Kieran’s Gran poured tea into the milk jug.
“Gran! ... My Gromit mug!”
“Silly me.”
The dangerous stream swept across the table leaving a golden trail that spread among cake-crumbs.
“More washing,” his Mum muttered under her breath. “Let me mop that up.”
The old lady put down the teapot in front of her and it fell into her lap, spilling yet more scalding tea over her knees, legs, feet. She cried out and Kieran jumped away from the table in horror as his Mum rushed across to pull the soaked skirt away and calm her mother. “Kieran! Quickly! Go and telephone 999 for an ambulance! Now! Now!”
He fled, leaving his Mum to wrap her winter coat around his Gran’s shocked body and ease her into the kitchen where she sat her down, got her feet into a bowl of water, grabbed a jug and began cooling the scalds. He had never rung 999 before. Friends had done it for a lark and got in trouble. He was scared and feeling important all at the same time..
“Which Emergency Service do you need?”
“Ambulance please.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“My Gran’s house.”
“What is your name, young man?”
“Kieran.”
“And where is your Gran’s house, Kieran?”
Hearing his own name in that warm, motherly voice over the phone was comforting.
“It’s at 32 Terence Road.”
“Which town is it in, please?”
“Milchett.”
“Thank you Kieran. ... The ambulance is on its way. Now I need to know about your emergency. Who needs our help?”
“It’s my Gran. She poured tea all over her legs. Mum’s in the kitchen with her trying to stop it hurting.”
“Excellent, Kieran. Well done both of you. Now can you tell me how old is your Gran?”
“Uh ... she’s ... oh I know, she had a big party last year. Mum bought her a huge card with 70 on it.”
“Very good, Kieran! She’s conscious?”
“I think so. Yes. She’s crying.”
“Do you know if she has any health problems?”
“Her hands are sometimes quite shaky. She fell over once and broke something and we went to see her in hospital quite a lot.”
“OK Kieran. Has she had any trouble with her heart?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Do you want me to ask Mum?”
“Can you take the phone in to her?”
Kieran sped back to the kitchen and held out the handset.
“I can’t take it. Put the phone on Speaker.”
“How?”
“Button. There.”
“Hallo, Mrs? ...”
“Paula Brent. My mother is Yvonne Chamberlain. What do you need to know?”
“Does Yvonne have any heart problems?”
“Not that we know of. Will the ambulance be here soon? You can hear how distressed she is.”
“It won’t be long. How did the accident happen? She poured tea on her legs?”
“Yes. She put the pot down at the edge of the table. It went all over her. There’s something wrong with her hands and coordination.”
Kieran had never been in an ambulance. The smells were strange, the men were kind. It was very exciting for a nine-year-old. He and Paula stayed with his Gran until the hospital staff took over, and then went back to see her with his Dad once she was well enough for visitors.
The consultant took Richard and Paula aside.
“I’m afraid it’s not good news, Mr. and Mrs. Brent. We have run a number of tests on Mrs. Chamberlain and the shaky hands are the onset of Parkinson’s disease. It also accounts for the lapses in mental focus. At her age the prognosis isn’t very hopeful; medication will help to stabilise her condition, but she is going to need a lot of care. Are you able to make the necessary provision for her?”
The shocked couple looked at each other. Paula said,
“She’s my mother. We’ll do all we can.”
So Gran, scars healing, moved in with Kieran and his parents. Paula gave up her legal practice to be a full-time carer, and Richard ordered a stair-lift so that his frail mother-in-law could get up to her comfortable room at the top of the big old house - their home since a late marriage fifteen years ago. (Kieran had been a surprise.)
“What’s that?” Kieran asked, returning from school to find a team of fitters fixing a very long rail to brackets up the wall side of the staircase.
“Aha!” said a friendly man,”This is for the electric chair!”
“Is that for Gran?”
“Yes indeed.”
“Is it going all the way up?”
“Right to her bedroom door.”
“Gran! Gran! Have you seen what they’re doing?”
He ran into the living room and jigged in front of his grandmother. She stared back, stony-faced.
“Who are you, boy? Get out of my house!”
“Gran?”
“Get out! Out!”
“I’m Kieran, Gran.”
Paula rushed in from the kitchen, hands covered in flour.
“Kieran, don’t mind your Gran. She’s ill. She can’t recognise you.”
“Why?”
“It’s part of the disease, darling...” tears crept down Paula’s cheeks and she tried to brush them away. Her face was smeared white with damp flour.
Kieran stepped cautiously over to the old lady and gave her a soft kiss. She drew back.
“I still love you, Gran. I still know who you are.”
The wonderful electric chair was finished. Yvonne was helped into it for the first time and Richard walked beside her as she glided up to the top of the house. It seemed to calm her. She had days of lucidity when the medication was working well and her tremors were less troubling and she knew where she was and who was with her. On one of these days she said as Kieran settled her onto the stair-lift, “I’m going all the way up now! All the way to Heaven!” And she smiled right into his eyes and made his heart jump.
