Once we had emptied the wardrobe I stepped into the fitted closet, reaching up and pulling things from the hanging space. Some of them I didn’t recognise at all: they must have been in there for years.
‘There are some extraordinary dresses from the 1980s back here,’ I called, emerging, hair askew, with a collection of coat hangers. I held one up. ‘Grandma loved a shoulder pad, it seemed.’
‘Oh, she was smitten over that one,’ called Grandad from across the room as I drew out a mustard yellow tea dress, pale pink roses printed on the fabric.
‘I can see why: it’s so pretty.’
The label was almost entirely faded. The dress must have been at least forty years old and yet it was still pressed and ready to wear.
Being among Grandma’s clothes made me feel closer to her than I had in these last few weeks since she’d gone. Remembering how sociable she had been, dragging Grandad off to various events when he’d happily have stayed in and watched reruns of Deal or No Deal (Noel Edmonds really tickled him). I remembered occasions when she’d worn some of these dresses, how even as a teenager I had conceded that my grandma had amazing style.
Grandad had gone downstairs with another full bin liner and I was standing back in the closet, running a hand through the folds, feeling the different fabrics before pulling out a floor-length gown in dusky rose pink, tiny beads sewn into the bodice, a delicate chiffon skirt. I sucked in my breath as I removed it from the rail.
‘How did I never see her in this? It’s gorgeous.’ I held it up against me and stepped back into the room in search of a mirror. ‘Oh.’ The bedroom was empty.
Arjun was in the corridor just outside, leaning against the wall, engrossed in a burgundy-leather-bound photo album. When he looked up at me, the dress still in my hands, he had tears in his eyes. ‘I got to know her so well these last few years. She was always so good to me,’ he said, sniffing and pulling out a tissue from inside the sleeve of his jumper. ‘She was a beauty,’ he added, indicating the photographs.
‘She was,’ I said quietly, picturing Grandma now at her dressing table, smoothing down her silvery-grey hair with the silver-backed brush.
At that moment Grandad reappeared at the top of the stairs, taking us both in. I was still holding the dress against me and he smiled.
‘We got engaged when she was wearing that dress,’ he said, his voice low as he inclined his head towards me. ‘I took her to the opera, and then for dinner afterwards. I don’t remember the show, I couldn’t eat, and when it came to it I couldn’t get the words out I was so bloody nervous.’
We were all crying now.
‘You should take it,’ he said. ‘You and she are about the same size. She would have wanted you to have anything you liked.’
We locked eyes then and it was my turn to nod and swallow down the emotion. Grandma had always been generous to a fault, shielding me from bad weather with her own jacket while she got soaked, carrying me back from the bus stop aged eight when I’d twisted my ankle pirouetting around the pole, offering me food from her plate if I finished first. I smiled sadly as I fingered the shimmering material, pictured my own utilitarian wardrobe of blacks and greys: my uniform.
‘I can’t think of an occasion I’d wear it.’
Grandad’s face fell immediately, the lines more marked as he turned away from me, his shoulders dropping a fraction. Arjun coughed and looked away. I regretted saying it the moment the words left my mouth.
What was wrong with me? I felt my insides swirl in confusion. Suddenly I felt the familiar bubble of anger, always so near the surface, and bit the inside of my cheek. I should have fixed things but instead I wiped at my face, turned and moved back into the bedroom, replacing the dress where I had found it, and continued to clear the piles around me.
Chapter 6
Love is like falling into a large hole with no idea how to get back out
PETER, 75
I was running late for Amy, which Amy hated. It wasn’t just the teacher in her, she’d always been like that. Even at school when we were little she would roll her eyes, cross her arms and look disapproving. She was right, of course. I knew it was selfish but somehow, even with the best of intentions, I still managed to be late. I started preparing a lie as I half jogged along the pavement. I had blamed the Tube last time. This time I might go big and invent a foiled handbag-snatching attempt. Too much time in court maybe – and anyway Amy was trained to see through extravagant tales.
I was still trying to divide my time between our flat and the odd evenings at Grandad’s house and felt torn and stretched thin, living on buses and tubes and buying underwear when out because my stuff was scattered around the place. I wanted to help Grandad, make him less alone, but sometimes wondered if I was creating more work for him. I had heard him sigh as he turned off the smoke alarm and washed up the mess I had created in the kitchen after starting a meal for us before becoming distracted by a work document. Grandad had snapped at me to leave the scorched pan and I had stepped back, stung. We both missed Grandma. She had always been the calming influence, capable and relaxed as Grandad and I circled each other, both perhaps a little highly strung.
I’d apologised in a gruff voice, not meeting his eye, wanting to shout that I had just been trying to help, then wanting to be back in my own flat with Luke making me dinner. Then the crashing guilt after that thought.
Luke was often with Grandad when I wasn’t, knew it was important to me that he had company. We could have spent this Saturday together – until I remembered I’d promised Amy I’d go wedding-dress shopping with her.
‘It’s important,’ I’d barked, shrugging off Luke’s hand inching around my waist in bed that morning.
His sigh had instantly made me bristle, feel cross. I was still tired, I wanted to stay in our freshly laundered bed with him too. I hadn’t said that, had simply stamped off to the shower, muttering underneath the jet of water before racing around the flat as the clock ticked, Luke watching his iPad in bed.
‘Are you just going to lounge around here then?’
‘It’s the weekend, Lottie. And you’re abandoning me.’
‘I told you’ – I looked up at him – ‘it’s Amy, I can’t not go.’
‘Hey.’ Luke raised both hands. ‘I know, I know, there’s no need to lose it on me.’
‘I’m not losing it on you,’ I said, my voice rising: there was nothing more likely to make me lose it than Luke accusing me of losing it already.
‘No, you’re chillaxed as ever,’ he muttered at the screen.
‘I heard that.’
‘You were meant to,’ Luke said, smiling sweetly up at me.
Huffing, I finished pulling on my clothes, wincing as I hit my shin on the corner of the drawer I had just pulled out.
‘Fuck.’
‘You OK?’
‘Not that you care.’
Luke didn’t respond, just went back to his iPad. I picked up my handbag. ‘I’m late,’ I said crossly, as if it was Luke’s fault.
‘Amy will understand. Come here.’
‘She’ll be angry,’ I said, petulantly.
Luke put down his iPad, letting his breath out slowly.