I glance up at her and she nods for me to go on, saying, ‘Have a look at the entertainment page.’
‘Enjoy a variety of evening entertainment options including karaoke, live bands and dancing…’ I start skipping bits, the list is so long. ‘Our Pilates, Yoga, and Shiatsu programmes run daily… spa offers hairdressing and manicures, massage and mud therapies.’ I fold the leaflet again. ‘Gran, we can do all this stuff together, you don’t have to move out. I can arrange—’
She lays a steady hand on mine but it’s not comforting me and I’ve got a big well of panic building up in my chest. ‘We have fun, don’t we, Gran? I’m good at looking after you? We look after each other, don’t we? And—’
‘Judith. It’s time. I’ve watched you this past week with your broken heart and no dreams left. That’s not right, not for a young woman. I’ve got a life insurance policy maturing this year, so I can afford to move out and finally give you the space you need to do your own thing.’
I can’t help but sniffle and my shoulders are heaving, trying not to let my heart burst. She’s on a roll now and isn’t stopping.
‘You’ve been a wonderful,wonderfulgranddaughter to me. You’ve taken me to all my appointments and seen me through my physio, and look at me! I’m all the better for it.’
I stare at the leaflet on my lap. I don’t need to look at Gran to know that she’s right. She’s got roses in her cheeks like she used to, and her mobility’s improved so much in the last year or so she only uses her wheelchair on long trips out.
‘If I don’t go now, I’ll start heading downhill again and we don’t want that. More importantly though, Jude,you’vegot to go out there and live your own life.’
‘But I love hanging out with you,’ I cry.
‘Me too.’ Gran’s teary-eyed now, and she’s not supposed to get upset, what with her blood pressure. ‘I asked your mum to ring them and they’ve got a unit available for me at the end of the week, and it comes with a free gym pass and Netflix.’
I can’t help laughing at the hopeful note in her voice as she says this, but my heart hurts like I’ve never felt before. I know it’s a done deal but I’m not giving up without some bargaining. ‘This has been my life since I was seventeen and I didn’t ever want it to change. I want to look after you forever… be your friend forever.’
Gran fixes me with a look I feel right in my soul. It’s a look that says,Jude, I’m eighty-three. I haven’t got forever. So I give up bargaining and I feel my life as I know it slipping away.
‘I’ll only be down the road, you can come see me anytime – stay over, even. There’s a wing for guests, you know? It’s not prison; it’sRetirement Community Living.’ She jabs her finger at the leaflet. I’m nodding and reaching for the tissues. ‘We had a lot of fun, Jude, didn’t we?’ she says, gently.
‘We did,’ I say, and I really mean it. ‘Remember that time we yarn-bombed the police station railings? That was amazing.’ I wipe my tears away. Gran’s laughing fondly too. ‘In fact it was one of the best nights of my life. I’ll never forget Hilda Flint in her mauve balaclava stringing her crocheted coppers all along the street, and it was my job to wrap the yellow and blue woolly bunting around the gate posts, do you remember? Nobody ever knew it was us, even after the ITV news crew turned up.’
‘Who’d have thought we’d make the six o’clock headlines?’ Gran says.
The panic’s subsiding slightly now, but the ache hasn’t shifted. ‘What will I do without you?’ I say.
‘You’lllive, dear. You’ll live your life.’ Her eyes are sparkling as though she can see it all before her; my future, bright and exciting, but all I can see is blank nothingness; no plans, no job, no boyfriend, and now that Gran’s off to master the arts of tai chi, pot throwing and watercolours at New Start Village, no purpose either.
Chapter Four
‘Just the crusty bloomers today, Marjorie?’
‘Better give me two cream buns as well; the grandkids are coming.’
‘Oh, lovely! How’s little James’s asthma these days?’
I’ve been listening to Mum chatting with the customers all morning while I try to make myself appear useful behind the counter, but Mum and Dad have got such a well-refined system I know I’m only getting in the way, and it’s hot and stuffy in here too, now August is here, which isn’t helping matters.
It was lovely watching them working together first thing this morning though; I so rarely get the chance to see it, and it was reassuring to be reminded that nothing’s changed in all the years they’ve been doing this.
Bread and rolls are always the first task of the morning – that’s very much Dad’s job, and they’re always cooling on the big racks by five. Then it’s gingerbread men and, in the summer months, delicious strawberry tarts. Mum whips those up in what looks like minutes and they’re ready by six while Dad produces a big batch of perfect choux finger buns which he deftly pipes full of whipped cream (I was responsible for the whipping bit this morning) and he finishes each one with a shiny slick of milk chocolate on top. Somehow Mum’s always there with her tub of sliced almonds ready to receive the tray of Copenhagen slices as soon as Dad’s got them iced, and she sprinkles the slivers on top while Dad opens the fridge door ready to take the tray back, andvoilà, the morning’s baking is done.
They emerged triumphantly up the steps from the oven room into the shop just before seven, their bakers’ whites, faces and hairnets dusted with flour, both of them gasping for a brew (also my job this morning). The display cabinet by the till was fully stocked by seven thirty when Mum turned the sign on the door to ‘Open’, just in time for the milk delivery.
Even once the shop’s open everything ticks over like clockwork as they move easily around each other, humming along to Borders’ radio, concentrating on their individual tasks, not communicating with words but perfectly in sync. They’ve got their choreography down better than any of the K-Pop groups me and Daniel watch at night on the Arirang channel – something we’ve done a lot since Gran moved out at the end of last week.
‘’Scuse me, Jude, love,’ Mum’s saying now, hands on my shoulders, manoeuvring me out of the way so she can pass Mrs Weston the pile of Mills & Boon books she’s been keeping behind the till for her. They do a big book swap every few weeks. I’m reminded that there’s really only room for two people behind the counter.
At one time Dad ran the place with Grandad, but when he died suddenly, far younger than my dad is now, a new apprentice baker had to be recruited and well, that was Mum, straight out of school. Back then Marygreen was just a busy High Street, all flats over shops. Nowadays Marygreen is hemmed in by new-builds and there’s a lot of commuter traffic at rush hour and not a lot of shops left – at least, not a lot of interesting ones. The florist, stationer, clothes shops, and Miss Bunton’s sweet little bookshop all closed long ago.
Anyway, that’s how Mum and Dad fell in love – over the currant buns and floury barm cakes – and they’re still just as devoted to one another as they were when I came along. Gran moved in when I was tiny and she looked after me during shop hours, then seventeen years later I was the one looking after her.
Maybe you think seventeen is a bit young to become a carer? All across the country right this second there are kids, tiny ones – primary school age, even – helping to look after adults, hardly any of them even recognised as carers and given no support whatsoever, so I consider myself lucky that my caring responsibilities came along when I was old enough to cope, and of course Mum and Dad were always just downstairs in the bakery or asleep upstairs, so I was never really alone.
