by Alam, Donna
Once at the hotel, we make our way into the Astor Court, the St Regis’ home of fine dining. Apparently. With cream walls, gold accents, and Romanesque frescos, the place isn’t exactly understated.
‘My, that’s enough to put you off your dinner,’ she announces rather loudly as we pass a large mural, and she slows to a stop. ‘Look at the face he’s pulling.’ I give it a cursory glance as she continues. ‘He looks like he’s got wind. He’s proper grimacing. I hope that’s not prophetic.’
‘Come on, Gran.’ I link her arm around my forearm, hoping to encourage her to move along. ‘Maybe you should switch your hearing aid on.’
‘What?’
‘I said—’
‘I heard what you said, I was just teasing, love.’
‘The food here is great,’ I choose to answer. ‘Let’s order a tea, or maybe a sherry.’
‘Oh, now you’re talking.’ And thankfully, she begins to move away.
I’d ordered our afternoon tea prior to her arrival, mainly to avoid her seeing the prices on the menu. People of her generation are generally known for their frugal ways, born from the necessity of having to make every penny count. Gran is reasonably wealthy, but that hasn’t changed anything. Add to that, Yorkshire folk are renowned for their thrifty ways. Legend has it, according to my gran, copper wire was invented by two Yorkshiremen fighting over a penny.
In her world, clothes are bought for quality and durability, patched and mended when the need arises, before being repurposed when a garment reaches the end of its life. Zippers are saved in a container, and squares of fabric allocated to the cupboard under the sink to be used as dusters and all manner of things. Bread wrappers become freezer bags, fruits are preserved, and dishes are always hand washed. A cardigan is donned rather than the heating switched on, and heaven forbid you squeeze the toothpaste wrong.
‘It’s lovely, is this,’ Gran murmurs, her eyes darting around the airy space. ‘And this is a lovely spread.’ She points at the delicate cake stand and the tiny offerings decorating the plate. ‘I’ll never eat it all. I should ask them for a bag to put some of it in.’
‘But you’re flying back tonight, aren’t you?’
‘Aye, this is just a quick visit. Your fella said he’d book me a room, but I like to sleep in my own bed. It’s only an hour by aeroplane,’ she says softly. ‘I’ve been on longer bus rides than that.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘So why don’t we just get to it, lass. You tell me why you’ve married this fella. This fella I know nothing about.’
‘What’s to tell?’ I feed my finger through the delicate handle on my cup and raise it to my mouth. ‘We fell in love.’ As a sudden afterthought, I add, ‘Really quickly.’
‘I’ll say.’
‘Where did you meet him?’
‘In London. At work.’
‘He doesn’t work for you, does he?’
I laugh. It sounds unpleasant, and before I can bite the words back, I find myself saying, ‘I’d probably kill him.’
Gran makes a noise. That noise—you know the one that says “interesting” without having to use the word. ‘Married for a couple of days, and you already want to kill him?’
‘It’s not like that.’
‘It’s exactly like that,’ a deep and familiar voice says from behind me.
Beckett.
I turn my head, but he’s already bending to kiss my cheek. ‘Hello, darling.’
Chapter 26
BECKETT
‘What are you doing here? I mean, I thought you were going to meet us for an early dinner?’ She fixes a smile on her face, but I’m sure both Elsie and I saw what was under it. ‘You said you were busy.’
‘I thought I’d surprise you.’ As I smile down at her, she looks like she’d happily throttle me. ‘Besides, what kind of man would I be not to want to spend time with the person in your life who means the most.’
‘I thought that was supposed to be you,’ her grandmother offers without conviction.
‘I wouldn’t presume.’ I hold out a hand to the Elsie, the generationally appropriate thing to do. I must say, for someone who sounds like she might make a good CIA interrogator, her appearance is very unassuming. Which, I suppose, would be the point. She’s roughly Olivia’s size, though with the inevitable age-related rounding, and though her eyes are blue rather than Olivia’s mossy green, they have the same kind of intensity. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Elsie. May I call you Elsie?’
