When I get to Granddad’s house, Aunty Teresa answers the door. I ask her what she is doing. Rule number one for a calm life: NEVER ask Aunty Teresa what she is doing.
“Ermm. We are mostly doing goat noises and listing people we’d like on our dartboard of hate,” she says, like it’s the most totally normal thing in the world.
“And how does that work?” I ask. I never learn. Rule number two: Don’t ask for details.
Aunty Teresa drags me into the front room. My dad is there standing over a homemade target, which has a big red bull’s-eye marked THE WORST in the middle of it. He gives me a huge hug.
“Millie,” he says proudly, “behold the greatest advance in stress relief ever! You simply pin all the things you can’t stand onto this, and then you throw darts at it.”
I read what Aunty Teresa and Dad have written on it.
“What’s up with seahorses?” I ask.
Aunty Teresa looks at me like I’ve asked something incredibly stupid. “Well, you can’t ride them, and all they do is float around looking pretty. I want more from my marine creatures. Look at sharks! They bring DRAMA!”
“But male seahorses can give birth!” I tell her. I’ve been googling a lot. Lauren and I have fact wars. This is mainly because Lauren thinks she can go on game shows with all her knowledge and become very rich very quickly. For her, the weirder the fact the better. The bizarre thing is, trivia also really helps me manage my stress. When my brain is worrying what the capital of Bhutan is, it’s not full of anxiety about other stuff I can’t control.
“Pregnant fish men! Fake news!” Teresa says. And I have to google this fact to prove it to her. She makes her “massively amazed” face where her nose accordions into her forehead and she practically dislocates her skull. “Right,” she shouts, “seahorses are off and goats are back on.”
My dad looks outraged and hollers, “NO! Think of the cheese!”
Aunty Teresa pounces on him and they start wrestling on the floor. They don’t notice as I leave for the kitchen. Granddad is standing there mopping the floor. He seems like he’s in another world. I say “Hi” to him, but he just carries on cleaning. I wave madly in his direction. When he’s tuned out, this is the only thing that ever works.
“Oh, hello, superstar,” he finally says. He’s called me “superstar” since all this going-viral stuff happened. I don’t really like it, but this is Granddad trying to be sweet. He doesn’t normally believe in compliments. He thinks they make you arrogant and according to him there are few things worse than a “big-headed female.” Yes, he is sexist as he’s ancient and most people were back then. Women used to be sexist to themselves! I make allowances for my grandpa. He’s family.
“Sorry, Millie,” he says, “I was in a world of my own. I do my best thinking when I’m mopping. Once you are used to the nature of the job, your body does one thing and it frees your mind to ponder the complexities of the universe.”
I give Granddad a cuddle. We are beyond words sometimes, especially when he goes too deep.
“I expect you’ve come around to get your things. So you’re leaving me with these two fools?”
At that point I hear Teresa yell, “PUT MUSHROOMS BACK ON THE DARTBOARD OF HATE. They are EVIL. It’s like eating moldy mini umbrellas.”
Granddad looks at me sadly. “I’ll miss you, gal. I will miss you.”
We have an uncomfortable moment. This is because Granddad doesn’t really do feelings. He gets emotional and then changes the subject to the first thing that pops into his head before you have a chance to react.
“Nothing wrong with mushrooms!” he shouts at Teresa. “Well, except the ones that can kill you.”
He looks at me and winks. “Would you like to use my shed for one of your things before you go? For old times’ sake?”
I’ve been using Granddad’s shed as my vlog spot. I’d sort of hoped he’d let me keep on using it, but I think he wants his man cave back and, as I hear Teresa and my dad fighting over murder fungi, I kind of understand that. It’s good to have a place to hide in life.
I put my arm around Granddad’s shoulder and give him a kiss. He grabs his mop and pretends to attack me with it. That’s one of the ways he tells me he loves me.
Families are weird, aren’t they? All families. I’ve never met a normal one.