Chapter 15
BECKETT
Beckett had just dropped off a couple at Nottingham railway station when he got a message from Moses.
Moses
We take both the cake and the competition seriously
It was not long after five. Sonali was with Gramps until nine, but Beckett had only been working since three. He really ought to do more than a four-hour shift.
Or, he thought, he really ought to do something other than work or take care of his grandfather for once.
Well, for twice, he corrected himself, thinking about the Christmas market.
He messaged Sonali.
Beckett
I’ve been invited to a games night. Any chance you could stay an extra half-hour or so?
The replies were so fast it was hard to believe she’d had time to type them out.
Sonali
Be home at 11 and not a minute earlier.
Will your new friend be at this game?
Gramps told me all about the ‘pretty lass’ who came and cleaned your kitchen. I would have dismissed it as another one of his fantasies, but those countertops didn’t wipe themselves and you’re hardly in a position right now to hire a cleaner.
Beckett
This is a guys’ night. Staying out until 11 will ruin me. I’ll be back by 10.
Beckett allowed himself a moderate glow of satisfaction at having more than one friend. He replied yes to Moses, arranged to bring some snacks, and headed to his next fare, humming along to the radio’s power-rock ballads the whole way there.
* * *
There were four men sitting at Moses’ kitchen table when Beckett arrived bearing bags of tortilla chips and salsa dip, only fifteen minutes late after the elderly woman he’d driven home had realised she’d misplaced her housekeys.
Moses placed the largest chocolate marble cake Beckett had ever seen in the centre of the table and introduced Sofia’s brother-in-law, Sam, who gave a quick nod before going back to sorting out game cards, a guy called Angus who had been hiding at Moses’ house while his wife hosted a baby shower, and a couple of others whose names Beckett immediately forgot.
They all looked to be around his age, were drinking Pepsi or tea, because Moses’ adopted son Eli was currently working through some alcohol issues, and to be honest they looked about as knackered as Beckett felt.
He’d readied himself for the usual questions. What do you do? Where do you live? Any kids…?
But they never came. Moses had been correct about them taking the evening seriously.
There was as much small talk as you’d expect at a professional competition as they set up and dived straight into a strategy game involving surviving on an uninhabited planet.
It was almost as complex as performing surgery, and the stakes could have been as high, judging by how focused they all were.
He’d not have believed these men even liked each other if it hadn’t been for the quips that accompanied every decision, and the grins and hugs offered to Sam once he’d won.
Beckett loved it. He came a very respectable third, considering it was his first time. Once they’d finished, he again steeled himself for conversation, but the only topic mentioned was what game they’d play next time and who was giving Moses’ cousin, Dante, a lift home.
‘Was that normal?’ he asked when Moses showed him out. ‘You said it was serious, but, well…’
Moses nodded, picking up on what he meant.
‘Yeah, the whole point is we find the most complicated games we can, so we have to forget about work, family, everything else, for a few hours. It’s a safe space, no pressure to put on a front or talk about the hard stuff.
We have other times when we ask the uncomfortable questions and get real with each other about how we’re doing.
Our Wednesday night group, Bravehearts, is strictly BS free, if you’re interested. ’
‘Maybe another time.’
Like, never.
He would come to next month’s games night, though. He had to have found another carer by then.
* * *
Sunday, Gramps was up and out with miraculously minimal fuss, so they arrived at Mary’s house a few minutes early.
Beckett did his best to temper his happiness at seeing her again to a reasonable level.
She seemed as tired as ever, even dozing in the car for a few minutes, but somehow lighter at the same time.
‘Good weekend?’ he asked once she’d jerked awake and taken a few minutes to orientate herself.
‘I went to a baby shower,’ she said, running a hand through her hair, which despite the snooze looked tidier than he’d ever seen it.
‘At Li’s house? For someone from the mums’ group you went to?’
‘Yes but no.’ Mary shook her head, as if as bemused as he was. ‘They threw one for me. Then someone gave me a Tupperware full of beef stew to take home.’
She went on to describe the party, and how they’d organised something called a meal train. Beckett was pleased, but couldn’t deny the prickle of jealousy that other people were helping Mary and Bob.
