Oh, how I miss him.
Even when our home had begun to resemble a war zone – the chairs threadbare, the carpet stained and the furniture a victim of his accidental kicks – he taught me that these things aren’t important. These days, people strive for perfection, not realizing that all they really need is health and happiness. A spotless kitchen isn’t going to cut the mustard. A meal in a Michelin-starred restaurant won’t either. It’s the people sitting around your kitchen table who count.
I put the picture back in its place before returning to my armchair to watch the weather forecast, Elvis settling on my lap again.
In a way it was a blessing that Tim didn’t suffer the loss of our Beth. That he didn’t know what I know.
In the past, Flo has asked me if I thought it odd how Beth died, simply walking across a busy street, not looking, not paying attention. It made me think of Tim in the early years of his diagnosis, when he’d go to the shops for cigarettes and forget where he was. I didn’t want to nanny him; understandably he wanted to cling on to his independence for as long as possible, but eventually I would have to go out and find him. Sometimes he’d be in the pub, watching sport, oblivious to the fact he’d been gone for hours; other times he’d be wandering the streets, lost and disorientated. I once had to run across a busy road to help him reach the other side safely, a horn blasting and an irate driver yelling at us.
If I’d been just a second later . . .
The news has come to an end now. I haven’t the foggiest what the weather will be like tomorrow. I switch off the television, almost jumping out of my skin when I hear knocking on my front door.
Who on earth would be calling at such an unsocial hour?
‘Hello?’ he calls out in a deep voice. ‘Hello? Are you there?’
I tiptoe to the door and take a look through my peephole.
I stagger back.
Good grief. It’s my new neighbour who moved in a few weeks ago with his partner and their squawking baby. I must admit, I do find him rather intimidating; he must be well over six foot, with that funny matted hair.
‘Dreadlocks, Granny,’ I recall Flo saying to me, rolling her eyes. ‘You can’t say “funny hair”.’
I suppose I should invite him in, but he could be an ex-prisoner for all I know. A real baddie. After all, why would he be knocking at this time of night?
I wait, holding my breath, hoping he’ll get the message, which thankfully he does. I breathe again, before stealthily sliding the chain across the door, double locking and pushing the bottom bolt across too.
You can never be too careful.
After letting Elvis out for a piddle, the two of us head upstairs. If Tim were here, he’d be shocked I allow Elvis to sleep in our bedroom.
‘That dog lives the life of Riley,’ he’d say.
As I undress, retrieving my nightie neatly folded underneath my pillow, my mobile pings. It’s a text message from Flo. My heart lifts.
Granny, I’m on my way home. Have some exciting news! ☺ Can I pop over to see you tomorrow evening? Want to tell you in person! Missed you this weekend. Flo x
I freeze.
I sit down and reread the message, my heart thumping in my chest.
Theo must have proposed. What else could it be?
I want Flo to get married and have children, of course I do. There is nothing I’d love more than to see her happy, but . . .
Keep calm, Peggy.
Breathe.
If it is what I think it is, I’ll deal with it. In many ways it forces my hand. It doesn’t have to change her plans. Flo’s life doesn’t need to stop.
I shut my bedroom door, but it’s optimistic to think I’ll get any sleep tonight. I wish Tim were with me, to hold me in his arms and tell me everything will be fine.
I even start to believe it will be. So long as Theo is the right person . . .
From the little I know about him – aside from his wealth, his age and his Jaguar – I believe he’s wedded to his career. The first time he came over for dinner, his BlackBerry was treated like a fourth guest. He’s driven and ambitious, and there’s no doubt he’s easy on the eye, nor is he running low on confidence. Tim was confident too, but the kind of man who also wore odd socks with holes in the big toe. Or jumpers that I’d darned more times than I could count because he didn’t like spending money on clothes.
I can’t somehow imagine Theo wearing socks with holes in them. But who knows, I might be wrong.
Often I am.
