‘And your father?’ I asked, casually. ‘Is he still around?’
‘You know he is,’ Cheryl said, and it was true, I could remember her having mentioned him. ‘He’ll be at home drinking beer in front of the telly. I told you before – we’re all worried he’s going full-blown alcoholic. He drinks way too much these days.’
Ah!I thought.I’ll bet he does.
‘And her name?’ I asked. ‘I don’t think you ever said.’
‘Leslie,’ she said. ‘But everyone just calls herLes.’
I had to look out of the side window when she said that. It was as much as I could do not to laugh.
* * *
About three months later, I was working in our Margate branch doing a stock-take. The branch manager, Ryan – a lively, joyous, chatty young man I liked a lot – was having car trouble, so in the evening I offered to drive him home.
As we reached Westbrook, Ryan’s phone rang, so he wriggled in his seat to extract it from his pocket.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m almost home… No, my car’s knackered, innit… I’m sorry sweetheart, but… Beer? What? Well it’ll have to wait… A taxi? You must be joking? It’ll cost more than the beer. OK, OK… I’ll see what I can do.’
Once he’d hung up I asked what it was about.
‘Major crisis!’ he said, ‘Grandpa’s out of beer.’
As it was a stunning evening and we had the top down I offered to drive him out to his grandparents to deliver Coke, beer and crisps.
But when I pulled into the car park of the sheltered housing unit where they lived, I started to worry it had been a bad idea.
‘I’ll just stay here,’ I said. ‘You go.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Ryan said. ‘I’ll only be five minutes, but you should definitely come and meet ’em. They’re lovely.’
The lobby made things worse. Two women in chairs were staring at a silent TV screen and all my anxiety from Wales washed back over me.Wheelchair, piss, chipped worktop, I thought. This time, counting in threes was making it worse.
But then we got to Ryan’s grandparents’ door and the feeling went away. Their little flat was lovely, and they were overjoyed to see their grandson arrive with beer.
‘Here he is!’ his grandad said. ‘Our wonder-boy.’
‘Can’t have you out of beer, now, can we?’ Ryan said, crouching down and beginning to stack the little fridge.
‘Come in, come in young man!’ Ryan’s grandmother instructed. I was still lingering in the doorway. ‘We don’t bite.’
‘Hello,’ I said, edging over the threshold. ‘I’m Rob.’
‘He’s my boss!’ Ryan told them, sending me a wink. ‘My car’s broken, so I had to ask him to drive me. So you’ve got my millionaire boss delivering your beer in his Audi. I hope you’re happy.’
‘Ah, so you’re the one!’ his grandfather said. ‘He tells us all the time what an ogre you are.’
‘I do not!’ Ryan said, and his grandfather laughed. ‘You’ll get me sacked, you will.’
‘I’m only pulling your leg. He said you’re the best boss money can buy,’ his grandfather said.
‘You’re mixing up your metaphors, Bertie,’ his grandmother said. ‘You can’t say that about a person.’
‘Oh, he knows what I mean, don’t you?’
‘I do,’ I said. ‘So thanks.’
We didn’t stay long, but by the time we left I felt that the visit had done me some good. It had at least provided me with an alternative image of old age.
