Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
‘Hello, Grandpa.’
He held out his arms. ‘Hello, Rachel. I am sorry about this. The last thing you need over Christmas is a silly old bloke like me with you.’ His twinkly blue eyes sparkled, his short fluffy white hair was neat on one side and unruly on the other, and his big smile stretched from ear to ear. I stepped into his hug, inhaling the comforting smell of his Old Spice aftershave, and resting my head on his old woollen winter coat, which he had always worn when Maddie and I were kids. His arms wrapped themselves around me.
Closing my eyes for a few seconds I savoured Grandpa’s embrace. It felt like the sun had come out on my darkened little life. It was short-lived as I immediately became consumed by guilt for being frustrated at Mum the day before. How could I have been annoyed at spending quality time over Christmas with Grandpa Eric?
‘You’re not a silly old bloke. Come in,’ I said after he’d released me. The taxi driver was busy hauling Grandpa’s case to the door. After thanking the driver, I grabbed the suitcase and led the way. ‘Excuse the buckets when you come into my flat. The landlord assures me the leaks will be fixed by the time I return. I complained to him this morning.’
Grandpa came inside and closed the door. ‘I offered to pay for a hotel for tonight, but your mother told me you wanted me to stay in your flat.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t listen to my mother, Grandpa. She knows about the ceiling.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Rachel. Why don’t we book me into a hotel and save you the trouble of putting me up.’
‘Grandpa – it’s okay, you can have my bed tonight.’
We climbed the stairs to my flat. I deposited his suitcase in the living room as he stared in horror at the multitude of drips and buckets.
‘Tea or coffee, Grandpa,’ I said, to distract him. ‘Are you hungry because I have made those afternoon tea sandwiches again. Do you remember the ones we had in the summer in your back garden?’
His eyes twinkled. ‘I haven’t stopped dreaming about those delicious sandwiches you made us that day.’
‘Really?’
‘You make food come alive, Rachel. A nice cup of tea too, please. The tea on the train was diabolical.’
He turned to my paintings set against the wall. ‘These are beautiful.’
When Olivia died, I turned to my painting. Cooking and painting have always been a form of escapism for me. My love of painting started when I was little. Maddie and I used to sit at the top of the stairs, hugging our knees and listening to Mum and Dad argue about not having any money. After listening to their argument Maddie would lose herself in books and I would take out my paints. My canvases all show the world outside my flat window, tall dark office buildings which look like they are getting closer and are hemming me in. Their only redeeming feature is that at night the windows make them look like they are covered in pretty, orange squares. In the city it is hard to see the sky, what with the buildings and pollution. I normally improvise and create indigo skies with twinkling stars.
He turned to me. ‘Can I have one for my bungalow?’
‘Really?’
‘I am proud of you, Rachel. You’re very talented.’
His kind words made me go gooey inside. After gesturing for him to take a seat on my sofa I scooted into my kitchen to make a cuppa and grab my famous afternoon tea finger sandwiches that I’d prepared earlier, cured ham and mustard, cucumber with mint cream cheese and egg salad with cress. Each one carefully crafted, cut into a perfect finger shape, and arranged on a large platter dish.
Sandwiches are one of my favourite things to make. Making a well-crafted and delicious sandwich is an art form. Sandwiches are a way of showing someone you love them. The lengths someone goes to make sure the bread is fluffy; the crusts have been carefully removed and the filling ingredients provide a taste sensation is a sign of true love. The sandwiches that I make Grandpa always take me ages to put together but seeing him eat them gives me so much happiness.
I carried the platter of sandwiches into the living room and placed Grandpa’s cup near him. Then I went back to fetch two plates. ‘How was the train journey?’
He smiled. ‘Robert drove like a madman to the station. I didn’t think my pacemaker would survive. Anyone would think Robert was trying to get rid of me. Karen was going to have her hair cut. Lord knows why she keeps going back to that same woman after Robert admitted he was in love with her.’
‘Mum says Aunty Karen loves the way that woman cuts her hair and she’s spent years searching for the right hairdresser. Nothing is going to get in the way of a good haircut.’
Grandpa rubbed his face. ‘I don’t understand Karen’s fascination with this hairdresser as she has always had short hair. It always looks the same to me.’ He yawned. ‘The train was bearable although I did sit next to a woman who told me that we’re going to have a white Christmas. She reckons the snow could be bad in some places.’
I gasped. ‘Snow?’ This was the last thing I needed.
Grandpa nodded. ‘It is going to be worse in the south. Isn’t that where we are going?’
With a groan, I picked up my cup and took a sip. ‘I hope Maddie has wellies as I have a feeling I’ll be spending Christmas searching for her dog in the snow.’
Grandpa frowned. ‘Rachel, we are Maddie’s Christmas dog sitters. We’ll both be looking for Humphrey in the snow if the little rascal runs away.’
I recalled the list of rules Aunty Karen had put on the WhatsApp chat about caring for Grandpa. One of which was that he couldn’t go outside for long in cold weather. ‘Aunty Karen has given me strict orders on keeping you indoors, Grandpa.’
