Chapter Fifty-Two Happy Families
‘Men my age are still living at home with their mothers,’ explains Zoe.
Sensible boys, I think to myself.
‘They’ve got uni debts, nowhere to live and someone still does their washing. They just haven’t grown up, it’s awful,’ she continues.
‘And they’ve got them pointy beards now,’ adds Mum helpfully.
We’re in the bar of Zoe’s hotel and being the grandmother of the manager is still suiting my mother very well. She heads off to say hello to the staff and no doubt blag some snacks.
‘How long have you known him?’ I ask, hoping the generic question brings out the answers to everything else I want to know.
‘About three months,’ she answers and I realize that was around the time of the heatwave and my obsession with the business.
‘We held a network event for local businesses.’
Peter was right.
‘And he came to that?’ I ask.
‘No,’ explained Zoe, ‘he’d already been commissioned to do some design work for the hotel so was working on that. He was sitting in a quiet part of the lounge trying to avoid everyone and we bumped into each other when I tried to do the same — two loners together.’
She smiles reminiscing.
‘And,’ I prompt.
‘We just talked about his designs, the hotel and about you.’
I let her continue.
‘I told him you’d been thrown lemons after the divorce but had made exceptionally good lemonade with them. I told him I was proud of you,’ she says.
I’ve never heard her say this before and it melts my heart. I take her hands and thank her.
‘But stop changing the subject,’ I prod. ‘I want to know all about this man.’
‘That conservatory thing is nice.’ Mum returns from her wanderings.
‘The atrium,’ corrects Zoe. ‘James designed that. He’s very talented.’
‘Is he rich?’ asks Mum, getting to the point.
‘Gran, you can’t ask questions like that,’ exclaims Zoe.
Mum shrugs. ‘I just did.’
‘He’s successful, yes,’ concedes Zoe, ‘because he’s very good at what he does.’
‘He’s a lot older than you, though. Does he have any kids or other skeletons locked in the closet?’
Go for it, Mum.
‘Yes, he’s thirty-nine and no, he doesn’t have any children or ex-wives or ex-husbands. As far as I know, he’s not an axe-murderer and his gran is still alive so he hasn’t bumped her off either,’ says Zoe.
‘In fact,’ she continues, ‘his gran thought I might be a gold-digger preying on her wonderful grandson. Now she’s met me she thinks I’m the best thing since sliced white. Is there anything else, Gran?’
‘Gold-digger? My granddaughter? I’ll show her what’s what,’ splutters Mum.
‘Well, she can’t wait to meet you now that I’ve told her you know all the best cake shops.’ Zoe plays Mum like the old wind instrument she is.
My daughter is having fun. She’s laughing and smiling like any other twenty-four-year-old, making fun of her gran and her eyes are shining at last. After everything Alan and I have put her through this year it’s a joy to see her like this.
‘I have one question,’ I say. ‘Does he love you?’
Zoe blushes.
‘I know it’s very early but I think he does, Mum, I really think he does.’
It’s possible to burst with pride, it’s possible to cry with joy and to crush someone you love in a hug of sheer happiness all at the same time. I know this because I do all three at that moment.
‘Then that’s all that matters,’ I say, wiping my tears from her shoulder.