Three days later Paula went into her mother’s room to wash and dress her for breakfast and the bed was still. Kieran heard her shocked sobs and fetched his father. Nobody asked him to do anything and apart from a consoling hug from his Mum ... “Gran was old and very ill, sweetheart. We’re all going to miss her...” he felt terribly alone. At the funeral a couple of weeks later there were people he had never met before - aunts, uncles, cousins who had long been scattered about the United Kingdom and only known through signatures on Christmas cards. At the service they sang hymns he vaguely recognised from school, and a clergy lady gave a speech about his Gran’s life that seemed to have little to do with the welcoming, feisty old lady he had seen every week since he could remember. Gran had never been a church-goer. The hubbub afterwards at home was too much for him; he ate half a paste sandwich and crept away into the hall. The electric chair was empty. Who would use it now? Kieran slid onto the seat and threw the toggle switch. The chair moved gently up from the hall toward the first floor, then curved around the landing toward the top floor stairs. It was so quiet.
The light from the Velux window was terribly bright and hurt his eyes. He blinked. He was completely surrounded by light. He was lost in light. What was happening? Where were the walls? the ceiling? the door? the downstairs voices? ... Kieran gripped the chair arms in panic.
“Kieran!”
That was Gran’s voice!
But Gran was dead.
“Don’t be frightened, Kieran. Look straight ahead, straight into the light.”
It didn’t hurt any more. Standing in front of him, just as he remembered her, wearing her old blue skirt and the navy cardigan with one pearl button missing, was his grandmother.
“I told you I was going all the way up to Heaven.”
“Gran! Have I died too?” Nervous, he reached out for her hand.
“No, precious grandson! ... but I can’t touch you, I am now made entirely of light. And more alive than I have ever been. And what is more,” she smiled with the delight of a conspirator,”I can stay close to you now, closer than breath! Whenever you are lonely - like today, poor lamb - or unhappy, or struggling, or just want someone to share a secret or a joy, all you have to do is think of me and I’ll be right there. Talk to me in your mind. I shall answer. Ask me any question; I shall help you. Just as you have been helping me, bless your heart.”
The exquisite brilliance rippled; Yvonne bent her head to kiss her favourite boy. He felt the softest warmth on his brow, lifted his head to return the kiss ... and the vision was gone. But his life was changed forever.
When he stepped off the electric chair in the downstairs hall his eyes were shining.
“Where have you been?” asked Paula. “Where are your manners, Kieran?”
“Mum, can I have Gran’s room?” he asked.
“Gran! ... My Gromit mug!”
“Silly me.”
The dangerous stream swept across the table leaving a golden trail that spread among cake-crumbs.
“More washing,” his Mum muttered under her breath. “Let me mop that up.”
The old lady put down the teapot in front of her and it fell into her lap, spilling yet more scalding tea over her knees, legs, feet. She cried out and Kieran jumped away from the table in horror as his Mum rushed across to pull the soaked skirt away and calm her mother. “Kieran! Quickly! Go and telephone 999 for an ambulance! Now! Now!”
He fled, leaving his Mum to wrap her winter coat around his Gran’s shocked body and ease her into the kitchen where she sat her down, got her feet into a bowl of water, grabbed a jug and began cooling the scalds. He had never rung 999 before. Friends had done it for a lark and got in trouble. He was scared and feeling important all at the same time..
“Which Emergency Service do you need?”
“Ambulance please.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“My Gran’s house.”
“What is your name, young man?”
“Kieran.”
“And where is your Gran’s house, Kieran?”
Hearing his own name in that warm, motherly voice over the phone was comforting.
“It’s at 32 Terence Road.”
“Which town is it in, please?”
“Milchett.”
“Thank you Kieran. ... The ambulance is on its way. Now I need to know about your emergency. Who needs our help?”
“It’s my Gran. She poured tea all over her legs. Mum’s in the kitchen with her trying to stop it hurting.”
“Excellent, Kieran. Well done both of you. Now can you tell me how old is your Gran?”
“Uh ... she’s ... oh I know, she had a big party last year. Mum bought her a huge card with 70 on it.”
“Very good, Kieran! She’s conscious?”
“I think so. Yes. She’s crying.”
“Do you know if she has any health problems?”
“Her hands are sometimes quite shaky. She fell over once and broke something and we went to see her in hospital quite a lot.”
“OK Kieran. Has she had any trouble with her heart?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Do you want me to ask Mum?”
“Can you take the phone in to her?”
Kieran sped back to the kitchen and held out the handset.
“I can’t take it. Put the phone on Speaker.”
“How?”
“Button. There.”
“Hallo, Mrs? ...”
“Paula Brent. My mother is Yvonne Chamberlain. What do you need to know?”
“Does Yvonne have any heart problems?”
“Not that we know of. Will the ambulance be here soon? You can hear how distressed she is.”
“It won’t be long. How did the accident happen? She poured tea on her legs?”
