In Amy’s head, her grandmother remained as active and irrepressible as ever– but now it was clear things had changed since the last time she’d come to Rowton. And whenwasthat? Six months ago? Nine? Guilt broke over Amy like a wave.
Something was wrong, and she didn’t know what– because Gran hadn’t told her, but also because she hadn’t asked.
Chapter 6
Once Amy’s stuff had been dumped at the bottom of her grandmother’s small, steep staircase, the older woman took Amy’s hand and pulled her into a tight hug. When she released her a moment or two later, she placed a soft-skinned hand on Amy’s cheek, assessing her face.
‘You look tired, my girl,’ she said, her voice tinged with concern. ‘Still as pretty as ever, mind.’
She turned to Kit before Amy could pass any return comment on the awkwardness of her grandmother’s movements, or the flash of pain her eyes had betrayed as she’d bent to push a still-rambunctious Bertie into a sit.
‘I’m Grace,’ she announced, seizing both Kit’s hands in hers and pumping them up and down enthusiastically. ‘Amy’s gran.’
When she let his hands drop, he took one of hers, turned it over and kissed it.
‘Kit,’ he said. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
Amy rolled her eyes, muttering something sarcastic about Sir Walter Raleigh and his cape having nothing onthis– but no one else was listening.
Grace fanned herself with her fingertips and laughed. ‘Goodness, aren’t you a charmer?’
She turned to Amy. ‘Are you two …?’
‘God, no!’ Amy spluttered. Kit made a wounded face. ‘I mean– no. We’re just friends.’
‘Nice,’ Kit said, smiling sardonically. ‘Really nice. I think what Amy meant to say there is that while I amobviouslya catch, she and I aren’t very well-suited in a romantic sense.’
‘Ah,’ Grace said, and nodded in understanding. ‘Your tastes tend another way?’
‘Mostly, but not always,’ Kit explained. ‘I’m attracted to some women– just not this one.’
Amy scowled at him and Grace laughed. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘You like the wine, not the label.’
Amy felt her mouth fall open. ‘Since when do you watchSchitt’s Creek?’ she asked.
Grace shrugged. ‘Since Barb and Dave got the Netflix,’ she said. ‘It’s quitemarvellous, isn’t it? Now, shall I make a pot of tea while you start putting your things upstairs?’
Kit laughed hollowly. ‘We need to finish unloading the car first … I’m sorry to break it to you, but this’– he gestured at the clutter in the hallway– ‘isn’t the half of it.’
‘Dear lord, Amy,’ Grace said, shaking her head. ‘How many clothes and shoes does one person need?’
Amy pouted. ‘There are toiletries and books and work things, too,’ she argued. ‘And it won’t be in your way for long– only until I can sort myself out with a flat.’
‘Of course,’ Grace said. ‘Though you know you can stay for as long as you want? This is your home, too.’
Amy felt a surge of emotions she couldn’t untangle: warmth, gratitude and the almost physical ache that came with spending time in a place where the absence of people she’d loved and lost loomed as large as the presence of those who remained.
Before Amy could say anything in response, Grace moved into the kitchen with Bertie at her heels. She pulled the door closed behind them so he couldn’t abscond or make a nuisance of himself as Amy and Kit brought in the rest of her belongings.
A short while later, they had each drunk several cups of tea and made a sizeable dent in a recently baked carrot cake. They’d also dragged every last box, bag and case Amy had brought back to Rowton up to her old bedroom.
It was clean and tidy, with a vase of freshly cut flowers on the windowsill. They’d probably come from the back garden, Amy thought, as she glanced out of the window to survey the postage stamp-sized patio and the flower beds beyond it. Then her forehead creased in concern; she hoped Gran hadn’t taxed herself too hard to get this room ready for her. Not only was she clearly unwell, Amy wasn’t planning to be here long.
‘Is this him?’ Kit asked softly, pointing to an old polaroid still stuck to the mirror on the dressing table. ‘Hari?’
‘Yeah,’ Amy nodded, smiling with fond sadness at the image. She was in it too: Hari’s arm thrown over her shoulders, both of them open-mouthed and laughing at whatever dumb thing their photographer had said seconds before. She looked broadly the same as she did now, minus a few fine lines.
‘Good-looking bloke,’ Kit said, reaching out to stroke Amy’s arm in sympathy. ‘He had kind eyes. I’m sorry you lost him.’