The smile on my grandfather’s face began to evaporate. ‘Rachel, I might be eighty years old, but I am not a delicate antique.’
‘I must look after you, Grandpa.’
He took another sip from his tea. ‘What else have the family said?’
‘They’re worried about you. Don’t worry, I am going to make sure you have a relaxing Christmas. You can put your feet up and eat the meals Aunty Karen has suggested I cook for you. And you can watch your programmes and sleep whenever you want, while I go off searching for Humphrey.’
‘I don’t want to have a relaxing time,’ he barked, his voice tinged with what sounded like annoyance. ‘I don’t want you to be my Christmas carer, Rachel. I love my daughters, but they are wrapping me in cotton wool.’
‘Sorry, Grandpa.’
He smiled. ‘I’m eighty years old. I still live by myself. I cook my meals – albeit by shoving them in the microwave. I creak a lot going up and down the stairs and sometimes I need Karen to run me up to the supermarket. Occasionally in the summer, Robert and I will go to the cricket. I’m doing okay, I think.’
‘Oh… Mum said Aunty Karen cares for you every day.’
Grandpa erupted into a proper belly laugh. ‘She calls in a few times a week but that’s it. I think she’s telling porkies to your mother who lives in Tenerife and has no way of knowing what’s really going on.’
We both tucked into our finger sandwiches. He held one aloft and studied it. ‘I remember years ago when you and Maddie were little. Your mum would give your nan and me a list of what to feed you whilst she went on holiday.’
I grinned. ‘We had to eat crusts, brown bread, and vegetables.’
He chuckled. ‘The second your mother’s car left the drive I told your nan to rip up the list.’
‘Maddie and I loved coming to stay as we would eat biscuits, lollipops, jellied sweets, chips, and white bread sandwiches with no crusts.’
‘How are you, Rachel?’ he asked. ‘I have been worried about you after what happened to your lovely friend, Olivia. Every day I think about how you’re doing. No one should have to lose a friend like that at your age.’
Biting the inside of my mouth to stop myself from crying I nodded.
‘The family are also worried about you,’ he explained. ‘I don’t use that thing they call… ummm… Whatsit… Whats…’
‘WhatsApp, Grandpa.’
He clicked his fingers. ‘That’s the one. Anyway, they all talk about you a lot on there. Bev told me.’
I laughed. ‘Aunty Bev told you?’
‘She’s glad they never talk about her on there,’ he quipped.
A giggle escaped from my lips as he winked at me.
‘Aunty Bev and her wild party days are always being discussed on there.’
We both laughed and carried on eating, talking, and reminiscing. An hour later I noticed he was yawning a lot, so I suggested he go into my bedroom for a nap. Once the sounds of Grandpa’s snores drifted into my flat I forced myself to enter Olivia’s bedroom.
Kate and Connor were right yesterday. I couldn’t sleep on the sofa with a leaking ceiling and the dripping sound. With Grandpa in my room, I would have to sleep in Olivia’s room.
The last time I’d opened it was when Olivia’s mum, Sonia, came over to collect a lot of her daughter’s belongings. She took most of the stuff but let me keep a few things. After taking a deep breath I turned the handle and went into her room.
My eyes darted to the dressing table where I expected to see her, wearing her pink fluffy dressing gown, and curling the life out of her long black hair. She’d grin at me through the dressing table mirror and ask me what time we were going out to our favourite cocktail bar. There was just an empty stool.
The wardrobe next to her dressing table was empty with one door hanging open. If she had still been alive, it would have been overflowing with clothes, jumpers, belts, and bags. Olivia always said that her clothes rushed out to greet her when she went to her wardrobe.
Her double bed had been stripped bare. There were a few books in the little bookcase by the window. On one shelf was a basket full of old phone chargers and a collection of takeaway menus.
This room used to smell of Olivia’s perfume. The second you entered your nostrils would be hit with its vanilla and earthy notes. It had been replaced by a faint musty smell. Sometimes I feel like going to buy some of her favourite perfume just so that I can feel like she’s near me again.
I felt dizzy and sat on the bed until her room stopped swaying. Once the dizziness abated, I got up and went to collect fresh sheets and bedding. To fit the mattress cover I had to lift the mattress. Underneath the bed frame was a pink notebook. Bending down, I picked it up and a photo slipped out from it. The photo was of a young Olivia and a blonde woman I didn’t recognise. They were dancing and laughing at the camera.
Flipping over the first page I gasped at Oliva’s swirly handwriting. It read: How I Got Over Losing a Wonderful Friend, by Olivia Lunn. With a trembling hand, I turned the page.
This is a personal account of how I survived losing my wonderful friend, Sophie. One day I hope to publish this as I hope it will help others going through the same thing.
It must have been about her friend, Sophie, who dated Ben, the guy Olivia had been trying to set me up with. I closed it quickly as a wave of emotion was rising inside me. Reading this would turn me into an emotional mess. Grandpa needed me and tomorrow I would be driving us to Surrey. Maybe when I returned from Harp Brook, I could have a closer look at the notebook, or even pass it to Sonia.
I placed it on the dressing table, made the bed and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind me. Wiping a solitary tear, I went into the living room and checked on my buckets.