‘What’s happening with Mum?’ I ask. ‘You know she’s hopeless at keeping in touch.’ The only thing I’d heard from her recently was that she didn’t get the cruise ship work she’d been hoping for.
‘Well, she’s met some bloke from the theatre who’s doing some sort of pyramid selling thing, and she’s convinced that she’s going to make her fortune.’
‘Again?’ I say, realising that must be why the sitting room of Mum’s flat was stacked with cardboard boxes.
‘Again,’ she says and our eyes meet. ‘You know your mum; she’s a sucker for a get-rich scheme and even more for a man with a good line of patter.’
I nod. Nanna settles back on her new chair – it’s an upright one with an extending footrest, and sturdy arm supports. She puts a cushion on her lap and pats it. A moment later, as if summoned, Phoebe, her calico cat, appears. She hops onto Nanna’s lap with a chirrup.
Nanna switches on the television. ‘You don’t mind if I just turn on the news? I want to see what’s happening.’
She and Grandpa said this after every lunch. Sandwiches and soup at twelve-thirty, a sit-down, the news on, and one or other of them would doze off for quarter of an hour then act surprised, as if it didn’t happen like clockwork every afternoon. It is nice that, even a year on from Grandpa’s death, she is still doing the same little routines. It makes me feel safe, somehow. I eat another sandwich – they’re sliced into little triangles, a throwback from when I was little and I used to ask for them that way in my packed lunch. Nanna watches the news, intently. She’s always been fascinated by politics and mutters under her breath when a clip of Prime Minister’s Questions appears on the screen. I suppress a smile, and drink my tea.
Sure enough, ten minutes later she’s dozed off. I take the plates and cups through to the tiny kitchen and wash them in the sink. She’s already rinsed off the aluminium foil and left it to dry on the draining board – she’s from the generation of make do and mend. I go back through to the sitting room and she’s snoring gently. It’s only then that I realise that she looks so much older, all of a sudden. But it can’t have just happened. I suppose going away and coming back has brought it into relief. A knot of anxiety twists in my stomach at the thought of losing her and I hold on to the back of the sofa, gripping the edge of it with my fingers until my knuckles whiten.
‘Dear me,’ she says, waking with a start. ‘I must have dropped off.’
I laugh, and the moment is broken.
‘Let’s go to the community centre,’ she says, ‘and I’ll introduce you to Cyril, my new friend. He’s setting up a mindfulness circle – used to be a bit of an old hippy, if you ask me. He’s very nice.’
I look at her sideways. ‘Oh yes?’
‘Shush. He’s just a friend. I’m far too old for that sort of thing.’ She levers herself out of the armchair.
We walk to the community centre, which I recognise from Nanna’s Instagram photographs. It’s funny piecing it all together – makes me realise how much she must enjoy seeing the photos of my life in London. I resolve to take more. I’ve been slacking off a bit, because life seems to have been nothing but the commute to work, slaving over a hot desk all day, commuting home again, collapsing in front of Netflix, and then bed.
‘This is Cyril,’ Nanna Beth says, having taken me straight over to a man once we arrive at the centre.
I can see he was probably quite handsome in his day. He’s got a kind face, and is dressed in a soft houndstooth checked shirt and a smart navy blue sweater.
‘Ah, Jess, I’ve heard all about you. I’m a bit of a fan.’
‘You are?’ I say, surprised.
‘I am. Anyone who brings a smile to Beth’s face the way you do must be a pretty good sort, in my opinion.’
I look sideways at Nanna Beth and realise with amusement that she’s gone a little bit pink. She ducks her head, laughing, and says, ‘Oh, Cyril, you are a charmer.’
Cyril chuckles, sounding pleased with himself – but not in a smarmy way. It’s nice for her to have something good in her life after all those years of