by Shari Low
On the night that the cancellation had come in, after a couple of glasses of wine, she’d re-read the letters and the next thing she knew, she was on the internet, on the British Airways website, and using the loyalty points she’d accumulated over the years to book a trip to visit her granny’s homeland. A trip for two. Lulu worked part-time, or rather, whenever she felt like it, doing marketing for Dan’s company, so she’d been delighted to have an excuse to bunk off. They’d hoped to do Friday to Sunday, but the pre-Christmas rush had squashed that plan. The only free seats were on the first flight up this morning, and then an early flight back tomorrow. They had twenty-four hours to learn something, anything, about Annie’s life.
As yet, that was as far as the plan went. Shauna had the old letters with addresses and that was it. She’d tried social media, internet research, birth and death registers, and had ascertained that – as far as she could tell – Annie’s two siblings were still alive. From the addresses on the letters, she’d located the houses on Google Maps, so they were still standing. It was somewhere to start. However, she had no idea if Annie’s relatives were still there, so she was flying by the seat of her pants.
There was a ninety-five per cent chance this quest for living relatives was going to be a complete waste of time, but hey, it gave her something intriguing to do this weekend and took her mind off missing Beth, so how bad could it be?
Besides, it was ages since she’d had time away with Lulu and if all they did was explore a new city, do a bit of Christmas shopping and drink cocktails, well, that would be absolutely fine. It was better than the alternative, which would mostly involve doing anything at all to stop herself from rehashing memories of every Christmas she’d had with Colm.
The queue in the aisle had cleared, so Shauna and Lulu finally disembarked and made their way through Glasgow Airport, stopping when they exited the glass sliding doors in front of the taxi rank. And yes, it was cold, and yes, it was raining, but it didn’t dampen Shauna’s excitement. Glasgow at Christmas. It was as unexpected as it was thrilling.
‘So what’s the plan?’ Lulu asked, as they headed towards the car at the front of a line of white taxis.
‘Let’s go and drop these bags at the hotel. We’re probably too early to check in, but I’m sure they’ll let us store these,’ she gestured to the small wheeled cabin bags they were both pulling. ‘Then I’d like to go see where her sister sent the letters from because I think there’s a good chance that was where Annie grew up. And then maybe go to the address on the other letters too.’
Lulu nodded in agreement. ‘I’m down with all of that as long as we get a cocktail in between every step of the mission.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of doing it any other way,’ Shauna replied, feeling a weird sensation of liberation. Back home, she rarely drank alcohol, as most nights were followed by early morning school or sports runs for Beth. It had been way too long since she’d relaxed and been an independent, commitment free grown-up for the day.
She followed Lulu into the taxi. ‘The Blythswood Square Hotel, please.’ She’d been intending to book a Premier Inn, but at the last moment had decided to treat them to a more luxurious experience – a twin room in one of the city’s most lavish hotels. If it all proved to be a waste of time, at least they’d get a hot stone massage and a night in a comfy bed with Egyptian cotton high thread count sheets. Not that she was entirely sure what Egyptian cotton high thread count sheets actually felt like.
The taxi pulled away and Shauna looked towards the hills in the distance as the strangest feeling descended. She’d never been here and yet it all felt weirdly familiar. She half expected to turn a corner and see Annie standing there, waiting for her.
Shauna just hoped that today was the day that her grandmother was ready, finally, to share her secrets.
Two
Tom
Tom held the razor to the man’s throat and inhaled deeply to steady his hand. The last thing he wanted to do was draw blood.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to do that?’ The voice from the doorway was soft, designed not to startle him into any sudden moves.
He pulled back the razor. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got it. I prefer to do it when he’s out for the count.’
The nurse, Liv – she insisted on first name terms – stepped forward with a gentle smile. ‘He’ll be exhausted, Tom. He had a restless night last night. A couple of periods of wakefulness though. Just fleeting, but he managed a few sips of fruit juice and to ask if it’s Christmas yet.’
Tom smiled sadly as he foamed up a bit more shaving cream and applied it to his grandfather’s face. The nurses took care of all his other needs – changing him, washing him, feeding him – but Tom liked to shave him and brush his silver hair every day. ‘I hate this disease, Liv,’ he said, stating the obvious.
George Thomas Butler had been diagnosed with bone cancer several years before. It had now spread throughout his body, and the last scan showed the presence of cancer cells in his brain. The combination of the disease and the medication was causing him to slip in and out of consciousness as he approached his final days in the palliative care ward run very efficiently by the charge nurse, Liv Campbell.
Tom had met her on the day that his grandad was transferred from the general ward three weeks ago and they’d struck up an easy friendship. ‘A lovely lass, that,’ George had stated firmly, after only a day in her care, when he was still well enough to sit and chat for a while. Born in 1933, his grandad was of the generation that didn’t give out approvals easily, so Tom knew she had to be a very capable nurse. Liv’s husband, Richard Campbell, occasionally popped down too. He was a consultant neurologist, one of the many specialists who had contributed to George’s care, an easy going Mancunian who always made time to chat. They made a great couple, the doctor and Liv. It had been impossible to miss their easy going contentment, the instant smiles when they saw each other. Tom had had that once. Only once…
He ran his fingers through his dark hair, an automatic distraction to stop himself revisiting the past. In his head he could hear his grandad telling him to get a haircut, now that the waves were touching the back of his collar. He’d been way too busy with work and caring for George and hadn’t been able to find time to get to the barber’s for weeks. It wasn’t a priority.
