My grandmother was sitting next to me on the sofa. She had on a blouse that had belonged to her great-grandmother. It was an amazing item of clothing – not only because it had been in the family for so long, but because it had an impressive jewel encrusted on one of the buttons.
We sat there calmly talking about her 80th birthday which was only 8 days away, when lo and behold the jewel seemed to gain a life of its own: some type of smoke started being secreted by it and it slowly rose into the air in front of her, held on to the blouse by one of the threads which had bolted it down for so many years, and just hovered there.
My grandmother was so excited, telling me about the lunch menu that she didn’t notice it straight away, but she saw my gaze, awe-struck as I was, my eyes glued to that magical rock. She stopped speaking and glanced down at her blouse. Her eyes opened wide, before she swiftly knocked the jewel away with her hand. It fell immediately to the floor and the smoke extinguished itself.
‘Gran, what the hell was that?’
‘Nothing you need to worry about for now my dear,’ she said calmly. Too calmly.
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