Nanna was in an ugly mood, which was nothing unusual.

By the time I called round after practice, she was watching children's cartoons on her tiny black and white TV set, always a bad sign. In fact, when I first came in you could have cut the atmosphere with a backhand chop. No greeting or nothing like that.

As usual, all the curtains in the gloomy front room were drawn, even though it was probably the hottest day of the year outside. Nanna always felt the cold, whatever the weather. I began to tug on the curtains, like I always do.

"So, who died, then?" I asked her.

Without looking at me, she pointed a chicken-withered hand in the direction of the TV set. "Look," she said, "Dodo, the Kid from Outer Space - that's you."

At first I thought she was having a crack on account of my height, like the kids at school. "How do you mean, Nanna? Good things come in small parcels, you know."

"Don't be so hard faced," she said. "What do you want, anyway? Whatever it is, you needn't have bloody bothered yourself."

I came round every day for the same reason, to check if she'd taken her medicine. I knew that she knew this, so I didn't bother answering. In the daylight I could see her leathery old face better, contoured like one of the relief maps we use in Physical Geography, my best subject. She still wasn't looking at me. Although I saw her every day, it was always a shock at first to see how really old she looked and was. You had to make allowances.

I picked up the plates and metal covering dishes left by the Meals on Wheels' people. Dried gravy on instant mash, by the look of it. Worse than school dinners, even. Nanna had at least made a good go at the veggies, though, like she was supposed to. Kept her regular that new young Priest said. Fr Ellis, I think he's called really, though that's not how we refer to him at school.

"I'll take these out, then, Nanna." I said, meaning the dishes. Once I was out in the kitchen I could check on her medicine. "The news should be on soon," I added, by way of diversion. "You like that."

"Don't be touching anything out there," she called after me. "I'm having a clear-out. D'you hear me, now?"

"Yes, Nanna," I lied. "I won't touch nothing, promise."

Her kitchen was usually spick and span as it didn't get much use these days, but this particular afternoon there were bottles, packets and little boxes everywhere. It looked like she'd been burgled by someone with a mania for arranging old culinary items. Nanna must have been struggling round the kitchen on her walking frame all morning, emptying cupboards. I couldn't see the sense in it, I have to admit. While I was looking it over, her voice was rasping through the swing-door:

"Now, don't go touching anything. I know where I am with it all."

To be honest, I wouldn't have known where to begin. I just hoped the Social Worker lady wouldn't see the mess and start in on the sheltered accommodation thing again. No point. If it wasn't Nazareth House, Nanna wasn't going anywhere. I ran the hot tap, scraped the plates into the peddle bin and then slipped them into the water to soak. Her medicine was usually in the cupboard above the breadbin, and luckily I found it there. Mini-Aspirin, to thin the blood. The tablet for Tuesday was pressed out of the foil, so she hadn't forgotten. Sometimes I did have to remind her, though, for which she was truly grateful.

"What are you doing in there?" she called through the door in her throaty voice. "Come back in here, will you, where I can keep my eye on you?"

I turned off the tap and went back through into the living room. "Nothing, Nanna," I said. "I'm doing nothing. I was just putting the plates in to soak."

She was looking at me now, but anxiously. Her stare was a bit off-centre. "Good," she said. "You can stop in here now until the bloody Holy Fool turns up. He said he'd be here just after six." Then she added for my benefit, "That new Fr Ellis; I don't think he's all there, you know."

"What are you doing in the kitchen, Nanna? There's stuff out everywhere."

The BBC news was on now in the background, some pictures of the Queen Mum in a fancy flowery hat.

"Never you mind. If you must know, I'm just having a clear-out now to save someone a job later."

"How do you mean?"

There was a silence; the TV had distracted her. "Lizzie Lyons," she said, gazing in the direction of the screen, "she's nothing but a pensioner just like me."

I waited. "But what about your kitchen, Nanna?"

"Oh, did you put the kettle on? No? Why not?"

I got up. There was no point in going on about the kitchen. "You'd better make a pot," she said, "for His Holiness."

I turned towards the swing-door, but stopped when I remembered about what was happening the day after. "Oh Nanna, I meant to say I don't think I can come round tomorrow. I've got a big game on."

"Big game? What's that?"

"At school. I mean, I'm not sure if I can make it or not. It might go on."

"Oh, please yourself," she said. "I'm not in tomorrow any way; I'm out myself, actually, if you must know. Bring some of those biscuits there in on a plate, will you? They're in the cupboard."

