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“One son. He lives in Australia, so may as well be dead the amount I get to see him. No grandchildren. He’s a confirmed bachelor, if you know what I mean…” Joy tapped the side of her nose knowingly.
“Have you been out there to visit him?”
“Several times, but not for years now. My blood pressure’s not too good. My doc reckons I’d cark it if I got on a plane. Could be a fun way to go.” There was that wicked grin again. “He hasn’t been over here in six years. Too busy with work, apparently. My mother had a saying about children-A daughter’s a daughter for life. A son’s a son till he finds a wife. My Malcolm doesn’t have a wife, so I’ve no idea what his excuse can be.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Oh, don’t be. It’s not like I’m lonely.”
“What are your plans for Christmas?”
“I’ll be spending Christmas Day with some friends from the WI. We’re all widows. The only rule we have is that none of us are allowed to cook.”
“What do you have for your lunch? Sandwiches?”
“Not on Christmas Day!” Joy seemed genuinely affronted at the thought. “No, we have an Indian takeaway. You know, the one down the road? Have you tried it yet? Won lots of awards, you know.”
“Oh, I’ve sampled it a few too many times. I’ve had to ration myself or I’ll end up the size of a house.”
“Ha! Not likely. You’ve got your grandmother’s figure, skinny as a needle.”
“Thanks, I think. Do you fancy coming round here for lunch on Boxing Day? Only if you don’t have any other plans, of course.”
Joy reached over and clasped Kate’s hands. “That would be wonderful, dear. I can’t remember the last time someone invited me round for lunch.”
“Oh, but I thought…”
“Usually I invite myself. I was planning to do the same with you, but you beat me to it.” Joy let out another throaty laugh. “Top me up, girl.”
Kate topped up both their glasses. “Could you tell me a bit about my Nan? I really didn’t know anything about her.”
“Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start…” sang Joy, in a clear, powerful voice.
“Sounds good,” said Kate, tucking her own blanket around her knees and taking a sip of wine.
“As I told you, I was a bit of a mouse when I was younger. Moira was the opposite. Her parents doted on her. Nowadays, you’d probably say she was spoilt. Anyway, doted, spoilt, whatever it was, it gave Moira confidence that the rest of us girls envied. She took me under her wing on the first day of school and I never left it until the day she died. She was a bright spark. The teachers hated her as she’d often correct them. She had scars on the back of her legs from the amount of beatings she got, but it never seemed to bother her. I think she was actually rather proud of her ‘battle scars’, as she called them.”
“Sounds brutal.”
“They were different times back then. Anyway, in those days, there was no prospect of university. We left school at sixteen and Moira got a job as a typist. Got me a job there too shortly after. That’s where she met her Philip. Love at first sight it was. They’d only been courting two weeks before he asked her to marry him. Her father was furious, but she was bloody headstrong and only went and eloped. It caused quite a scandal. Word was that Philip had got her up the duff, but that turned out not to be true. They were married five years before they had your dad. It was a difficult birth. We all came close to losing her that day, but she battled through in that headstrong way of hers. They were the perfect family, from the outside, but I think Philip and your dad clashed a fair bit. Too similar, Moira used to say. Your dad became a bit rebellious, stealing from the local newsagent, drinking, fighting, the usual stuff. It was when Philip died that things really started to go wrong for them.”
“How old was my dad when he lost his father?”
“Thirteen. Such an important age for youngsters. Moira couldn’t cope at all. She shut everyone out, even me. She admitted later she’d had a nervous breakdown. Philip was the love of her life. She was never quite the same after that. Anyway, Philip’s death sent your dad spinning off even further down the wrong path. By the time Moira had pulled herself together, your dad was in with a bad crowd and there was little she could do about it.”
Tears filled Joy’s eyes and Kate offered her a tissue.
“Thank you, dear. I think perhaps we should leave it there for now. I could bring some photographs with me next time I come round, if you’d like that?”
“Yes, I’d love that, thank you.”
“Well, I’ll let myself out. See you soon, dear.”
“Bye.” Kate downed the last of the wine and went inside to warm up.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
KATE WOKE UPto one of those winter days that come so rarely they take your breath away. The grass outside glistened with frost, the bright morning sun not yet warm enough to melt it away. She wrapped up in two jumpers and her fluffy dressing gown and took her morning coffee outside. The cold air nipped at her fingers and she curled them tighter around her mug. This brief spell of good weather brought with it an optimism she hadn’t felt for a while. Between Joy and Bob, she had begun to feel settled, like she was putting down roots, small as they might be.