‘Are your parents on their way?’ Liv asked, keeping her voice steady as Tom was back at the job in hand, shaving his grandfather as he’d done every day for the last few weeks, since George had been unable to do it himself. Not an easy task for a thirty year old guy to master, but there had been no blood so far and it was taking less time every morning, so he must be getting the hang of it. Tom wasn’t even sure that George was aware he’d been doing it, but it didn’t matter. It had always been important to George to be smart, shaved, have a tie on and his shoes polished, so Tom wasn’t going to let his grandad’s standards slip on his watch.
‘Yeah, my dad and stepmother. They’re halfway here. They touched down in Dubai a couple of hours ago and their connecting flight took off on time. They should be here about three o’clock.’
He hoped his tone didn’t give away the fact that he wasn’t relishing the prospect of seeing his father, Norry, and his stepmother, Rosemary. Playing happy families was going to be a challenge. It had never come easily to them in the past and he’d no reason to think it would now. He wasn’t even sure that George would want them here, and he’d been even less confident that they would want to come, but he’d decided to call them and let them know, then leave the decision up to them. To his surprise, they’d called back with their flight details.
An unexpected wave of anger got twisted in his gut. He wasn’t one to bear grudges, to resort to rage and fury, but the thought of Norry and Rosemary threw up memories of the worst time of his life. On a day to day basis, he could let it be, keep it compartmentalised, act like he’d moved on, but he knew the scar was still there. So was the shame of what he’d done, what they’d persuaded him to do. He’
d never forgiven them. Or himself. In a few hours he’d see them for the first time in ten years. He had no grand desire for a family reunion but he’d felt it was the right thing to do for his grandfather, to let them see him, thank him, say goodbye.
He finished off shaving, kissed his grandad’s cheek, and spoke softly to him.
‘I’ll be back soon, Grandad. Just need to head into the office and take care of a few things.’
This had been his routine for the last few weeks. Gone were his evenings at the gym, his five-a-side football sessions with the guys, his nights with Zoe. Colleagues for years – she was the sales director at The B Agency – they’d started seeing each other a couple of months ago, just before George was admitted to the general ward. She was smart, funny, stunning, and she understood that this was where he needed to spend his time now. He owed her some serious attention to make up for being a mainly absent boyfriend.
Thankfully, they were flexible about visiting times on the palliative care ward and didn’t mind family members coming and going. The lovely lady in the next room had four people round her bed all day long. Tom was all George had, so he did his best to be there as much as possible. He’d even helped the staff decorate the nurses’ station for Christmas a couple of weeks before and he’d put a few of his grandad’s favourite decorations in his room, the ones that had come out every year since he was a kid. It was a bittersweet moment, evoking memories of wonderful times in the past, while being a stark reminder that this was the last Christmas they would have together.
He didn’t want to waste a moment of it. He’d come to the hospital first thing in the morning and sit with George for a couple of hours, shave him, and read him a few stories from the papers. He made sure he didn’t miss any sports or politics stories. George prided himself on keeping up to date with the world around him. After the papers had been covered, Tom would head in to the office in the city centre, stopping on the way for a coffee and to recalibrate his mindset for the day ahead. Marketing was a world where he had to be on the ball and clear headed, keep the creativity sharp and the distractions to a minimum. Luckily, at The B Agency – the company he’d set up after University with his best mate Davie Bailey – they’d just put their biggest campaigns of the year to bed, and their major projects in the pipeline didn’t kick off until January. It was an uncustomary lull, but one that was very welcome, because working the usual twelve hour days would be impossible right now. The slack allowed him to spend the morning in the office, sometimes making it back to the hospital for an hour at lunchtime if he could, then he’d work in the afternoon before heading straight there at around six and sitting with George until they switched off the ward lights. This daily schedule had become second nature to him now, and he’d only altered it over the last few nights, when he’d slept overnight in the chair beside his grandad’s bed, because he knew they were getting closer to the end and although he was dreading the moment with every fibre of his being, he wasn’t going to let George die alone.
Today would be different though. He was only heading to his desk for a few hours this morning, as it was the last day of work before the two week Christmas break. Before they swapped Secret Santa gifts and said goodbyes at the office, there were ties to be broken, truths to be delivered, questions to be answered… and that was before he even got around to dealing with his parents. Facilitating free time to spend with his father and stepmother had never proven to be a good idea. Still, this wasn’t about him. It was about the man lying in the bed here and making his final days as comforting and comfortable as possible.
