by CP Ward
Jessica felt like a crazed fan as she lifted a hand to knock on the door of her grandfather’s suite. The old timer, due to perform next Saturday, had kept a low profile in the few days since Jessica’s arrival. She had caught the occasional fleeting glimpse at the far end of corridors and once even found him in the dining room, surrounded by a giggling entourage of elderly ladies, only to have Mildred tug on her arm and pull her away to an urgent blocked toilet before she was able to speak to him.
This was the seventh attempt to speak to him in his room. Three times he had been out somewhere, twice sleeping, and twice “engaged”. Jessica had promised her parents she would check up on him, but she was nearly ready to pack her bags and head back to Bristol before Doreen demolished her flat.
Knock. ‘Please…’ Knock. ‘…answer…’ Knock. ‘…your—’
The door flew open. Rather than one of her grandfather’s “maids”, as Jessica had taken to calling them, to her surprise it was the old man himself. Up close he looked every bit of his ninety-two years, more wrinkles and liver spots than features, but through it all shone the wide eyes, the cheeky smile, and even the hideous light-brown toupee which had made him a darling of Saturday night TV for several decades.
‘Oh, Jessica, darling, there you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’
‘Really? You’ve been looking for me?’
‘I’ve had scouts all over. Like ants to carry you home. None have yet. Have you put on weight?’ He gave a tittering laugh, then patted a stomach that Jessica considered yoga-trained flat, even if her only yoga poses were squeezing into awkward spaces beneath sinks.
‘About twenty stone,’ Jessica said. ‘At least since you last paid me any attention.’
Grandpa laughed again. ‘Oh, you jest. A chip off the old block, you are. Or should I say a slice off the old marshmallow?’
Jessica had a sudden flashback to her childhood, of sitting on Grandpa’s knee and watching cartoons while stuffing marshmallows and hot chocolate into their mouths. Her parents had been off on some overseas tour, and Grandpa, fresh from professional retirement, had taken it upon himself to get to know his grandchild a little better.
They had been wonderful days, full of laughter and fun.
‘I’ve missed you, Grandpa,’ she said, a tear beading in the corner of her eye as she pulled the old man into a hug. ‘I’ve hardly seen you these last ten years or so.’
Grandpa’s bony hands patted her on the shoulders, then Jessica helped him to a chair, the sprightliness that had somehow got him up to the hot spring impossible to see. For ninety-two, he looked in remarkable shape, his body not bowed by age like so many older people, but age was age. If she did even half what he had done in his life by the time she was done, she would be happy.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Jessica asked.
‘Oh, yes please. I’m afraid I gave the maids the afternoon off. There were a couple of movies I wanted to watch, but the TV was on the blink, so I took a nap, then went over a little old material for next week’s show.’
Grandpa had certainly been given the best view in the hotel. Three large, connected rooms all had wide, floor-to-ceiling windows giving a panoramic view of the moorland rolling away. It had begun to snow again, the scene reminding Jessica of the flying section of The Snowman, when Peter Auty sang Walking in the Air while James and the Snowman flew over the snow-covered fields.
‘Mine’s the sugar-free light hot chocolate,’ Grandpa said. ‘I don’t have the constitution I once had. I imagine it’s my fault you have so much work to do.’
Jessica grimaced. ‘Thanks, Grandpa. I didn’t need to know that.’
She made hot chocolate for Grandpa and coffee for herself, adding a couple of sugar-free marshmallows to his saucer, and a few full fat beauties to hers—presumably ones he kept for his maids. He had taken an armchair near to the window, so Jessica pulled another beside him, a little table between them on which she put their drinks.
‘So, what happened, Grandpa?’
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Why the vanishing act? You see, my dear, I’m ninety-two. Much as I’d be happy to live forever, it’s quite likely I’ll be done in a year or two. Wouldn’t mind my telegram from the Queen—I do wonder if she’ll use lemon-coloured paper?—but I’d settle for six months of fun over a few years in a nursing home. I quite passed the burn-out-not-fade-away moment about six decades ago, but it’s not too late to go out on my sword, is it?’