Anyway, all that matters is whether he will stick by her, knowing she could possibly inherit HD. If he will then that’s good enough for me.
As I undress and brush my teeth I recall a conversation I had with Beth, when she told me, out of the blue, that she was pregnant. Of course I was furious. Livid! She was far too young; how irresponsible to bring a child into the world without a father.
I thought she’d thrown her life away until the day Flo was born.
I fell in love with this little bundle of joy the moment I held her in my arms and she wrapped her little finger around mine, looking up at me with the biggest, most innocent eyes. Being a granny was a wonderful distraction from everyday life, too. She awakened our home with her toys and games, her baking and painting at the kitchen table. She’d sit on her granddad’s lap and tickle his chin.
I sink into bed and close my eyes reassuring myself, yet again, that all will be well. But really, how did I let it get to this stage? I should have learned from my mistakes with Beth. So much remained unsaid between us. Hiding something from someone you love, keeping it locked inside, is like drip-feeding yourself poison.
Hours later I sit up in bed, still wide awake. The past is well and truly backing me into a corner now, telling me loud and clear that if Flo’s news is what I strongly suspect it to be, it’s time I told her the truth.
4
Flo
‘I’d have said yes too,’ James says, admiring my diamond and aquamarine ring again. Theo went for the bold modern option. ‘That’s quite a knuckleduster.’
I smile. In fact, for the past forty-eight hours, I haven’t been able to stop smiling. I was grinning like a clown throughout the plane journey, attracting the attention of my American neighbour who said as the drinks trolley stopped at our row, ‘I’ll have whatever she’s having.’
‘Have you told Maddie?’ he asks me.
I tell him his sister shrieked down the telephone late Friday night, though I urged her not to say a word until I returned home.
‘Come here,’ James says. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thanks. I’m going to miss you though.’
‘Yeah, right, when you’re drinking margaritas in a swanky rooftop bar you’ll be wishing you were here, with me, eating beans on toast.’
‘I love beans on toast. I love this flat; it’s my home. You and Maddie, you’re my family.’
‘Flo?’ James stands back and looks me in the eye. ‘You’re not having any doubts, are you?’
‘No, it’s just—’
‘Granny Peg?’
I nod, knowing it was an easy guess.
With every rose comes a thorn, and the thorn is leaving her. I’m looking forward to telling her the news just as much as I’m dreading it.
‘She’ll be happy for you,’ James assures me as his mobile rings. From the look on his face I can tell it’s Kate, a woman he met while out running a couple of weekends ago.
‘Take it,’ I urge.
Alone, I unpack and throw a load of clothes into the washing machine. I glance at my ring again, still wondering if it’s all a dream. I know Granny will be happy for me, but I also know how much we’ll miss one another. No matter how many times Theo assured me she could visit, it won’t be the same.
Granny and I have always been close. Some of my happiest childhood memories are of decorating cupcakes and making strawberry jam in her kitchen.
I didn’t know Granddad so well; I was only little when he died. He had some form of Parki
nson’s, I think. I remember him always being in a wheelchair, watching television, unable to say very much. Occasionally Granny and I took Granddad to the park to feed the ducks.
Our bond deepened after Mum’s death. Up until Mum’s funeral I thought I was doing fine. Granny and I had kept busy clearing out our old home in Barnes, burning paperwork, putting furniture into storage and arranging the service. It was only afterwards, when there was nothing left to do, that her death truly dawned on me. I gave up the opportunity to work for a small theatre company in Copenhagen. Granny urged me to think carefully before I turned the offer down, saying it could be exactly what I needed, but creatively I felt dead inside.
Besides, Granny was my only link to Mum and I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her, so I asked if I could move in instead.
Much of that period is a blur. I spent most of my time sleeping, only leaving the house when Granny sent me out to buy some milk. This routine dragged on for weeks, until finally she marched into my bedroom, drew the curtains open and said it was time for me to get up and find a job, slinging the employment section of her daily newspaper at me.