For pity’s sake, it wasn’t as though she couldn’t do with all the help she could get.
He was able to shake it off once he told her about his own unexpected invite, able to demonstrate that he didn’t completely rely on this woman he’d met mere weeks ago for any hope of a social life.
* * *
They arrived at the New Life building a good twenty minutes early, due to light traffic, Gramps being engrossed in a podcast about the Boer War and a free parking space right outside.
Unlike the previous week, the car park was empty of people milling about, so while Mary and Beckett were fighting with the pram, Gramps wobbled straight inside.
Hurrying behind, they found him already engaged in conversation with a young man in the foyer.
‘We’ve booked a table for lunch,’ Gramps said, forcefully. ‘Let us through.’
‘I already said, lunch isn’t on this week,’ the man, wearing a ‘New Life’ T-shirt, said, relief flooding his face when he saw Beckett and Mary approaching. ‘Maybe you got the date wrong?’
‘Hey, Gramps. We’re not here for lunch today,’ Beckett said, gently taking hold of his arm.
‘What? I came for lunch. No cabbage! The Scottish man promised me a rematch.’ He shook Beckett’s hand off with an angry huff. ‘Why are you always spoiling my fun?’
Beckett took a deep breath. The tiniest of wrong moves here, and things could turn sour.
‘We’re here for the rehearsal,’ he said quietly, trying to convey his apology.
‘Ah, right.’ The man nodded. ‘It’s in the small hall, but not for another half-hour. You could catch the last few minutes of the service, if you want.’
‘I do not want!’ Gramps said, his voice rising. ‘What I want is for this pipsqueak to stop trying to steal my lunch.’
‘It’s not lunchtime yet,’ Beckett said, sounding impossibly calm considering the stress flooding into his system. ‘Why don’t we go and listen to the music while we’re waiting?’
‘Because it’s terrible music,’ Gramps scoffed. ‘Is that a tone-deaf woman, or a cat being strangled? Take me to the dining hall. I’ll wait there.’
‘I said, it’s?—’
‘I don’t care what you said! I’m an old man and I need to sit down and have my lunch.’
‘Hey.’ Mary slipped her arm through Gramps’ and leant in close to him.
‘I would really love to hear the end of this song first, if that’s okay?
Who doesn’t love a bit of music before dinner?
Let’s find a comfy seat, so the lunch staff can get everything ready without us getting in the way and you can introduce Bob to the joy of live music. ’
Mary carried on chattering in a soothing voice that Beckett suspected she used to get Bob to stop crying, and as she patted his hand and rested a shoulder against his arm, Gramps gradually began to soften, his jaw unclenching, posture easing back.
All Beckett could do was mutely follow with the pram as Mary cajoled Gramps down the corridor and through double doors into a large meeting room.
The hall was about three quarters full of chairs, most of which were occupied. A band played on a large stage at the front, and everyone was clapping as the guitar, drums and trumpet came to a final, triumphant crescendo.
The man who’d been in the foyer showed them to empty seats in the second-to-last row, which Gramps promptly declared to be about as comfortable as a haemorrhoid, and everyone sat down.
‘Them!’ Gramps growled as two familiar figures in dresses shaped like Christmas trees bounced onto the stage. ‘Please tell me they aren’t going to sing again. The other one was bad enough.’
All Beckett could think of to do was hand him the baby.
‘Does anybody know what day it is?’ Cheris called into a microphone, in the style of a pantomime dame.
A few people called out that it was 1 December.
‘She said,’ Carolyn bellowed, ‘does anybody know what day it is? Come on, all together! Make sure Santa Claus can hear you!’
There must have been a couple of hundred people in the room, at least a third of them children, and the response rattled the windowpanes.
‘Twenty-one sleeps to go!’ the Christmas Day Twins cried.
‘Um, no,’ Moses said, hovering near the edge of the stage. ‘Twenty-four.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Carolyn asked, as if perplexed. ‘What is he talking about? I think Pastor Moses has forgotten how to count!’
‘No, Chezza!’ Cheris said, waving her arms about vigorously. ‘What Pastor Moses is talking about is piddling old Christmas Day.’
