The Gin O'Clock Club - Rosie Blake Page 0,15

the sleeve of his jumper. ‘She was a beauty,’ he added, indicating the photographs.

‘She was,’ I said quietly, picturing Grandma now at her dressing table, smoothing down her silvery-grey hair with the silver-backed brush.

At that moment Grandad reappeared at the top of the stairs, taking us both in. I was still holding the dress against me and he smiled.

‘We got engaged when she was wearing that dress,’ he said, his voice low as he inclined his head towards me. ‘I took her to the opera, and then for dinner afterwards. I don’t remember the show, I couldn’t eat, and when it came to it I couldn’t get the words out I was so bloody nervous.’

We were all crying now.

‘You should take it,’ he said. ‘You and she are about the same size. She would have wanted you to have anything you liked.’

We locked eyes then and it was my turn to nod and swallow down the emotion. Grandma had always been generous to a fault, shielding me from bad weather with her own jacket while she got soaked, carrying me back from the bus stop aged eight when I’d twisted my ankle pirouetting around the pole, offering me food from her plate if I finished first. I smiled sadly as I fingered the shimmering material, pictured my own utilitarian wardrobe of blacks and greys: my uniform.

‘I can’t think of an occasion I’d wear it.’

Grandad’s face fell immediately, the lines more marked as he turned away from me, his shoulders dropping a fraction. Arjun coughed and looked away. I regretted saying it the moment the words left my mouth.

What was wrong with me? I felt my insides swirl in confusion. Suddenly I felt the familiar bubble of anger, always so near the surface, and bit the inside of my cheek. I should have fixed things but instead I wiped at my face, turned and moved back into the bedroom, replacing the dress where I had found it, and continued to clear the piles around me.

Chapter 6

Love is like falling into a large hole with no idea how to get back out

PETER, 75

I was running late for Amy, which Amy hated. It wasn’t just the teacher in her, she’d always been like that. Even at school when we were little she would roll her eyes, cross her arms and look disapproving. She was right, of course. I knew it was selfish but somehow, even with the best of intentions, I still managed to be late. I started preparing a lie as I half jogged along the pavement. I had blamed the Tube last time. This time I might go big and invent a foiled handbag-snatching attempt. Too much time in court maybe – and anyway Amy was trained to see through extravagant tales.

I was still trying to divide my time between our flat and the odd evenings at Grandad’s house and felt torn and stretched thin, living on buses and tubes and buying underwear when out because my stuff was scattered around the place. I wanted to help Grandad, make him less alone, but sometimes wondered if I was creating more work for him. I had heard him sigh as he turned off the smoke alarm and washed up the mess I had created in the kitchen after starting a meal for us before becoming distracted by a work document. Grandad had snapped at me to leave the scorched pan and I had stepped back, stung. We both missed Grandma. She had always been the calming influence, capable and relaxed as Grandad and I circled each other, both perhaps a little highly strung.

I’d apologised in a gruff voice, not meeting his eye, wanting to shout that I had just been trying to help, then wanting to be back in my own flat with Luke making me dinner. Then the crashing guilt after that thought.

Luke was often with Grandad when I wasn’t, knew it was important to me that he had company. We could have spent this Saturday together – until I remembered I’d promised Amy I’d go wedding-dress shopping with her.

‘It’s important,’ I’d barked, shrugging off Luke’s hand inching around my waist in bed that morning.

His sigh had instantly made me bristle, feel cross. I was still tired, I wanted to stay in our freshly laundered bed with him too. I hadn’t said that, had simply stamped off to the shower, muttering underneath the jet of water before racing around the flat as the clock ticked, Luke watching his iPad in bed.

‘Are

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