Chapter Seven Lee #2
‘Well, I was supposed to be,’ she says, unwinding a Chanel scarf from around her neck.
‘But Peter is on a health kick and so the debauching was off the cards. I was rather put out to discover that the majority of his personality was owed to a stiff whisky and soda – without one in his hand the man turned out to be a dead bore. I had to hear far too much about the benefits of a diet that consists – from what I could tell – largely of cabbage.’ She shudders.
‘Can you imagine? Only think of the odours.’
‘I think it’s good that he’s looking after his health,’ I say pointedly.
She ignores this completely, drifting through to the kitchen, and I follow as she opens the fridge and starts fixing us both a martini. ‘The tiniest splash of gin,’ she says when she catches me looking disapproving. ‘And you can have most of it.’
‘I need it.’ I sit on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island and pull the biscuit tin that lives there towards me. Prising off the lid I dip my fingers in and grab one of Gran’s lemon shortbread biscuits.
Gran is a phenomenal baker, a fact that takes most people by surprise as it is tricky to imagine her in an apron. (She doesn’t actually wear one when she bakes: ‘Aprons are for children and morticians, darling.’)
Now, Gran looks up, sympathetic. ‘Did your meeting run long?’
‘Er, yes,’ I agree quickly. ‘Very long.’
‘Those government types are so dreary,’ she sighs, dropping a perfect curl of lemon peel into my glass and sliding it over to me. ‘I don’t suppose you actually get to meet any of the real spies do you? All a load of pencil pushers.’
‘You know I can’t talk about my work.’
Gran pouts again. ‘What’s the use of having a granddaughter who consults for the intelligence services if I don’t get to meet James Bond?’
‘I’ll be sure to raise that issue next time,’ I smile. ‘Although, apparently Jack’s in the running to play the next Bond so you could be hanging out with him sooner than you think.’
‘Well, your brother does look marvellous in a tuxedo,’ Gran muses. ‘And I could teach him some of my Taekwondo. I’m a yellow belt now.’
‘I thought you were stopping the Taekwondo,’ I frown.
‘The doctor said exercise was good for me,’ Gran huffs. ‘If it were up to you, I’d spend all day locked in this house doing nothing. Speaking of which, why aren’t you out somewhere enjoying your youth?’
‘I was supposed to be going for dinner with Adrian, but I’m too tired.’
The thought of Adrian brings the events of the last hour thundering back with such violence that I feel breathless.
Adrian, my boyfriend. Who doesn’t know I’m married to someone else.
Does it make it any better that I didn’t know either?
He’s very even-tempered but I can’t imagine he’s going to be thrilled.
‘Hmmm.’ Gran looks down into her glass.
My spine stiffens. ‘What does hmmm mean?’
‘Nothing, nothing. I’m sure a romantic dinner with Adrian would have been… very exciting.’ The tiny snort she gives at the end of this sentence makes it clear she doesn’t believe anything of the sort.
Normally, I would ignore Gran’s little dig at my boyfriend, but today – for obvious reasons – I’m feeling a little defensive about my love life.
‘Not all relationships need to be full of high drama,’ I say firmly. ‘You’ve never liked Adrian and I don’t know why. He’s a very nice man.’
Gran sets her drink down with a clink. ‘He’s perfectly nice, Lee,’ she agrees.
‘But he’s so dull! Last time he was here he talked at me for thirty minutes about some legal wrangling with the council that I neither understood nor cared about.
You’re too young to be settling down with someone so…
staid. I know you, darling, you need someone who will challenge you, push you out of your comfort zone. ’
‘I like my comfort zone.’
‘And what about passion?’ She throws the word out like she’s starring in a daytime soap opera.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. ‘I know very well what too much passion looks like and I have no interest in it. I’m happy with nice. He’s not staid, he’s steady. There are no surprises, we never argue.’
Gran’s expression softens and she leans across the island, reaching for my hand, a rare display of physical intimacy. ‘Lee, your parents… that’s not…’ She struggles for the words. ‘It doesn’t have to be that way.’
I shrug, taking a sip of my drink, and the burn of the gin in my throat is a welcome heat, a lick of flame settling in my chest.
‘I’m just saying, you have barely any social life,’ she continues stubbornly. ‘You’re stuck in this tepid relationship with a man who has all the personality of a glass of skimmed milk.’
‘Now, that’s not true,’ I protest. ‘Adrian is intelligent and thoughtful. We have a nice time together.’
Far from appeasing my grandmother, this only brings more colour to her face. I watch anxiously – a red face may be a sign of high blood pressure. Perhaps I should get her monitor, to be safe.
‘A nice time,’ Gran repeats, as I head to the incredibly well-stocked medicine cabinet I created in the kitchen.
When I showed photos of it to Dr Clarke he’d been deeply impressed.
(Or, at least, I choose to believe that’s what he meant by his comment that if they ran out of anything at the hospital they could just pop over to our place.)