Jessica smiled. ‘I meant, what happened with Mavis?’
‘With that dragon?’ Grandpa leaned forward, skeletal hands gripping the arms of the chair. He lifted one eyebrow while simultaneously reducing the other eye to a slit, then wrinkled what was left of his nose as he said, ‘Are you worried that I … murdered her? That I crept up behind her and gave her ladder a quick shake while she wasn’t looking, then snuck back indoors and pretended to sleep in my chair until I was awoken by the neighbour’s shouting? Because it would only have taken a minute, wouldn’t it? And that awful woman was always so wrapped up in her own thing that she wouldn’t have noticed me in a million years, not even if I’d dressed up as a lemon and squawked like a bird.’ He leaned even further forward, until Jessica thought he might fall out of the chair. ‘Cluck? Cluck … cluck … cluck?’
‘Um … you didn’t, did you?’
Grandpa threw himself back in the chair so hard his back clicked. He burst into laughter, thumping the chair’s armrests.
‘Of course I didn’t. I can barely get out of my chair without assistance. And that woman had locked the door from the outside, just to make sure I didn’t wander off. I imagine the police ignored that one, didn’t they?’
Jessica shook her head. ‘I didn’t know—’
‘Figures. When life gives you lemons, and all that. Here I am, one of the greatest comedians of my generation, kept prisoner by my dead wife. Not something you want out in the papers, is it? Not when your son and daughter-in-law are off spending all your money.’
‘Grandpa, I—’
He leaned forward again, his body creaking like the bag of bones it resembled. ‘It’s not impossible that I paid someone to knock that old witch off … but she could easily have flown away!’
He burst into laughter again, leaving Jessica unsure whether he had been in the middle of a confession or a joke. Unsure quite what to say, she stuffed a marshmallow into her mouth and looked at the view until his cackling had subsided.
‘I’m proud of you, Jessica,’ he said suddenly. She looked at him, surprised, but there was no hint of a punchline to come. ‘I’m proud because you’ve made something of yourself. Look at you, a business owner! You think I haven’t had a look at your website? And that time you were on Britain’s Historic Homes—’
Jessica rolled her eyes. ‘I had one line,’ she said. ‘And it was BBC iPlayer. Only about thirty people watched it.’
‘TV is TV,’ Grandpa said. ‘You’re a chip off the old block. Not like my lay-about son. Do you think I got where I did in life by sitting around doing nothing? All you know is the T-shirts and the DVDs, and the legions of adoring fans.’ He couldn’t resist a little sigh of contentment, but then his eyes hardened once more. ‘You know I fought in the war, don’t you? France, 1945? Sure, it was almost over by the time I was sent out there, but I still saw action. And what I saw made me realise that if you have the chance to bring a smile to someone’s face, you should do it. I spent the next fifteen years in the pubs and the basement clubs, sleeping in the back of a rundown old van, on a dirty mattress, under a blanket I sewed together from two old jackets. I earned nothing but applause in most of those places, but if anyone thinks I didn’t earn my success, they have no idea.’
Jessica shook her head. ‘No, I had no idea. Dad never talked about it.’
‘That silly fool doesn’t know,’ Grandpa laughed. ‘I was well established before he came along, and you know, no point looking back, is there? Sunrise is always brighter than sunset. Lemon-bright, some mi
ght say.’ That twinkle again. ‘Whatever people might think of a crusty ninety-two-year-old man enjoying his last few days—because let’s face it, years is pushing it a bit—no one who knows me can say I haven’t earned it. Because I have.’ He leaned closer, back creaking. ‘Although, whisper it, but those years I spent in filthy bars and clubs, being heckled off the stage, having drinks thrown over me, watching fights break out over jokes that were taken the wrong way … those were the best years. I enjoyed every minute of it. For every person who got the hump, there was someone who was dying with laughter, and a few of those were women. There were plenty of nights I wasn’t alone on that dirty old mattress.’
He burst into laughter. Jessica just cringed, although she could sympathise, having been single for most of her twenties and with no sign of land on the horizon as she closed on thirty. After a couple of sherries, she would almost be prepared to jump into bed with Barry.
