11. Grant
CHAPTER 11
GRANT
I remembered the first time I’d seen Marie, in a lift in New York, making the assumption that she would be able to bring me coffee for me and my clients.
She’d made it a point, during the nearly four decades of being married, to never bring me coffee. The making of hot beverages was my job, duty and responsibility, which included a mug of coffee on her bedside table every morning, regardless whether I was having one or not.
It was never a problem and it always made me chuckle, the fact that she just expected her morning brew to appear like magic, and it gave me the added benefit of being her morning hero and also an excuse to invest in swanky coffee machines, which I’d developed an expertise in.
This morning, the coffee was made but she was already up and dressed before I made it upstairs for the final time in this house.
Last night had been the last night. We hadn’t told the kids that we were having one more night there, keeping this just for ourselves, a quiet goodbye. It did mean that there were a few more bits to pack today, another removal van booked to arrive in an hour and a half to take the coffee machine, mattress and a bureau that had come over from Ireland from Marie’s uncle when we got married which was something of a family heirloom. We had no idea where it was going to go – the suggestion at the moment was that Rose might like it or Victoria, who was a bit of an antique hunter, but for the time being it was being stuffed into one of the spare rooms in the apartment, where it really didn’t go.
Marie was dressed in sweats and hoodie, her hair scooped up on top of her head and she didn’t look that much different from the woman I’d met, the one I’d spent a weekend with in her New York loft and fallen in love with enough to make a decision that I didn’t spend my usual three months thinking about.
“Surely everything’s packed?”
She turned around and gave me a thoughtful look. “Almost. I nearly forgot about this.” She jiggled round at the back of the fitted cupboard. “The fecking family jewels.”
“Shit. They shouldn’t be there anyway. How the fuck have we forgotten those?”
“I’d blame senility, but I think we were too young for too long to claim that. These were my mother’s and I told Bernadette I’d look after them. She’d have my fecking arse if we leave them behind.” There was a slight hint of panic as Marie felt around the back of the cupboard, the bit of wood at the back displaced, I guessed.
“Want me to see if I can feel for it?”
The quick smile that occurred told me I’d walked into that one.
“Grant, you’re a man. You generally struggle with written directions and a diagram.”
“I never needed that for you.” My own wicked smile was there now. “I can show you if you want proof.”
“Can it wait until the van’s been? I’m not sure speed is our talent anymore.” A look of victory crossed her face. “Got the bastard.”
She sat back up, pulling her hand out, holding a wide box that was low.
“Why did we think it was a good idea to put anything down there?” It’d very nearly been forgotten.
“If we were burgled, they’d never find it. But it should’ve gone to Killian’s to keep safe. Or we should’ve distributed these.” She opened the box and gave a sigh of relief. “Emeralds and diamonds. These really should’ve been secured.”
“What do you want to do with them?” I shuffled closer and looked at them. They were another family heirloom, won in a card game years ago, maybe a century, and kept in Marie’s family, passed on as a rainy day fund that’d never been cashed in.
“Immediately or long term?”
“Both. Because I don’t want to keep them in the apartment and the kids don’t need them as a rainy day fund anymore.”
“Immediately, Killian. Long term, they’re for splitting between the grandkids, ours and Bernadette’s. The others get something else – I can’t remember what. I think we meant to let the kids use them as engagement rings or something like that but well, they did their own thing. We could have them made into jewellery for their twenty-first birthdays. I’ll speak to Bernie.” She stood up, wincing slightly which would’ve been her knee. There was every chance that a knee replacement was on the horizon, for which the recuperation would be spent in Oxford, not in London, which would be time away from most of the grandkids.
“Speak to Bernie. Want me to take these round to Killian’s?” I took the box off her.
“You can’t just walk round with them. What if you’re mugged?”
I shrugged. “No one will know I’ve got them. Claire’s in Oxford so he can’t come round here and leave the kids, so I’ll take them to him.” Killian had his own security firm, which meant his house was like Fort Knox. He had a panic room, which Claire had locked herself in once when she’d had enough of her girls, and a safe that there was no way anyone was getting into.
“Drive round then.” She looked concerned. “How the fuck did we nearly forget them?”
I shrugged. “We wouldn’t have. You remembered. But maybe we need to look at some of your parochial habits and bring them into the twenty-first century. I bet these were hidden under floorboards at some point, weren’t they?” I looked at the box, which wasn’t in the best of shape.
“Undoubtedly. They were in the bread oven in my auntie’s kitchen for a time too, and under her mattress. No one would’ve dared steal them from her. She’d have chopped their hands off.”
“I get the feeling you’re not joking.”
“You met her. The Christmas after we got married and spent it in Ireland. She died about three days after New Year and one of the older cousins was really pissed off because she still owed her card money.”
“That auntie?” I did remember her. “She was lethal.”
