cuddle. I don’t know if anyone else does.”
Archie smiles, a small, pale smile, but it’s a start.
“Come on, the last one to sit down is a squashed tomato.”
They both start to run.
“She did not.”
“She did, Gran. And then she sent the bloody vicar out, poor man, although that backfired a bit; I think she’d ordered him to tell us off for not going in to pray, but he was lovely. He said he was pleased to meet us, and Archie shook his hand, and then he said people had different ways of remembering their loved ones, and it was what was in people’s hearts that mattered. And then he winked at the boys.”
“He sounds lovely, pet.”
“I know. It almost made me wish we’d gone in.”
“Not with her carrying on like she does, terrible woman.”
“It was good though. When she finally came out with Fiona and the girls, the vicar said good-bye, and then he turned to Pearl and said thank you so much for my leaf, I will treasure it. It made Archie giggle. Elizabeth was seriously miffed.”
“Nasty woman. I’ve got a good mind to ring her and tell her just how lovely her son was, leaving you in a right old mess with two boys to bring up and a second mortgage he hadn’t bothered to tell anybody about. You were lucky you had a penny left after selling that house you know.”
“I know, Gran, but don’t, please?”
“I know you’re right, pet. Losing your son is a terrible thing, even if you aren’t as nice a person as you should be. But that’s no excuse to go trampling over other people’s feelings.”
“Yes, but whatever gets you through the night?”
“I suppose so. Only next time I’m coming with you, and that’s final. I told Reg, I knew I should have come today. She spends so long in that church you’d think she’d have learnt a bit about Christian charity by now, but they’re often the worst ones. I’ve noticed that before, too busy being holier-than-thou to bother with being decent or kind.”
“Okay.”
“I thought you’d say no.”
“I think you might be right. Having you as backup would make it so much easier.”
“Yes, well, grandmother to grandmother, if she starts kicking off, she’ll get a piece of my mind and make no mistake about it.”
“I know, Gran. And thanks.”
“Good, well, that’s decided then. I might get to meet your lovely vicar.”
“If Elizabeth hasn’t worked out a way to get him defrocked or whatever they do to naughty vicars now. If fraternizing with unmarried mothers and their illegitimate babies is still a hanging offense, that is.”
“No, pet, they got past all that nonsense a while back, thank goodness. It used to be terrible. But that’s all changed. Just look at that Robin Williams.”
I think she might mean Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, although I’m sure Robin Williams takes a pretty tolerant line on unwed mothers too.
“He’s a lovely man, you can tell just by looking at him. If they were all like him, I’d go every Sunday. Far more important things to worry about than who is married or isn’t, or who is gay and who is, what’s that other thing they say?”
“Straight.”
“Yes, straight, silly word if you ask me, but still, thank heavens times have changed. People can choose now, and as long as they’re not hurting anybody, it’s nobody’s business but their own, is it, pet?”
“No, Gran.”
“Night, pet.”
“Night, Gran.”
I always feel better when I talk to Gran. Not that she won’t tell you if she thinks you’re wrong about something. But deep down I know she loves us all, pretty much unconditionally. There’s something terribly reassuring about knowing you have someone like her in your corner, come what may. I really want that for the kids, that certainty that I’m there for them, come what may. Only preferably not at 3:00 a.m.
I’m in the kitchen on Friday morning at the crack of bloody dawn, and Pearl is on saucepan patrol again when the phone rings.
“Morning,
Archie smiles, a small, pale smile, but it’s a start.
“Come on, the last one to sit down is a squashed tomato.”
They both start to run.
“She did not.”
“She did, Gran. And then she sent the bloody vicar out, poor man, although that backfired a bit; I think she’d ordered him to tell us off for not going in to pray, but he was lovely. He said he was pleased to meet us, and Archie shook his hand, and then he said people had different ways of remembering their loved ones, and it was what was in people’s hearts that mattered. And then he winked at the boys.”
“He sounds lovely, pet.”
“I know. It almost made me wish we’d gone in.”
“Not with her carrying on like she does, terrible woman.”
“It was good though. When she finally came out with Fiona and the girls, the vicar said good-bye, and then he turned to Pearl and said thank you so much for my leaf, I will treasure it. It made Archie giggle. Elizabeth was seriously miffed.”
“Nasty woman. I’ve got a good mind to ring her and tell her just how lovely her son was, leaving you in a right old mess with two boys to bring up and a second mortgage he hadn’t bothered to tell anybody about. You were lucky you had a penny left after selling that house you know.”
“I know, Gran, but don’t, please?”
“I know you’re right, pet. Losing your son is a terrible thing, even if you aren’t as nice a person as you should be. But that’s no excuse to go trampling over other people’s feelings.”
“Yes, but whatever gets you through the night?”
“I suppose so. Only next time I’m coming with you, and that’s final. I told Reg, I knew I should have come today. She spends so long in that church you’d think she’d have learnt a bit about Christian charity by now, but they’re often the worst ones. I’ve noticed that before, too busy being holier-than-thou to bother with being decent or kind.”
“Okay.”
“I thought you’d say no.”
“I think you might be right. Having you as backup would make it so much easier.”
“Yes, well, grandmother to grandmother, if she starts kicking off, she’ll get a piece of my mind and make no mistake about it.”
“I know, Gran. And thanks.”
“Good, well, that’s decided then. I might get to meet your lovely vicar.”
“If Elizabeth hasn’t worked out a way to get him defrocked or whatever they do to naughty vicars now. If fraternizing with unmarried mothers and their illegitimate babies is still a hanging offense, that is.”
“No, pet, they got past all that nonsense a while back, thank goodness. It used to be terrible. But that’s all changed. Just look at that Robin Williams.”
I think she might mean Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, although I’m sure Robin Williams takes a pretty tolerant line on unwed mothers too.
“He’s a lovely man, you can tell just by looking at him. If they were all like him, I’d go every Sunday. Far more important things to worry about than who is married or isn’t, or who is gay and who is, what’s that other thing they say?”
“Straight.”
“Yes, straight, silly word if you ask me, but still, thank heavens times have changed. People can choose now, and as long as they’re not hurting anybody, it’s nobody’s business but their own, is it, pet?”
“No, Gran.”
“Night, pet.”
“Night, Gran.”
I always feel better when I talk to Gran. Not that she won’t tell you if she thinks you’re wrong about something. But deep down I know she loves us all, pretty much unconditionally. There’s something terribly reassuring about knowing you have someone like her in your corner, come what may. I really want that for the kids, that certainty that I’m there for them, come what may. Only preferably not at 3:00 a.m.
I’m in the kitchen on Friday morning at the crack of bloody dawn, and Pearl is on saucepan patrol again when the phone rings.
“Morning,
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