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“Just googledlocal doctorthen my address and figured I’d be under the nearest NHS practice,” I tell him, only speaking very slightly quicker than is natural. “And once I saw the name it felt, y’know, familiar and that, which is probably a good sign.”
And he buys it. And, in a way, I wish he hadn’t because then I’d have to come clean, and then maybe it’d be all right. Except I’m worried it wouldn’t. So I let the moment pass and we just go back to talking. And, if I didn’t have the shadow of a Nexa byMERLYN 8mm Sliding Door Shower enclosure hanging over me, it would be the most uncomplicatedly pleasant morning me and Jonathan have ever had.
Being proper grown-ups, we stop eating our all-you-can-eat breakfast when we’ve actually had as much as we want instead of filling our boots on principle, and then we go for a nice little wander around the middle of Sheffield, which with Jonathan in tow I’m seeing a new light. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s still just a town, and not one that austerity was especially kind to, but to Jonathan it’s got that childhood home thing going for it that I get myself back in Liverpool.
Winter’s painting the sky all these different colours of grey and the wind’s not quite as biting as you get nearer the coast, but it’s still got a definite chill to it, so I let Jonathan keep me close and it feels…it feels right. And I try not to let it feel wrong that it feels right, and to remember that I’m allowed to have this, and that things don’t have to suck forever. Which is easier now than I’m used to it being.
We turn off the main street and Jonathan explains that we’re a few minutes away from Pauline’s, which makes sense when you think about it. I’ve only been in London three weeks, but I’ve already been lulled into that big city mindset where the other side of town is a million miles and a dedicated trek away, so it’s a bit of a shock to be back in the kind of place where you can walk ten minutes and you’ve gone from office blocks to little stone walls and a distinctively villagey vibe.
The home where Jonathan’s put his nan is this converted Victorian manor not far from the middle of town and, honestly, if my grandson had stuck me somewhere like that, I’d be pretty chuffed. Though I’d also try not to think too much about what it must be costing him because those places do not come cheap.
We’re met at reception by a very smiley woman named Melissawho’s clearly expecting us, and she lets Jonathan head right on through to where Pauline’s waiting for him. She’s hanging out in the lounge, a pretty little room all done up in inoffensive blues with French windows opening onto the garden—least they would, only they aren’t right now on account of it being winter and the last thing you want in an old people’s home being a cold draught blowing over everybody’s slippers.
I’m not sure what to expect from Nana Pauline. She’s the only person I’ve met so far as came purely from Les’s side of the family, and that’s more jarring than I expect. She’s tall, thin in that old-person way that looks brittle like porcelain. She’s also wearing two cardigans and sitting by an open window.
“Jonathan.” She greets her grandson with a smile and an eventual hug. I say eventual because she stands up to, y’know, embrace him like, and it takes a very, very long time. Had it been me I’d have bent down to make it easier for her, but Jonathan just stands there and lets her come to him. “Good to see you.”
“You too, Nana.”
There’s a moment’s pause. Then, “I’m not coming.”
“Fantastic,” replies Jonathan. “Are your bags in your—hang on, you’rewhat?”
“I’m staying here.” She de-embraces and goes to sit back down, which doesn’t take quite as long as standing up.
Jonathan looks almost personally betrayed. “You bloody well are not.”
“I bloody well am.”
“You bloody well—”
This is looking like it’s going to get circular. “Excuse me,” I butt in, “butwhyaren’t you coming?”
“Who’s he?” asks Nana Pauline, “and what’s he got to do with our business?”
Looking the tiniest bit like he’s only just remembered I’mthere, Jonathan puts a hand on my back and does the introductions. “This is Sam, Nana. Sam, this is Nana Pauline.”
“He your boyfriend?” she wants to know immediately.
“N—” I’d have been insulted by how instinctively Jonathan was about to deny it, but I’d been about to do the same. “Yes. Sort of.”
I’ll let thesort ofslide as well.
“What do you meansort of?” asks Nana Pauline.
“It’s all a bit new,” he explains.
On the whole, I’m quite keen to change the subject. “Can we get back to why you’re not coming down for Christmas?”
Nana Pauline waves a dismissive hand. “Well, it’s such a hassle, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Nana, it is,” agrees Jonathan. “For example, it wasquitea hassle for us to drive all the way up here only for you to tell us we needn’t have bothered.”
“Oh, Isee.” The expression on Nana Pauline’s face is a kind of gleeful outrage. And fair enough because Jonathan walked into that one like Wile E. Coyote into his own anvil trap.
Jonathan, though, isn’t having any of it. “Hang on, I visit you every time I’m in Sheffield and I’m in Sheffieldquite a lot.”
My initial, porcelainy impression of Nana Pauline is getting rapidly updated. This is a woman who’s never backed down from anything in her life no matter how completely pointless. “You say that, but you bunged me in here and left me languishing.Languishing. Do you know what it’s like, Jonathan, languishing? You wake up in the morning and think to yourselfwhat’ll I do today, and then you thinkI know, I’ll have a languish.”
