember my grandmother, only her elegant handwriting on my annual birthday card. So I said to Taz that I was like him, really, losing someone I never knew I had.
Then he was quiet for a long time. He’s one of those people who keeps things bottled up and I knew even then it was amazing that he should have told me all that. I took it that he felt close to me and I was honoured. It means more, doesn’t it, when someone opens up to you, than any success you might have, more than good grades, money, fame. So it muddled me, feeling good about being Taz’s confidante, but bad on his behalf. Only I told him a kind of lie when I said I was like him, losing a grandma. Because as I was listening to him it was really his mother I was relating to. She did the same as me. Opted out. And it spooked me that she kind of regretted it. But I didn’t want to go any further down that road. Instead I wanted to stay close to Taz, to cheer him up. It was hard to know what to do next. So I passed him the vodka again.