‘My bedroom. I’m going to have to sleep on the sofa?’
Kate gasped. ‘Rachel, you can’t sleep in a room where half the ceiling is leaking.’
‘She’s right,’ agreed Connor. ‘The dripping will keep you awake and it’s not healthy.’
There was only one other place. The thought of sleeping in Olivia’s room made every muscle in my body clench. ‘I can’t sleep in Olivia’s room. I haven’t been in that room since her mum came over to take away her things.’
Kate reached over and laid her gloved hand over mine. ‘You need a fresh start, Rachel. You’re living in a flat which should have a public health warning stamped all over it and constantly reminds you of the past.’
‘I disagree,’ I mumbled. ‘Being in my flat means I am close to Olivia.’
CHAPTERSIX
‘Hello, Grandpa.’
He held out his arms. ‘Hello, Rachel. I am sorry about this. The last thing you need over Christmas is a silly old bloke like me with you.’ His twinkly blue eyes sparkled, his short fluffy white hair was neat on one side and unruly on the other, and his big smile stretched from ear to ear. I stepped into his hug, inhaling the comforting smell of his Old Spice aftershave, and resting my head on his old woollen winter coat, which he had always worn when Maddie and I were kids. His arms wrapped themselves around me.
Closing my eyes for a few seconds I savoured Grandpa’s embrace. It felt like the sun had come out on my darkened little life. It was short-lived as I immediately became consumed by guilt for being frustrated at Mum the day before. How could I have been annoyed at spending quality time over Christmas with Grandpa Eric?
‘You’re not a silly old bloke. Come in,’ I said after he’d released me. The taxi driver was busy hauling Grandpa’s case to the door. After thanking the driver, I grabbed the suitcase and led the way. ‘Excuse the buckets when you come into my flat. The landlord assures me the leaks will be fixed by the time I return. I complained to him this morning.’
Grandpa came inside and closed the door. ‘I offered to pay for a hotel for tonight, but your mother told me you wanted me to stay in your flat.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t listen to my mother, Grandpa. She knows about the ceiling.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Rachel. Why don’t we book me into a hotel and save you the trouble of putting me up.’
‘Grandpa – it’s okay, you can have my bed tonight.’
We climbed the stairs to my flat. I deposited his suitcase in the living room as he stared in horror at the multitude of drips and buckets.
‘Tea or coffee, Grandpa,’ I said, to distract him. ‘Are you hungry because I have made those afternoon tea sandwiches again. Do you remember the ones we had in the summer in your back garden?’
His eyes twinkled. ‘I haven’t stopped dreaming about those delicious sandwiches you made us that day.’
‘Really?’
‘You make food come alive, Rachel. A nice cup of tea too, please. The tea on the train was diabolical.’
He turned to my paintings set against the wall. ‘These are beautiful.’
When Olivia died, I turned to my painting. Cooking and painting have always been a form of escapism for me. My love of painting started when I was little. Maddie and I used to sit at the top of the stairs, hugging our knees and listening to Mum and Dad argue about not having any money. After listening to their argument Maddie would lose herself in books and I would take out my paints. My canvases all show the world outside my flat window, tall dark office buildings which look like they are getting closer and are hemming me in. Their only redeeming feature is that at night the windows make them look like they are covered in pretty, orange squares. In the city it is hard to see the sky, what with the buildings and pollution. I normally improvise and create indigo skies with twinkling stars.
He turned to me. ‘Can I have one for my bungalow?’
‘Really?’
‘I am proud of you, Rachel. You’re very talented.’
His kind words made me go gooey inside. After gesturing for him to take a seat on my sofa I scooted into my kitchen to make a cuppa and grab my famous afternoon tea finger sandwiches that I’d prepared earlier, cured ham and mustard, cucumber with mint cream cheese and egg salad with cress. Each one carefully crafted, cut into a perfect finger shape, and arranged on a large platter dish.
Sandwiches are one of my favourite things to make. Making a well-crafted and delicious sandwich is an art form. Sandwiches are a way of showing someone you love them. The lengths someone goes to make sure the bread is fluffy; the crusts have been carefully removed and the filling ingredients provide a taste sensation is a sign of true love. The sandwiches that I make Grandpa always take me ages to put together but seeing him eat them gives me so much happiness.
I carried the platter of sandwiches into the living room and placed Grandpa’s cup near him. Then I went back to fetch two plates. ‘How was the train journey?’
He smiled. ‘Robert drove like a madman to the station. I didn’t think my pacemaker would survive. Anyone would think Robert was trying to get rid of me. Karen was going to have her hair cut. Lord knows why she keeps going back to that same woman after Robert admitted he was in love with her.’
‘Mum says Aunty Karen loves the way that woman cuts her hair and she’s spent years searching for the right hairdresser. Nothing is going to get in the way of a good haircut.’