"Right." I went back through the swing-door into the kitchen. I thought I might be able to get round tomorrow; I just wasn't sure. I probably would make it in the end. I'd only wanted to warn Nanna in case I didn't. "Which cupboard?" I shouted, as they were all empty. Then I spotted the biscuits on the side anyway, by the breadbin. Low fat Rich Tea. I opened the packet. The kettle felt full so I just switched it on. I looked around again at the mess. I really didn't know what she was thinking. I found a little plate and spread some of the Rich Tea on it in a circle, like they did at the Millers' house. Nanna would appreciate that touch, I thought. While the kettle boiled I got the cups on the saucers, put three bags in the pot and washed out the milk jug. Then, over the sound of the kettle I heard voices in the living room. No mistake. The mad Priest, Fr Flamboyant, was in the building. He came round most evenings to give Nanna the sacrament, but usually I managed to avoid him. He spoke like he was always on the stage, performing in some weird show. We'd noticed that at school on the few odd occasions he'd been in. I poured the water into the pot and let it stand as long as I could; then I found a tray and took in the tea.

"I thought you'd got lost," Nanna said. "What were you up to? Put that down here."

"Nothing. Just the tea," I said. "I'll be off then, Nanna." The Priest was eyeing the plate of biscuits like it was the Last Supper.

"Don't you want no biscuit or no nothing?" she asked me. "No? Well, pour the tea for Father, then, would you, before you go? That's a good lad. Now, then..."

I was edging out towards the door, but stopped and came back reluctantly to the little table where I'd put down the tray. "Now, yes, Mrs O," that Fr Ellis was saying, "where was I?" He took up one of the Rich Tea and broke it in half. "Oh yes, yes," he said, "I remember, now. The most tremendous news, I remember. Yes, I heard it today from Fr Connolly. He was almost beside himself with excitement when he told me. That's right, now. The Pope, yes. Thank you," he said to me as I gave him his tea. "Yes, the Pope Himself, no less, has approved the canonisation, now, of our dear Mother Teresa, or the start of the whole canonisation thing, if you know what I mean. Fast track, for the millennium. Isn't that just quite the most fantastic news, now, isn't it though?"

"I have to get off now, then, Nanna," I said. I'd poured the tea. The Priest looked at me as though he was surprised I was still here. "I'll try and come round tomorrow," I added, "if I can."

"He's got a big game," Nanna said.

"Oh, has he now?" said the Priest. "And what's that? Is that at St Joan's, then, whatever it is?"

He must have recognised my school tie. "No," I lied, "it's, er" Nanna was giving me her off-centre stare over the brim of her teacup. "somewhere else, I think, tomorrow. Bye, then, Father." He was staring, too, head tilted to one side like a puzzled dog. I made the hall doorway and pulled the door shut behind me. I could still hear him going on inside while I checked through my school-bag. "Well, then, where was I? Oh yes, yes - the canonisation, isn't it? Mo-ther Ter-esa, yes, now. All they need now, apparently, so I'm told anyway, is the two posthumous miracles. And there'll be no shortage of takers for those, let me tell you."

I zipped up my bag, opened the front door and stepped outside. The grass in Nanna's little front garden was so long it lay in lank waves across the edges of the path. Fr Bunloaf had left the gate open so any stray dogs knocking round could get in and do whatever they wanted in there. I slammed the front door shut with a good, hard tug, so Nanna'd hear it the way she liked to, and then made sure the gate was closed behind me as I left. It was still really hot out, and Nanna's cul-de-sac was practically deserted, as usual. No wonder she hated it round here. I wandered up the road. I had to decide between going by the Youth Club where I could get some more practice in, or going straight home to the Millers'. But I couldn't make up my mind, so I just wandered in the direction of both. I was glad to be out, to tell you the truth, even if that sounds terrible. God forgive me, for saying it.

Nanna, my Great-Nanna, is all I've got, and I'm all that she's got. I wonder sometimes about her outliving all her family by getting so very old without dying. I wouldn't want that. I'd like to go while there's still somebody around who knows me by my first name. I don't know why I think about this at my age, but I do.

You end up living somewhere where you don't want to when you're old and alone. Nanna hates that flat. A bird in a gilded cage, she calls herself. When I walk up though the Dock Estate, I really feel like I'm in a strange bit of Bootle cut off from the rest. I'm glad to get back across Rimrose Road. They could at least have found her a flat closer to where she used to live. But she's been living there for years now, too, in that flat.

It's a good job she never goes out anywhere ever. I'd only worry about her on that Estate. No shops or pubs or nothing like that since they rebuilt it all. Just gangs of hard faced kids, like you get at the Club. I've seen her standing in her front window sometimes, looking out as though she can't quite believe what she sees. As if to say, so this is it? Maybe that's why she prefers to keep her curtains drawn these days? Could be. Who knows?

No, Nanna doesn't go anywhere these days, not since her fall. She did go on the St Joan's Annual Trip to Lourdes one year. Thirty hours on a coach. Didn't do her hip any good at all as far as I could see. No miracles, just a coach-load of really grumpy pensioners dying for a pee. Hallelujah.

