Chapter 22

Beth

‘What do you make of all of this?’ Nick asked, before taking a sip of his pint. ‘Your gran and Aunt Gerry, I mean,’ he added by way of unnecessary clarification.

‘Well,’ I started, piling the beer coasters into a satisfyingly neat stack in front of me. ‘It’s a lot, I guess.’

We were sitting at a small wooden table by the window of a tiny pub on the street corner near the hotel. The floor, tables, chairs, bar and roof beams were dark timber, and the smell of furniture polish was valiantly competing with the smell of beer and stale cigarettes, the latter despite the ‘No Smoking’ signs dotted everywhere. A portrait of a jowly boxer dog dressed in full military regalia hung in a gilded frame over a fireplace with a crackling fire.

‘I had always thought my grandparents were happily married. It shouldn’t have come as a shock that they had relationships before they met each other, I suppose. But it was a bit of a surprise to learn that Gran’s first love – Gerry – was a Geraldine and not a Gerald.’

‘I’ll bet,’ Nick said with a soft chuckle.

He was using his middle finger to trace the patterns of the wooden table top. They were nice hands – strong yet elegant. His long fingers were tipped with admirably tidy nails.

‘Also, I feel sad they had to hide their relationship from the world, and that Gran suffered her heartbreak alone,’ I continued.

‘I think women like your gran and Gerry got pretty good at holding their secrets close to their chest,’ he replied.

A series of high-pitched squeals pierced the air like an alarm. A twenty-something woman wearing a short black dress and impossibly tall high heels toddled through the doorway and towards two similarly clad women standing at the bar.

‘So, tell me more about yourself,’ Nick said, seemingly oblivious to the commotion. He didn’t even flinch when the barman tripped and smashed a glass in his haste to serve the women. ‘What do you do when you’re not helping your gran rediscover romances of yesteryear, or working to save possums?’

‘Well,’ I began, scrambling for anything that would be interesting enough to share. I doubted he would be impressed by my fastidious domestic regimen or my impressive discipline for regular dental check-ups and timely tax returns.

‘I run. I read. I enjoy hiking. And I volunteer with Gran on her flora translocation projects whenever I can. I spend as much time as I can in the bush, really.’

‘I would love to visit Australia one day,’ Nick said. ‘I’ve travelled quite a bit, but my ex-girlfriend never wanted to go. She was terrified of snakes and was convinced the place was overrun with them. But I’ve always wanted to see the outback and spend time exploring the coasts,’ he continued wistfully. ‘As a kid I had a guidebook of Australia’s “big” attractions. I loved that book, and used to spend hours looking at pictures of the Big Pineapple, the Big Prawn and the Big Merino, planning a fantasy road trip to visit them all. From memory, there was even a Giant Earthworm that you could visit.’

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the Giant Earthworm had closed down.

‘I guess I liked the idea of a place that was naturally good-looking but with a sense of humour. A bit like the Australians who live there.’

I assumed he meant Margot Robbie or the Hemsworth brothers but the corner of his mouth slid up to create a decidedly endearing lopsided grin, which made me think he meant something else.

‘Hopefully I’ll get there one day, and maybe you can show me around.’

‘I’d love to,’ I said, instantly regretting using a phrase that made me sound like a Disney princess accepting an offer from a prince to dance. I cleared my throat awkwardly. ‘I mean, yes. No worries. Of course I will. There’s loads to do. We have normal-sized things to see as well.’

He smiled eagerly. ‘I’d love to take a selfie with one of those friendly looking fellows that I see all over Instagram too … a quacka?’

‘A quokka,’ I corrected.

‘Ah, of course!’ he said, slapping his palm to his head like a character in an old slapstick movie. He drained the rest of his beer. ‘What about travel, Beth?’ he asked. ‘Apart from this trip, do you have travel plans in your future?’

‘Well, actually,’ I began, ‘I do. But let me get another round first.’

Nick had bought the first round, and I was determined to buy the second, even though my glass was still half full, or half empty, depending on your perspective. It was nice enough of him to take me out; I didn’t want him to feel like he was burdened by the bill too. And, while I wasn’t planning on spending with reckless abandon, thanks to my lotto win, buying a beer or two didn’t require me to recalibrate my entire holiday budget.

‘Thanks,’ Nick said, as I returned to the table and placed the drink in front of him. ‘So. Travel. Any exotic destinations on the cards?’

‘Well. Maybe,’ I started pensively. ‘I’ve had some … unexpected changes to my circumstances recently.’

