Chapter 23

Beth

I got to the end of the paragraph of my book and realised it was the third time I had read it. I was trying to concentrate on the novel I had perched on my thighs – a fascinating and insightful book about feminism in modern Australia – but my mind constantly wandered to thoughts of Gran.

The last I’d heard from her was the text she’d sent the previous night to say she was staying at Gerry’s house. I couldn’t get through by calling her, and she hadn’t responded to any of the messages I’d sent this morning, which I assumed meant her phone was dead.

It wasn’t like Gran had a curfew; she was a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. But I wondered how long I should wait until I alerted the Scotland Yard – or whichever authority dealt with missing Australian grannies – that she’d set off last night to reunite with a long-lost lover and I hadn’t seen her since. I couldn’t ignore that it was beginning to sound like the makings of a true crime podcast.

My phone started to ring. I eagerly grabbed at it to see if it was the Australian embassy calling to tell me she’d been caught up in a known international granny-trafficking operation – or Gran herself.

‘Hi Mum,’ I said, answering the call. I knew I couldn’t tell her I’d lost Gran until I knew all the details; there was a very real risk she’d be on the first flight out if she thought Gran was in danger. She’d been keen to come even when she didn’t think that.

‘Hi, Bethie. I’m just checking in to see how it’s all going,’ she began generically.

‘It’s great. I forgot how much I love London. It’s such an incredible city.’

‘It sure is,’ she replied.

‘I mean, what’s not to love about a place where entire streets are made up of house facades that are exactly the same as the one before it, and the one after it,’ I continued. ‘It’s like each street is a satisfying architectural repeating pattern. It’s—’

‘Yes, it’s great,’ she said quickly. ‘And Gran, she’s having a good time so far too?’ Her tone was thick with innuendo.

‘She is,’ I said, cautious not to say anything that would reveal that I hadn’t seen her since she set off for her reunion last night.

‘And Gerry …’ she paused, as if waiting for me to provide an answer to the question she hadn’t yet formed.

At dinner on the night before we left, Gran had told the family about Gerry and their planned reunion. I was grateful – it was one less secret I had to keep. She casually dropped it into conversation in the way people do when they want to share something significant without making a big deal of it. But my family was the wrong audience for understated announcements. They made a massive fuss, which, admittedly, she seemed to enjoy. Even Jarrah’s nattering about ‘true love’ and ‘soulmates’ was somewhat tolerable when it was directed at someone else.

‘I haven’t met her yet, but she sounds amazing. She’s so accomplished and well respected,’ I said, as much to placate her concerns as my own.

‘Yes, I’m sure she’s wonderful.’

I heard the click of the room key in the lock. ‘Sorry Mum, I have to go. I’ll chat to you later,’ I said, hanging up the call and abruptly springing from my bed.

‘Hi,’ I said, a little more shrilly than I’d intended as Gran appeared through the opening door. ‘How are you? How is she? How was it?’

Gran laughed as she struggled over the threshold, partly because the door was heavy and partly because I was unintentionally obstructing it.

‘Let me in, darling, and I’ll tell you all about it.’

‘Sorry,’ I said, shuffling out of the way. ‘I’ve just been so excited to hear …’

She moved inside and extended her hand to cup one side of my face, and then calmly walked towards the table where she placed her bag.

‘It was wonderful,’ she beamed. ‘She’s just as I remembered: elegant, sophisticated and worldly, and with just as much charm as she always had.’

Gran described their dinner and how they’d talked into the night. But she hurried over the details, as Gerry would be arriving shortly to collect us for brunch, and for a wander through Portobello Road Markets.

‘You didn’t need to come back here,’ I said as she rummaged through her suitcase. ‘I could have met you there.’

‘What? And have me walk around in these all day?’ she gestured to her new clothes. ‘It was bad enough doing the … what’s that expression you young ones use?’ She paused, searching for the term, and then clicked her fingers. ‘The walk of shame,’ she whispered.

Gran saying that she’d done a walk of shame was definitely not on my ‘things Gran would say’ bingo card.

Gran hummed as she made her selection of clothes to change into and ran the shower. Even through the closed bathroom door and over the running water, I recognised Etta James’s ‘At Last’ as soon as I heard the first two notes, before she manoeuvred through various trills and scales.

She emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later. I noticed that she’d reapplied some, but not all, of the make-up she’d used the night before and was wearing another top that I didn’t recognise.

‘You ready?’ she asked with a bounce in her voice as she checked her watch. ‘We’ll wait downstairs.’

