There was a general hush, Howard’s hands hovering over the keys.
‘I’m not sure what’s going on,’ Luke said slowly, the four men tilting their faces towards us, ‘but of course we’d think about it if it would help, wouldn’t we, Lottie?’
‘Well . . . I don’t know . . . really, it’s . . . ’
‘Oh a horse and carriage, great idea!’ Grandad slapped Geoffrey’s arm, beaming at him.
None of them heard me.
Chapter 8
Love is messy
IRIS, 91
What had just happened? We were ushered out of the house already armed with a list of ideas, leaving Grandad working on his profile for internet dating. As I was putting on my coat I could hear Howard and Arjun rating photos of him they were scrolling through.
‘This one says, “Ladies, I’m available, single and ready to mingle . . . ”’
‘That was from that line-dancing evening, Howard.’
‘This one is a bit edgier, older Cary Grant, although it would help if you purchased a motorcycle.’
‘This one is grim.’
‘God, it is. It says, “I know I look like I am in renal failure but let’s hope it’s just the lighting.”’
‘Sexy.’
‘I like this one. It’s very Distinguished Judge meets Friendly Policeman.’
‘Cora took that one.’
‘It’s good: like you could handcuff the ladies any time.’
‘Howard, isn’t it time you left?’
Luke was chuckling as we walked down the street to the pub on the corner. I hugged my arms around myself, the wind biting at me. The glowing windows looked particularly enticing as we approached. Luke hesitated as we reached the double doors, the muted sounds of laugher, clinking glass and chatter coming from inside. ‘You don’t mind if we just go to the pub, do you? We could go to a nicer place if you—’
I interrupted him with a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t be silly. This is perfect.’
He looked relieved, smiling as he opened the door. ‘After you,’ he said with a small bow.
I stepped inside.
‘I be a’wooing,’ he added, following me.
He insisted on buying our drinks and I perched on a bar stool at a high round table, enjoying being back in the warmth, still not yet ready to remove my coat. I could see Luke chatting with another guy at the bar. He had the ability to strike up conversation with perfect strangers and would often return with titbits he’d learnt. Tonight was no exception.
‘Do you know that guy was the amateur UK junior darts champion?’ He seemed to be an easy person to share things with. I was always amazed by what he could glean from two minutes of chat.
‘So,’ Luke said, once we had made vague attempts to discuss our working day (‘OK’, ‘Fine’), ‘that seemed to get out of hand fast.’
‘It was the gin.’
‘Well, it was flavoured with camomile flowers,’ Luke said, laughing and holding out his hand. ‘Let’s have a look at that list, then.’
Scooping the list out of my coat pocket I handed it over, Grandad’s barely legible slanted handwriting filling the sheet.
‘Look all you like,’ I said, ‘but we’re not doing it, all right?’
‘Fine, fine,’ he said, smoothing out the piece of paper. Luke scanned the scribbles, his mouth twitching as he read. ‘What’s a ceil-i-dah?’
Frowning I peered at the word, ‘A ceilidh,’ I laughed, ‘It’s Scottish dancing.’
‘Christ,’ Luke said in alarm, looking up at me, eyes wide. ‘Dancing.’
‘Quite,’ I took a sip of my wine.
‘What’s a day of conchology?’
‘A conch? Er . . . Something to do with shells . . . ?’
‘Bell ringing!’ He guffawed. ‘Not sure that was ever a romantic day out.’
‘Geoffrey added it. I think they need bell ringers in the church – might have been motivated by that thought. Anyway, we don’t have to do any of this stuff, it was just a crazy idea. They’ll be over it after the next bottle of gin. I mean, who has time to attend dancing lessons with work and everything else? And I’m sure they just got fired up and have now moved on to another hot topic, like how to release equity from their home.’
Luke had grown still.
‘Luke . . . ?’ I prompted.
He circled the top of his pint glass with a finger. ‘Well, they did seem very keen on the idea. And did you see your Grandad? He hasn’t looked like that in months.’
I opened and closed my mouth, knowing I couldn’t argue as I had thought the same thing. Grandad had been transformed for a moment, his words fast, spilling into each other. His laugh louder, longer.
Luke returned to the list. ‘And some of these don’t exactly look time-consuming. Actually, they look like they could be fun. Although admittedly I can’t read a lot of them. Jesus, your grandad has bad handwriting.’ He was squinting at the last one. ‘Does that say Genital?’
I snatched the sheet back, reading ‘General Knowledge Quiz Night’. ‘General.’
‘That’s a relief.’
It had been good to see Grandad fired up again, bent over that stupid piece of paper as the others had egged him on. Luke had suggested some modern dating methods (Grandad had thought speed dating involved running and his bemused chuckle had lifted my heart). I had forgotten his laugh, gravelly and drawn out. Selfishly, as well, I knew that if he was busy focusing on this project I wouldn’t have to spend so much time worrying he was on his own or trekking across to check on him. I tried to dismiss that thought the moment it arose – but the last few weeks had been exhausting and maybe it would be nice to feel freer. I glanced at the list.
‘It might be good for him, you know,’ Luke said, folding the sheet in half again. ‘Something to do, a pet project.’ He raised one eyebrow at me.
I paused, finished the last of my wine. ‘No, we really can’t. I mean, a jigsaw-puzzle evening, Luke? Seriously.’
‘OK. Fair enough, you’re right.’ Was there a hint of disappointment in his voice or did I imagine it?
I desperately tried to stifle a yawn.
‘Come on,’ he said, finishing his drink and sliding off his bar stool, ‘let’s get you back.’
He flung an arm around my shoulders as we pushed our way out of the pub and back into the street.
‘Thanks for coming over tonight.’ I looked at the silhouette of his profile in the lamplight.
He stopped on the street. ‘Lottie, I miss you.’
‘Me too. These last few weeks have been a bit mad.’ We walked in silence for a while back to Grandad’s, both lost in contemplation.
‘We don’t have to do lots of all-singing, all-dancing dates,’ I said as I reached for his hand. ‘It’s fine just to have evenings like this. We should do them more.’
He circled his thumb over mine. ‘We should,’ he agreed. ‘Absolutely.’
Darling Cora,
I never watched Bake Off with you but working my way through your recipe books is bringing some small joy into the lonelier days. Today I am trying to make banana muffins. All the ingredients are sitting in a Pyrex bowl waiting but I have been scuppered by the lack of a muffin tray. A muffin tray is different to a cupcake tray, the book tells me.