‘That’s my name,’ she answers prosaically, allowing me to take her hand. I pull out a seat between the pair and order a coffee.
‘Well, he’s a handsome devil, I’ll give you that.’ Elsie’s statement is somewhat begrudging and not at all directed at me.
‘He’s definitely something,’ Olivia mutters as she eyes a tiny chocolate tart on the cake stand. ‘I told you she was a good judge of character.’ As punishment for the devil quip, and just because making her cross seems to have become my life’s work, I beat her to the chocolatey morsel and pop it into my mouth.
‘I’m starving.’ I widen my eyes in provocation. ‘You didn’t mind, did you?’
‘Of course not. What’s yours is mine and all that.’
Elsie sets off laughing, not at all fooled by granddaughter’s tone. But then, who would be? ‘A word of advice for you. Never come between Livvie and something she wants, lad. Not if you want to keep your pretty looks.’
‘Gran!’
‘What? Tell the truth and shame the devil, love. You looked like you could have had his fingers off.’
‘I was not going to bite his finger. Beckett is quite welcome to help himself to anything he wants.’ Her grandmother starts chuckling again. ‘Ew, Gran. Stop it. Not like that.’
‘I’m not too old that I don’t remember what marriage is for. Well, one of the things it’s good for.’
‘Companionship?’ I offer blandly.
‘Nookie, lad. Nookie.’ She leans over, laying her small hand over mine. ‘You’re a fair old size.’ Olivia makes a noise as though she’s in pain as I find myself chuckling. I feel like a prize bull being viewed for stud as she takes stock of my appearance. ‘Don’t mind me. When you get to my age, you say what you mean because if you wait, you might not ever get to say it. I speak as I find.’
‘As it should be,’ I agree.
‘But how about we speak a little less about the joys of the marital bed?’
‘Oh, the joys?’ Elsie shoots me a wink. ‘That sounds promising.’
Leaning in a little closer, I murmur, ‘A gentleman never tells.’
‘You’ll have to speak up, lad. I’m a bit deaf. Come a little closer and—’
‘Gran, really? Don’t, Beckett. Before you know it, she’ll be wheedling out all your secrets.’
‘All my secrets?’ Olivia flushes as I slide her a provocative glance.
‘I’m only interested in the juicy ones, not where the bodies are buried.’ Her gran then adds, ‘Where else is an old lady supposed to get her entertainment from with a grandchild as bossy as this one?
‘Don’t start on that old lady business.’ Olivia scoffs, folding her arms. ‘I’m tenacious, and I get it from you.’
‘You’re more obstinate,’ I offer unhelpfully.
‘And you are going to keep her on her toes.’ Her hand taps mine before retracting. But that was just to sweeten me up. ‘How old are you, Buckett?’
‘It’s Beckett,’ Olivia hisses. But I’m sure she already knows.
‘The right side of forty. There are a dozen years between Olivia and myself. That’s what you’re really asking, isn’t it?’ We watch each other carefully, like two cats suddenly protecting their patch of territory.
‘And what do you get out of this marriage, then? Apart from a pretty girl on your arm.’
‘I can get a pretty girl to drape over my arm any day. Anywhere. There is, however, only one Olivia. She’s not just a pretty face, as I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you.’
‘Well, there’s no one quite as moody. When she’s in a strop, she throws things about. Have you found that out yet?’
‘I might’ve noticed.’ I don’t bother trying to hide my smile. I understand where this is going.
‘So, the fella is all right for cash,’ she says to Olivia, ‘but then you’re not exactly poor yourself. And he’s good looking, and you fight a lot, which has its obvious benefits.’ Olivia looks about to protest again when Elsie sends her an icy look. ‘You’re not pregnant, and a week ago, you’d never mentioned him. And now you’re married. What am I missing?’
‘Nothing. You’re not missing anything. It’s just . . . it’s just been a bit of a whirlwind.’
‘Yes. So you said,’ Elsie answer in a flat tone. ‘But a whirlwind just chucks people about, love. Shakes them from their normal, everyday living. It might be exciting while it’s happening, but it never lasts long. And all it leaves behind is a trail of devastation. So let’s not call this a whirlwind, eh?’ With barely a breath taken, she turns to me.