Gran shooed me out the door with an urgency I hadn’t experienced since school mornings when Mum overslept and would hustle us off to school with a piece of plain toast for breakfast, a handful of coins for a lunch order and instructions to use our fingers to comb our hair.

Once downstairs, Gran paced the lobby, checking her watch every few minutes.

‘Why don’t you sit down, Gran?’ I encouraged. I was worried all this frenetic energy would cause her blood pressure to rise.

‘No, darling, I’m fine. Being up is good for the circulation. Move it, or lose it. That’s what they say.’

After a few more minutes of Gran pacing and checking her watch, and me imploring her to sit down, the door of the hotel opened. A woman who I immediately knew to be Gerry entered.

Gran was right about Gerry being graceful; she had an air of poise and refinement. The way she carried her head, atop her long, elegant neck, reminded me of how people stood in deportment school when they had a book balanced on their heads. Gerry seemed to personify what people meant when they described someone as being of ‘good breeding’.

Gerry and Gran walked towards each other and hugged without exchanging a word. They lingered in each other’s arms for longer than what you’d expect of two platonic old friends.

They parted from their embrace, but locked hands.

‘Here,’ Gran said, motioning towards me finally. ‘Come and meet Beth.’

‘Oh, Beth!’ Gerry let go of Gran’s hand as she moved towards me with open arms. ‘It’s so good to meet you.’ She hugged me tightly before leaning back to study my face. ‘She looks like you,’ she said, turning to Gran, her voice animated by surprise. ‘I mean, not exactly the same. But there is definitely a resemblance.’ She turned back to study me again. ‘Lucky you.’ She smiled at me in a way that made me feel a bit more special than I had in the moments beforehand; like I should be proud of something. I just wasn’t sure what.

The hotel door opened again, and Nick appeared.

His eyes darted quickly around the foyer, searching eagerly. They stopped when they met mine.

‘Good morning, Beth,’ he said, a broad smile transforming his face. I felt my cheeks warm. I realised I was glad to see him; Gran hadn’t mentioned he would be coming along too.

‘And good morning to you,’ he said, turning to address Gran, which I hoped meant he didn’t spot me blushing. ‘Ready for the markets?’

~

After what turned out to be a lovely walk, with a pitstop for brunch, we rounded the corner into Portobello Road Markets where the pastel hues of the terraced buildings set the tone for the colour and character of the street.

I turned to ask Gran what she wanted to see first and discovered she was no longer nearby. I scanned the area around me and spotted her and Gerry standing together at a stall that sold candles in all different shapes, colours and sizes.

Gran held a candle to her nose and inhaled deeply, before holding it out for Gerry to sample. Gerry cupped her hands around Gran’s, drank in the scent and then leaned in and whispered something. Gran smiled and shook her head gently.

While their movements were slight, and their words hushed, their casual intimacy spoke volumes. It was obvious just by looking at them that their connection was as deep as the history they shared.

‘They seem to be having an awful time together,’ Nick said sarcastically as he sidled up next to me.

‘I’ll say,’ I responded, unable to take my eyes off them as they laughed and whispered as if they were alone in the universe, despite standing in a heaving crowd of market-goers.

‘Why don’t we set a place to meet up later on?’ he suggested. ‘That way they can do their thing, and we can do ours.’

‘Good idea,’ I replied, impressed again at Nick’s thoughtfulness.

As we approached Gran and Gerry, Nick made a loud, fake coughing sound to break them from their moment.

‘We were thinking,’ Nick started, ‘that we should agree on a place to meet later on. Aunt Gerry has dragged me through enough antique stalls to last a lifetime. It’s your turn now, Elise. I am happy to hand over the baton.’

Gerry rolled her eyes in defeated agreement as Nick bowed deeply in faux submission.

‘Besides, there’s a stall down there where an old hippy sells antique bongs, which I know Beth is going to go crazy for. And I’m keen to see if I can add to my collection of wigs.’

He winked at me, and I laughed. We agreed to meet for lunch at a pub at the end of the road, and Nick and I set off, leaving Gerry and Gran to debate whether patchouli had any business being in a scented candle. Definitely not, according to Gerry.

We meandered through the stalls that sold everything from second-hand clothes and jewellery to records and prints to antique silverware and signs to vintage boxing gloves. The stall owners were as diverse as the wares they were selling.

A few shops in from the start of the road, a woman in her seventies (give or take a decade or two adjusted for hard living) spun large bundles of hot pink fairy floss the same colour as her long dreadlocks. A few stalls along, a man with an impressive Dali-esque moustache sold a compass to a couple of pretentious-looking hipsters, who appeared to be pleased with themselves for embracing vintage tools while googling how to use them on their smartphones. Further along again, a crowd had gathered around a shop that sold antique clocks, where a street performer dressed as the White Rabbit jokingly berated the shopkeeper that every clock was on a different time.

