Chapter 25
BECKETT
On Saturday, Beckett got a message from Moses inviting him to the Christmas trail at the Peace and Pigs, a campsite near Mary’s house.
It seemed a strange invite from one thirty-something male to another guy he didn’t know all that well, and a quick look online revealed it to include a ‘sleigh-ride’, Santa’s grotto and various food, drink and gift stalls.
He sent a quick reply.
Beckett
Are you asking me out on a date?
Moses
Sorry, bro, I’m a one-woman man. Sofia’s having a day with her coffee mums, so the dads are taking the kids out. Mary’s gone so we thought you might be at a loose end.
Beckett
You do know Mary and I are only friends?
Moses
Of course you are
Moses included a winking emoji.
Moses
We’re meeting in the car park at 11. You in?
Beckett really needed to work. It was the busiest season, and his bank account was giving him nightmares.
At the same time, he couldn’t take Gramps out in the taxi again.
He might have considered asking Moses to take Gramps to the Christmas thing, if small children weren’t involved.
Then again, if Gramps had a busy day, maybe Beckett could head out later, when he was asleep for the night?
He’d been thinking about their argument, whether Gramps really did need watching every single minute.
He didn’t usually start night-time antics until at least two.
If Beckett went out at nine, and was back for midnight, that would be something.
And if it worked, he could make it a regular thing.
Beckett
I’ll need to bring Marvin with me, but if that’s okay then yes, count us in.
Moses
More the merrier!
It was an okay day. Disaster free, Gramps-wise, which was as good a bar as any.
He met Jay, who had a baby a few months older than Bob, and was clearly struggling to reconcile his late-night event work with the responsibilities of fatherhood.
There was also Angus, who’d been at the games night, with a one-year-old, Kimmy, who Beckett recognised as the daughter of Mary’s new friend Li.
Moses had all of his kids apart from Eli, the eldest.
They rode the sleigh, which was a cleverly decorated wagon pulled by horses wearing reindeer antlers, and the older kids ran about in the woods and found all the hidden candy canes that led them to Santa’s grotto, where a band were playing jazzed-up carols.
Beckett found he didn’t hate his first ever family day out since he’d broken up with Rebecca.
What he did miss was having his own family there.
He couldn’t help thinking about how, in future years, Bob would love seeing the animals and having hot chocolate and a hot dog before telling Santa Claus what he wanted for Christmas.
When Santa asked Beckett what he wanted, because apparently at this grotto no one was too old to sit in the special chair beside Santa and ask for a present, he knew without thinking about it.
This was what Beckett wanted. To get to do all this stuff with Bob and Mary. Christmas, spring, summer in the forest, bonfire parties. First day of school right through until graduation.
Bob might well have a dad who’d end up being part of his life.
Beckett might never become more than a friend to Mary, because, despite how hard he couldn’t help hoping for it, she’d never given the slightest indication that she felt anything for him beyond that.
It didn’t matter. He’d be Uncle Beckett, if he had to ( please, don’t let him end up as Uncle Beckett ).
* * *
Once they got home, he kept Gramps awake with card games and an unhurried evening meal, then helped him up the stairs and ready for bed.
At nine, heart hammering, he cracked open the bedroom door enough to confirm the snores, then left a note on the kitchen table, just in case, and sneaked out like a teenager off to an illicit party.
He did a full three hours of taxi driving, adrenaline pounding through his veins, then broke every speed limit to get home. All the lights were off as he hurried up the short driveway, but as soon as he opened the front door, Beckett could sense something was off.
He followed the draught to the door leading from the kitchen into the back garden, and, with a lurching stomach, spotted a shadow on the patio, up against the wall of the house.
Gramps was slumped on the ground, leaning back against the bricks, panting. When Beckett tried to remove the bread knife from his grandfather’s clenched hand, the fingers were too stiff to open.
‘What happened?’ Beckett asked, slipping his thumb to Gramps’ icy wrist to take his pulse. He’d managed to put on his dressing gown, but his feet were bare.
‘I blummin’ well slipped over in the frost. What does it look like?’
‘Let’s see if we can get you back in the warm.’ Automatically switching to doctor mode, Beckett sounded calm, but a tornado of guilt and panic was tearing through his insides.
It took a gruelling effort, but, with lots of guidance and questions to ensure it was safe, he managed to hoist Gramps up and provide enough support to get him to the living-room sofa.