His right eyebrow raised slightly as his body inched towards me. ‘Go on,’ he encouraged.

I thought about the brochure that Amarita the lotto win concierge had given me that warned against telling people about my lotto win. It was true that I couldn’t be sure Nick wouldn’t use this information to rip me off. But Gran had told me Nick and his family had ‘come from money’, so it seemed unlikely he had a habit of befriending Australian tourists in the hopes they had recently struck gold. Also, I wasn’t sure if it was the jetlag, or the beer, but I felt a keenness to share the news with him. Apart from Gran, I hadn’t told a soul.

Nick listened intently as I told him about the lotto win, how I’d asked Gran if she wished she’d seen or done anything, and that I’d googled Gerry’s name.

‘I see,’ he said, rubbing his hand over his cleanly shaven chin. ‘I wondered what had made Elise search for Aunt Gerry after all these years. I thought she might have been fulfilling a dying wish or ticking off her bucket list. So what else have you got planned for your winnings, then? Are you going to use it to solve other mysteries? I think they’re still trying to work out who Jack the Ripper was. And I don’t think they’ve found the Hanging Gardens of Babylon yet. Maybe you could hunt down Tupac, if he’s still alive, and insist he make another album?’

‘I don’t think so,’ I laughed. ‘So far I’ve bought a new car and a new pair of shoes.’

I didn’t feel it was necessary to share the details of my new underwear with him.

‘They sound like good, solid investments,’ he said with mock seriousness. ‘Good for you.’

‘I’ll give some to charity, but I’m keen to do some more research when I get home to help inform who I’ll support. And I plan to give some to my family too. I just haven’t settled on the amount yet.’ I drank from my beer. ‘They don’t actually know about the win yet.’

Hearing myself say it out loud made me feel self-conscious that I was telling a near-stranger about the biggest thing to happen to me before I’d told my family, even though they’d made it impossible.

‘Really?’ he asked, his eyebrows raised.

‘It’s a bit of a long story.’ I said, hoping that would be enough to allow me to change the topic.

He raised his eyebrows further as if encouraging me to go on.

‘I wanted to make it a surprise,’ I said in a feeble attempt to provide a response that would satisfy any need for further discussion.

He nodded and smiled again. ‘But aren’t you going to spend it on something you’ve always wanted to do? It seems like you’ve done a good job fulfilling your gran’s lifelong dream of connecting with Aunt Gerry; have you given any thought to what yours might be?’

He made a gesture with his hands like a game show host presenting a cache of prizes and gave me a grin. ‘The world is your oyster, Beth.’

‘Not “oyster”,’ I said. ‘I didn’t win that much. More like a slightly less glamorous member of the mollusc family. A snail, perhaps?’

He laughed. ‘Let me guess – you’re the type of person who goes with the flow and just lets fate determine where you’re headed?’ he asked.

I tried to resist the urge to roll my eyes. But muscle memory, combined with jetlag, and the beer, meant a little roll slipped in anyway.

‘What? You don’t believe in fate?’ Nick asked with a smirk. ‘But how else do you explain your lotto win? Of all the numbers you could have had, of all the balls that could have been drawn, you picked the winners.’

‘Urgh,’ I groaned, ‘you sound like my sister, Jarrah.’

‘I take it that’s not necessarily a good thing,’ he replied.

‘She’s …’ I searched for a succinct way to describe Jarrah and all her foibles, ‘a lot. We’re very, very different. Are you close with your sister?’ I remembered that he mentioned her in the car and was keen to steer the conversation away from my own family.

‘I am,’ he replied. ‘Although I don’t see as much of her as I’d like. She’s married with a couple of kids, and they live up north.’

The pub filled and then emptied around us as we ate dinner; talked about our respective jobs; disclosed our tastes in music, books and movies; and compared our mutual dislike for karaoke.

‘Last drinks, folks.’

The bartender’s announcement was met with booing from a rowdy group of soccer fans. They were analysing a game playing on a TV mounted to the left of the dog portrait with the conviction and assumed expertise that comes with drinking several pints in quick succession.

‘What time is it?’ I thought out loud; I had completely lost track of time. A slight slur laboured my words as fatigue weighed on my entire body and, despite my best attempt to stifle it, a yawn bubbled up from deep within me.

‘Goodness. Sorry.’ Nick seemed genuinely apologetic. ‘I’ve kept you out far too late. It’s probably tomorrow’s yesterday where you’ve come from.’