The thought terrified me. Being with Granny and staying indoors felt safe. My dressing gown was quite literally my comfort blanket. But Granny meant business; she had fire in her belly. I knew I couldn’t stay with her unless I made more of an effort, so that morning I circled an ad in the paper for a sales consultant at a travel agency in West London and applied.
It was an effort to get up and shower, to brush my hair and put on a clean shirt. During my interview I managed to hold back the tears as I described that Mum and I had always loved to travel. During the school holidays we’d trek across Europe on a shoestring budget with Mum’s old-fashioned camera and our sketchpads.
When my boss informed me the job was mine, I didn’t feel a thing. Was this what it was going to be like, from now on? Numbness.
All I hoped was it would be enough to get Granny off my back.
It wasn’t.
She said now that I had a salary, it was time for me to move out and pay rent. The responsibility made me feel sick. But she placed both her hands on my shoulders and said, ‘You have a life to lead, Flo. You need to be with your friends and out in the real world.’
I see now that Granny was right. I needed tough love. Left alone, I would have drowned in my own grief.
I called Maddie to see if she knew anyone looking for a lodger. Her family moved to Barnes when she was eight. We were at school together, then art college. In her I found a soulmate who loved to make as much mess painting and drawing as I did. She said my timing was uncanny: James was just about to advertise for someone to move into their family flat in Chiswick.
‘If you’re brave enough to live with my stinky bro, the room’s yours,’ she said. ‘I don’t even need to ask him.’
I wish Theo were here now. He’d be telling me it’s normal to feel this way; that Granny and I have been through so much together the prospect of leaving her is bound to be daunting.
He’d also remind me that she’d hate it if I stayed put for her sake. She wouldn’t allow it. Granny is the type of person who despises pity.
Though I do find myself wishing she’d open up more, realize it’s all right to say she’ll miss me. Mum always used to say Granny was a closed book when it came to anything emotional. She feels it, but can’t say it.
‘I’m heading over to Kate’s,’ James says, interrupting my thoughts. ‘I can give you a lift to Granny Peg’s if you like?’ By a lift, James means on the back of Vile Vera, his metallic green motorbike. He bought her in a vile colour so that no one would think to steal her, which – to his credit – they haven’t.
I decide to do the rest of my unpacking later. ‘Yes, please,’ I say, taking in a deep breath. ‘Let’s go.’
‘It’ll be all right, Flo. She’ll be so happy for you.’
He’s right. I glance at my ring again, a promise of a new beginning.
Everything will be fine.
5
Peggy
I hear dreadful music coming from next door and that blasted baby crying again. Why isn’t it in bed? It’s almost eight o’clock. I always had Beth tucked up by seven sharp with lights out, and never once did she cry. And what did that man want, knocking on my door so late last night?
I walk into the sitting room, too restless to watch television, not even Dragons’ Den. I need to prepare for Flo’s news.
In the early hours of the morning I decided I must tell her about her mother and grandfather as soon as possible, but now I’m not so sure. Isn’t it cruel to burst her bubble straightaway? Surely I must tell her when the time is right, rather than thinking about myself, and relieving my own guilt at keeping it a secret.
If Flo is engaged, and if she does move to New York, which I imagine is a possibility, I will miss her. Terribly. No matter how much I want her to live her own life. Shortly after Beth’s funeral, Flo moved in with me. While she wasn’t much in the way of company, I had someone to care for, feed and nurture. Selfishly, I would have loved her to stay with me indefinitely. I dreaded my own company again, drawing the curtains late at night and locking the door behind me, making a pot of coffee just for one. I was also scared of being alone because I didn’t want the time and space to confront my own grief. Without Flo in the house, I had no excuse not to think about the letter and what I should do next.
*
I hear the sound of a motorbike outside. I peep through my shutters to see Flo climbing off James’s ugly bike, the two of them laughing.
She looks happy, positively glowing, which makes my argument for not saying a word tonight, even stronger.
