Num8ers Read Free Page B

shouted out, “Only me, Nan. I’ve brought a mate.”
    Nervous as I was, I clocked that, him using the word
mate.
And I liked it.
    There was a narrow hallway and then straight into the front room. Every shelf, every surface was covered with stuff: little china animals, plates, vases. Think of every garage sale you’ve ever been to, all the stuff left over at the end that no one wants, and you’ll get the picture. The overpowering smell of cigarette smoke made the air thick. No windows open, obviously. A plume of it wafted through from the next room, and I followed Spider through there. His nan was perched on a stoolat a breakfast bar, newspaper in front of her, cup of tea at hand, ciggy lit. She didn’t look nothing like her grandson. She was small, white, like me, with short spiky hair dyed a dark shade of purple. Her face was lined, hard-looking. I watched as he stooped to peck her cheek, and thought that if you saw them in the street you’d never know they were family. But that’s the way now, isn’t it? The days of family photographs — Mum, Dad, two kids, all dressed up, all looking the same — did that ever happen? Is there anywhere that still happens? Not here, anyway. Families ’round here are what they are — just your nan, like Spider, or no one, like me — black, white, brown, yellow, whatever. That’s how it is.
    As Spider stood back up, his nan looked at me. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Val.”
    I tried to keep my eyes down, but for some reason I looked up briefly and, instantly, she held my gaze. I couldn’t look away. Her eyes were amazing — hazel, set in clear white, despite the smoke. And it wasn’t like she was just looking, like anyone else. No, she was taking me in, she was really seeing me. I clocked her number, 02202054: forty-four years to go with a heavy smoking habit. Respect.
    “Who are you, then?” she asked, the words sounding harsh, although I don’t think she meant them to.
    I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t even remember my name. I was like a rabbit trapped in the headlights of those eyes.
    Spider came to my rescue. “Her name’s Jem. We’re gonna watch the telly.”
    “In a minute. Don’t rush off. Sit here a minute, Jem.” She indicated the stool next to her with a nod of her head.
    “Na-an, leave her alone. Don’t go off on one.”
    “You mind your attitude, Terry. Don’t listen to him. Sit here.” She patted the stool, her hands small and lined with massive curled yellow nails, and I clambered up meekly. Spider’s nan wasn’t the sort of person you argued with, and on top of that there was something else going on. I could feel it in the air, like electricity sparking between us. It was frightening and exciting at the same time. I still hadn’t stopped looking at her, and as I shifted on the stool to get my balance, she put her smoke down and took one of my hands. You know that I don’t like contact, but I didn’t draw away. I couldn’t, and we both felt it, a crackle, a buzz, as her skin touched mine.
    The reek of stale smoke from her mouth was filling my nostrils. Made me feel a bit queasy. I like a cigarette as much as anyone, but someone else’s, secondhand? Nah.
    “I have never met anyone like you,” she said, and I thought,
No, that’s right, you haven’t, but how do you know?
“Do you know about auras?” she asked. The question was met by a snort of derision from Spider, who’d wandered into the front room.
    “Leave it out, Nan. Leave her alone, you old witch.”
    “Shut up, you!” She turned back to me, and her words, slow and carefully spoken, went deep into me, like I was listening with my whole body, not just my ears. “You have the most amazing aura I’ve ever seen. Purple and white. Allaround you. The purple shows your spiritual energy, and the white that you’re able to concentrate that energy. It’s quite remarkable — I’ve never seen anyone with an aura as strong as yours.”
    I hadn’t a clue what she was talking