I had no capacity to tell what time my body clock thought it was, or to refute his unnecessary sense of responsibility, so I resorted to bobbing my head around unintelligibly.

We stood in unison and gathered our belongings. As I fumbled with my bag and phone, my scarf slipped from my hand. Nick bent down quickly to pick it up. He placed one end of the scarf on my left shoulder and then gently circled my head with the other end before resting it on my opposite shoulder. He performed this entire motion without breaking eye contact; his blue eyes looked more grey in the low light.

‘There you are,’ he said, smiling warmly and giving my arm a gentle squeeze.

As we stepped onto the street, the crisp night air slapped my cheeks. Groups of revellers in various stages of inebriation emerged from the surrounding pubs and walked off into the night, leaving behind echoes of their chatter and laughter.

‘I wonder where Gerry and Gran ended up?’ I asked rhetorically as I side-stepped a collection of half-filled bottles and glasses on the footpath, which implied a celebration had ended abruptly.

‘They’re probably at a nightclub doing shots and dancing on the tables,’ Nick replied jovially.

I laughed. Before last month I wouldn’t have dreamed Gran would find herself in a nightclub doing shots. But, recently, I had become much less trusting of the reliability of the status quo.

Nick smiled. ‘I just hope they had a good night, wherever they ended up.’

I was impressed at how genuinely invested Nick seemed in Gerry and Gran’s reunion being a success. I wasn’t sure whether his thoughtfulness and good manners were a feature of his aristocratic lineage, or whether it was just that he was a really nice person.

By the time we had arrived at the door of the hotel, the cool night air that had at first felt refreshing had chilled me to the core.

‘Thanks so much for tonight,’ I said, clenching my jaw to stop it from chattering. I hoped he felt my sincerity; during an argument, Jarrah once told me my attempts at sentiment were easily mistaken for sarcasm. ‘I really appreciate you taking me out. I’m sure being saddled with your great-aunt’s ex-girlfriend’s granddaughter is probably not how you wanted to spend your evening.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he said warmly. ‘I had a great time. And I plan to hold you to your promise to return the favour in Australia one day. In the meantime, I’ll check in with Aunt Gerry to see what she’s got planned for the next few days.’

Nick held out his outstretched arms and took a step towards me.

Usually, I avoided unnecessary physical contact with others. My family had worn me down over the years and, of course, it played a necessary role during sex and medical examinations, but I just wasn’t much of a fan. However, I was not repelled by the prospect of Nick’s embrace in the way I would have been if it was anyone else’s. In fact, I felt an unfamiliar compulsion to step towards him.

I extended my one free arm; the other was laden with my bag.

He stared at my hand and then awkwardly thrust his own out as if to meet mine in a handshake. I startled and retracted mine backwards. We then engaged in a mortifying push-pull of jolting and thrusting our arms at one another over several cringeworthy moments.

‘Sorry,’ I said finally, stepping backwards to disengage. ‘I thought you were … I mean, I thought we were going to …’

‘No. No. I’m sorry,’ he said, a hint of red colouring his cheeks. ‘I shouldn’t have assumed.’

‘It’s fine, really,’ I said, feeling my own cheeks warming and a prickle of disappointment.

He held up his hand for a high five. We both laughed as I lifted my hand to connect with his. The moment of awkwardness dissipated into the cool air.

‘Well, thanks again,’ I said, stepping towards the hotel door.

‘I look forward to seeing you again,’ he said with a tiny wink.

Once upstairs, I listened at the room door for any indication Gran might be in there with company. After a few moments of silence, save for the muffled television coming from the room next door, I unlocked and opened the door. The room was dark.

I turned on the lamp, fished around inside my bag for my phone and wrote a quick message to Gran.

Hi Gran. Hope you’ve had a terrific night. I’m back at the hotel, but let me know if you’d like me to come and get you to bring you back.

I sat on the edge of the bed and opened a browser to search the internet for information about things to do in London. I was keen to make an itinerary for the coming days. Usually I would have made one well before I arrived, but time had not allowed for it.

A message popped up from Gran.

Thanks, pet. It’s been great. I’ll stay at Gerry’s tonight. ;) No need to come and get me. Love you, Gran xxx

I read the message again and wondered if a sleepover and winky face meant the same thing for an eighty-two-year-old woman as it did for someone my age. I shuddered involuntarily. I was happy for Gran, but I definitely didn’t need to think of her engaging in a night of passion. Not to mention, it was sobering to realise she was getting more action than I was.