They know me well enough by now, anyway – they would have understood it was just another domestic emergency in the Grimsdale household. Weeping uncontrollably, I peeled back my ears for the taxi’s beep. Hating myself every second for not being able to drive – for goodness sake, children of seventeen can drive – but there was nothing for it but to clatter down the stairs with my legs feeling like melting jelly and lock up the lighthouse.
It was only as the taxi was speeding off down the road that I remembered Gary was coming out to see me. But Gary had been demoted several steps down the ladder of domestic emergencies and it was all I could do to keep calm in the back seat of one of First Class’s finest motors. I’ll settle Alexander down first, I decided. The children are my top priority, always have been. Then we’d contact Emma and assure her we’d do anything she wanted. We’d mind the baby for her somehow while she went to classes at university, we’d do the babysitting in the evenings. Anything she needed, whatsoever. Even if she didn’t want to be with Alexander any more, we’d still do our bit in practical terms as well as financially. Alexander would have to get a part-time job and start paying his share towards the baby’s upkeep. And if Emma didn’t want to keep my first grandchild… well, I just hoped things wouldn’t come to that. If that happened, I’d rather not have been told about the baby in the first place, thank you very much.
And then, when we’d made some headway in that little situation, I’d have to call my sisters (both living in Sydney, Australia, did I say?) and tell them about Dad passing away. They hadn’t seen him in ten years and I fretted thatit would be too much for them to take in. Organizing a funeral, grieving for the poor man and all the years he’d wasted listening to political talk shows on the radio. Not to mention the expense of it all. I knew Dad wouldn’t have subscribed to one of those nice and sensible ‘Over Fifty’ plans you see on the television, either.
‘How depressing is that?’ he used to say. ‘Saving up for your own friggin’ funeral? Screwed for money, all your life. Right to the bitter end they’re trying to wring it out of you. Well, they can stuff their over-fifty plan, so they can, the greedy bastards. They won’t be getting ten quid a month out of me! They can chuck my carcass on the Halloween bonfire for all I care. Or feed me to the rats. Capitalist fuckers !’
Oh, yes.
You can’t buy memories like that.
And I have no idea who to invite, I thought miserably. He has loads of relatives. Had loads of relatives. But none of them liked him very much. And he didn’t like them. There didn’t seem to be many frequent visitors to his home, at any rate. Like I say, he could be difficult. Maybe an informal stand-up buffet would be easier on all of us, I remember thinking as I bolted into the chippy a few doors down from our house, on the main road. I almost forgot to pay the taxi driver, I was in such a state. Or would a buffet seem like we were scrimping?
‘Two cod suppers, please.’
‘Nine quid. Cheers, love. Salt and vinegar?’
‘Yes, please.’
Nine quid for two cod suppers? Bloody ’ell, I thought, feeling ever-so-slightly robbed. The price had gone up byfifty pence since last time. What is the world coming to?
Then it was a breathless dash up to our front door and thank goodness Alexander was still alive, his handsome face all swollen up with frightened tears. I hugged him to me for what seemed like an age but was probably twenty seconds. Together, we made our way to the kitchen, me softly rubbing his back the way I did when he was a baby and couldn’t get a burp up. He was still sobbing too much to speak so I babbled on about the price of everything and we set the table together. Gary rang me as I was in the middle of unwrapping the cod suppers and telling Alexander that everything would be all right. Alexander
It was only as the taxi was speeding off down the road that I remembered Gary was coming out to see me. But Gary had been demoted several steps down the ladder of domestic emergencies and it was all I could do to keep calm in the back seat of one of First Class’s finest motors. I’ll settle Alexander down first, I decided. The children are my top priority, always have been. Then we’d contact Emma and assure her we’d do anything she wanted. We’d mind the baby for her somehow while she went to classes at university, we’d do the babysitting in the evenings. Anything she needed, whatsoever. Even if she didn’t want to be with Alexander any more, we’d still do our bit in practical terms as well as financially. Alexander would have to get a part-time job and start paying his share towards the baby’s upkeep. And if Emma didn’t want to keep my first grandchild… well, I just hoped things wouldn’t come to that. If that happened, I’d rather not have been told about the baby in the first place, thank you very much.
And then, when we’d made some headway in that little situation, I’d have to call my sisters (both living in Sydney, Australia, did I say?) and tell them about Dad passing away. They hadn’t seen him in ten years and I fretted thatit would be too much for them to take in. Organizing a funeral, grieving for the poor man and all the years he’d wasted listening to political talk shows on the radio. Not to mention the expense of it all. I knew Dad wouldn’t have subscribed to one of those nice and sensible ‘Over Fifty’ plans you see on the television, either.
‘How depressing is that?’ he used to say. ‘Saving up for your own friggin’ funeral? Screwed for money, all your life. Right to the bitter end they’re trying to wring it out of you. Well, they can stuff their over-fifty plan, so they can, the greedy bastards. They won’t be getting ten quid a month out of me! They can chuck my carcass on the Halloween bonfire for all I care. Or feed me to the rats. Capitalist fuckers !’
Oh, yes.
You can’t buy memories like that.
And I have no idea who to invite, I thought miserably. He has loads of relatives. Had loads of relatives. But none of them liked him very much. And he didn’t like them. There didn’t seem to be many frequent visitors to his home, at any rate. Like I say, he could be difficult. Maybe an informal stand-up buffet would be easier on all of us, I remember thinking as I bolted into the chippy a few doors down from our house, on the main road. I almost forgot to pay the taxi driver, I was in such a state. Or would a buffet seem like we were scrimping?
‘Two cod suppers, please.’
‘Nine quid. Cheers, love. Salt and vinegar?’
‘Yes, please.’
Nine quid for two cod suppers? Bloody ’ell, I thought, feeling ever-so-slightly robbed. The price had gone up byfifty pence since last time. What is the world coming to?
Then it was a breathless dash up to our front door and thank goodness Alexander was still alive, his handsome face all swollen up with frightened tears. I hugged him to me for what seemed like an age but was probably twenty seconds. Together, we made our way to the kitchen, me softly rubbing his back the way I did when he was a baby and couldn’t get a burp up. He was still sobbing too much to speak so I babbled on about the price of everything and we set the table together. Gary rang me as I was in the middle of unwrapping the cod suppers and telling Alexander that everything would be all right. Alexander
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