With my new-found strength, I wrapped my arms round her. I saw that my arms were looking a bit thinner than usual and put it down to the illness.
I then remembered the different world I had gone to, the world between the land of the living and the spirit world. It had felt so real standing in the snow and feeling the snowflakes falling around me. I was wearing my red coat and standing with who I believed was Ben. Then I remembered the other guy who I believed was Daniel. It was as if he was evil because I remembered that when I’d kissed him, my body froze as though I was paralysed. A cold shiver went through me as I recalled the dream. It was like he’d tried to take away my innocence. The contents of the journal then flashed through my mind and I had a feeling like this was déjà vu.
‘Grace, are you ok?’
‘Yes, sorry, I’m still trying to adjust from being bed ridden.’
‘Oh, bless you my dear, I am sure you will be back to yourself in no time. I’ll go make you a nice cup of tea to see if that will help perk you up a bit more.’
‘Thank you, Gran.’
‘Right, I will phone Miss Hogg and get your Grandad to put the kettle on.’
My Grandad always made lovely cups of tea, whenever someone was down or sad, he would always offer to make a cup of tea and believe it or not, they did always work. The simplest of things my Grandad offered to help make people better always worked. I still didn’t understand what it was about my grandparents that made them so special. I often wondered if what I read from the journal was actually all fact, if it really did happen and my Grandparents were the guardians of this century.
Chapter 7.
I spent the next couple of days in bed trying to recover as I was determined to make it to the weekend to have my private tutorial with Miss Hogg. The idea of the Christmas show excited me as it would give me an opportunity to show everyone what I could truly do with my dancing skills. I had won many awards over the years from dancing, but I wondered if this was why I’d struggled to have many friends at school, whether they were jealous of me being a dancer. But the more of an outcast I felt, the more unincluded I was, the more I was determined to progress further with my dancing. My mum had paid for me to go to a private dance school. She was always happy to drive me there although we lived in the middle of nowhere. I was always so grateful that she did this for me and encouraged me to keep on with my dancing. Some days, I would get really upset when I had been to school and hardly anyone had spoken to me all day. I did have a couple of friends who would sit with me at lunch and would try to cheer me up, but sadly they were not in many of my classes so I would mostly be on my lonesome.
How my dancing was progressing was often featured in the school newspaper and although this was not my choice, and I would request not to have a feature, it would appear anyway. It was like the school reporter club wanted everyone to get sick of seeing me in there, issue after issue. They would always find out when my next show or award ceremony was and wrote about it. I guess you could say I was a local celebrity, but it just made everyone not like me. I was glad I was accepted onto a dance diploma course in a different town and would be away from everyone I went to school with. The people there would be talented, like me and – I hoped, oh how I hoped! – would be more understanding about what it was like to be a competitive dancer.
I got up early on that Saturday morning feeling back to full health and so glad to be feeling back to my old self again. My stomach let off a huge growling noise as I had not really eaten much since becoming better. I woke up to the smell of frying bacon and right away I leapt out of bed, put on my slippers and dressing gown and pretty much flew myself down the stairs as it smelt so good. In the kitchen, my Gran was cooking and to the side of her were three plates with a couple of extra-thick slices of fresh bread on each one. For as long as I could remember she always made a mega bacon sandwich.
‘Would you like me to make a cup of tea for you, Gran?’ I offered. She had been through a lot because of me lately, and it was the very least I could do for her to show my appreciation. My Mum got me into a traditional English cup of tea. I would observe how she made a good cup of tea: tea bag and sugar in first followed by the water, then add whatever milk amount was suitable. And from the first cup I brewed, I’d always made tea that way around. Even my Gran made it the same way, and she was on my dad’s side of the family. Thinking about just tea alone started to get me emotional, and I realised that I really missed my mum and felt a bit homesick. I had not spoken to Mum since my first day at college.