‘You’re divorced, I take it?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about children?’
‘No, I don’t have any.’
‘Do you want them?’
‘Gran, stop! I don’t even know if I want them. I can’t even keep a potted palm alive.’
‘Bugger plants! I’m taking about your future here. By the time you decide you want little ones, he could be really old. I had your mum late in life, but your grandpa was the same age. What if you don’t want to have children for another dozen years? He’ll be in his seventies by the time they’re grown.’
‘Urgh! Please, stop.’
‘It’s okay, Olivia. Your grandmother is just worried for you. It’s understandable. Our marriage has obviously come as a surprise.’
‘A bloody shock,’ she corrects, adjusting the scarf around her neck. ‘I’m just saying the things that need to be said. I speak as I find. Didn’t I say that already?’
‘Truthfully, Elsie, this is my fault. I made the announcement on Instagram, and Olivia was very cross. But I couldn’t help myself. Look at her.’ We both turn our attentions to the other side of the table. ‘What man wouldn’t want to shout from the hilltops how happy he is?’
‘She is bonny,’ she agrees. ‘And you looked very happy in your instagran post,’ she adds begrudgingly. No one corrects her. ‘You’ve just not got the best track record when it comes to lads. I worry about you.’
‘There really is no need to.’
‘But it comes with the territory,’ I offer. ‘There can be no love without concern.’ Elsie nods, agreeing.
‘Why so quickly? Act in haste, repent at leisure,’ she adds forebodingly.
‘You said you never regretted marrying your first husband, ran because it was all part of life’s grand plan for you. Well, I won’t—don’t—regret marrying Beckett because he’s good for me. Really good.’ I’d be lying if I said her words didn’t affect me. So much so, as I stare at her, I find I need to remind myself why we’re married in the first place. Why she is my wife. Yes, I saw an her as an opportunity, a beautiful opportunity, but I also saw a little of myself in her. Because Olivia is ruthlessly determined. However, it doesn’t come from the same place. I’m addicted to making money. She just wants to look after the people around her. She’s afraid of disappointing her family.
I also thought she was a good actress, that certain facets of her personality were fake, but she’s no more fake than I am underprivileged. She’s genuine. Real. We’re all flawed. We’re all scarred, and I’m the first to admit to being a less than perfect human. It doesn’t feature in my ten-year plan. But she’s someone who deserves good things, and I’m not really good for her. I’m beginning to realise it’s the other way around.
‘We fell in love,’ I add. ‘And I simply couldn’t bear the thought of her belonging to someone else.’ As I reach across the table for Olivia’s hand, both women seem stunned.
‘Well, Livvie,’ Elsie eventually says. ‘You’re a grown woman, and you’ve made your choice. I will say that I often thought it’d be a very particular kind of man you’d need.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means this one will keep you on your toes. I don’t know what you’re smiling about,’ she says. ‘Works both ways.’ Her gaze slides over to me. Over to me, up then down. ‘You won’t have it easy. All right,’ she adds as though this finalises things. ‘Give me a look at the ring.’ Olivia dutifully lifts her hand. ‘My, that’s a bobby dazzler, is that!’ Which seems to be an answer in the affirmative.
‘Beckett has good taste,’ Olivia offers, still looking down at the ring.
‘Of course he does. He married you, didn’t he?’
The atmosphere improves from here. There are no pointed questions or snide remarks, though whether the introduction of another glass of sherry or a genuine truce, it’s hard to tell. I’m persuaded to eat while the pair finish their tiny sandwiches and try very hard not to laugh when my champagne risotto is delivered and Elsie immediately complains to the waiter that there appears to be a candy wrapper in it. The “paper” is actually gold leaf, and when the waiter returns with a plate sans gold leaf, she takes one look at it and sniffs before declaring it looks like rice pudding.
Talk turns to what we’re doing in New York. Work. Where I’m from. London; that godforsaken heathen town. She tells us that, in her opinion, living in Maine is almost as good as living in Yorkshire.
