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blessing and a burden.”
    All I want is for Nana to stop going on about the charm and let me sort myself out. All I want is for Nana not to notice the bloodstain.
    â€œWhat kinds of people don’t have a choice?” I ask her to try and distract her from my skirt.
    â€œPeople who need charms!” she smiles, kissing my hair. “You’ll know them when you meet them. Mira, darling, I am sorry the coffin arrived today—that was bad timing, I’m afraid—but…I wanted to ask you…will you help me to paint it?”
    I nod.
    â€œI knew you would,” she whispers as she lowers my head onto her shoulder.

    As soon as I get home I search the bathroom cupboard for the pads I’ve seen Mum store in there.
    I peel off the strip and stick one into my knickers.
    Even though it’s supposed to make me feel grown up, having a period, this actually reminds me of one of Laila’s nappies. It doesn’t hurt, just like Mum told me it wouldn’t, except for the ache in my belly and the strange rusty taste in my mouth. I suppose I should tell Mum, but she’d just make a big fuss of me and try to celebrate or something. I don’t think I can take any more celebrations, even if it does mean I can get my ears pierced. That’s when Mum said I could (when my periods start), but, just for now, this is one birthday present I’m going to keep to myself.

    We are reflected in the bathroom mirror, Nana and me. I am wearing my birthday skirt. My shoelace is undone, so I bend down for a moment to fasten it, but right next to my shoe there is a tiny circle of blood, about the size of a one-pound coin.
    â€œWhat’s this?” I ask Nana, but when I stand up again she’s not there. I run into the front room to look for her, but the room is empty; all the furniture has gone—everything except the coffin.
    Nana’s coffin is painted with bright blue waves, leaping dolphins, butterflies, and birds; birds everywhere. Right in the corner, peeping out at me, is a little dog that looks like Piper. When I peer closer, I can see that the dog has his leg cocked over the corner of the coffin, sprinkling yellow pee across the sea. I laugh. Then I see her…Nana Josie, lying in her watery coffin…floating…her face half covered. I reach for her hand through the icy cold. “Nana, wake up, wake up,” I whisper, but she doesn’t open her eyes. I try to lift her body, but she slips back under. Then I see something moving under her blouse, and I think she is alive after all—that must be her heart beating—so I lift up her top, and thousands of tiny birds fly out. I look down at Nana. The coffin is empty, plain wood, no water. A dog yaps wildly, and the painting of Piper jumps off the coffin and runs out into the garden. Leaves rustle and tiny birds swoop round and round the room.
    Now the waves begin to roll on a rough sea. Dolphins surf on the wind, diving down into the deep water. The birds panic, battering their wings against the windowpanes, desperate to be freed. I fling the window wide open and let them escape into the garden. They gather and sway on currents of air, separating and coming together, migrating birds, agreeing on their moment to leave. They are so high now…faraway dots in the clouds. I stand and watch until the sky is empty.
    I go back into the flat and find Piper’s bright red leash. Out on Hampstead Heath I try to walk fast, but people stop me and ask, “How is Josie?” and I say, “I think Josie has flown away,” but people keep on following me. More and more of them, people with dogs, asking where my nana is, over and over again. I try to get away from them, but they follow me up Parliament Hill, hundreds of people with dogs. Big dogs, little dogs, all kinds of dogs. “Where has she gone?” they ask over and over. I start to run.
    I climb to the top and look behind me, but the people have all