‘The day billions of people mark the birth of our Lord and saviour, Jesus, with family gatherings, gifts and food, while basically the whole country comes to a stop?’ Moses asked. ‘ That piddling old day?’
‘Meh.’ Carolyn pulled a face. ‘It’s something, I suppose, but anyone would agree it’s not a patch on the New Life Community Church Christmas Carol Concert! Am I right?’
The room erupted in a mix of whoops, whistles and laughter.
‘Is she right?’ Cheris shouted over the noise.
‘No, she isn’t right!’ Moses said, and it was difficult to tell if his exasperation was real or for show.
‘But it is a fabulous occasion, and we hope you’ll invite your friends, family and neighbours along.
All the details are on the website, or there’s a pile of flyers in the foyer.
Now, ladies, what were you supposed to be talking about in these closing minutes? ’
‘Oh, yes.’ Carolyn pretended to look sheepish. ‘This is 1 December, which is the first Sunday in advent, and this week the theme is hope.’
‘What does hope mean to you?’ Cheris asked, looking more serious. ‘What are you hoping for this season? Apart from getting to see the best carol concert since the angels sang over that stable. Take a few seconds to think about it.’
Beckett couldn’t help asking himself this question as the hall fell silent.
Last year the answer might have been that he’d hope taxiing would bring in enough money to stop him lying awake at night panicking.
That he and Gramps would find the strength, the courage, the patience, to keep on going even knowing things were only getting tougher.
That hope would have felt more like folly. Genuine hope had been a stranger to the Bywater house for a long time.
Now – now hope was springing up faster than the hairs in Gramps’ ears.
For the first time, Beckett was hopeful that he might have found a friend or two to help him bear this burden. He dared hope for good things up ahead, not simply misery and struggle and emptiness. He hoped that for Gramps, as well as himself.
If he dug deep, and was really, brutally honest, for the first time in maybe a year, he hoped his grandfather, the man who’d basically been his father, wouldn’t slip away in his sleep sooner rather than later.
Even more marvellous, for the first time in forever he had hopes for someone else beyond him and Gramps. His hopes for Mary and Bob were so strong and wide and deep that he wondered how they didn’t consume him, sitting here in this moderately uncomfortable hall surrounded by strangers.
He decided that, for now, he simply hoped to make Mary smile again.
‘Hope?’ Gramps announced suddenly, causing most of the two rows in front to jump in surprise.
‘What’s the point of hoping at my age, in this state?
I hope I bloomin’ well die before I lose my marbles altogether.
Did you hear that, God? Oh, and I hope that someone will hurry up and get my lunch. No cabbage.’
The service ended with Moses praying about hope, and faith, and some other things that Beckett couldn’t concentrate on.
Everyone stood up and sang another song on similar lines, and then Moses wrapped things up and people started milling towards the back of the room where tables were laid out with coffee machines, tea and plates of flapjacks and other traybakes.
Bill came over and started talking to Gramps, which could have caused the lunch demands to resurface, but Beckett decided to leave them to it, and went to get a drink.
When someone on the other side of the aisle had shouted ‘Amen!’ to Gramps’ outburst, causing a ripple of laughter, Beckett had realised that nobody here seemed to mind that much, and he might as well stop worrying about what he couldn’t control anyway.
‘So, what do you hope for?’ Mary asked once they’d both helped themselves to coffee and found a spare space to stand.
Beckett paused, eyes firmly on his cup. ‘Um…’
‘Honestly, mostly all I could think was that I hope I don’t bodge these costumes up.’
Beckett changed gears, scrambling for a similarly light-hearted answer.
‘I was hoping Gramps wouldn’t feel the need to share whatever dropped into his head.’ He shrugged.
‘Wow. I would not have guessed that Dr Beckett Bywater was such a hopeless optimist.’
He shifted, glancing around. ‘You really shouldn’t call me that.’
‘What, an optimist? Given that you were clearly hoping in vain…’
‘Doctor.’
‘What? Why? You earned it.’
‘It only invites questions I don’t want to answer.’
Mary’s face softened. ‘Ah. I understand.’
‘Like, can I show you the boil in my armpit?’
Mary laughed so suddenly she almost spilled her coffee.
Not such a hopeless optimist after all.