‘He made his bed,’ she says, dipping her bacon into a bright yellow yolk. ‘No sympathy here.’
Although Mum never tried to stop me seeing my dad after he left, she’s never been exactly thrilled that I continue to seehim whenever I’m home. Trying to explain to Mum that her relationship with him and my relationship with him are two very separate things is pointless. Even now she’s married to Gary, I don’t think she’ll ever forgive my dad for the way he ended things.
After breakfast, I run upstairs to grab my perfume and take it to Gubba, who’s finishing her tea in the living room.
‘Here you go,’ I say, holding out the bottle. ‘It can be quite strong so—’
She takes the perfume and slips it into her cardigan pocket. ‘Just going to get the papers,’ she shouts to Mum. ‘I’ll bring back some blue-top milk. That skimmed stuff is just white water.’
‘Get your coat,’ she whispers. ‘You’re coming, too.’
It’s a lot milder this morning as we step outside and there’s barely any frost on the ground, though I’m more concerned that Gubba’s just dragged me out in public with no make-up on.
‘I do like a wee ciggy after breakfast,’ she says, linking my arm with hers. ‘But now thatmein Führeris on her high horse about smoking, I’ll have to cover me tracks, won’t I?’
‘So that’s what the perfume is for,’ I reply, laughing. ‘God, this reminds me of being a teenager, when we’d all drench ourselves in cheap body spray to avoid detection.’
Gubba chuckles. ‘Everyone smoked in my day. It was just the done thing, though my mother hated it with a passion. She forbade me to even look at a cigarette. She’d smell my fingers when I came in of an evening.’
Gubba and I have a leisurely stroll to the newsagents and back. She’s definitely not as light on her feet as she used to be, but she still powers on. I’ve never really thought of her as old, until recently. I remember when I was a kid, around five or six, we’d jump on the bus to Sheffield and spend the day exploring bookshops and museums, getting ice cream before heading home. I’d go to her house after school and at weekends when myparents were either off on a night out or at home fighting and she never once said a bad word about either of them– well, not in front of me at least. Best grandma ever.
As we near the house, Gubba sprays my perfume over both of us, like she’s putting out a fire. ‘Woah, easy there, Gubba. That’s a hundred quid a bottle!’
‘For this?’ She examines the bottle, closely. ‘That boy must love you, eh?’
I take the bottle and smile. ‘Yeah, he does.’
‘Then I certainly wouldn’t be in any great hurry to let him go.’ We get to the gate, and I smirk as she gives her fingers one last spritz. ‘And I don’t think you are. . . are you?’
I shake my head. ‘I hope we can work it out Gubba. I really do.’
She gives me a hug and kisses my cheek. ‘You will, ducky and you know where I am if you need to talk. Now off you go and visit your dad. I’m going to get Gary to run me home now. We’re playing bingo in the community hall and there’s a bottle of Croft up for grabs.’
An hour later, Ed and I are ready to go, as is Gubba who’s already sitting in Gary’s car with her coat buttoned up to the neck and her house keys in her hand. Tom isn’t so keen on us leaving, but he never is.
‘But we didn’t get to play Fortnite,’ Tom whines, as Ed hugs him goodbye. ‘Can’t you stay a bit longer?’
‘Aww, mate, I’m sorry. Listen, how about next time I’m up, we spend the whole day together. We could go swimming or to the zoo?’
‘Or play Fortnite?’
‘Yes,’ Ed laughs. ‘Or play Fortnite.’
I used to be somewhat miffed that Tom was never really that sad to see me leave while he practically held on to Ed’s leg in protest, but now I understand why. I might be his sister by blood, but Ed’s the best big brother in the world. I could offerto take Tom to space on the back of a talking elephant and he’d probably pass unless Ed was coming, too.
‘I’ll miss you,’ I tell Tom, hugging him. ‘Please send me some of your drawings from school so I can put them on the fridge like last year.’
He agrees, sulking and mumbling something about a battle bus, until I see Ed whisper and make a ‘shh’ gesture with his finger. He nods and grins enthusiastically.
‘See you at Easter,’ I tell Mum and Gary, giving them a joint hug. ‘Take care.’
‘You too,’ Mum replies. ‘And you, Ed. Take care of each other.’
We pack the car, beep goodbye and embark on the final stop of our Christmas tour. The one I’ve been dreading the most. Brian Ward, my problematic father extraordinaire.
2010
Kate
