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Enough already. He can go fuck himself and his faked-up cougars.
I had nothing to whine about. I was about to be rich. Living the high life with a credit card, which meant I no longer needed to steal.
As I headed back to Merivale, I ran into my grandmother and Cary, with Bertie trotting along at their feet.
In all the time I’d been there, I’d never seen my grandmother in anything but Louboutins, so I stared down in surprise at her ankle-strapped wedges. Her style was effortless, though, in pink fitted ankle-length slacks and a linen floral shirt.
Unlike my mother, who had to work hard to make herself look anything but gutter in designer. But I guessed it was true what they said, “You can take the girl out of the gutter, but you can’t take the gutter out of the girl.” That would never be me. Even if it involved a brain transplant, I would never become my mother.
“Pleasant morning for a walk,” I said, trying to sound chipper.
With her arm linked in Cary’s, my grandmother was in love, and that brought a smile to my face.
That was me in the future.
It went a little deeper than just her being my role model, however. I loved my grandmother. At first, it was gratitude for accepting me despite my crappy behaviour, but then, warm feelings kept growing, as if she were that mother I wished I’d had.
I still couldn’t believe she’d forgiven me for hocking her ruby necklace—a necklace that Will had stolen as a gift to my mother and that I then stole from my mother. A guilt-free transaction until my understanding grandmother had told me to keep the money. Something had changed in me that day because I’d expected a slap, not a kiss.
Will was at fault. I think my grandmother understood that. He was the bad one, along with my mother, who’d plotted to steal from Harry Lovechilde. I’d heard them scheming. It had been her idea, even though he was rotting in jail.
On top of everything, Grandmother then invited me into her home, to live there like family. I couldn’t believe it. Even after Savvie complained about me stealing her clothes—which were hard to resist since my aunt has style dripping off her—Grandmother had turned a blind eye.
She looked at Cary. “Manon turns twenty-one in a few weeks, and I suggested a party at Merivale.”
Cary’s eyebrows rose. What was he expecting? Me to invite a bunch of party animals from London?
He had nothing to worry about there. When it came to friends, I hardly knew anyone. I’d always kept to myself.
Sapphire kept calling. I even offered to meet in London for a spot of shopping and an ice cream. I couldn’t exactly suggest the Fox and Hound, seeing as she was only sixteen. Besides, I wasn’t much of a drinker. One glass of champagne, and I talked shit.
Sapphire kept thanking me and wanted me to know how her dad was doing and that she’d enrolled in a course. It felt good to help. A strange experience because I’d never actually given money away.
I bent down to pat Bertie, who licked my hand. He sometimes slept at the end of my bed when I put him there on those nights when the wind made all the doors creak.
“I’m free this afternoon if you want me to read your essay,” Grandmother said, talking about the online course I’d enrolled in to develop my vocabulary.
I shifted on the spot. I didn’t want anyone else knowing about my study just in case I failed to complete it or flunked the exams. At least, I’d gotten my beautician degree, but that had been dead easy. I loved makeup. I’d since discovered I didn’t mind reading, either, despite being challenged by big words.
She turned to Cary, who looked puzzled for some reason. “Manon’s enrolled in grade-twelve English.”
His face brightened like I’d single-handedly rescued a whale. “But that’s marvellous news.”
My grandmother wore that proud, motivating smile that drove me to do better than become that big-tits-and-tight-vagina girl my mother claimed to be my only useful purpose.
“Did you choose the book?” she asked.
I’d never been much of a reader, and suddenly, I was having to read books with long words. The Harry Potter books were the only ones I’d read. After discovering one lying around at school, I’d devoured it. Couldn’t put it down, and even thought of myself as Hermione there for a while, a welcomed escape from all the sleaze at home.
“Um… I’m finding it hard to make a start, to be honest.” I shifted from leg to leg. I hated admitting that I couldn’t focus, mainly because of working late four nights a week for Rey and all the daily admin involved with interviewing the girls.
“What have you read?” Cary asked.
He was a writer, so I suppose his curiosity made sense.
“I read Tess of the d’Urbervilles.”
“Oh, Hardy. Great story. Influential writer.” He spoke like they were best friends or something.