“Exactly. Now get those round to Killian’s and tell him not to tell Claire about them, else she’ll have them made into earrings or something.”
I walked round, because when else would I get chance to walk anywhere carrying jewels worth more than a small country, although for all Marie knew, they could be cut glass. I doubted they’d ever been valued or assessed, and I wasn’t sure they ever would. If they’d been won in a card game a century or so ago, there was every chance they weren’t real, but family legends were.
Killian was covered in what looked like vomit when he opened the door. I eyed him with suspicion. I knew only too well the power of a bug when it whipped around children and I wasn’t stepping in there if it was contagious.
“What happened?”
“Orla and chocolate milk, ice cream and whipped cream for breakfast. With cereal. That’s what happened. Don’t tell Claire.” He let me through. “Feel free to get a cloth out. I just need to dump her in the bath.”
He left me to it, so I made myself useful and cleared up the vomit before someone or something walked through it, and then I made coffee, the jewellery box on the side, perfectly safe.
My granddaughters were all occupied, two of them reading in the lounge, and the youngest making bracelets out of beads. I was pretty sure I’d be made to wear one of them before I left and take at least one home to Grandma.
Killian entered the kitchen looking cleaner and smelling better. “Thanks,” he said looking round. “Orla found it really funny, which didn’t help.”
“Is she still in the bath?”
He nodded. “She’s contained in there so I’ll have a bit of peace, for oh, about ten minutes. Is that coffee?” I passed him a mug I’d made.
I’d known Killian a long time. He’d become friends with Max in their first year at Oxford university, spending holidays and summers with us in Oxford. I’d seen early on how Claire looked at him because she’d never been very good at masking how she felt, and I hadn’t been surprised when Marie told me they’d been secretly seeing each other, which involved her breaking his heart first. He was a good man, a good husband and an excellent father, and now in charge of the family jewels.
“The family jewels?” He frowned when I explained the box.
“Allegedly. I’m not convinced they’re real, but it’s a good story. Can you put them somewhere safe?”
He nodded. “Want me to get them valued?”
“Not in the slightest. The mystery’s a lot more fun. Any word from Claire?” I’d been led to believe that another one of my spaces had been taken over by my children.
“She phoned to speak to the girls this morning. They’re heading back just before lunchtime. Are we all still meeting at the house tomorrow?”
“As far as I know, unless Marie has another ridiculous idea. I’d better head back – we have the final van coming round. Don’t tell Claire about the jewels.”
Killian shrugged. “I’ll add it to the short list of things she’s never found out about. I think that might be the only thing on it.”
For some reason, the route I took to get back to the house reminded me of New York, walking out from the hotel where I’d been based to Marie’s apartment, the busyness of it so much more than London at the time.
I’d been thinking about those few days in New York when we’d first met, the scramble to secure permanence between us before we boarded that flight to England and the chaos that ensued.
It had been chaos.
The Oxford house was a mess, literally and metaphorically. The kids had been scared of the room where Rachael had died and the place hadn’t been properly decorated for decades, still a relic of the nineteen fifties. They’d spent too long unloved and I’d spent too long with my head up my arse, but it’d taken a complete change of scenery for that knowledge to hit me like a truck.
I regretted a lot. If I could go back and change those first few years when I’d worked instead of being a father, I would, but the chances were I’d never have met Marie and none of us would be who we were now and I wasn’t sure that would’ve been for the best.
New York felt like a lifetime ago, and yet I still missed it like it was yesterday, the heady days of falling in love with someone in a whirlwind when that was exactly what you weren’t meant to be doing, your life being totally turned upside down and put back just how it was meant to be.
Max was outside the house when I turned onto the street, talking to the removal men who were asking a lot of questions about the bureau.
I didn’t see Marie at first, mainly because she was short and easily hidden. She bobbed up, catching sight of me and waving madly, before jumping in the van with the removal men, leaving Max shaking his head.
“She’s just gone off with them?” I asked him as the van moved off.
“Of course. They’ve said they’ll drop her off afterwards.” He shrugged. “She knows one of their mums so he’s just faced a dozen questions about everyone in his family and who’s still living in Ballymena who she knows. I wouldn’t worry.”
“Oh, I’m not.” What I had remembered was my conversation with Seph from a couple of days ago.
“I think he worried that he couldn’t have a successful career and be the dad he wanted to be. He’s actually been amazing at both. I couldn’t be prouder of him. Take your shot.”
“Have you told him that?”
Maybe now was the time.
“Got time for a coffee?” I patted his arm. “I think she’s left the machine for tomorrow. We can take it in the car.”
“Coffee’s good. I only came round because Mum found one of Lucy’s friendship bracelets and that’s the sort of thing that can cause a huge meltdown if she realises it’s missing.” He shook his head. “I’m sure tweenage girls should come with a manual.”