I open my front door, Elvis by my side, wagging his tail at the new arrivals.
‘Flo,’ I say, immediately spotting the dazzling ring on her finger. It would be hard not to.
She rushes into my arms, just as she always used to when she was a little girl. ‘Theo proposed,’ she says.
‘Congratulations, my darling,’ I reply, holding back the tears. ‘Now come inside and tell me all about it, I want to hear everything.’ I nod at James and put on my bravest smile before he waves goodbye.
*
Over drinks, Flo describes how Theo had taken her to a family-run jewellery shop overlooking Central Park, a room filled with soft pink furnishings and glass cabinets displaying necklaces and earrings that looked too expensive to touch let alone wear.
‘Oh, Granny, it was so much fun trying everything on. I felt like Audrey Hepburn for the night. And then he bent down and . . .’ She gestures to her ring that already looks at home on her finger. ‘And said, “Will you be my wife?” ’
‘How romantic,’ I sigh, thinking back to how Tim had proposed to me six months after we met. We were eating macaroni cheese – our favourite – watching TV.
‘I think we should get hitched, Peg, don’t you?’ he’d said.
‘I think that would be a grand idea,’ I replied.
‘Granny, that’s not all,’ Flo continues.
‘You’re moving to New York, aren’t you?’ I say, wanting to get it over and done with. Better to rip the plaster off than peel it back slowly.
‘Theo’s been asked to stay on for another year – two at the most. I’d keep in constant touch,’ she reassures me, ‘and I promise you it’s not for ever.’
‘This calls for champagne,’ I propose, needing to turn my face away from hers, afraid I might give away my fear that Flo still doesn’t know the truth about her mother. I walk into the kitchen, feeling unsteady on my pins.
‘To be honest, Granny,’ Flo says, following me, ‘I’ve been thinking about leaving my job for some time now. I’ve been stuck in a rut for months and Theo thinks the culture, the theatre, it could all be an amazing chance for me to reconnect with my art.’
‘Yes, that would be good,’ I admit. I have always thought it a waste that Flo never followed her dream. Tim hadn’t either. He had a successful career in advertisin
g, but his true passion was art and building things. He should really have been an architect. He promised he’d design and build us a house by the sea when he retired. He would have done, too. He was a man of his word.
‘When would you go?’ I ask, wishing he were here with me now to raise a glass to Flo.
‘Well, first of all I have to hand in my notice . . .’ She stops. ‘Granny, I hate the thought of leaving you—’
‘Now now, I’ll be perfectly all right. This is exciting news, Flo.’
‘I know, but—’
‘You can’t worry about your old granny.’
‘Theo promised he’d fly you out business class.’
Makes me sound more like a parcel.
‘Flo, I couldn’t be happier for you.’
But you’re certain he’s the one?
Flo uncorks the bottle for me.
‘Have you set a date yet?’ I query.
‘No, we need to talk about that. I want to get married here, at your local church. This is my home.’
Relieved, I brush a thread of cotton off my skirt. ‘That’s a lovely idea.’
‘I only wish Mum were here too,’ Flo says, as she pours us both a glass of fizz.
I wipe a tear from her eye with my thumb and tuck a strand of her long dark hair behind one ear. No matter how old she is she will always be my little girl.
‘So do I. Now let me look at the ring again.’ I take her hand. I have to admit, it’s quite a statement, and if I’m honest, I’m not sure I like it. ‘Do you love him, Flo?’ I ask, before seeing the colour flush in Flo’s cheeks and wishing I hadn’t.
‘Yes, and I really want you to like him too.’
‘I do,’ I claim, hoping I haven’t given Flo any reason to pick up on my misgivings. The one and only tiff we had was when Theo claimed illness was all in the mind, and that we had the power to heal ourselves through meditation and diet. I’d had one too many vodka and tonics by then, which always makes me snappy, and told him I thought he was talking rubbish.
If You Were Here Page 2
