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And right then, when I looked across and Mum’s eyes shone as bright as a whole sky full of sunshine, I felt that her and me were the only ones truly alive. My heart thumped, my lungs filled and I wanted to shout, “Mum, sing a song, then they’ll hear you. Make the birds wonder, just like you used to.”
“Cally, love,” Aunty Sue said, “sometimes our imaginations play tricks on us.” She reached round and rested her hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Sometimes, when you really want to believe something, you can make it seem true.”
Tears smudged her mascara. Grandma blew into her tissue.
I thought I heard something, like when the carnival starts and you’re miles away down the other end of town, but you know it’s coming. Mum made a funnel of her hands, like a loudspeaker.
“Dad, she wants to tell us something,” I said.
I saw into his eyes before he looked away, like all the words waiting there were too big to pronounce, too hard to say properly. He hunched his shoulders, rubbed his face.
“Enough, Cally,” he said, “you’re upsetting people.”
I whispered, “Can’t you see her?”
She’d stopped smiling. She searched her pocket as if she was trying to find something. I wondered why she had a coat and hat on when it was such a warm summer day.
“Dad,” I pointed, “you can see her, can’t you?”
“No,” he growled, “and neither can you. And I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
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