Nick and I made fun of the Instagrammers we spotted, who were insisting their friend/boyfriend/girlfriend/mother/father/sister/brother/significant other take photo after photo as they perfected their best unposed pose. And we stopped to watch an Elvis impersonator who was belting out ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ while being completely and delightfully upstaged by a little girl who was dancing along with him.

‘Ever been on a blind date?’ Nick asked as we stopped outside a bookshop. ‘With a book, I mean.’

Nick pointed to a table of brown paper-wrapped book-shaped parcels. A sign advertised: ‘Let the universe decide your next literary adventure’. There was an asterisk at the end of the line that corresponded to a clause of small print that warned: ‘Just like in life, refunds and exchanges will not be provided. Any purchase is final’.

‘Oh, that’s right,’ Nick said, giving me a gentle nudge on the arm. ‘You don’t believe in fate.’

‘But what if I hate the book?’ I said, picking up one of the parcels. ‘It would be a complete waste of money.’ I set the book down again.

‘But what if you don’t?’ he asked, picking up the parcel and handing it back to me. One side of his mouth inched up to create a lopsided grin that rendered me completely incapable of forming a counterargument.

‘I mean, look what happened when you bought a lotto ticket on a whim,’ he continued. ‘It led you here.’

He had a point.

‘Fine, then,’ I said with mock surrender. ‘Let’s see what the universe has in store for my next literary adventure.’

We each picked up a brown parcel and handed over two pounds to the shopkeeper.

‘After you,’ Nick said, gesturing for me to open my book.

I tore open the brown paper wrapping to reveal a slightly tattered copy of Falling for the Highlander – a spectacularly cheesy-looking romance novel.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ I performed an exaggerated eye roll as I turned the book around so Nick had an unobstructed view of the cover. It depicted a topless man wearing a kilt, who was gazing seductively over his shoulder towards the viewer, his muscly back glistening in the moonlight.

‘I wonder how many pages the author dedicates to discussing the size of his sporran,’ I said, feigning seriousness.

Nick laughed loudly. ‘Well, if I’d known the universe wanted you to enjoy some romance with a Scott, I would have worn my kilt,’ he said eagerly. ‘I’ve got Scottish heritage, you know. We’ve even got a family tartan.’

I replayed his words in my head to ensure I had interpreted them correctly. Was Nick flirting with me?

‘Your turn,’ I said, unable to ignore the fact that my heart rate had quickened at the prospect he was.

He gently removed each piece of sellotape in an attempt to build suspense.

‘Oh goodie,’ he said, turning the book to face me. ‘I’ve been looking for a new hobby.’

‘Toilet Paper Origami: a step-by-step, DIY guide to perfecting fancy folds,’ I read aloud through laughter. ‘What the hell is the universe trying to tell you with that book? When your life turns to shit, make sure you fashion your three-ply into a flower?’

‘What I want to know,’ Nick said, ‘is what you’re meant to do if you are a scruncher?’

We continued laughing as we stowed our books in my bag and set off to meet Gerry and Gran for lunch.

~

We arrived at the pub and ordered a couple of beers while we waited for Gran and Gerry to arrive.

‘There they are,’ Nick announced when they appeared though the door.

He stood as they arrived at the table, in what I assumed was an unconscious show of good manners.

‘I was worried you’d been mistaken for an antique in one of the shops and snapped up by a collector,’ he said jovially to Gerry as they sat down.

‘Ohhhh,’ she groaned, clutching her heart in mock offence.

Nick hugged her warmly.

‘Did you find anything interesting, Elise?’ Nick asked.

‘A couple of bits and pieces,’ she said coyly. ‘Just doing my bit for the local economy. Service to King and Country, and all that.’

‘I’m sure whatever you bought here can’t be as weird as your most recent purchase at home,’ I said.

Gran scoffed.

‘Dare I ask?’ Gerry asked cautiously.

‘It’s a jackalope,’ Gran responded enthusiastically. ‘His name is Herrick, and I love him.’

‘Ohhhh,’ exclaimed Gerry. ‘I’ve always been fascinated by jackalopes. I saw one mounted in a hotel in North America, and the locals had me convinced for a whole week that it was a real animal. I even went for a hike through the mountains looking for one.’

‘Well,’ Gran said, raising her eyebrow at me, while addressing Gerry. ‘You’re in luck. I had planned to leave the jackalope to Beth in my will as my most prized possession. But since you’re the only one who will appreciate him, he’s all yours.’

