Chapter 20

Beth

Despite all the comforts we had enjoyed en route, and a stopover, we were both exhausted by the time we arrived at Heathrow, 7.30am London time. Luckily, being at the pointy end of the plane meant we disembarked first.

‘It’s too late to turn back now,’ I said to Gran as I took her carry-on luggage from her so she didn’t have to carry it. I chose not to react to the distinctive clink of glass on glass, which I assumed came from the haul of complimentary little wine bottles she’d stowed away.

‘What’s Gerry’s great-nephew’s name again?’ I asked as we collected our luggage off the carousel. Gerry had arranged for him to collect us from the airport. If I’d been travelling by myself, I would have insisted on taking the train or a taxi – the idea of swapping forced pleasantries with a stranger did not appeal to me, especially after a long-haul flight. But Gran looked shattered, so it was probably good that we didn’t have to navigate tube lines, or the hordes of jostling tourists in the cab rank.

‘Nicholas, I think,’ she replied. ‘Gerry said he’s very tall and should stand out from the crowd. Apparently, he’ll be holding a sign.’

As we approached the arrivals gate, the sounds of laughter and squealing from people reuniting with loved ones became louder. It occurred to me we were about to walk into the real-life opening scene of Love Actually – a movie that Jarrah and Mum insisted on watching every Christmas. I found it overly sentimental. Although I did appreciate Emma Thompson’s character, who prioritised her own dignity and self-worth.

We rounded the corner as a woman dropped her backpack and leapt into the arms of a man who’d pushed through the crowd to get to her. An older woman, who had been using a walking stick, held it in one of her outstretched arms as she loped towards three waiting children holding a sign with ‘Welcome Nanna’ written in glitter and sequins. Two men who looked like twins embraced each other exuberantly. It was all very touching, but, annoyingly, they were all blocking the exit.

‘Can you see anyone holding a sign?’ I asked, craning my neck.

Gran grabbed my arm and pointed to a guy who stood a full head taller than everyone around him.

He was searching the crowd expectantly while clutching two foil helium balloons that were bobbing energetically above his head. One – a giant koala – had ‘Beth’ written in sharpie across its stomach, and the other – an enormous kangaroo in profile – had ‘Elise’ tracking up its spine. I hated kitsch, and this was next level.

‘I guess that’s him, then,’ Gran said, waving as she made a beeline towards him.

‘Nicholas?’ Gran asked; the only uncertainty being his name.

‘Nick, please. Nick Aitkens.’

Gran held out her right hand to shake. He smiled broadly as he extended his own right hand, which was clutching the balloon strings, towards Gran. Realising that shaking hers would mean letting go of the balloons, he offered up his pinky finger instead, which she shook with good humour.

‘It’s lovely to meet you, Ms Simpson,’ he offered earnestly.

‘Please, call me Elise,’ Gran replied.

I noted that Gran didn’t correct her surname; Simpson had been her maiden name.

‘Elise,’ he said with a satisfied nod. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Elise. Aunt Gerry has been really looking forward to seeing you.’

He turned to me and shot me a grin that disarmed me. The lines that gathered around his eyes gave a genuine warmth to his face, and one of his front teeth overlapped the other just enough to give his smile character.

‘You must be Beth. Welcome to London.’

He spared me the awkward handshake, but lurched clumsily towards me to take the carry-on bags I was holding. He grabbed the first in his empty hand.

‘Let me help you with—’

As he tried to take the other bag from me, one of the balloon strings slipped from his grasp and Beth the Koala floated towards the soaring airport roof.

Nick’s shoulders drooped as he tracked the ascent with his eyes.

‘Well, that’s that then,’ he said, with what seemed like genuine devastation. ‘He was on borrowed time, really. The guards at the security checkpoint were not happy about having him go through the x-ray machine. It was hard enough convincing them to forgo the internal cavity search.’

He shook his head solemnly. I suspected he was joking, but wondered: could his humour really be that dry?

‘Oh, darling,’ Gran said compassionately, as he tied the kangaroo string onto the handle of the bag. ‘Thank you for bringing them anyway.’

