“Nanny, are you going to die soon?”
My little granddaughter gazed sadly at me, poised for an affirmative response.
“Of course not, Love, not for a long time yet.”
“But, Nanny, you’re really old. You’re sixty. That’s a big, big number.”
The disclosure of my dotage was broadcast in a vibrant six year old voice all over my local Tescos. Sympathetic smiles, stifled giggles and outright laughter from the crowded clientele of the supermarket caused my redundant hot flushes to return with a vengeance.
Attempting to distract my beloved Keeley from any more revelations, I drew her attention to the necklace I was fixing for her: “Look Honey, your wee beads are alright. Isn’t that great! Do you want them back on?”
“Nanny, can I have your necklace when you die. Molly can have your watch.” Molly being my three year old little granddaughter, who at that moment was attempting to try on two dresses at once and in danger of tying herself in knots. “It’s going to be soon, isn’t it?”
She paused for a moment and I could see the varying emotions chasing themselves across her sweet face. Suddenly her beautiful eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t want you to die, Nanny. I don’t want the necklace and Molly can’t tell the time anyway. You’re not going away, sure you’re not.”
And with that she flung her tiny arms around my waist and clung on for dear life. Oh My! How did we get to this? I only came in for some bread and milk. But I had a vague idea where all this had originated from. The demise of next door’s guinea pig, methinks.
“Keeley, look at me, Chicken. I am going to be here for a long, long time.
You hope! an inner voice piped up.
“You pinky promise, Nanny.”
Now, you may wonder what exactly a pinky promise is. Well it’s involves entwining one person’s little finger around another persons and shouting Pinky Promise! as loud as possible which Keeley takes to heart, and the two words resounded around the store, making us once again the centre of hilarity. I didn’t care! I had reassured my gorgeous wee granddaughter of my immortality, and after extracting Molly from the folds of satin and lace covering her face, and causing her to sneeze repeatedly, we sauntered off for coffee, milk and doughnuts in Tesco café.
They say you’re getting old
Phyllis McKenna 