‘I’m so glad to see you again, Grandpa,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ll have time in your busy schedule to hang out with your little … Lemon.’
Grandpa smiled the most genuine smile he had yet. ‘I loved every minute of babysitting you,’ he said. ‘You grew up far too fast.’
‘And I’m getting old far too fast too.’
‘Your dad said you didn’t have a boyfriend,’ Grandpa said. ‘Or a girlfriend, if that’s the way you swing.’
Jessica cringed. ‘Boy is fine,’ she said. ‘And no, not currently.’
‘Not for years, your dad said. He’s worried he’s not going to have a wedding to spend all my money on.’
‘I’m not sure I could find a free date in between all their cruises,’ Jessica said.
‘Just don’t invite them,’ Grandpa said. ‘I didn’t invite my parents to my first wedding. Although we eloped, and I was sixteen. Gretna Green and all that. God, what times. We were married nine days before she had a change of heart and annulled it. Hadn’t even done the deed.’
‘That was your first marriage?’
Grandpa smiled. ‘Oh, no, I don’t even mention that one. It was more of a practice run. Honestly, all those biographies and they still haven’t dug that one up yet. I wonder what all these writers get paid for? Sitting on their bums and surfing the internet, no doubt. But let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about you.’
‘I don’t want to talk about me.’
‘Sure you do. What about that lovely young lad who rents the snowboards?’
‘He’s a teenager!’
‘Ah, he won’t be for long. And you can enjoy his best years. You know, they say a man’s libido peaks at eighteen. All downhill after that, unless you medicate.’ He winked. ‘Luckily I have good doctors.’
‘Grandpa, please….’
‘Well, who else is there? There’s that puff of hot air who thinks he’s running the place. We’ll cross him off. He has the hots for that receptionist anyway.’
‘Really?’
‘You can see it a mile off. When you’re looking back as far as me, at any rate. And she likes him, but she’d never admit it.’
‘I’d never have thought.’
‘Watch them together. That’s what life’s about, mostly. Watching. Really watching. You’ll be amazed what you see if you only take the time to really look.’
‘Okay, I’ll try.’
Grandpa wrinkled his chin. ‘So … who else is there?’
Jessica shifted uncomfortably. ‘Perhaps I’d better let you get some rest—’
‘Aha! The reindeer guy. Thomas? Simon? What’s his name again?’
‘James Wilcox.’
‘Ah, so you remember. A sure sign that you’re besotted.’
Jessica felt her cheeks reddening. ‘What? I’m not—’
Grandpa leaned forward and patted her on the knee. ‘It’s okay to tell your old Grandpa, my little Lemon. Your secret is safe with me—’
The door opened, and two women came bustling in, carrying bags of shopping. Demelza from the kitchen and Charity from housekeeping. They stopped when they saw Jessica and began to back out.
‘We’re sorry, we didn’t realise Mr. Lemond had company—’
‘It’s okay,’ Jessica said, standing up. ‘I need to get on. I’m supposed to be on duty in case any more pipes get blocked.’ She turned to Grandpa. ‘We’ll talk again soon.’
Grandpa winked. ‘We certainly will,’ he said.
17
Games in the Snow
Jessica went back downstairs, checking in with Mildred at reception first to see if there was anything that needed doing. Mildred just shrugged and shook her head, so Jessica headed downstairs to her room.
Kirsten was nowhere about, but had left evidence that she had recently been in attendance—a coffee mug and a chocolate bar wrapper on the table, next to a book on the French Revolution which had a stamp on the front saying Snowflake Library.
Jessica made herself a drink and pulled a chair near to the window, looking out on the basement view, where someone had thoughtfully strung up some Christmas lights over the giant washing machine and even stuffed a rather forlorn Christmas tree in between a drying rack and a storage cupboard.
She was still buzzing from her conversation with Grandpa. In such a short space of time she had learned so much about him that she had never known, plus a little about herself. No, she didn’t need a boyfriend, even if James’s mockery of her had left her feeling more perturbed than it perhaps should have. Who was he to judge her anyway? It wasn’t like he had a nightmare lodger destroying his property.