She looked to me with slightly bugged eyes, as if encouraging me to second the sentiment. There was no chance; I wouldn’t be entertaining any of this until I had completed my initial assessment of him. I hadn’t decided whether he had a quirky sense of humour or was a complete oddball.

‘Anyway,’ he interrupted abruptly. ‘Onwards and upwards – literally in his case.’

He looked to the koala, which had nestled into a cavity in the ceiling, again.

‘I’m sure you’re tired from your journey, so let’s get you to your hotel.’

Gran had told me that Gerry had suggested we stay with her, but she had insisted on getting a hotel room. Understandably, she didn’t want there to be any obligation or awkwardness if things didn’t go well between them.

Nick’s car was an electric vehicle. This was redeeming; even if he was an oddball, at least he didn’t drive around the city in a fuel-guzzling four-wheel drive

As he drove, I surreptitiously sneaked a look at him. Nick seemed like the type of quintessential English gentleman who would appear as a love interest in a period piece such as Downton Abbey or Pride and Prejudice. His skin was fair, and his eyes were a light blue, which, from what Gran had told me about Gerry’s, was a family trait. He had fine features, but a strong jaw, and – it had to be said again – a very nice smile. Add to that his height and slim but muscled physique, and he was an attractive package.

While en route, Nick fired questions at us about how often we’d been to London and our plans for our stay. Mercifully, Gran assumed the lion’s share of small talk; it had never been my forte. He also asked weirdly specific questions about the climate at home.

‘What do you do?’ I asked from the back seat after he asked about whether we’d observed an increase in coastal inundation on the west coast.

‘I’m a meteorologist,’ he replied.

‘Oh, how interesting,’ Gran said enthusiastically.

‘To us Brits, maybe. Do you know, there was a study done a few years back that found that 94 per cent of Brits had discussed the weather in the past six hours?’ he said rhetorically. ‘Mainly about how awful it is. I worked as a forecaster while I finished my PhD, and it got a bit monotonous telling people it was going to rain day after day.’

I thought back to my last visit to London when unexpected and intense downpours punctuated many of the days. I had indeed cursed the forecasters for not providing more accurate predictions.

‘Even my friends and family trolled me every time it rained unexpectedly,’ he said dryly. I looked to the rear-view mirror in time to catch him winking at me. ‘And then you add climate change into the mix and the grim forecasts for what our planet is going to look like fifty years from now …’ his tone had changed, indicating he felt the burden of responsibility shared by many of our generation.

‘So you’re no longer a forecaster?’ I asked.

‘Not anymore,’ he responded. ‘Now I’m at a private company where I do climate modelling and analysis to inform wind- and solar-power projects.’

‘That sounds wonderful. Beth works in environmental management for a local council,’ Gran said, a little too enthusiastically.

Nick looked at me through the rear-view mirror again. A gathering of crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes indicated he was smiling as if somehow this was good news. ‘Really?’ he prompted. ‘That’s great.’

As Nick navigated the heavy traffic, narrow London roads and hordes of bikes and pedestrians, I told him about my local council area and some of the projects I was involved in. He was particularly interested in the possum bridge and asked loads of questions. At first I was worried that I was boring him with unnecessary detail, but he continued to prompt me, as if genuinely interested. Despite being utterly exhausted, I found him easy to chat to.

We were mid-discussion about the difference between English and Australian magpies when Gran issued a loud, guttural snort from her position in the front seat. It startled us both, and caused Nick to swerve out of his lane. He corrected the car and waved to the driver beside us who had responded to our unexpected deviation with a long honk.

Gran mumbled and masticated for a few moments before settling back to sleep and a rhythm of soft snores.

‘Good grief,’ Nick whispered sharply. ‘That was a big noise to come out of a tiny person.’

Gran’s snoring was legendary. I remember staying at her house as a child and being woken by what sounded like a wild boar. As I crept out of bed and down the corridor towards her room looking for comfort, I discovered she was the one making all the noise.

‘She’s definitely greater than her size,’ I replied. ‘In all respects.’

