could scream or summon help he had rolled the material up over his face. I raised a hand to my chest, waiting for my heartbeat to slow.
‘Is this an appropriate outfit for ice-skating?’ Grandad was on my doorstep, looking to be wearing his entire wardrobe. The green cords he only ever gardened in had been tucked inside ski socks rolled up to his knees, his face was partially obscured by tartan fabric and he was wearing about eight jumpers and tops, different coloured collars all sticking up.
‘You’re going . . . ice-skating?’
He gestured with ski gloves. ‘Howard has invited along some of the female golfers. We’re going to an ice disco. Part of this being-young-and-hip thing. A sort of group date. You should be pleased.’
‘Oh,’ I said, trying to arrange my face into an encouraging expression, ‘I am pleased. Do you want to come up before you go? I have wine.’
Grandad pushed inside. ‘Just a quick one. Can’t get tiddly before I hit the disco. Are you alone? Do you want to come tonight?’ he asked, moving up the stairs to our flat.
‘Well, I really have, um, work, I could be . . . you know, maybe I . . . ’ In truth I had finished my brief and was currently watching Friends reruns on Netflix. An open bottle of white wine stood as evidence on the coffee table in front of the big screen.
‘Where’s Luke?’ Grandad asked, looking around the living room as if Luke might emerge from behind the other sofa.
‘He went to an opening of some gallery to do with Pop Art or something – I’m not sure. Not my thing.’
‘So, you’re free. Do come. It will be much more fun with you there.’
Grandad was animated, a little nervous perhaps, although the perspiration could easily have been due to overheating. All the same, I felt an urge to go with him, to show him in this small way that I was here for him. I nodded.
‘All right then,’ I said. ‘But I haven’t ice-skated since I was about eight years old.’
‘I have never ice-skated. It was Howard’s idea. He thinks it’s the kind of night that young people would go to and we are trying to embrace dating like the young, so . . . ’ He shrugged. ‘It’s an improvement on his last plan – making us all join Tinder together.’
I managed to catch most of the wine I was drinking in my hand. ‘You’ve joined Tinder.’
‘Oh yes.’ Grandad motioned to an imaginary mobile. ‘I know how to swipe left, swipe right. My DMs are open,’ he announced with a twinkle. ‘But’ – he dropped his head – ‘no one writes to them.’
I was too shocked to commiserate.
‘Actually I went to Nando’s and . . . so,’ he coughed, decidedly fidgety all of a sudden, ‘how cold is it likely to be?’
‘In Nando’s?’ I frowned.
‘No, never mind about that.’ His eyes darted away from me. ‘I meant on the ice.’
‘Well, I’m not sure you need all eighteen jumpers,’ I said, standing up and stretching. ‘Give me five minutes.’ I went off to find some layers.
‘A lot of it is padding if I fall,’ Grandad called through to me as I rummaged in my cupboard. ‘The ice can be a tricky beast,’ he said, as if he had some idea.
Moments later I was sitting in a minibus driven by Dennis from the club, squeezed between Margaret and Arjun as we pulled away from our flat. They had detoured to pick us up, sliding the door back with a cheer as we bundled out of the flat: the Michelin Man and his granddaughter. The bus was full, a couple of people I didn’t recognise but most I did, excited chatter filling the air.
‘Glad you’re coming,’ Arjun said as I settled in my seat.
Margaret immediately offered me a Polo for the journey. ‘And thank you for the links to those websites and podcasts. I am now a regular listener of The Guilty Feminist and have been discussing Third Wave Feminism with Arjun here, who is also going to subscribe.’
‘Girl power,’ Arjun said, solemnly punching the air.
I already felt glad I was there.
‘I was in one of the first UK groups as an Ice Capade when I was younger,’ I could hear Paula telling Geoffrey, who was pressed flat against the window in the front row as she leant towards him. ‘I was extremely good. I used to wear very tight leotards.’ She licked her lips. ‘I hope I