Her gran stopped walking to peel off her scarf. She folded it up, clasping her hands around it. Familiar paper-thin hands, with brown spots and lumps of bone from arthritis. They could move so quickly when she was knitting, jabbing the sharp needles back and forth. She used to prod Harriet with them when she wanted her attention, hard enough to make her wince.
“You should stop this terrible behaviour. For your grandmother’s sake,” Rima pleaded.
“Norma.” Harriet’s mouth was dry. “Her name is Norma.”
For some reason, her feet were glued to the ground. She’d imagined this moment for so long. This was their reunion, at last. This was what she’d been working so hard for. Why, then, did she feel so numb?
Norma licked her lips. “Are you there, Harriet?”
They all froze.
“What?” Harriet asked.
Harriet and her grandmother first visited the university on an open day last spring. Let’s take a look. They’re standing in that crowd by the tour guide. Doesn’t Harriet look young? With straightened hair and too much eyeliner?
Her gran has a too-large handbag tucked under her arm; a visitor badge sticker peeling off her tweed jacket. They’re cutting through the car park on their way to view the library, so quickly that you’d almost miss them. But I sifted through the days, opening up moments until I found this. It’s the first time Harriet saw Mulcture Hall.
She points it out to her grandmother, comments on the lack of car parking on campus, frowns into the sky as it starts to drizzle, and then she’s gone. Her grandmother is slower, old and stiff, and lingers in the shadow of Mulcture Hall to catch her breath. She looks up at the building for the length of a heartbeat, and then she’s gone, too, following her granddaughter to admire the library.
Did you see it? The starting point for another story? Or, rather, the start of the next chapter. Maybe next time I tell it, I’ll begin here. With the grandmother.
Chapter 21
HARRIET
“I assume by now that someone has fetched my granddaughter,” her gran said. “If not, can one of you please find her?”
“Does she believe in ghosts?” Rima asked, out of the corner of her mouth.
Harriet shrugged helplessly. She pinned her hand against her side to hide the way she was shaking. “I don’t know! She must do! Why is she here?”
Nothing about this felt right. She couldn’t understand the thick sludge of foreboding in her belly, spreading cold through her bones. “I’m going to go. Keep an eye on her until she leaves, will you?”
“Harriet?” Norma asked, tilting her head like she had heard her. She turned to look behind her, and then stumbled. Her bad ankle crumpled under her and she tripped forwards. Norma gasped, throwing her hands out to try to catch herself. The silk scarf drifted from her fingers.
“No!” Harriet shouted, as they all lunged towards her gran, but their hands passed through her as she fell. It happened in slow motion. Norma let out a surprised cry, and her knees gave way. Her head knocked into the wall, ricocheting off the concrete. She lay there, blinking dopily. There was a trickle of bright-red blood dripping down her temple.
Harriet sobbed. What could she do to help? There was nothing. If she still had her phone, she could call for help, but she was dead. All she could do was watch.
Norma raised a hand to her forehead, touching the blood. Eyes closed, she winced deeply, rolling over onto her back.
“Harriet,” she said, and then paused, taking a deep breath. Blood pulsed from the wound, leaking down to pool in the dust. “Harriet. I’m coming to you. I’m coming for you.”
Rima moved forward to help, and Harriet pushed her back. “Don’t!” she said, shock making the words come out angry. “Don’t touch her!”
She crouched at her gran’s side, desperately ignoring her instinct to take the energy seeping out of her grandmother.
Norma let out a weak moan, eyes fluttering under her lids. She convulsed in pain. The blood might be clotting. Maybe she’d survive this. But she was old, and the wound was on her head. What if it had done some damage, deep in her brain?
“It’s OK, Gran. I’m here. I’m here for you.” Harriet couldn’t watch. She closed her eyes, listening to the rough, weak noises of anguish coming from Norma until finally she went silent. A wave of golden energy flooded through Harriet, exploding out from Norma’s body.
Harriet drew in a shaking, appalled gasp. Why did this keep happening? What had she done to deserve this – any of this? Her parents, her grandfather, herself – and now her grandmother? She’d never been as desperate to see her parents as she was at that moment.
Harriet waited for what felt like an eternity, wishing that none of this was happening. She was cursed. She had to be.
Finally, a cold hand pressed against the top of Harriet’s head.
“Hello, Harriet,” Norma said.
Harriet took a deep breath. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Hi, Gran.”
Norma’s ghost shone bright with fresh energy. There was a loose curl of scalp hanging down her forehead, where she’d hit the wall. She tied her scarf neatly around her head, hiding the wound away from view.
Patting her hair into place, Norma said, “Come away from the corpse. It’s uncouth.”
Harriet climbed to her feet obediently, eyes averted from her gran’s body. “Are you – how are you?” she asked, forcing out the words between frozen lips.
The others were watching them, completely still and alert.
Norma twisted her mouth. “Making do. It’s been hard without you, these last few days.”
Harriet winced. It must have been impossible for her, all alone and hobbling around on her cane. Though her gran hadn’t brought the cane with her to the hall. In fact, the plaster support around her broken ankle was gone, too.
“Your cast is off,” Harriet said, surprised.
Norma looked down at her feet, which were both covered in white tights and patent leather shoes. “The doctor took it off early,” she replied without missing a beat.
“I thought it was going to be another four weeks!”
“No, just one. You’re misremembering.”
Harriet frowned.
Norma waved her hand. “Never mind that. It’s hardly important now, is it?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rima and Felix shake their heads at each other. Heat trickled through Harriet. She hated that there was an audience to see this. She wasn’t ashamed of her gran. She loved her. But Norma was a little … unusual.
“Gran, you know that you’ve died, don’t you?” Harriet asked. She was taking this all very calmly.
“Of course I know that! Do give me some credit.”
“Oh. And are you … all right with that?” Harriet wasn’t expecting her gran to cry, exactly, but some emotional reaction would have been appropriate – if only for their audience.
Norma tilted her head. “Well, it’s a lot to process. I’m sure it will all hit me at some point. What I don’t understand is how you could let this happen?”
“I was taking photographs of the building and tripped. It was an accident.” That day was a lifetime ago now. Harriet could barely remember being that person, concerned with nothing more than getting a good grade on her Photography coursework.