“Scones and jam with proper clotted cream.” His face goes all wistful. “When your grandmother was alive…” He pauses, his perceptive gaze taking in my expression. “I’m sorry you never met her.”
“I couldn’t have, could I? She passed away before I was even conceived.”
A grandmother. How nice that would have been. “What was she like?”
“Elegant.” He reaches to his bedside cabinet and takes a framed photograph. “She used to wear beautiful clothes.”
The woman in the picture is almost the spitting image of the professor. The same serious smile. She has glossy hair and a bright blue double-breasted suit, tight around the waist and hips with wide shoulder pads. A short pencil skirt and high heels. Next to her, a boy of about twelve. My father. In jeans and a T-shirt that has aSupport the Minersprinted across it. 1980s fashion, 1980s politics. It feels like a century ago.
I hand him the picture wordlessly. Gently, he steers the conversation to safer grounds. “We used to go out to a place by the park and have afternoon tea every Sunday. With cucumber sandwiches.”
A dreamy smile breaks on his sweet, wrinkled face. “And egg and cress. She loved those.” Then he gives his head a tiny shake as if banishing the dream. “Never mind all that. I don’t suppose they have clotted cream around here. But scones and jam would be lovely.”
“I’ll do my best,” I agree but secretly I plan to find clotted cream even if it means a drive to the nearest city.
This afternoon, though, when it comes time to leave, it’s Raff who comes to walk me out.
He knocks and waits to be invited in. “Hey, Bill, had a nice visit?”
He places a small white thing on the dresser. “New earbuds. These are Bluetooth, so they won’t tangle up on your shirt buttons.”
“Will they talk to my phone, though?” Bill stands up, fishing in his back pocket.
“Should do. I’ll help you link them when I’m back tonight.”
Bill reaches for his wallet, but Raff holds his hand up. “We can settle this later after we’ve sorted out the subscription.”
Intrigued, I ask, “What’s the subscription?”
“I like to listen to audiobooks at bedtime but Raff showed me it’s so much cheaper with a subscription.”
When we’re walking out, I thank Raff for looking after my granddad.
He merely shrugs. “No problem.”
He’s so laconic, it’s difficult to bring up a new subject. The question I really want to ask is about the incident with the hot tea; the care assistant yesterday refused to tell me anything. So, I start with the Bluetooth buds, hoping to segway to the other old man later. “You know it makes me want to laugh. While Professor Jones always has his nose in a book, his eighty-year-old father is up with the latest technology.”
Raff raises his eyebrows and gives me a curious look. Just for a second, then his face is back to normal. He must think me strange sayingthe professorinstead of my father. It’s the last thing I want to discuss with a stranger, so I just continue.
“So granddad is into audiobooks?”
“They’re easier for older people. Reading glasses and so on. And they can adjust the volume to suit their hearing.”
It’s the opening I needed. “How is Jack?”
He’s doesn’t answer right away, then very carefully, says, “Fine,”
By now we’ve reached the front door, but he doesn’t let me out and shut it behind me as others have done. Instead, he suddenly says, voice unnecessarily loud, “let me show you where you can park next time so you don’t block the service entrance.”
Was my car blocking the service entrance? What service entrance? My little Fiat is in the car park to the side of the building. Not near anything.
It all becomes clear when he follows me out until we’re far enough from the house. He explains in a softer voice. “Jack’s fine, some slight skin-burn, nothing that an icepack couldn’t deal with.”
Something about his answer feels incomplete.
“But?” I prompt.
Again, he hesitates for an instant. “But…It was all very upsetting for him. He was very frightened. Now, when either Mrs Jenkins or Sue” – he shoots me a quick look – “she’s one of the other carers. Whenever they go near him, he starts crying.”