He squeezed George’s hand as he said goodbye. It was strange how much easier it was to be affectionate and tender with George now. Before he’d got sick, his grandfather had been a kind, caring but emotionally distant figure, a man who never discussed his feelings or showed any kind of weakness. The only time Tom had ever seen his strength crack was when his wife, Betty, had died, and there was a moment at the funeral when Tom had held his arm, steadied him. Other than that, he’d been a loving but stoic man of pride and dignity, who rarely discussed his own life. In fact, Tom had realised only lately that he had known the man in front of him for all of his thirty years, yet he knew very little about him. He had no brothers, no sisters, no other family. Granny Betty had died when Tom was nineteen, and since then his grandfather had gone through the motions, made a life for himself at the lawn bowling club and the local social club. Tom had visited him at least once a week, but the conversations were always superficial: the football scores from the weekend before, the weather, the latest government screw up. There were certainly no hugs or kisses or displays of affection. It was a generational thing and Tom didn’t take it personally. These were the strong, resilient wartime children who had battled hardship and impoverished childhoods. They didn’t do weakness and dramatics. In fact, the only time he’d ever seen his grandad get emotional was when Granny Betty died and after the cancer diagnosis. There had been a glisten in his eyes on those days.
‘Listen, son,’ he’d said, after clearing his throat. ‘The house is already in your name – I transferred it over years ago – and the life insurance will all go to you. Not that there’s much, but what’s there I want you to have. Just make sure that father of yours doesn’t get his hands on it, because he doesn’t deserve a bloody penny after what he did…’
It had taken Tom a moment to recover his voice. The subject of his father hadn’t been raised in over a decade. That’s why he’d hesitated to call him and let him know George was nearing the end, but perhaps there was still time for amends, for closure and for forgiveness.
Although, maybe forgiveness would be a step too far for him. His father, Norry, had pretty much ignored his grandad for all these years – no invitations to Australia, no phone calls, no visits, nothing. Seeing him today could either go very well or very badly – he just wasn’t sure which one it would be.
He picked up his leather briefcase, then pulled on his Zegna coat over his Tom Ford suit. Appearances were important in his industry. On a day when there were no client meetings, he’d normally opt for smart trousers and an open neck shirt, but he’d felt the need to put on some armour this morning, to reinforce his confidence and add a metaphorical layer of protection for the battles ahead. He pulled his collar up around his neck as he stepped out into the freezing cold of the Glasgow morning, stopping to hold the door open for some incoming visitors, all of whom gave him the sad smile of empathy as they too faced the inevitable loss of their loved ones.
Out on the street, passers-by would see a well dressed, clearly successful, man in his early thirties heading to his car, the kind of guy who was cool and calm, was in control, who had life sorted. That morning, it couldn’t be further from the truth. Not cool. Not calm. Struggling to maintain control.
He checked his watch. Just before nine a.m. He jumped into his white BMW, propelled by an excruciating mix of dread and fury. Yesterday, he’d stumbled across a message that was definitely not meant for his eyes. It was from his business partner, Davie, and the recipient was someone that was long gone from Tom’s life, someone he’d searched for countless times over the years, someone he’d failed to find.
Now, he’d discovered that Davie was in contact with her, but he hadn’t shared the information. Perhaps he intended to reveal all. Perhaps this was a plan to reunite Tom with the love of his life… Or maybe it was the worst kind of betrayal by someone he trusted.
It would take him a while longer to get to the office today because he was making a detour, stopping off somewhere. There was something he had to see with his own eyes, something that had the potential to change everything.
By the end of the day he’d either have nothing or everything that mattered… he just had no way of knowing which.
Three
Chrissie
Band Aid were belting out “Do They Know It’s Christmas” on the radio as Chrissie stopped at the kitchen doorway and watched her twelve year old son, Ben, polish off the last
of his Cheerios. He was eating while engrossed in a book that was balanced against the plastic semi-skimmed milk carton in the middle of the table. With his dark brown hair and huge hazel eyes, sometimes his resemblance to his father took her breath away and she had to pause, compose herself.
‘Right, my love, come on. We’ve got ten minutes to get out of here.’
He reluctantly closed the book and slipped it into the backpack that was lying at his feet.
‘Have you got your—’
‘Homework, yes, PE kit, yes, packed lunch, yes, three bottles of bubble bath for the Christmas raffle and the Santa cupcakes that you bought but are pretending you baked…’
She smiled. ‘And…’
‘… And yes, I have the second backpack with pyjamas for tonight and clothes for tomorrow, because Josh’s mum is picking me up from school and I’m staying over at their house tonight because you’re deserting me.’
‘Excellent,’ Chrissie replied, laughing at his cheek and not rising to his jibe. Ben was the greatest and most important person in her life, and she adored him beyond measure. He wasn’t the smartest kid in class, the sportiest or the girls’ heart-throb, but he had an irrepressible knack for making people laugh that would get him a long way in life.
‘And did you remember to pick up something to take to his house as a thank you?’ she added.
‘Yup, a bottle of vodka and twenty Benson & Hedges,’ he replied, totally deadpan.
