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Irene nods. ‘I know. I’ve been doing some sums and if I’m careful with my spending, I reckon I’ll be able to pay it off by Easter. You don’t need to worry about your rings, Lois. I’ll get them back. I’ll remortgage the house if I have to.’
Lois nods. ‘Right. Good. Okay, where’smyplace setting?’ She strides over to her tray on the bench, picks up her plate and sits down at the table. Then she looks around at us. ‘So what are you all waiting for? Let’s tackle these amazing burgers, made I believe by our very own Bertie Wooster.’
I nod, smiling. ‘It’s great to have you down here, Lois.’ I’m feeling weirdly emotional. ‘We haven’t sat down to a family meal like this in ever so–’
‘Okay, Clara. No sentimental speeches.’ Lois cuts me off with a smile. ‘Let’s just eat.’
I look at her and we exchange a secret smile. She’s thanking me in her own way for making her see sense... for helping her to understand her mum’s past and find a way to move forward.
The communication between mother and daughter is still a little stiff and awkward during dinner, with Bertie filling in the pauses.
But it’s a start...
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I’m so worried about Gran.
It’s the last Monday in November, her operation is in exactly three weeks’ time, and she’s spent the whole of the past week clearing out drawers and tidying cupboards and sorting out the shed like there’s no tomorrow. It’s as if she wants to leave everything in good order because she doesn’t expect to return from the hospital...
After my café shift in the morning, I drive straight over to see her. Knocking on the back door as I often do, because it tends to be open during the day, I walk on in and call for her but there’s no reply.
Maybe she can’t hear over the TV, which is on in the living room.
But she’s not there. She’s sitting in the dining room, a big box of photos on the table in front of her, gazing at one photo in particular with tears in her eyes.
‘Gran?’ I whisper, and she turns in surprise.
‘Clara!’
‘How are you doing?’ I gaze at her, concerned. I have the feeling she was miles away just then. ‘Is that a picture of Bertie?’
I sit down next to her, pointing at the photo in her hand. Confused, she looks at it. Then she quickly pops it back in the box.
‘No, no. But there’s plenty of him in there if you want to have a look,’ she says quickly, avoiding my eye. She fishes out a hanky, wipes her eyes and pastes on a smile.
‘Gran? Are you all right?’
‘Fine, my love. Fine. Can I get you a coffee?’ She starts to get up.
‘Gran, what’s going on?’ I catch her hand and she stops. ‘Are you worried about the operation? It’s a routine op. You’re going to be fine. More than fine. You’ll be a new woman!’ I smile encouragingly, and I can see she’s doing her best to look happy, but it’s an effort for her.
‘You’re right. Of course you are. I’ll get the coffee.’
She goes out and I glance around the room, at her precious walnut furniture and the old sideboard with the green vase that’s always had pride of place in here, ever since I was tiny.
It must be quite a prospect, preparing for a life-changing op like this. I’m not sure how I’d feel. But it’s for the best and hopefully, by Christmas, she’ll be through the worst and on the mend.
My throat thickens up, thinking about this. The day of the op is going to be excruciating, waiting for news.
With tears threatening, I sit up and pull myself together. The last thing Gran needs is to see how scared I am. I pull the box of photos towards me and draw out the one on the top... the photo Gran was looking at when I came in.
I’m expecting a family photo. Perhaps one of Dad when he was a little boy. But to my astonishment, the face smiling out of the picture is that of a stranger.
I stare at it. It’s a faded colour photo of a young girl of about eighteen at the beach. She’s wearing a short pink shift dress and white sandals with low heels, and she’s smiling at the photographer, one hand to her pretty blonde pixie cut, which brings to mind pictures I’ve seen of the model Twiggy back in the Sixties.
Who is she?
A friend of Gran’s when she was just a young girl, too?
