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Others? How many bags did she have?
He hopped onto the train to find three suitcases wedged into the cycle rack. ‘Which one’s yours?’
‘All of them.’
He turned to her. ‘All three?’ How long was she intending to stay?
A whistle blew further down the platform.
His granny flapped her hands about. ‘Quick, before the train pulls away.’
‘They won’t pull away while the door’s still open.’ At least, he hoped not. He lifted the suitcases onto the platform. ‘Is that everything?’
‘Yes, love. Thank you. Now come here and give me a hug.’
Granny Esme was almost as tall as him, with long silver hair that she wore in something called a ‘chignon’, which made her look like Patsy fromAbsolutely Fabulous, his mum’s favourite show. A pair of bright blue wide-framed glasses perched on her nose; they were too big for her face, but she insisted she needed them for ‘peripheral’ vision.
‘It’s good to see you, Esme. I’ve missed you.’ It still felt odd using her name, without the prefix of ‘granny’, but the word had been banned now that all her grandkids were adults. The word was ‘ageing’, apparently, and on the rare occasion it slipped out, he’d be quickly reprimanded. Publicly, he obeyed. Privately she would always be Granny Esme.
‘I’ve missed you, too, my love. How are you?’ She pinned him with her sharp brown eyes, a concerned look on her face. It was a look he was used to.
Grandad Charlie had died when he was a baby, and when Calvin’s dad had returned to live in Jamaica, his granny had moved in to help look after him and his two siblings while his mum went out to work. It was Granny Esme who’d taken on the school when they’d wanted to reprimand him for skipping classes to attend football training, and it was her who’d accompanied him to Armley Road to sign his first professional contract with Leeds Park United. She’d been there for all the big milestones in his life, including the time following his HCM diagnosis, when he’d cried for three whole days, so there was no point lying to her – she knew him too well.
‘Not as bad as I was,’ he said honestly, kissing her powdery cheek. She always wore ‘rouge’, as she called it, and was never seen without her rose-coloured Chanel lipstick. ‘The care home’s in a bit of a mess. I didn’t realise how bad things were.’ He balanced the holdall on top of one of the suitcases and extended the handle. ‘I’ll have to come back for the third suitcase. My car’s parked out front.’
Esme fell into step next to him, looking smart in her bright green trench coat and matching scarf. She’d always been quite the style icon. ‘I was worried that might be the case. Bert’s health hadn’t been good for years, and I suspected he wasn’t keeping on top of things. Have you managed to find a solicitor to help you?’
He kept his eyes focused forwards. ‘I have.’
‘Well, that’s something. A local firm?’
He swallowed awkwardly. ‘No… an independent, a woman called Kate Lawrence.’ He walked through the station and onto the forecourt, speeding up slightly in the hope of diverting the conversation elsewhere. ‘There’s my car over there.’
Esme caught him up; she was still nifty on her feet. ‘An independent? Is that usual?’
Opening the small boot, he debated how much to say. Was it better to prewarn people that he might have made a monumental mistake and hired a woman who suffered from panic attacks and was in even more of a financial mess than he was? Or would it be better to stay quiet and hope for the best?
It wasn’t like it was Kate’s fault. She was grieving for the loss of her life – a situation he could definitely relate to. He knew what it was like to have the rug pulled out from under you. And although he had his concerns about her state of mind, it wouldn’t be fair to share her woes with anyone else; it wasn’t his place. She’d only told him because he’d ambushed her. Keeping quiet was the respectful thing to do, and certainly the safer option, since the staff were jittery enough as it was.
‘Long story,’ he said, lifting the suitcase into the boot. ‘The good news is that she’s between jobs, so she’ll only be working for us and hopefully it won’t be too long before we can apply for probate. She’s arriving this Thursday.’ He wheeled the second suitcase around to the driver’s side, hoping it would fit in the back seat. The two-door coupe was not designed for carrying excessive luggage.
Granny Esme watched him struggle to squeeze the suitcase behind the driver’s seat. ‘Will she be staying at the care home?’
‘It seemed like the best option. I can’t pay her until after probate is complete, and a hotel would be too expensive, especially as she could be here several weeks. There’s a lot ofpaperwork to sort through.’ He shoved the suitcase through the gap.
‘Let’s hope she proves to be competent.’
Calvin hoped so, too. ‘How’s Mum?’
He phoned his mum every night, but he still needed to know she was okay. As the oldest child, he’d taken on most of the responsibility when his dad had left, unable to bear hearing her crying herself to sleep every night. Although she was in a much better place now, he still felt the need to check on her.
‘Your mum’s good and sends her love. We had Sunday dinner together yesterday, your sister cooked a lovely roast lamb. Everyone misses you.’
His chest pinched. He missed them, too. His sister was married and worked part-time for a local charity, balancing work with bringing up his twin nieces, and his brother had just finished his physio training.
‘Hopefully, I’ll be back home soon.’
‘I doubt that, love.’ She headed around to the passenger side.
