Chapter Two
When she heard the knock at the door, Grace gave the study one last look over.
The curtains were pulled back and settled elegantly in brass hooks, and all traces of dust were gone.
She gave herself a mental pat on the back and went to let her daughter and grandson in.
Despite her project of trying to give them their lives back, it was only right they should be together today, on the anniversary of Frank’s death, and she was grateful Rosie and Jude would be keeping her company this evening for dinner.
‘Hello, hello, my lovelies.’ Just seeing their faces was enough to make the sun peek out from the dark clouds inside her. ‘Why didn’t you use your keys?’ she said during the flurry of kicking off shoes and greetings.
Jude wrapped her in a bear hug and after a soft cuddle, Rosie held her at arm’s length and examined her face. ‘I forgot them. Anyway, how are you doing?’ Her eyes narrowed as she stared into her mother’s.
Grace pulled away and bent to put their discarded shoes in a neat row by the door, marvelling at the enormity of Jude’s trainers.
She didn’t want Rosie to see she’d been crying, or that the sting of loss was still as acute as it was twelve months ago.
‘Good. I’m good. How are you? How are the worlds of photography and social media, whatever it is you do that old duffers like me don’t understand? ’
‘Don’t pretend you’re not media savvy,’ said Jude.
‘I saw you liked my last campaign on Insta.’ He wagged a finger at her and she raised her chin and pretended to demur.
This was a good start. It wasn’t meant to be a maudlin evening.
Frank wouldn’t want that. If he was looking on from anywhere, he’d like to see his family laughing and ribbing each other like they used to before his death smothered the joy in them.
‘You got me.’ She winked. ‘Come in, both of you. I want to show you something.’
‘Is it your bum?’ said Rosie, predictably.
‘It is,’ said Grace, laughing.
‘Eww.’ Rosie shuddered. ‘That’s not what you’re supposed to say.’
‘Well, if you will keep asking, one day I might just surprise you and—’
‘Nope,’ said Jude, shaking his head, hand aloft. ‘I am not ready for this conversation.’
‘Fair,’ said Rosie. They followed Grace into the hall. Rosie gasped when she saw the light flooding in from the study. ‘You’ve been in his study!’ She stepped inside, Jude fast on her heels. ‘His books,’ she whispered, her fingers trailing along the spines. ‘I’d forgotten how many he kept in here.’
‘I wonder if …’ Jude examined the shelves, tracing his index finger along the alphabetized rows. ‘Yes, of course there’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.’ He plucked out a book with an orange and white cover. ‘Can I borrow this, Grandma?’
‘You can have it,’ said Grace. ‘Take whatever you like. Your grandpa would love you to have his books, I’m sure.’ Her voice threatened to wobble, so she turned towards the door. ‘I’ve made Thai green curry. Hope that’s okay?’
‘Lovely,’ said Rosie, ‘I can smell the lemongrass, I’m beyond ravenous.’ She wandered across the room, lightly touching the arm of the chair where Frank used to sit and read. ‘Are you sure about giving away the books, Mum? You might want to read them yourself one day.’
‘There’ll be plenty left,’ said Grace. ‘There’re hundreds more.
’ She thought of all the bookcases in the house.
‘Thousands.’ She plastered on a smile, trying to remember when and why she’d stopped reading for pleasure.
Other than the odd novel on holiday, she really wasn’t a reader anymore.
Thinking back, it was probably when Rosie was a baby and Frank was working long hours building his architecture practice.
There was always so much else to do; she’d never got back into the habit.
‘Your dad was the reader. We were happy to have different interests. It gave us more to talk about.’
They’d vowed never to become one of those couples they’d seen in restaurants who barely exchanged a word.
Books were Frank’s thing. Antiques were hers.
How ironic, she thought, that the things she loved the most existed in the past. Almost everything.
She still had Rosie, Jude and Paz, thank goodness.
‘Now, come on you two, the rice is nearly done.’
Once they were seated at the circular table in the centre of the glass box off the kitchen, steaming bowls of food in front of them, Grace took a bottle of champagne from the fridge.
‘Thought we’d have a toast.’ She popped the cork and poured the fizzing liquid into three flutes.
She lifted hers. ‘To Frank, the best husband, father and grandfather anyone could ever wish for.’ They clinked the tops of their glasses together and drank.
Grace spoke again. ‘And to you two. I couldn’t have managed the last year without you.
I love you, and I appreciate you, but I’m glad we’re moving forwards now. ’ She raised her glass. ‘To moving on.’
Rosie’s cheeks grew pink. She and Jude repeated Grace’s words, but quietly and with less conviction than Grace had mustered.
She wondered if maybe she’d gone too far.
She wanted her daughter to feel free to get on with her life, not think she was trying to completely forget Frank.
They were quiet for a moment, each taking spoonfuls from their bowls.
The silence seemed to expand and threatened to suffocate Grace.
She glanced out to the garden, then up at the grey sky.
Fresh spots of rain speckled the glass. That was one problem with the inside and outside becoming amalgamated.
When Frank designed the two storeys of reinforced glass, it seemed like the most wonderful idea – and it really was on a beautiful sunny day.
But when brooding clouds gathered and rain thrashed down, Grace couldn’t help but allow it to influence her state of mind.
Even the ceiling above them was glass. Everyone who visited for the first time gasped when they saw the underside of the grand piano in the upper room where they expected to see painted plaster.
