‘I, I’m . . . you’re not a cow.’
‘No, but do you think I could be a better friend? She wanted me to organise the hen do a couple of months ago and I was so useless she’s had to ask her sister instead. That’s bad, isn’t it?’
‘Well, it’s, I mean, I don’t . . . hen dos aren’t really my area of—’
The phone vibrated again and I glanced at it, relieved it had cut off my feeble attempts to help. I got up to clear our plates, wipe the table down.
She ignored the phone again. ‘I can do that, Grandad: you cooked.’
‘It’s fine, fine,’ I said, moving across to the sink, running the hot tap and reaching for the washingup liquid.
‘So do you think it will be OK? That I’m not helping much? I mean, she should get it, shouldn’t she? She knows I work long hours.’
‘I’m not sure, maybe,’ I said, circling a plate uselessly. Why couldn’t I do this stuff? You always made it seem so natural, Cora. It was why Lottie always asked you for advice. I tried to think about it. Lottie had known Amy for years and Amy had always been a great friend to her. She should be there for her now. By the time I had constructed an answer, something along the lines of helping Amy’s sister with the hen do, I noticed Lottie wearily picking up the various pages and folders in front of her, piling them into her arms. ‘Perhaps you could—’ I started to say.
My words were cut off. ‘I think I’ll take these up, work on them in bed.’
‘Oh right, great, good idea.’
‘Thanks for a lovely dinner, Grandad.’
We met awkwardly around the files, her lips just skimming my cheek.
‘Sleep well,’ she said.
I glanced at the clock. The period drama would still be playing, I could start watching it on catch-up. I felt a small bubble of relief as I listened to her retreating footsteps heading up the stairs, the pad as she crossed to the spare room. Knowing I hadn’t done a great job of making her feel any better, I hoped she liked the lavender sprig I had left on her pillow that morning.
Teddy x
Chapter 7
Love is full of promise
ALISON, 80
It’s been more than two months since Grandma died and for the last week I’ve been working on a case in Guildford Crown Court and staying with Grandad.
Tonight the ‘golfing lads’, as Grandma had called them, are coming over to drink gin and play gin rummy.
‘We take turn hosting and someone is in charge of bringing a new gin to try,’ Grandad explained as he opened up the drinks cupboard and produced four crystal tumblers. ‘Your Grandma called it the Gin o’Clock Club.’ He chuckled softly.
Feeling the same bittersweet sensation I felt whenever Grandma’s name was mentioned, I got up to clear the table of court documents, errant biros and scribbled notes. ‘I’ll get out of the way.’
Grandad had moved through to the kitchen and was chopping limes, cucumber and orange. ‘I never quite know what will work best,’ he called out, already sounding happier and more relaxed than he had done all week.
I hadn’t seen Grandad’s friends all together since her funeral: all three dressed in dark suits, their heads bowed, their expressions sombre, so unlike the loud, guffawing group I knew. Geoffrey, his hands trembling so that the paper shook a little, had read beautifully from Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Grandma’s favourite book. He had passed a handkerchief over his bald head when it was finished and had stumbled in the aisle back to his seat, the others nodding sadly at him.
The bell went and I ventured into the corridor to answer the door. Howard was first in, barrelling into the narrow space wielding two packs of playing cards still in their wrappers, bringing with him the smell of pipe smoke. ‘Get ready, old man. It’s gin o’clock and the fight is on,’ he announced, full beard quivering. ‘Lottie,’ he said, drawing up short. ‘Didn’t know you’d be here.’ He called over my shoulder, ‘Running scared, eh, old man? Sending in the youth?’
‘Never.’ I could just make out Grandad’s response from the kitchen and a low chuckle.
Geoffrey followed Howard inside, shaking his head as he removed his hat and giving me a one-armed hug, his face lighting up. ‘Lottie, how lovely. You are so good. Teddy’s been telling us how nice it has been to see so much of you.’
I felt a warmth fill my chest, glad that Grandad liked having me round more. I had been worried recently that my temper would spill into his house and had tried to stay as calm as I could. But some days, after sleep had eluded me, work had piled up and Luke’s short phone calls asking if I’d be home had been one too many, I’d been tipped over the edge.
Arjun arrived last, his lined face the picture of health, back from another of his foreign golf tours. ‘Lottie!’ He gave me a hug and I was reminded of how thin he was under all his layers. ‘Excellent to see you.’
‘Come in, come in,’ I said, ushering them inside. ‘Grandad’s in the living room setting up the table.’
‘Are you joining us, Lottie?’ Geoffrey asked.
‘I can’t, I’m afraid, I’ve got work to do.’
‘That’s a shame,’ he said, no malice in his reply. He lifted a bag he was holding, ‘I’m in charge of the drinks and tonight it’s gin flavoured with camomile flowers.’
‘Sounds exotic!’ I laughed, wishing then that I was about to sit round the living-room table with them, settle into the high-back chairs with a large glass of ice-cold gin and listen to their high spirits, teasing, seeing Grandad’s face crease in amusement. Instead I dragged my feet into the kitchen where I had dumped the teetering pile of my work things.
They’d been playing a while and I was attempting to focus on the closing statement I was due to make the next day. I was trying to be as succinct as possible, drawing lines through some of the more flowery sentences to keep the spotlight on the facts of the case. Every now and again I would tune into the conversation leaking out of next door. Persimmon shares had gone up so Arjun was going to sell; someone from his yoga class had caught norovirus on a recent cruise and had stayed in his cabin and missed seeing the Northern Lights, and Geoffrey’s handicap was now 20.
Then I heard a chair scraping back and Howard’s booming voice. ‘I’ve met a woman!’ he announced. ‘She’s fantastic.’
The whole table groaned. I snuck a look at the door through to the hallway and smiled.
‘She’s one of a kind.’
‘Didn’t you say that about the last three?’
‘Was that why you cancelled the lunch on Sunday?’
‘Is it she who you have been WhatsApping?’
‘What’s apping?’
‘Christ, Geoffrey, we need to get you an iPhone.’
‘My phone handset is fine.’
It reminded me of boozy nights with Amy and other friends: the gossip, bickering, teasing. Did anything change? Through the continued mutterings of ‘Here we go’, ‘Please God let her not be in her forties again’, I could make out my grandad’s low chuckle and I felt heartened.
‘She’s quite the gal.’