At least this was how I was thinking as I wandered up the road in the general direction of Marsh Lane, which meant, incidently, I was going to the Club, after all. I needed to get some more practice in, or so I reckoned. When I got up there, the usual crowd was outside, smoking. I wasn't really in any of their gangs. I hung back in the doorway as I spotted Bernie Kennedy, my opponent in the final, warming up on one of the tables. He was knocking back big flashy high returns to his best mate's smashes. Not hard, but it gets everyone's attention. Pretty soon, the whole room turns to watch, just to see how long it can go on for, and this was happening now. Bernie was enjoying himself, I could see. Just lofting it back and waiting for the next one. He's actually a fantastic player, tricky sidespin serves, great kill on both sides and vicious topspin. Watching him, I realised I didn't stand much of a chance in the final, really, which was depressing. Worse, I noticed Bernadette Claskey was one of the crowd goggling at Bernie's parlour tricks, which made me feel guilty as well as depressed. BC was part of the reason why I thought I'd blow off Nanna's tomorrow, in my dreams, anyway. I really had no excuse for thinking anything at all like that. None whatsoever, honestly. I even decided not to go in when I saw her because I felt so stupid about it. On the way home, there was this really heavy thunderstorm, all of a sudden. The rain fell in buckets, and I got soaked through. But I was glad, though, because I knew I deserved it.

The next day I had something of a shock. It was a really hot day again. I had the final on my mind, of course, but I wanted to check on Nanna as well. So I thought I could slip off at lunchtime, run up to her flat and make sure she was all right, and still get back in time for Double-Geography. I planned to eat the sandwich the Millers had made for me on the way over, but I had no drink. Come lunchtime, I was late getting out of English and by the time I got to the shop there was a queue miles long on the street like we were outside a football match. I hung about in that as long as I could, without getting served, and then had to quick-jog along Rimrose Road towards Nanna's. I was sweating like a dog by the time I got there. The gate was open, which I put down to the milkman. I went straight around the back, found the rolled-up gardener's glove where Nanna hid her back-door key and let myself in. I gave a big shout as I came in, because she wasn't expecting me. The back-door opens directly onto the kitchen and, first of all, I was surprised to see that all the stuff she'd had out yesterday, all the little packets and bottles, was now gone. Nanna must have lashed it all out, as she often threatened to do with her things. I went through the swing-door into the living room. Like yesterday, the curtains were still drawn, but Nanna wasn't in her chair, which immediately worried me. I shouted her again. No reply, so I carried on into the hallway. The door to the little bathroom was open, and I could see with a glance that it was empty. Next to this was Nanna's bedroom door, which was shut. I knocked on that a few times, saying her name and that it was me, Peter. No answer. I knew she might be in there, sick in bed - or worse, even. In my mind, I saw her lying there in bed, still, eyes open, with blood coming out of her mouth, like with deceased people in films. After a second I turned the door-handle and looked inside. It was empty, too. No Nanna. The bed was neatly made, with the covers turned back. I walked over to the far side, to check she wasn't on the floor, then came out.

I was really puzzled, and went all round the flat again to make sure I hadn't missed her anywhere. Nothing, no clue. I opened up the front door and looked along the cul-de-sac, both ways, but it was the same story. No Nanna. I was trying to remember what she'd been saying yesterday, about her kitchen and saving someone a job later. This worried me now, as well. I went back into the kitchen and looked in all the cupboards, as if for a clue. I even opened the fridge and looked inside, stared stupidly into the dim light, not knowing what I was looking for, if anything. I was mystified, now. Like I said, Nanna never went out. Where could she go? I really didn't know what to think. Perhaps someone had run her up to the shops, but who? And why? She wanted for nothing; everything came in. While I was thinking all this, time was running on, I knew. 1:20, already, it was. It would take me more than ten minutes to jog back to school. I'd be late anyway, now. There was a plastic lemonade bottle in the fridge, so I unscrewed the lid and took a swig. Water, not lemonade. But it was cool, very refreshing. I was hot and I drank it all down, half a bottle in one go. I should have filled it again, really, and put it back, so Nanna would have a cool drink when she came in, but it was late and I thought I'd leave it on the side so she'd know someone had been in. Then, I ran back to school, keeping an eye out for her all the way without actually expecting to see her. It was just so strange.

All that afternoon I could think of nothing but Nanna and what might have happened to her. I couldn't concentrate on anything in class. I thought she might have taken sick and been carted off to hospital in an ambulance with all the neighbours rubber-necking her while she went. Only someone would have probably come in and told me, Fr Ellis or someone like that. I knew she couldn't have gotten far under her own steam. She just about struggled around her flat on that walking frame at the best of times. And she would have nothing to do with any of her neighbours round there, so I knew she wouldn't be paying anyone a social call. Like I said, I really didn't know what to think.

