A Greyhound of a Girl Read Free Page A

fell—
dropped
—into sleep. It was always so sudden, as if she’d been unplugged. No yawn or smile, just the sudden drop.
    Mary kissed her granny’s forehead. Then she climbed back down off the bed. Scarlett kissed the forehead too. And Granny’s eyes opened.
    â€œI’m frightened, Scarlett,” she said, very quietly.
    â€œIt’s fine,” said Scarlett.
    â€œI’m afraid I’ll never open my eyes again.”
    â€œI know,” said Scarlett. “But you opened them this time.”
    â€œThat’s true,” said her mother. “I’m not dead yet.”
    â€œNo,” said Scarlett, and she smiled. “You’re not.”
    â€œHere goes,” said Granny.
    And she shut her eyes.
    She opened them.
    â€œJust checking.”
    She closed them.
    â€œGo on,” she said. “I’m fine. I’m too lively to die today.”
    Her eyes stayed closed. They watched her breathing, a little smile on her old face. She was asleep.
    They left.
    â€œWhat’s actually wrong with Granny?” Mary asked, on the way home in the car.
    â€œNothing really,” said her mother. “She’s very old, you know. No one lives forever.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    Her mother looked at Mary.
    â€œWe just don’t,” she said. “We’re mortal. You know what that means.”
    â€œYeah,” said Mary. “But it just seems mean.”
    â€œYou’re right,” said her mother. “It does seem mean. Especially when it’s someone you love.”
    They cried. And they laughed a bit too, because they were crying.
    â€œOh, dear,” said her mother. “I can hardly see the road ahead of me.”
    â€œWhat happened to the !!!s?” said Mary.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe !!!s,” said Mary.
    â€œOh,” said her mother. “They seem to fall out of me whenever I go into that hospital.”
    When they got back to the house, Mary’s brothers had come home from their school.
    â€œHi, boys!”
    â€œThey’re back,” said Mary.
    â€œThe boys?!”
    â€œNo, the !!!s.”
    â€œOh, good!”
    The boys were back, but Mary didn’t care. Her brothers were older than her. At fourteen and sixteen, they were boring and weird. They used to be Dominic and Kevin but these days they preferred to be called Dommo and Killer. They had deep voices that made all the cups in the kitchen shake, and their bedroom and most of the house smelled of a deodorant called Lynx that made Mary’s eyes water whenever she strolled through a cloud of it. They laughed a lot and never explained why.
    It was an hour later, and Mary was having her dinner with Dommo and Killer, and her mother and father, whose name was Paddy.
    The boys were laughing, and nudging each other.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?” asked Paddy.
    â€œNothing,” said Dommo.
    â€œIs there any ice cream?” asked Killer.
    â€œIt’s a weekday!” said Scarlett. “What’s so funny?!”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œLaughing at nothing,” said Paddy. “I’d love to see the state of yis when you’re laughing at something.”
    This time they didn’t laugh.
    â€œI give up,” said Paddy.
    They laughed.
    â€œHow was your mother?” Paddy asked Scarlett.
    â€œFine,” she said. “Not fine. The usual. God, it feels cruel just talking about it.”
    The boys weren’t laughing. They loved their grandmother. She’d always called them her mad fellas, for as long as they could remember. She’d listened to everything they’d ever said, every whinge and complaint, and always answered the same way: “You’re dead right.” And she’d always greeted them the same way, from the time Dommowas three and Killer was five: “Any girlfriends yet, lads?” They’d only been to the hospital once and they’d spent all the time there showing their granny