I shrugged, kind of sympathising, kind of laughing inside because karma was a bitch. “I think you’re just meant to wing it. How’s Maddox’s bowling?” The kid really did have talent, but what was going under-noticed was Will’s batting skills. He was having to be the practice partner for Maddox, which he didn’t complain about because he liked cricket as well, but because Maddox was so good, Will was having to improve quickly.
“He’s just obsessed with it. He’s got a match this afternoon with Will, so Lucy’s currently moaning that she’s got to go with them.” He leaned against the empty kitchen counter. “It looks strange in here being so empty. I remember when we looked round it that first day.”
“You lot loved it. I preferred the first one we saw, but you four and Marie fell in love with this place.” So I’d gone along with the majority, because that meant more of a chance of peace. Happy wife, happy life. I’d learned that the hard way, really.
“It was so empty. Hadn’t it been renovated but the company had run out of money?”
I nodded, surprised at what he could recall. “That was it. So Marie wanted everything decorated and furnished within four weeks, so you lot could start school in the September. It was madness.”
“And she started the renovations at Oxford at the same time. You really were nuts, weren’t you?” He was laughing at me. “I never would’ve expected you to do that given how embroiled in work you always were before. Everything was carefully planned and you wanted to keep everything traditional and old-fashioned. How did Marie get you to change that?”
“I don’t think it was her. I think it was you four. I knew when I was in New York that we couldn’t carry on as we were. You’d been kicked out of school and I didn’t blame you for that – you were really bright and the teachers were struggling to keep you interested and at the same time you were being the best big brother you could be. I knew you were looking after Callum too much, and when I went home at the weekends, I hated the house. It reminded me of everything that’d happened. I wanted to sell it but Marie wouldn’t let me.” I could remember those conversations, short ones, conclusions quickly formed and then acted on.
“Why not?”
“Because it had too much history and she didn’t want to obliterate that. So we turned the house into somewhere both old and new, so you learned how to move forward. I know all of you have fallen back in love with the place over the years. Maybe you were the last to do that.” It was rare for me to be so open with my eldest. He never really wanted me to be anything but practical, skirting round issues with solutions rather than address the underlying problems.
We’d had a set to when he’d been upset over Vic and scared of committing to her, because he thought he was too much like me. He was, but he was a better version.
“I like it there now. When there’s a few of us there, it’s the best place to be. I know Vic’s looking forward to going there in a couple of weeks for the Bank Holiday weekend. The kids can run wild.” His eyes were looking at something in the past. “Like we used to.”
“Like you still do when you’re there. You’re all a bit more childlike when you’re there, especially together.”
Another nod from my eldest. He looked like me and acted like me sometimes, me when I was at my best, but he reminded me of the best of Rachael too, the Rachael she’d been before she’d been poorly. She’d been tough, fair and fierce, not dissimilar to Marie, but she’d never really believed in herself. Max did. He’d learned to from Marie.
“So what will Lucy do at the cricket?”
He landed back in the room from whichever memory he’d been lost in. “Read or message Eliza and Rose about how hard done to she is. Or, she’ll really enjoy it which is what happened last time. She actually likes her brothers sometimes and she’s really competitive. If they’re playing all she wants is them to win. She’s a bit of a nightmare, really, because she gets really cranky at the umpire.” He was smiling as he said it. “She’s like Marie.”
“She’s spent a lot of time with Marie. Kids do pick up traits.” This was it, this was my opportunity to say words that should’ve been long since said. “I remember when we moved in here and how you went and helped Jackson and Claire and Callum with their bedrooms before you even touched yours. You went to sleep without anything unpacked absolutely shattered.”
He shrugged, unsmiling. “I needed to get them settled.”
“You were – and you still are – an amazing big brother. You’re an amazing dad as well. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become.”
He looked away from me, outside into the small courtyard garden that was typical for London.
I heard him sniff, then bluster the back of his hand over his eyes.
“You did okay as our dad too, you know.” Finally he looked at me. “Once Marie was here.”
I nodded, pleased to hear the words, pretty sure I wouldn’t hear them again from him.
“I tried. It was hard. Marie made things easier. So did you. I’m sorry I wasn’t better before.” Max would know that was about the third time in my life I’d ever apologised.
He nodded, watching me with interest rather than fear or resentment, both of which had been present until he became older. “I know. I get it now. I really do. That doesn’t mean you being absent when we were younger was excusable – it wasn’t and I don’t know how you did it. I hate being apart from my kids, I even miss my nieces and nephews. But you made up for it when we were older. And you couldn’t be a better grandad.” He sipped his coffee.
“And you couldn’t be a better son.”
He gave a single nod, not fighting the compliment as he had done in the past. “Thank you. Want to come to the cricket later? See your grandsons in action?”
I nodded. “Definitely. As long as Marie lets me.”