Chapter 2 #2
Twenty years in politics taught me how to read a face across the table. I did it with union bosses, heads of state, and Harry Matheson at his slipperiest.
I’m doing it now without meaning to. What I’m reading is a man who came to a café, half expecting a hoax, and is now trying to get his head around discovering that not only does he have a new son, but that new son is the former prime minister.
There’s nothing else there but genuineness.
After he’s taken a few good gulps of his tea, he sets the cup down.
“So, your mother raised you in Essex?” he asks.
I have no idea how much of the tabloid fallout he’s seen of the relationship between my mother and me, so I just go for the bare bones of the truth.
“My grandparents actually were the ones who raised me. They were good people.”
“Well, they obviously did a good job.” He whistles through his teeth. “My son became prime minister. Fuck me sideways.”
“It was a long journey from the alleyway in Brentwood to Downing Street,” I say.
“I still remember where I was when we heard the news that you were shot. I was at a meeting with the council planning officer, and her PA came in in tears and told us. It’s like Britain’s JFK moment.”
“Ah yes, there’s nothing like nearly dying to boost the approval ratings. But I don’t recommend it as a political strategy overall.”
He laughs, and god, I see even more of myself in his laughter, in the way he tilts his head back, in the way it starts as a surprised bark before mellowing into something warmer.
Grandad always said I laugh like I’m suspicious of joy.
It turns out I laugh like a builder from Manchester.
“And now you’re married to Prince Callum,” he says after his laughter dies. “I saw the announcement about the baby. Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thank you. That’s partly why I decided to find you now. I want our child to know their complete family history.”
Grant blinks and just stares at me, as if it’s just occurred to him that being my father means he’s about to become a grandfather to the next heir to the British throne.
Sure enough, the next words out of his mouth are, “Bloody hell, I’m going to be a grandfather to the royal baby.”
“Yes, you are.”
“A future King or Queen of the United Kingdom is going to be my grandchild.” It’s like he thinks rephrasing the concept will make it easier to digest.
“Ah yes, that is correct.”
He clears his throat. “Well, it’s fair to say I never saw that one coming.”
“I want you to know we don’t have any expectations,” I say quickly. “I mean, it’s completely up to you if you want to be involved in our child’s life or not.”
“Give over. Margaret and I have been holding out for grandkids. None of our lot seem to be getting their act together.”
I can’t help smiling at that.
For a second, he reminds me so much of Grandad. It might be the northern accent, or maybe just his straightforward, no-nonsense approach to life.
All my concerns about meeting this man, about potential rejection and dealing with a defensive stranger and careful negotiations about boundaries evaporate. In their place is something that feels almost like excitement.
I’ve opened this door, and if the rest of his family is anything like Grant Thompson, then it’s only going to be good things coming in.
His phone buzzes, and he squints down at it.
“Speak of the devil. Margaret’s messaging me.”
“Did you tell her you were meeting me today?”
“Yeah, I told her as soon as I got your message. I couldn’t not tell her, could I? We’ve been married for thirty-five years. You don’t keep secrets like that.”
“How did she take it?”
“Better than I deserved. I mean, it helps that it happened before I met her. Although it’s not a great indication of some of the choices I made when I was young and daft. Still, Margaret’s practical. Said what’s done is done, and it’s not like I knew about you to hide it.”
He pauses to read the message. “Oh shit.”
I feel myself tensing. “What is it?”
“It looks like Sarah turned up at the house and wanted to know where I was. Margaret told her, so now Sarah’s got all suspicious and thinks someone is trying to scam me.”
He looks up at me. “I don’t suppose you want to meet my wife and daughter, do you? We could drop by my house, show them I’m not being scammed.”
Of all the things I expected from today’s meeting, an immediate invite to Grant’s house wasn’t one of them.
But something loosens in my chest. He’s not managing me or buying time to think. He got a message from his wife, and his first thought was to bring me home so I could meet her.
“I’d love to meet them. And you could meet Callum if you want. He’s waiting nearby, and he’s very keen to be introduced.”
He blinks at me. “The Prince of Wales wants to meet me?”
“Of course he does.”
“I guess I’m his…father-in-law.” He turns his cup slowly on its saucer. “This is going to take a bit to get my head around.”
“Yes. I completely understand.”
“So, we’re doing this?” He swallows the last of his tea. “You follow me home, come meet Margaret and Sarah.”
This morning, I had Grant’s name in a folder and a short exchange of polite messages. Now I have an invitation home to meet my stepmother and half-sister.
It’s been a lifetime of nothing, and now everything is happening in an afternoon.
“I’ll just have to clear it with my protection officers first,” I say.
“Protection officers. Of course.” He scans the café with a furrowed brow. “Right. Well, I suppose I’ll have to get used to all this. Bodyguards and royal protocols.”
“I’m afraid it comes with the territory.”
He gives me a smile with a hint of humor. “I guess it could be worse. My mate Dave’s son-in-law sells timeshares in Benidorm and won’t shut up about investment opportunities. At least my new son-in-law has already got his property portfolio sorted.”