Over the next couple of hours, we enjoyed a hearty English-style pub lunch with gentle banter and robust discussions about books, arts, travel, sociology, natural history and coriander.

‘So, what’s on for the rest of the day?’ Nick asked as we were settling the bill and gathering our things.

‘Well,’ I began, trying to gauge whether he was implying his own involvement in the afternoon’s agenda or just making polite conversation, ‘I was thinking I might head to Leicester Square to see if I can get tickets for something tonight.’

‘I’m keen,’ Nick said eagerly. ‘I mean, if you don’t mind me tagging along.’

‘Not at all. You’re welcome. Gran? Gerry? You in too?’

‘I don’t mind what we do,’ Gerry directed to Gran. ‘I am completely at your disposal. Today that is; tomorrow you’re all mine. I have a surprise for you.’

‘Really? What sort of surprise?’

‘You’ll see. We’ll set off at 10.30.’

‘Do you know anything about this?’ Gran asked Nick.

He shrugged his shoulders.

‘You?’ she asked me.

I shook my head.

‘I suppose I’ll have to trust you, then,’ she said, gently pinching Gerry’s arm in jest. ‘But you’d better look after me. I’m a lot older than the last time we went traipsing around the countryside together.’

As I watched Gran and Gerry laugh together, I marvelled at how much had happened in a month. Before I won the lotto, Gran and I had been going about our business like normal. And now Gran was having a surprise rendezvous in London, and I was making plans to spend the afternoon with Nick.

~

After a light dinner and a spectacular performance of Matilda, we all walked back to the hotel through the crisp London evening.

‘Beth, darling,’ Gran called from five or so metres behind me, the distance she and Gerry had maintained between us the whole way home. ‘I’m just going to grab some things from the room, and then I’ll head back with Gerry.’

‘What? Tonight?’ It caught me off guard that she and Gerry would be spending another night together. I wondered if we should have bothered with a double room at all.

‘I can run the two of you home, then,’ Nick offered. ‘I’ll just go and get the car and bring it around.’

‘Thanks, Nick,’ Gerry said. ‘That would be wonderful.’

‘I’ll say goodnight to you here, Beth,’ Nick said. ‘Do you have anything planned for tomorrow?’

For the second time that day, I wondered if he was asking about my intended itinerary because he was making small talk, or if he was interested in participating in it.

‘With Gerry keeping Elise busy with the surprise,’ he continued, ‘I wondered if you wanted to … or, um … maybe we could … I mean, only if you …’

He was fidgeting with the zip on his jacket. I had felt an easy energy between us for the whole day, but now he almost seemed nervous.

‘It’s just I’m going away the day after tomorrow,’ he declared.

I felt my stomach lurch.

‘It’s a four-day conference on meteorology in Copenhagen. I’m presenting on some exciting research we’ve been doing, so I can’t miss it, I’m afraid. And then I’m staying on so I can go to a friend’s wedding. At the time I booked it, it seemed like a coincidence too good to be true that they’re a week apart in the same place. But now …’ His voice trailed off.

I searched for a rationalisation to make sense of what I was feeling. But the only emotion I could readily identify was disappointment, which, of course, was ridiculous. I knew what it meant to be asked to present at an international conference, and he certainly wasn’t under any obligation to hang around London for me.

‘I get back the day before you leave town, if I’m not mistaken. And I’d really like to see you again before I go. If that’s okay with you, of course.’

I nodded feebly.

‘That’s good news that you get to see each other again before you go, and you’ve got tomorrow too,’ Gran said. ‘With us tied up, you’ll be free to spend the whole day together.’

I was grateful; it wasn’t the first time she’d jumped in to compensate for my social awkwardness.

I nodded.

‘Perfect,’ he replied enthusiastically. ‘It’s a date.’

But was it?

~

‘That was nice of Nick to offer to do something again tomorrow,’ Gran said, as the lift doors shut to take her, Gerry and me up to our floor.

‘Yes. It was. He’s been very friend-ly.’ I emphasised the first syllable of the last word to shut down any inference she was making.

Gerry smiled, her right eyebrow raised a fraction.

‘He’s such a lovely young man,’ Gran continued. ‘And he’s very easy on the eye.’

‘Okay. That’s enough of that, thanks,’ I commanded.

‘What?’ she asked with feigned innocence. ‘I’m not doing anything at all.’

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

‘I was only saying …’

‘You don’t need to say anything at all. He’s going away. Remember?’

‘But you’ve got tomorrow,’ Gran said as she reached for Gerry’s hand. ‘And, trust me, you need to make the most of every moment. Life is too short for missed opportunities.’