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Chapter Nine
Vix
I could see the shock on Mitch’s face when he walked into the room and saw his grandfather, and it’s obvious he’s feeling emotional. I’m not surprised. When he mentioned John still being able to come in a few days a week, Dad gave me a look that told me he also thought Mitch hadn’t realised how severe John’s stroke was. I didn’t want to say anything, because I’m not a doctor, and I know lots of people make a great recovery. But I think John’s was particularly bad.
“Well, it’s a beautiful day,” Louise says. “Can I get you anything, John?”
“No, thank you,” he says.
“Okay, well I’ll leave you to it, but you give me a call if you need anything, okay?” She smiles at Mitch. “Lovely to meet you.”
“And you,” he says, his voice a little hoarse.
Louise heads out and closes the door behind her.
“How about I make us all a cuppa?” I ask brightly.
“Thanks, love,” John says.
I go over to the small kitchen, fill the kettle, and switch it on. Meanwhile, Mitch leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands linked, and looks at his grandfather. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited for such a long time,” he says.
“You’re a busy man,” John replies. “I don’t expect you to come running up here every five minutes.”
“Even so. Maybe if I had, you wouldn’t…” He stops and swallows.
“Rubbish,” John says. “If ifs and ands were pots and pans… My blood pressure was sky high, apparently. I can’t remember the last time I went to the doctor. I’ve had to cut back on salt. You can’t have fish and chips without salt!”
Mitch laughs and brushes a hand over his face, and John chuckles.
“So what’s it like here?” Mitch asks, looking around at the room. “It’s a nice view.”
John nods. “They come around and put bird food in the feeder if you want them to. You get all kinds of visitors. I had a kingfisher the other day.”
“Oh, fantastic. And what’s the food like? Not the bird food, I mean, the human food.”
“Better than the meals-for-one I used to have,” John jokes. “It’s roast beef today.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah, they’re a bit strict on the diet, but Brian smuggled me in a pack of biscuits and a bottle of whiskey.”
“Goodness,” I scold, putting tea bags into three mugs. “Naughty boy.”
“Nothing wrong with a bit of contraband,” Mitch jokes. “In small doses, right?”
“Right. Makes life worth living.”
They chat away about life in the home while I make the tea and find the pack of ANZAC biscuits hidden in the cupboard. I bring it all over to the coffee table and put John’s on the smaller table by his left hand, along with a couple of the biscuits.
“Thanks,” Mitch says as I pass him his. His eyes meet mine for a moment, warm, grateful. “So,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I went to the bookshop yesterday. Vix has kept it looking nice.”
“She’s a good girl.” John winks at me.
“We… er… also went up to the flat.” Mitch sips his tea, his gaze on his grandfather.
John picks up a biscuit, surveys it for a moment, then dunks it in his tea and takes a bite.
“Grandad…” Mitch begins.