We got through Double-Geography, somehow. The bell went, taking me by surprise. Then, we had Careers, which meant sitting round in the library and pretending to look things up. Usually, this was a lesson that lasted forever even on a normal day, which this wasn't. The clock on the far wall of the library seemed as though it was stuck every time I looked at it. Just to pass the time until the final I was flicking aimlessly through one of those really dull Careers magazines, turning the pages without taking anything in. I'd decided I was going to play the final anyway, get it over and done with as fast as I could - win or lose. I'd stopped worrying about it, actually, which isn't like me at all. I thought I'd play it, but not go round to the Youth Club afterwards. I'd just get off to Nanna's. I felt really bad now about saying yesterday I couldn't make it just because of a stupid game. But that was before I understood, you know, what was really going on.

At four o'clock I went round to the gym. BK was there already, knocking up with one of his mates. Mr Brookman, the PE teacher, came in his tracksuit. He was going to umpire the final. No one spoke to me while I changed into my trainers, none of BK's cronies. That was fine by me. I just watched him knock up while I got ready. Somehow I wasn't worried at all. I didn't care that he played two leagues higher than me, usually, or that he was a Liverpool Junior. I didn't think about his tricky serves, or that fantastic forehand topspin loop. I just went to the table, warmed up - and then completely smacked him off. It was incredible, a case for Mulder and Scully. I hit everything - and it all went on. Everything. I wasn't even thinking about it. Usually I feel my way into the start of a game, push the ball around, play safe. But come his first high-thrown, disguised-sidespin serve, I just went for it and knocked it past him. A fluke, he must have thought, because he smiled. But it was the same with the next, and the one after that. I don't know how to describe it. I felt like I couldn't miss - and at the same time it was like it wasn't me. I wasn't even following the score. I was just hitting it.

I won the first game by a big margin. BK was embarrassed; his cheeks were flushed, and he changed ends quickly so he could start over in a hurry. But the second game went just like the first. Bam, right from the start. I got so far ahead, he actually gave up. Made out he was just messing about. I carried on. I hit one of them so well, it frightened me. The timing was so perfect, it wasn't me. It was like I was possessed by an entity which happened to be excellent at ping-pong. I don't know how else to describe it.

That wasn't the only thing, honestly. After the game I only wanted to get away to Nanna's and I packed up straight-away. It was as if I didn't care that I'd won. I packed away my bat, trainers, accepted the trophy-cup almost without a word and took off in the direction of Rimrose Road. I was carrying the trophy as it wouldn't fit in my bag. It meant nothing to me, really. Less than nothing - like it was nothing. I was hurrying along towards Nanna's. I didn't know what I'd do if her flat was still empty. Go to the police station at the top of Marsh Lane, I supposed, or if the worst came to the worst and I was really desperate, knock at the Priest's House by St Joan's. They might know what was going on. Anyway, I was hurrying along thinking this, when I did an odd thing. I got by the zebra-crossing and I saw Bernadette Claskey and her tall, horsey, blonde friend talking on the other side of the road, still in their school uniforms, and I waved the silver trophy at them in triumph. I had no idea I was going to do it. I don't know what came over me. I was just doing it suddenly. And they waved back. I couldn't believe it. Nothing like this usually happened to me.

Then I felt proud of it, like a rush. It began to sink in. I started to run along the road, trophy in hand. People might have looked at me, I don't know. I didn't care. I had a good feeling.

A few minutes later when I turned the corner into Nanna's cul de sac and saw that the curtains in her front room were drawn again, I felt even better. I went straight in through the back, calling her name so she'd know it was me. I was a bit surprised to find the back-door was unlocked, but hurried on all the same into the gloomy curtain-drawn front room. This time, Nanna was there - in her chair like she was supposed to be.

"Nanna, you're back," I said, stupidly.

The TV wasn't on; she didn't look up, either.

"I came round. I was worried when you weren't in," I added. No response. I noticed she was dressed in all her best clothes, all black. "Where were you?"

"So, it was you," she said. "I should have known, the idiot boy. Bloody soft lad."

I stood directly in front of her, all awkwardly. "How do you mean, Nanna?" I asked.

She looked up, hatchet-faced. "Did you drink the water I had in that big plastic bottle in the fridge?"

I nodded.

"Oh, I wish you'd leave me in peace! That water wasn't for drinking. That water was Lourdes water!"

She stopped, and looked about her room in frustration and anger. I didn't understand what was going on. I hadn't figured it all out, then. I just wanted things to get back to normal, like yesterday. I still had the trophy in my hand, and I put it down in the table. I sat down, waiting for whatever came next. I didn't know what. After a moment, when she didn't say anything else, I got up and began to tug open the curtains, like I always did. "So, who died, Nanna?" I asked, as usual.

She squinted at me in the sunlight, her face looking older than I ever remembered.

"Everybody," she said bitterly.

Malcolm Dixon