He made two mugs of sweet tea, decided against adding a splash of whisky, and made sure the combination of the fire, thick socks and a blanket were doing their job.
‘Why were you outside?’ he asked after an agonising wait while Gramps sipped his tea and slowly regained his normal complexion.
‘I want to go to bed now.’
‘Of course, I’ll help you up in a minute. But why were you in the garden with a bread knife?’
Gramps stared at the fire, his careworn face scrunched in annoyance.
‘I was making a sandwich. You always cut the bread too thin.’
There’d been no bread visible in the kitchen, or any other evidence of a sandwich being made.
‘Okay.’ Beckett kept his voice soft and steady, as if coaxing a mouse out of its hole. ‘Why did you go into the garden?’
‘Does it matter?’ Gramps snapped. ‘Am I the owner of this house, or its prisoner? I don’t have to explain my every move to you.’
‘No, you don’t.’ Beckett was too sad to feel irritated, or frustrated.
He mostly felt defeated, alongside the lingering trickle of worry that Gramps had hypothermia or was hiding an injury.
‘But I hope you can understand why I’m concerned about you going outside in the middle of the night in December with no shoes or coat on. ’
If Beckett had learned anything in the past six years, it was patience. Eventually, Gramps slumped a little lower in his chair, handed Beckett the empty mug and closed his eyes.
‘I didn’t know where you were.’
Beckett’s heart crumpled in on itself.
‘I’d gone out in the taxi for a couple of hours,’ he said gently, crouching beside Gramps and taking hold of his hand, which was still cool, but no longer stiff. ‘I left a note in case you woke up.’
‘Didn’t see it.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Beckett’s throat ached as he fought back the tears. He was sorry for more things than he could say. ‘I’m so sorry you were frightened. I won’t go out at night again.’
They sat for a while, staring at the fire until Gramps’ hand was warm, his cheeks pink.
‘Come on, let’s get to bed. Maybe think about a lie-in in the morning, eh?’
As he helped his grandfather to his doddery feet, Beckett caught him mumbling something, but dismissed it as he must have heard him wrong. However, as Gramps allowed his grandson to tuck the duvet up around his chin, he said it again, and this time it was unmistakable.
‘Put me in a home.’
‘What?’ Beckett froze. ‘No. Gramps! I promised I’d never do that. This is your home, and you’re staying right here. I’ll figure it out, I promise.’
* * *
Gramps slept in for all of an extra fifteen minutes.
It didn’t matter, Beckett hadn’t snatched more than a few restless minutes of sleep, anyway.
He helped Gramps with his morning routine, checking for injuries as he dressed and mercifully only finding light bruising, although he was even more unsteady than usual.
‘Be honest now,’ he asked once they were both bolstered with coffee and plates of egg on toast. ‘How are you feeling? Any aches or pains we need to worry about?’
Gramps chuckled grimly. ‘Where do you want me to start?’
‘Okay.’ Beckett couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘Any new soreness or stiffness, relating to your midnight escapade?’
‘I’ll do.’
‘We can take it easy today. There’s a new film on Netflix I thought we might like.’
Gramps furrowed his brow. ‘It’s Sunday, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ Beckett was piteously pleased that he’d remembered.
‘I want to go to that funny church.’
‘Funny as in amusing, or funny strange?’
Gramps quirked a bushy eyebrow, his eye twinkling as if to say, ‘You tell me?’ and for a rare, precious moment, Beckett had his grandfather back.
* * *
When he messaged Mary, she replied instantly to say that she’d come, as she had another three costumes ready for a fitting.
Beckett was well aware she didn’t need his invite or his offer of a lift, as if she couldn’t find her way there herself.
But, well, it was a thing now. Besides, he’d agreed to help her with the carol-concert project, and if she was bringing along costumes then that counted.
He could hardly leave her to transport them and Bob on the bus.
This week the advent theme was apparently joy, and, boy, did New Life Community Church embrace it. Even Beckett couldn’t resist tapping his toes to the exuberant rhythm of the songs. A trio of teenage boys playing brass instruments created an atmosphere more carnival than Christmas.
It felt good – great – being part of something lively and jubilant, going with the flow and rolling with the silly shepherd game everyone joined in with, the ‘New Life News’ accompanied by passionate prayers, the talk from Moses about joy-hunting in dark times.