Almost by habit, Jessica pulled out her phone. A new message had appeared, perhaps one she had picked up while in Grandpa’s suite on the third floor. She groaned as she opened it.
This place has become unlivable, Lemons. You should be ashamed of yourself. Last night the lock on the front door broke. The key was a little stiff because of the cold so all I did was give it a little shove. Not even angrily, more just miffed. And the whole thing popped out. You call this security? I’ll be going to the letting agency in the morning. And if you think I’m paying next month’s rent, you can forget it. Screw you, Lemons.
Jessica just sighed. With no way to reply, she just tossed her phone onto the floor and rubbed her eyes. Perhaps the lodge needed someone year round? She certainly felt no desire to go back when her contract was over.
Lemons.
How had a single letter made her grandfather’s beloved childhood nickname for her become so hated? She had beamed every time he called her his little Lemon, but once secondary school kicked in and Lemons became her moniker, chanted in classrooms and shouted down hallways, she had despised everything about her family name. She had hated her family’s money, reviled her famous connection. And left everything she loved about her family behind. Yet all along, it had been Grandpa who had led the kind of life to which she should aspire. A life where you just didn’t give a damn.
She sat up. Screw men and lodgers from hell. It was time to take charge. She needed a drink. Alcohol would do, but hot chocolate would be better.
By the time she had walked upstairs, clear skies had given way to a curtain of falling snow. Guests and staff alike had gathered by the window to ooh and aah as the courtyard transformed into a polar playground. Jessica found Kirsten, a huge tome of European history clutched against her chest, standing near the door, peering through a circle someone had wiped in the condensation.
‘Isn’t it delightful?’ Kirsten said by way of greeting, her cheeks flushed from something Jessica suspected was a lot stronger than hot chocolate. ‘They’re saying it’ll be snowing like this for days.’
Before Jessica could reply, the sound of someone clapping came from the direction of reception. ‘Shovels! Shovels! Shovels!’ hollered Barry as he ran through the dining hall. ‘We’ll be snowed in! Everyone on duty, outside, now!’
Jessica joined the other staff as they hurried after Barry to the main doors. An old janitor she had learned was known only as Mr. Dawes because he refused to tell an
yone his first name had pushed a wheelbarrow loaded with snow shovels up to the front doors. Jessica joined a queue and soon was merrily shoveling snow off the entrance steps. Used to the slushy, dirty gunk that was all she ever saw in Bristol, the snow was a revelation. She had never seen snow like it: so light and fluffy that most of every shovelful ended up cascading down around her.
They had been digging for about twenty minutes, with the mood slowly rising to the point where Christmas songs were being hummed all over the place, when suddenly someone lost in the mist of the snow shouted, ‘Snowball fight!’
A chaos like Jessica had never known ensued. Amidst much laughter, she found herself herded to one side of the car park with a blue scarf thrust into her hands.
‘The flowerbed,’ gasped the teenager from the snowboard rental shop. ‘That’s the fort.’
No other explanation seemed necessary. The blues surged forward, fluffy, disintegrating snowballs making little to no impact whatsoever on the group wearing orange scarves, who had climbed up on the wall of the car park’s central flowerbed. Unsure quite what she was supposed to do other than heave snow about the place, Jessica joined in, only to catch a massive blow from the side which went right down her neck. She scooped up a handful and turned, scowling, only to see Kirsten, orange scarf around her neck and hands up, muttering ‘Sorry! That wasn’t meant for you!’
Jessica cocked to throw in any case, but then someone else shouted, ‘To the tree! Group snow angel!’
Again unsure what was going on, Jessica dropped her snowball, took Kirsten by the arm instead, and together they followed the others through the snow towards the massive, snow covered poplar tree on the edge of the car park. The strings of Christmas lights that encircled its fifteen-metre height had been dulled by the snow, but someone had produced a thick rope, which was apparently tied to the tree about halfway up.
‘All hands to the rope. Newbies under the tree!’
As Jessica led Kirsten under the nearest snow-laden branches, she wondered what was supposed to happen. When the same person shouted, ‘Heave!’ she twigged.