‘God’s country,’ she declares the place.
And for holidays? ‘There’s nowhere better than Whitby. You can keep your tropical beaches and your palm trees. Give me a bit of cold sand between my toes at Scarborough or a bit of dramatic headland like in Whitby. Fish and chips and a half pint of ale. You can keep your cocktails with umbrellas and bits of fruit floating in it. Yorkshire will do for me.’
After her grandmother’s declaration, Olivia leans in. ‘One of your ancestors is buried in Whitby?’ I frown, and for a minute, I think she might be being serious. Silly me. ‘Dracula is buried in a church in the town.’
‘I’ll have to visit next time I’m up that way.’ Which is probably never, because—
‘That would be lovely!’ Elsie declares. ‘I’m back to the UK next month, and I always have a right hard time persuading Livvie to come with me. We can all go together. I’ll even buy the fish and chips.’
So, it looks like I have a family engagement to get out of next month.
After the food is cleared away, Olivia takes her grandmother to the suite to change her shoes while I wait downstairs, then we make our way out to the car together. I have a meeting, and the pair have decided a wander around Bloomingdale’s is in order.
‘He must be worth a fortune.’ I hear their approach before I actually see them.
‘Gran, shush.’
‘Why? Do you think he doesn’t already know?’
‘It’s just not polite conversation.’
‘What have I said to you, my girl? One of the perks of being old is being able to speak my mind.’
‘Quite right,’ I answer, as the pair walk past the deep armchair I’m sitting in.
‘There you are,’ Elsie answers as though the pair had been looking for me. ‘You’re not a criminal, are you?’
‘No. The amounts I’m paid, however . . .’
‘Criminal,’ she answers prosaically.
‘The amounts may seem so.’
‘Well, where there’s muck, there’s brass. And that’ll do for me. Now, let’s go shop till we drop, shall we?’ The pair turn, and I dutifully follow. ‘Or shop until we need to stop for a cuppa, at least.’
‘Yeah, Gran. Whatever you want.’
At the airport, we watch as Elsie is escorted through security by the very helpful airport staff; the other travellers making way for the airline-issued wheelchair.
‘I know she’s tired, but she’s perfectly capable of making it onto the plane herself. S
he’s just working the system. But I expect she’s tired.’
‘She’s very sprightly for someone of her age.’
‘It’s in the genes. Her mother lived well into her hundreds.’
When the last of the waving is done, and Elsie disappears into the bowels of the airport, Olivia sighs, slumping her shoulders. Then she turns, feeding her fingers into my lapels as she bumps her head against my sternum.
‘Urgh. I hate lying to her.’
‘No, but you love her very much, and you’re trying to protect her.’ Her head emerges from my chest with a frown. ‘And lying is such a harsh word. Isn’t it more the case that you’re being selective with the truth? Keeping a secret from her.’
‘I’m not sure she’d see any difference.’
‘Well, she’s not going to find out, is she? So the point is irrelevant.’
We begin making our way back to the car when Olivia’s hand wraps around my arm.
‘I bet when you planned on dragging me to New York for your wicked plans, you didn’t expect visiting relatives.’
‘My plans were thoroughly non-wicked.’ She shoots me a sceptical glance. ‘Or only partially wicked. But, no, I didn’t exactly expect visitors. But I like her.’ I glance down and catch her quizzical look. ‘It’s easy to see who you take after.’
‘There’s a terrifying thought.’
‘You’d rather take after someone else. Your mother, perhaps?’
‘No. I love my mom, but she and I don’t always see eye to eye.’
‘Another headstrong redhead like yourself?’
‘That’s such a cliché. But no. Mom has dark hair like my grandfather.’
‘And that’s how you got a mixture of the two, I suppose.’ We both come to a halt as I find I’m running my hands through the silky strands of her red-brown hair.
‘Why are you trying to make me feel better?’
‘Do I have to have an ulterior motive?’
‘And what did Gran say you when she took you to one side before she left?’
‘Ah.’ I feel my expression lighten. ‘She gave me a few words of marital advice.’