‘It sounds like she’s been carrying a lot of baggage for her tiny frame too,’ he offered insightfully. ‘From what Aunt Gerry has hinted at.’

‘Yes,’ I replied, my eyes connecting with his again in the rear-view mirror. ‘You’re not wrong.’

‘Have you two always been close?’ Nick asked, gesturing with his head towards Gran.

Explaining the nature of our relationship required me to describe the rest of my family for context. But I didn’t feel like explaining that I was the boring, awkward Dwyer and Gran was the only person in the world who’d ever seemed to get me.

‘Yes,’ I replied, without further elaboration.

‘You’re lucky,’ he said earnestly. ‘My grandmother died young; before I was born. Aunt Gerry became a kind of surrogate mother to my mum, and a grandmother of sorts to my sister and me. Having a family of her own was never really …’ he hesitated as if searching for the correct word … ‘available to Aunt Gerry. So our relationship means the world to all of us. And she’s terrific. I know you’ll love her. But I’m sure Elise has already told you that.’

He took his eyes off the road to smile at me again in the mirror.

‘We’re nearly at the hotel,’ Nick said, turning down a lovely street with a long, walled park. ‘Once we’ve got you settled, I’ll leave you to rest and head off to work. Then, Aunt Gerry is hoping to meet up with your gran for dinner. Did you fancy getting a pint and leaving them to it? There’s a great little pub a couple of doors up from where you’re staying. I can meet you there after I’ve dropped Aunt Gerry off, so they can reunite without us hanging about.’

I was exhausted and had planned to spend the evening unpacking and realigning my body clock with an early night. And the in-flight magazine I read on the plane advised that drinking alcohol exacerbated the impact of jet lag.

However, as I glanced in the rear-view mirror just in time to catch his gaze I was surprised to hear myself say, ‘That sounds great.’

Before I could correct myself, we pulled up in front of a quintessentially London white-terraced building.

‘Here we are,’ he announced loudly.

Gran responded with a snuffle and groan.

Nick tapped at the screen to turn off the car, and I put my hand on Gran’s shoulder and gently squeezed it.

‘Gran,’ I said quietly, not wanting to startle her. ‘We’re here.’

She turned around to face me, blinking her bleary, bloodshot eyes as she tried to find focus.

‘Here?’ she asked, confused. ‘Where?’

‘We’ve arrived at our hotel.’

‘Oh, God,’ she exclaimed urgently. ‘Is Gerry here?’

‘No,’ I laughed. ‘She’ll be here later tonight.’

‘Thank goodness,’ she said, rubbing her eyes vigorously. ‘Can you imagine? The first time I’ve seen her in six decades, and I’ve got sleep in my eyes and my hair is a mess. No amount of that lovely airline hibiscus face mist could stop me looking like something a cat has coughed up.’

I decided not to tell her about the drool that glistened like a snail’s track between her mouth and chin.

Nick removed our luggage from the car, an operation made infinitely more precarious by the giant kangaroo balloon, which had spent the journey looping itself around the back headrest. After he’d disentangled the kangaroo, he wheeled our luggage across the narrow footpath and into the hotel lobby.

The lobby area was decorated with blood-red carpet, heavy velvet curtains and wallpaper in dark maroon, and glistening timber panelling around, on and behind the reception desk. It reminded me of a museum exhibition I’d been to as a kid, where you stepped into a giant womb to experience what it was like in utero. A brown leather chesterfield armchair sat in the corner, and a stuffy-looking aristocrat stared down pompously from a large, gilded frame mounted on the wall.

We checked in with the assistance of a helpful receptionist who used a map to point out to us where we would find the best coffee and some must-see landmarks nearby.

‘Here, Nick,’ Gran said, fishing around in her handbag before victoriously producing her wallet. ‘Let me give you some money for petrol or tolls or whatever.’

‘Absolutely not,’ he responded with a laugh and a dismissive, but not unkind, wave of his hand. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. It was my pleasure.’

‘Are you sure?’ Gran asked. She must have been weary from the flight or she wouldn’t have taken no for an answer; she was staunchly independent when it came to paying her way. ‘Well, thank you, Nick. We really appreciated it.’

