‘The right person hasn’t come along yet.’
‘The right person has come along. I’m engaged – remember?’ Bridie flashed her ring. What was all this really all about? She’d had conversations like this with him in the past, but not for quite a while. She’d thought it had all blown over. Although she also knew that his memory wasn’t as good as it had been.
‘But you appear to have been engaged for an age. Have you set a date?’
Bridie shook her head. ‘Oh, Grandad, you’re starting to sound like Kate.’ Except Bridie knew the difference was that when her sister brought up the subject of the length of her engagement it felt like a criticism. It was a criticism – a dig at Bridie’s life, showing how perfect her sister’s life was compared to her own. Whereas she knew her parents, and her grandad, just worried for her future – not just her personal life because she hadn’t set a wedding date, but also her work life in theatre, where she wentfrom job to job. It worried her sometimes too, but she didn’t want to do a job she didn’t love.
As with everything in life, there was always, always a downside. Her sister and brother worked long hours, and while they were financially secure, were they happy in their work? She wasn’t so sure. She knew her dad wasn’t. For as long as she could remember, he’d had that calendar on the wall in his study, counting down the days to retirement, and every birthday was a celebration of getting one year closer to getting out, meaning leaving the rat race – the job he hated.
Her grandad reached out and took her hand. ‘I just worry about you.’
She smiled. She knew it was true. He wasn’t criticising her, or her career choice, or Julian, although he still didn’t like him. But she did know that he loved that she’d gone into the theatre. He was just worried that her relationship would break down. She knew why this was a worry; she couldn’t afford to live in London without her fiancé. And that was why her grandad kept asking her to move in with him.
‘I know you’re worried we haven’t set a date. But we’ve just been so busy. And we are saving up, you know.’
‘I know. I could give you the money.’
‘Oh, Grandad. I couldn’t take your savings for my wedding.’
‘I know that.’
‘And you know, if the worst happens, and it won’t, because we’ve been together for ten years, but … if something happened to him, then I’ve always got you.’ Her grandad had a spare bedroom. At least she’d have a roof over her head in London. The absolute worst-case scenario was the thought of returning to Suffolk and moving back in with her parents.
‘But I’m not going to be here forever.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘I will say that. Move in with me now, then I can—’
‘No!’ They’d had this conversation many times. He’d suggested she move in just for six months, not even permanently, but just to put her name down on the council tax, and then he’d do his utmost to live a good while longer so he could pass the long-term tenancy on to her.
She knew how it worked. He’d told her that under the council rules, you could pass down your council tenancy to an immediate relative once, as long as that relative resided in the property. Bridie wouldn’t hear of it. She’d move in with Grandad in a heartbeat if she was no longer with Julian, but that wasn’t going to happen, and she was not going to move in there under false pretences so she could take over the tenancy.
For starters, she didn’t want to think of her grandad not being around anymore. In fact, she just couldn’t imagine it. But when he did pass on, there were single people, or couples or even small families who were homeless, living in cramped conditions in hotel rooms, who needed a place like this they could call their own. She would not deprive people less fortunate than herself of a roof over their heads. She tried to reassure him. ‘My relationship with Julian is solid.’
He asked her a question that surprised her. ‘You need something to fall back on if your theatre work dries up. Have you thought about that?’
Her grandad had always been the biggest supporter of her work in theatre. Why was he talking like this?
‘I worked on the buses.’
Bridie did a double-take. ‘Are you saying I should become a London bus driver like you?’ Bridie was only half joking.
‘No, but I’m saying I think you could do with a back-up plan, if … if the work dries up.’
Bridie stared at him, and thought,please, please don’t mention my age.She was only in her early thirties, but theatre roles were physically demanding. It had crossed her mind, morethan once, to wonder how many years she could dance around a stage. There were stage plays she might be able to do rather than musicals and pantos. But as her grandfather rightly asked: what if she didn’t get the work? Well, I will just have to.
Maybe she should remind him that he was overlooking a huge advantage she had over other singers, dancers and actresses on the London stage: her fiancé was a producer. It was nepotism, pure and simple, but if anybody could keep her working on the stage, it was her future husband.
Even so, her grandad talking about her having a back-up plan still surprised her. ‘Now you sound like Mum and Dad,’ she joked. Actually, he didn’t. They didn’t talk about the ‘back-up plan’, as she imagined most parents might whose children decided to go into acting or writing or professions that didn’t offer a permanent job with a guaranteed monthly salary. All they had talked about was her not going into the theatre at all; the back-up plan should be the plan. Bridie had never had a back-up plan. There was nothing else in the world she wanted to do but work in theatre.
‘You’re not getting any younger.’
Bridie rolled her eyes. And there it was – her age.
‘I just want to know that there’s something else out there for you to provide an income later on in life.’
You’re not getting any younger. Now she was getting paranoid, imagining some sort of conspiracy, and that her dad and grandad had been discussing her. She didn’t see how that could be the case. They’d been estranged for years, and Bridie had never known why.
