Free The Life of Lee by Lee Evans Page B

bird cage with a small yellow budgie chewing frantically on a cuttlefish.
    ‘Here,’ she said, quietly holding out a bag of birdseed to me as I stood, crestfallen, after losing out to Wayne yetagain. ‘Feed the bird.’ I fed the bird, gave her back the seed, and she handed me a sweet – one frigging boiled barley sugar was all I got for my troubles! Well, at least it was a whole one and not a shattered fragment.
    Deeply disappointed, I followed Wayne down the stairs. His nose was still pouring blood, but what did he care? ‘I got it, I got it!’ he crowed to the others as we passed them on the stairs.
    Wayne has that scar on his nose to this day.
    But I still have the mental scars.
    One year later, Nanny Norling died, or as Dad put it: ‘’Ere, Wayne, you know that bucket you caught your hooter on? Well, Nanny Norling has kicked it.’
    I asked if her foot was all right.
    When I say she died, she didn’t actually die – well, not the first time anyway.
    One of the neighbours called in a panic at our flat. She was crying, because she had gone into Nanny Norling’s flat and found her lying motionless in bed. Mum and Dad and some other neighbours rushed over to Nanny’s flat immediately. A few of us kids followed along too. By the time a few doors had been knocked on the way over there, quite a procession of people had built up.
    When I got to Nanny Norling’s flat, I had to squeeze gently under and through the legs of loads of people. The crowd led right down to the second landing. The door was open, with three, maybe four of the neighbours all trying to get a better look inside. I could just hear faint whisperings from the front room as I crept through the small hall, weaving in and out unnoticed by everyone –they were all too concerned with Nanny Norling. I made it into the front room, and there was Nanny Norling lying completely still on her bed, face white as a ghost as if she had fallen into a bath of talc.
    About eight people were around the bed, all doing their most convincing over-concerned whispering act and discussing what the best thing to do was. Have you noticed people will always say the same thing in those situations?
    ‘I think it’s for the best.’
    ‘Yes, I think that’s what she would have wanted.’
    How do they know? She’s dead!
    Dad whispered loudly in a mock-respectful, authoritative voice: ‘I think we should tie her mouth up.’
    There were gasps from the gathered crowd. ‘Tie her mouth up?’ someone exclaimed.
    ‘Don’t be a fool,’ remonstrated another.
    ‘No,’ replied Dad, keen to explain. ‘I saw it on a programme once. If rigor mortis sets in, her mouth will be permanently jammed open like that. So we need to tie it shut.’
    A voice piped up from the crowd, ‘There’s a few people round ’ere I’d like to do that to.’
    Dad asked if someone would pass him a tea cloth from the kitchen. He took it and, with everyone looking on, he mournfully and carefully closed Nanny Norling’s mouth. He asked another neighbour to hold it shut as he wrapped the tea cloth around her chin and up over her head, where he tied it in a huge bow. She lay there, like a giant rabbit, as everyone bowed their heads and said a little prayer. A couple of women began to cry.
    I was sure I even saw a tear appear in the budgie’s little eye.
    I was confused. I was too young to understand. I didn’t know what was going on. It was difficult to tell why you might tie a bow around Nanny Norling’s head so she looked like a rabbit. Why was everyone so upset?
    I heard the faint siren of an ambulance arrive on the estate. That must have aroused something in her because suddenly, without warning, Nanny Norling sat bolt upright in bed.
    A woman fainted on the spot.
    The room ignited with screams of terror. An atmosphere that just moments earlier was silent and solemn was now complete mayhem. The budgie fell from its perch, seemingly clutching its tiny heart with its wings.
    Everyone stood terrified,