“Yes. She put the pot down at the edge of the table. It went all over her. There’s something wrong with her hands and coordination.”
Kieran had never been in an ambulance. The smells were strange, the men were kind. It was very exciting for a nine-year-old. He and Paula stayed with his Gran until the hospital staff took over, and then went back to see her with his Dad once she was well enough for visitors.
The consultant took Richard and Paula aside.
“I’m afraid it’s not good news, Mr. and Mrs. Brent. We have run a number of tests on Mrs. Chamberlain and the shaky hands are the onset of Parkinson’s disease. It also accounts for the lapses in mental focus. At her age the prognosis isn’t very hopeful; medication will help to stabilise her condition, but she is going to need a lot of care. Are you able to make the necessary provision for her?”
The shocked couple looked at each other. Paula said,
“She’s my mother. We’ll do all we can.”
So Gran, scars healing, moved in with Kieran and his parents. Paula gave up her legal practice to be a full-time carer, and Richard ordered a stair-lift so that his frail mother-in-law could get up to her comfortable room at the top of the big old house - their home since a late marriage fifteen years ago. (Kieran had been a surprise.)
“What’s that?” Kieran asked, returning from school to find a team of fitters fixing a very long rail to brackets up the wall side of the staircase.
“Aha!” said a friendly man,”This is for the electric chair!”
“Is that for Gran?”
“Yes indeed.”
“Is it going all the way up?”
“Right to her bedroom door.”
“Gran! Gran! Have you seen what they’re doing?”
He ran into the living room and jigged in front of his grandmother. She stared back, stony-faced.
“Who are you, boy? Get out of my house!”
“Gran?”
“Get out! Out!”
“I’m Kieran, Gran.”
Paula rushed in from the kitchen, hands covered in flour.
“Kieran, don’t mind your Gran. She’s ill. She can’t recognise you.”
“Why?”
“It’s part of the disease, darling...” tears crept down Paula’s cheeks and she tried to brush them away. Her face was smeared white with damp flour.
Kieran stepped cautiously over to the old lady and gave her a soft kiss. She drew back.
“I still love you, Gran. I still know who you are.”
The wonderful electric chair was finished. Yvonne was helped into it for the first time and Richard walked beside her as she glided up to the top of the house. It seemed to calm her. She had days of lucidity when the medication was working well and her tremors were less troubling and she knew where she was and who was with her. On one of these days she said as Kieran settled her onto the stair-lift, “I’m going all the way up now! All the way to Heaven!” And she smiled right into his eyes and made his heart jump.
Three days later Paula went into her mother’s room to wash and dress her for breakfast and the bed was still. Kieran heard her shocked sobs and fetched his father. Nobody asked him to do anything and apart from a consoling hug from his Mum ... “Gran was old and very ill, sweetheart. We’re all going to miss her...” he felt terribly alone. At the funeral a couple of weeks later there were people he had never met before - aunts, uncles, cousins who had long been scattered about the United Kingdom and only known through signatures on Christmas cards. At the service they sang hymns he vaguely recognised from school, and a clergy lady gave a speech about his Gran’s life that seemed to have little to do with the welcoming, feisty old lady he had seen every week since he could remember. Gran had never been a church-goer. The hubbub afterwards at home was too much for him; he ate half a paste sandwich and crept away into the hall. The electric chair was empty. Who would use it now? Kieran slid onto the seat and threw the toggle switch. The chair moved gently up from the hall toward the first floor, then curved around the landing toward the top floor stairs. It was so quiet.
The light from the Velux window was terribly bright and hurt his eyes. He blinked. He was completely surrounded by light. He was lost in light. What was happening? Where were the walls? the ceiling? the door? the downstairs voices? ... Kieran gripped the chair arms in panic.
“Kieran!”
That was Gran’s voice!
But Gran was dead.
“Don’t be frightened, Kieran. Look straight ahead, straight into the light.”
It didn’t hurt any more. Standing in front of him, just as he remembered her, wearing her old blue skirt and the navy cardigan with one pearl button missing, was his grandmother.
“I told you I was going all the way up to Heaven.”
“Gran! Have I died too?” Nervous, he reached out for her hand.
“No, precious grandson! ... but I can’t touch you, I am now made entirely of light. And more alive than I have ever been. And what is more,” she smiled with the delight of a conspirator,”I can stay close to you now, closer than breath! Whenever you are lonely - like today, poor lamb - or unhappy, or struggling, or just want someone to share a secret or a joy, all you have to do is think of me and I’ll be right there. Talk to me in your mind. I shall answer. Ask me any question; I shall help you. Just as you have been helping me, bless your heart.”
The exquisite brilliance rippled; Yvonne bent her head to kiss her favourite boy. He felt the softest warmth on his brow, lifted his head to return the kiss ... and the vision was gone. But his life was changed forever.
When he stepped off the electric chair in the downstairs hall his eyes were shining.
“Where have you been?” asked Paula. “Where are your manners, Kieran?”
“Mum, can I have Gran’s room?” he asked.