‘Daniel?’
‘Hmm?’
‘You’re the best.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ he murmurs, and soon I hear his breathing settle as he drifts off to sleep, exhausted from his run of night shifts at the hospital recently.
Just knowing he’s next to me helps me switch off my brain which has been delivering a long lecture with PowerPoint slides all evening, entitled, ‘An illustrated history of all the completely obvious ways gullible, naive Jude was manipulated by Dr Mack the snake’, and I let myself fall asleep amongst our drained wine glasses, cold tea dregs and chocolate wrappers in our big bubble of comfort.
Chapter Three
Here we are, five days later and life’s gone back to the way it was before enrolment. Mum and Dad are busy as usual creating delicious treats downstairs in the bakery, Gran’s been nothing but comforting and diverting, full of ideas for things to do at home together (gin rummy, anyone?), and Daniel’s beautiful red graduation roses are fading now, just like my memories of Dr Rupert Mackenzie-Aubyn.
I’m actively trying not to think about him, forcing myself instead to attend all the more closely to Gran. It occurred to me in a particularly guilty moment of self-reflection that I might have been neglecting her too while I was writing up my final year essays and spending more and more time at Mack’s place waiting for him to look up from his grading and notice I was still hanging around.
I’m angrier with myself than with him, if I’m truthful. He’s just a suave, greedy, selfish cheat doing what comes naturally to him. It wasn’t really his job to look after me and he never once promised that he would – not in so many words, anyway. He would smile at me and flirt in that well-bred way he has and I’d hear all kinds of unspoken promises but maybe they were all in my head. I was star-struck that somebody so intellectual and posh and glamorous could fancy me and I let all that stifle my misgivings about why we only ever met up on his terms and when it suited him.
It’s made me worry I’m a snob. How could I have been so befuddled by his fancy ways and his bookish appeal? Am I really that easily impressed? Anyway, it’s all been a timely reminder that looking after myself ismyjob and I’ve badly let myself down. Safe to say, I am never,everletting a sexy, sneaky, secretive snake in the grass take advantage of me again.
To make up for being a crap granddaughter, I’ve been busy. I called the mobility shop and ordered a replacement wheelchair – one without wonky foot rests – and I’ve booked Gran in for a mani-pedi with Treena the hairdresser next time she’s here doing her perm, and I’ve renewed all Gran’s magazine subscriptions which were close to lapsing, and I’ve discovered a new bean soup recipe to try out because the doctor said she’s supposed to be getting more fibre, and yeah, like I said, life’s gone back to normal, and that’s OK. Honestly. This is fine.
It’s true that, very occasionally, the little voice inside me that’s been straining to make itself heard since I was seventeen is whispering away, telling me that I could do more, see more, be something bigger and brighter than this, but I can’t pay it any attention. This has been my life for so long that all the missed opportunities barely hurt anymore, and I long ago accepted the fact I’m lucky to be here with Gran and that nothing’s going to change any time soon.
Gran’s a bit listless this morning though, and I’ve suggested calling her nurse but she’s having none of it.
‘I’m not ill,’ she huffs when I try to plump the cushions behind her on the armchair. ‘I’m just fed up.’ She’s been saying this more and more recently, and there’s something of the petulant teenager in her expression when she does.
‘Well, what shall we do? You’ve got an hour until you can eat after taking those tablets, but you can have a cup of tea? And we could watchCountdownand try to find filthy words again?’ She loves that normally, but no, it’s not working. ‘We could go down the Border Arms in a bit, see if Aunty Anne’s doing her hotpot for lunch?’ I know this’ll be approved, which it is with a quick nod, but still, Gran’s not her usual chirpy self.
‘Crossword?’ I suggest. Gran exhales and shifts in her chair. ‘What is it? You can tell me? Is it your bunions?’
‘Judith, love?’ she says, tentatively.
‘Hmm?’
‘You know Bernice and Jill?’
‘Of course,’ I shrug. They’re Gran’s best friends and would beveryhard to forget. They’re both athleisure-wear enthusiasts, crochet queens, got mouths like longshoremen, and they sweep the boards every time there’s a darts tournament at Aunty Anne and Uncle Mike’s pub, and they’ve been utterly devoted to each other for over sixty years. Plus, every time I’ve ever seen them they have a packet of Starburst for me, even in the days when they were still called Opal Fruits.
‘Well…umm…’
Gran’s getting tongue-tied and I’m panicking a bit. You can’t be too careful when someone’s had two strokes.
‘Do you want me to call Dr Stevenson?’
She waves a hand, getting a bit annoyed, I can tell. She’s told me before, ever so gently, not to stifle her. So I sit back a bit and wait.
‘Bernie and Jill are moving in to that new retirement complex…’
‘New Start Village?’ I say, thinking of the big hoardings by the gates which have been pasted over with enormous images of youthful-looking elderly people living the good life; all false-teeth-grinning over dinner, and grinning over bowling, and grinning in the pool. ‘The place that looks like a weird sports cult recruiting seniors?’ I say. We’ve laughed at this before, but Gran’s serious now.
‘They’ve finished building it, and half the yarn-bombers are moving in this August. Got most of the East wing booked out already.’
It’s clicked now. ‘Ah,’ I say, ‘and you’re worried they’ll disappear into that place and you’ll be lonely? I’m sure they’ll have visiting hours and I’ll go with you and—’
‘No, dear. That’s not it. I want to move in too. Here, look at this.’ Gran produces a leaflet from down the side of her chair.
‘Are you ready to start a new life at New Start Village?’ I read. ‘Relocate to your luxury shared living complex and indulge in unlimited cruise-style dining, cocktail hour and afternoon teas, every day.’