‘I’ll see you later tonight,’ he said, giving me a wink as he made his way to the door. I sensed Gran’s gaze on me as if searching for a reaction.

Ordinarily, I despised winkers. I tarred them with the same brush I reserved for people who assigned unnecessary nicknames, or punctuated their statements with a double finger-gun action. Mr Raven – my high school PE teacher – had embraced the trifecta with gusto. Each lesson, he’d wink and give double finger-guns while calling people ‘partner’, ‘big guy’ or ‘champion’. This had done nothing to improve my enthusiasm for running and team sports, but it did provide some inspiration during boxing and archery.

But there was something a bit endearing about Nick’s winks. They seemed genuinely jovial, rather than pretentious. And they were subtle: unless they were directed at you, you wouldn’t even spot them. However, since he’d done it twice in the short time I’d known him, I couldn’t rule out that he had an ocular disorder or involuntary tic.

~

We made our way along the narrow corridor to the tiny lift and then through another passage to our room. Gran opened the door to a tastefully decorated suite with cream-coloured carpet, heavy chocolate-coloured drapes and two double beds covered in crisp white linen, separated by a bedside table. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, and ornate sconces were mounted above each bed. I stuck my head into the bathroom, which was adorned with marble and contained a bath, shower, sink and toilet. The room was large by normal standards; by London standards, it was palatial.

The last time I was in London, I stayed in a hotel room with a bathroom that was so tiny you could shower, go to the toilet and brush your teeth in the sink all at the same time. The bedroom had been about 30 centimetres wider than the bed on each side, which left almost no space to walk around the room, let alone stow any luggage. I had to sleep with my suitcase at the foot of the bed.

But that tiny room was a vast improvement on the accommodation I’d endured on my first visit to the UK. A repulsive, overpriced backpackers’ lodge with a shared unisex bathroom had proved to me that despite his poor aim and lack of consideration for bathroom etiquette, Elijah was far from being the grossest male in the world.

‘Not bad at all,’ Gran said, the corners of her mouth lifting to a smirk.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ I said, walking over to the compendium of hotel information neatly arranged on a small table. I liked to familiarise myself with the hotel’s facilities and amenities, and the necessary emergency procedures, as soon as I arrived anywhere.

For the next few hours, we dozed and read. After an intense few weeks, it was nice to feel like I was on a holiday.

At lunchtime, we wandered down the street in search of something to eat and settled on an outside table at a cafe that had Union Jack bunting in its window.

‘So,’ I began after the waiter delivered two bowls of steaming pumpkin soup and thick crusty bread to our table. ‘How are you feeling about tonight?’

‘What’s happening tonight?’ she joked, adjusting the paper serviette that was flapping in her lap from the breeze created by a red double-decker bus that whooshed past.

I rolled my eyes in jest.

‘Oh, love,’ she said laughing. ‘I think I’m feeling every emotion on the spectrum. I’m excited and nervous and happy and grateful.’

‘But, to be honest,’ she paused to dunk her bread in the soup, ‘I’m a bit pissed off too.’

‘Why?’ I asked, taken aback by her suddenly sharp tone.

The waiter appeared from nowhere.

‘Is everything okay with the food?’ he asked, his eyes wide with concern.

‘Oh sorry,’ I said apologetically. ‘Yes, everything is great.’

I deposited a large spoonful of soup into my mouth to reassure him, but the scalding liquid burnt my tongue and irritated the back of my throat. I coughed and spluttered, which did little to appease his concerns.

‘Everything is wonderful, darling. Thank you,’ Gran said.

The waiter bowed his head and scurried away.

‘I’m pissed off,’ she said in a hushed whisper this time, ‘because it’s taken this long. All those years of wondering and wishing.’

I searched for something reassuring to say, or practical to offer. I wanted to say that Gran and Gerry had been at the mercy of time and circumstance, and the distance between them for all these years had been greater than just the oceans that separated their homes. But I didn’t trust I could speak without bringing on another coughing fit. So I just nodded.