Chapter 3
Bridie waited for her grandad to come to the door. ‘Ah, Bridie. I knew it was you.’
Bridie stepped inside his small flat. Of course he knew it was her.
She was the only one who made the effort to visit.
She had thought her sister might come with her that morning before returning to Suffolk, but they’d left late last night after the meal once the plans had been laid for their father’s retirement party.
Kate had changed her mind about staying Friday night at Jeremy’s and wanted to spend the weekend at home before Monday arrived together with her long daily commute into work.
Bridie had a sneaking suspicion that Kate didn’t want there to be any chance of Layla and Andy twisting her arm to attend the Saturday matinee of Bridie’s show, which she’d invited them all to. Bridie knew there were still tickets available.
Jeremy only lived across London, but she knew he worked long hours too, and at the weekend they went jogging, played squash at their local gym club, and spent quality time with their pooches, who went to doggy day care during the week.
It wasn’t any of her business, but she really didn’t see where having children fitted into their lifestyle.
Nor did making any effort to visit their paternal grandad.
He was the only grandparent still alive, but clearly that didn’t mean anything.
Bridie did wonder whether the real reason Jeremy and Kate failed to visit was not because of their busy lives, but out of loyalty to their dad. Their grandad and dad were estranged.
Whatever had gone on between them, Bridie thought it was none of her concern. Neither one of them would speak about it, and Bridie didn’t want to take sides. However, she had always been her grandad’s favourite – and her siblings knew it.
While they were growing up in Suffolk, whenever they’d visited their paternal grandparents in London, her grandad and grandma had always taken her to a West End show.
Perhaps if they’d taken Kate and Jeremy, they’d have fallen in love with the theatre too.
Not that she imagined either of them would have fallen in love with it so much they’d want to go on the stage.
It had always been Bridie’s only chance to go to the theatre. Their parents never took them, not even to a local panto. Unfortunately, going to the theatre just wasn’t their thing. But it was a love that Bridie had always shared with her grandad.
She followed him into his cramped lounge.
The old-fashioned, decades-old carpet with its vibrant green and red pattern that she remembered had long since faded.
The bulky G-Plan furniture was too large, and too dark, for the room, but it had been her grandma’s choice, and her grandad wouldn’t part with any of it.
The dresser held lots of framed photos from years gone by of his and her grandma’s wedding day, and of her dad, their only child, as a baby, along with various photos of him growing up.
There were photos of his three grandchildren when they were younger, and photos of Jeremy and Kate’s graduation days.
In pride of place was a large photo of Bridie taken outside the theatre after her very first stage production in the West End.
Bridie took a seat opposite the sofa and waited for her grandad to make them a cup of tea.
She watched him anxiously as he carried the tea tray to the coffee table beside the sofa, forcing herself to sit there and watch, when all she wanted to do was run up to him and take the heavy tea tray out of his hands.
She wouldn’t dare. He was independent and would get very cross if she treated him like he was an invalid.
That’s what he’d said to her once: ‘I’m old, not an invalid. ’
Bridie sat there listening to the cups rattling in the saucers as he placed the tea tray on the coffee table.
She smiled at the old teapot that had belonged to her late grandmother, along with the hand-knitted tea cosy.
As she’d always said, if you’re going to do something, do it properly.
And that extended to a cup of tea. There were no teabags in their flat – just loose-leaf tea. It was a faff, but worth it.
She watched her grandad pick up the tea strainer and pour tea into her cup, adding a dash of milk from the delicate jug.
Lastly, he spooned a sugar cube into her cup.
Bridie wondered where he had found the sugar cubes.
She hadn’t seen sugar cubes on the shop shelves for a long time.
Her grandad’s neighbour shopped for him. She thought she might ask one day.
She picked up her teacup and took a sip. Her grandmother had always said that nothing tasted better than loose-leaf tea. She was right.
When her grandad was settled on the sofa, drinking his cuppa, Bridie put her teacup down. She had something to ask him.
‘I was over at Jeremy’s yesterday evening. We’re planning Dad’s retirement party. You will come, won’t you?’
Bridie frowned when her grandad changed the subject.
