Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,177

the table. “Well, if that’s the way you feel …” he finally muttered. Then he shrugged and glanced around the table, his eyes finally settling on Dizzy. “So, lass,” he said, picking up his fork again and gesturing toward her, “what rubbish are they teaching you at school these days?”

While Dizzy tried to convince Granddad of the importance of learning a foreign language (Granddad’s theory on the matter being that, since English was clearly the best language on the planet, there was no reason for us to learn anything else), I looked over at my father. He was smiling to himself as he stuck his fork into a slice of tomato, and he continued smiling as he shoved it into his mouth. Next to him, my mother studied him, perplexed. Then, as her eyes moved over to Granddad, she pulled a small but nevertheless jubilant grin.

IT WASN’T AN elaborate meal, but Grandma had made sure it included all my mother’s favorites—the pork pies, the mini-sausage rolls, the coleslaw she had made with raisins and Heinz Salad Cream, the little hot-dog sausages, the pickled onions, the cubes of Cheddar cheese. But when she brought out an enormous plate filled with a selection of Mr. Kipling cakes—chocolate éclairs, vanilla slices, bakewell slices, custard tarts—she had clearly outdone herself. For the first time since she’d sat down at the table, I heard my mother speak.

“Oh, look at that!” she said. “I haven’t had a Mr. Kipling’s in weeks.” Then she reached over and took two vanilla slices and a chocolate éclair and put them on her plate. Within a couple of minutes, she had eaten them and, after wiping her mouth with one of the pink serviettes Grandma had set out on the table, she reached over to take a custard tart and another vanilla slice.

“So, listen everybody,” Grandma said, rising from her seat after the Mr. Kipling cakes had been polished off and more tea had been poured. “Bill and me, we’ve got an announcement to make.” Beside her, Bill rose to his feet and Grandma took hold of his arm. “As you all know, we’re planning to get married…. Well, we’ve decided to have our wedding here in England, in that nice little church in Reatton-on-Sea. That lovely Reverend Mullins has agreed to do the ceremony. In a few months, when our Ted’s not … indisposed.”

I looked at my mother. She was glowering at Bill. My father was watching her warily, his mouth pressed in an anxious lipless line.

Across the table, Granddad mumbled, “I’d have thought this family would’ve had enough of weddings. Tempting fate, you ask me, planning another one so soon.”

After silencing him with a look, Mabel turned to my mother. “Ooh, won’t that be lovely, Ev?” Her booming tone and beaming smile making me think of the presenters on Play School, trying to pump enthusiasm into an audience of five-year-olds beyond the television screen. “We’ll all get to be at our mother’s wedding. You ask me, that’ll be just great.”

My mother said nothing while she studied Bill stonily. Beside Grandma, Bill looked extremely wary. I got the distinct impression that if Grandma hadn’t been holding on to him the poor man might have tried to make a run for it.

“Yes, but that’s not the only thing we wanted to tell you,” Grandma said, giving Bill a reassuring pat on the arm. “See, the two of us have talked about it a lot, and we agreed that we’re not going back to Australia. We’re going to settle down here, in England. Get us a house somewhere between Midham and Hull. Bill suggested it, and I agree. Right now, my family needs me here.”

My mother was on her feet, throwing her arms around Grandma’s shoulders. “Oh, Mam, that’s smashing, that’s brilliant,” she said, pressing her face into Grandma’s neck. Then, after a few seconds, she pulled back and looked at Bill. “Welcome to the family,” she said, and leaned over to place a loud smacking kiss on the astounded man’s cheek.

AFTER EVERYBODY HAD LEFT, I joined Grandma in the bustle of clearing away dishes, washing up, drying, putting things away. It was nine o’clock by the time we were done. I was tired, but it wasn’t dark yet and I felt drawn to go outside. As I made my way down the hallway, behind the living-room door I heard the drone of the newsreader on the television, and then a voice shouting, “Bunch of bloody codswallop!” in an Australian accent.