She brought her eyes back to the table. ‘How’s the curry? Not too hot?’
‘It’s delicious,’ said Rosie. She started to laugh, covering her mouth as she chewed quickly. When she’d finished her mouthful she turned to Grace. ‘Do you remember the first time Paz made a curry for you and Dad?’
Grace could picture Frank’s face now as he bit into a bird’s eye green chilli.
He’d gone puce, started sweating and gulped down a whole glass of the expensive white wine Paz had bought to impress his girlfriend’s parents.
‘I do,’ said Grace, smiling. ‘I can still see him rushing around the kitchen putting glasses of milk and pots of yoghurt on the table to try to help, bless his little heart.’
‘He thought he’d blown it by nearly killing my dad,’ Rosie said to Jude. ‘It was hilarious to see this confident, hot-shot lawyer running around without a clue what to do.’
‘I can’t imagine it,’ said Jude. ‘Dad always pretends he knows how to fix things, even if he doesn’t.’
Grace smiled at the thought of her kind, sensible son-in-law. ‘He probably thinks that’s his job. Every parent wants their child to believe they’ve got it all worked out, don’t they?’
‘Are you saying you haven’t got it all worked out?’ Jude opened his eyes wide in mock horror. He turned to his mum. ‘What about you?’
Rosie pursed her lips and shook her head. ‘Sorry to break it to you, son, but I’m absolutely winging it, like everybody else. Glad to see my pretence at competence is working, though.’ She flicked her dark hair over her shoulder.
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ said Jude, laughing as his mother let her mouth hang open in mock indignance. He turned to Grace. ‘But you? I refuse to believe it. If you don’t know what you’re doing, there’s no hope for a special case like me.’
‘Don’t say that,’ Rosie said, her face suddenly serious. ‘We’ve talked about this. The language you use about yourself matters. You need to work on your inner voice. That’s what the psychiatrist said, isn’t it?’
The word psychiatrist made Grace stiffen.
She hated to think of her grandson needing to see a mental health doctor.
In her day they were still called shrinks and she associated them with patients at Broadmoor, not the gentle young man sitting at her table.
‘Have you had your follow-up appointment?’ Grace said. ‘How did it go?’
‘Yep,’ said Jude. ‘I’ve got an official diagnosis.
The doctor talked me through it this afternoon.
Not that I can remember a lot of what he said.
’ He half laughed. ‘That’s a symptom of inattentive ADHD, apparently.
Which is ironic, since I try so hard to concentrate all the time, but the effort of making eye contact and looking like I’m listening means the actual words pass me by. Madness.’ He shook his head.
‘I didn’t know you did that,’ said Rosie, her voice gentle. ‘Oh, love.’
‘To be honest, neither did I until the doctor asked me to repeat what he’d said. He made me feel like it was perfectly normal, though.’
‘It is normal,’ said Rosie. ‘I do that all the time, don’t you, Mum?’
Grace nodded, trying to assimilate the information that Jude now had a confirmed diagnosis for a mental health condition.
Or was it a disability? She had so many questions, and the first one was why he wanted this label at all.
Surely it wouldn’t be helpful for his life or his career?
‘I forget what people have said to me all the time.’ In truth, she couldn’t even recall the last proper conversation she’d had that wasn’t with her family.
She’d never been one for small talk, and since Frank’s death all the conversation had been crushed out of her to make room for the sadness.
Even the thought of passing the time of day with someone seemed completely alien to her now.
It was easier to keep herself to herself.
‘You don’t have to make me feel better,’ said Jude. ‘The doctor said what’s normal for me might not be normal for everyone, but that doesn’t make it abnormal.’
‘You are normal,’ said Grace. This was the problem with putting a tag on people; they stopped seeing themselves as just individuals trying to navigate an ever-changing world.
A lot of the things she’d heard about ADHD since Frank suggested Jude might have it sounded like problems half the population had – not that she’d exactly researched it.
Perhaps she should now. ‘How do you feel about finally having a diagnosis?’ She might not understand why he needed it, but she was desperate for him to be happy.
She felt his suffering as if it were her own, and one more moment of pain might break her.
‘Relieved,’ said Jude.
‘Just a shame it took so bloody long,’ said Rosie. ‘I feel awful that we misunderstood all the symptoms. At least we got there in the end.’ She covered her son’s hand with her own.
‘Yeah,’ said Jude. ‘Now I’ve got the medication, I’m hoping I’ll be able to focus better and get more done.’
Grace clamped her mouth closed. She did not like the idea of Jude taking the medical equivalent of speed.
Surely the synthetic amphetamines Rosie had told her about couldn’t be good for him, and if he was taking those, what was to stop him experimenting with other drugs?
The thought of the medication changing him in any way made her insides tighten.
‘Ah, but will it help you turn up on time and pick your underpants up off the floor?’ Rosie dropped her head to the side, her eyebrows raised and lips comically pursed and Grace wondered how she could be so casual about it.
‘Not unless it’s a miracle cure,’ Jude said, making a face at his mother.
‘Like you were any better when you were his age,’ said Grace, tapping Rosie on the forearm.
‘Let’s not get into that right now,’ said Rosie, straightening up and pretending to be prim. She lifted her glass. ‘To Jude, may the road ahead be smoother.’
Jude lifted his glass. ‘And to Grandpa, thanks for spotting the signs.’ He took a sip, then paused. ‘Thank goodness he knew what was going on with me, when even I didn’t have a clue.’