‘Move in with me, and then I can leave you my council flat.’
‘Grandad! I don’t need the council flat. I’m with Julian, remember?’
‘I don’t like him.’
Bridie rolled her eyes. How many times had she heard that remark over the years? She had a feeling her grandad wouldn’t like anybody she brought to meet him.
‘What’s wrong with Oliver, the boy you’ve known since school?’
‘Grandad. You’re talking years ago. I haven’t seen him in an age.’ That wasn’t strictly true. She had seen him occasionally in Aldeburgh when she’d made a rare visit home, but she’d done her best to avoid him. She didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because she didn’t want to revisit her past.
She studied her grandad. ‘I’m surprised you even remember his name. And besides, Oliver and I were never girlfriend and boyfriend.’
‘Oh, yes, that’s right. You had a crush on that other boy. Now, what was his name?’
Bridie did not want to talk about that.
She thought about Oliver. She had been surprised to hear that he was still working at the same high school they’d attended – Layla had told her that he would be her new drama teacher.
According to Layla, he was still single.
Most of the teachers’ profiles were on Facebook, so typically nosy teenagers had read them.
‘You know, Layla showed me a photo of him on her phone … now what is the name of that—’
‘Facebook,’ Bridie said, rolling her eyes.
‘He’s still single.’
‘I know. Layla told me too. We were just friends, remember.’
‘That was then. What about now? He’s a good-looking guy.’
‘I’m with Julian.’
‘He never married.’
‘Who – Julian?’
‘No, Oliver.’
Bridie inwardly groaned. For some reason, even after the ten years she had spent with Julian, her grandad wouldn’t accept that he was the one. Perhaps he would when they got married.
‘Don’t you ask yourself why that is?’
‘Why what is?’
‘That Oliver never married.’
‘Well, no. Why should I? He has dated several women. Perhaps the right person hasn’t come along.’
‘Ah, but I think the right person did come along. She just got involved with that stupid producer.’
Bridie ignored the comment. Her grandad seemed to forget that the reason she and Oliver had never dated in high school was because there had been someone else Bridie was in love with back then. She did not want to think about him. Instead, she said, ‘I’m not married either.’
‘Well, there you go. Same principle.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The right person hasn’t come along yet.’
‘The right person has come along. I’m engaged – remember?
’ Bridie flashed her ring. What was all this really all about?
She’d had conversations like this with him in the past, but not for quite a while.
She’d thought it had all blown over. Although she also knew that his memory wasn’t as good as it had been.
‘But you appear to have been engaged for an age. Have you set a date?’
Bridie shook her head. ‘Oh, Grandad, you’re starting to sound like Kate.
’ Except Bridie knew the difference was that when her sister brought up the subject of the length of her engagement it felt like a criticism.
It was a criticism – a dig at Bridie’s life, showing how perfect her sister’s life was compared to her own.
Whereas she knew her parents, and her grandad, just worried for her future – not just her personal life because she hadn’t set a wedding date, but also her work life in theatre, where she went from job to job.
It worried her sometimes too, but she didn’t want to do a job she didn’t love.
As with everything in life, there was always, always a downside.
Her sister and brother worked long hours, and while they were financially secure, were they happy in their work?
She wasn’t so sure. She knew her dad wasn’t.
For as long as she could remember, he’d had that calendar on the wall in his study, counting down the days to retirement, and every birthday was a celebration of getting one year closer to getting out, meaning leaving the rat race – the job he hated.
Her grandad reached out and took her hand. ‘I just worry about you.’
She smiled. She knew it was true. He wasn’t criticising her, or her career choice, or Julian, although he still didn’t like him.
But she did know that he loved that she’d gone into the theatre.
He was just worried that her relationship would break down.
She knew why this was a worry; she couldn’t afford to live in London without her fiancé.
And that was why her grandad kept asking her to move in with him.
‘I know you’re worried we haven’t set a date. But we’ve just been so busy. And we are saving up, you know.’
‘I know. I could give you the money.’
‘Oh, Grandad. I couldn’t take your savings for my wedding.’
‘I know that.’