Page 11 of The Winter We Met
‘Gordon Bennett, I must have dozed off.’ She noticed Nik and sat more upright. ‘Jess, you could have warned me you were bringing a friend! I’d have at least put on a slash of lipstick and my smart striped blouse.’
Nik leant downwards and grasped her hand. ‘Great to meet you – and I love those red trousers. It’s my favourite colour.’
‘You’re Australian? The passenger Jess sat next to on the aeroplane? Just what this place needs – a good-looking sort who can tell us all the gossip about our favourite Aussie soaps.’
Relief infused me. Her smile had returned. She’d looked even frailer since Willow Court’s closing date had been announced. I’d checked with Lynn who said she’d not been eating so I’d called in with her favourite chocolates, but spied them on her bedside table unopened. We walked along to the dining room, nearing the nostalgic school dinner smell that always hung there. Gran waved at Pan and went ahead to join her friends at one of the rectangular tables. Betty accosted Nik.
‘It’s not right that you’ve been let in. I’ve got things to do out there.’
‘How old are your children?’ he asked and gently pulled up the strap of her handbag that had slipped off her shoulder.
She scratched her spiky, cropped grey hair. ‘Ten and eight. A right pair of rascals, they are. I need to get them bathed and to bed.’
‘They are lucky to have a mum looking after them so well,’ he said. ‘What are their names?’
‘Lily and Roger. No one’s children look smarter than mine, in their Sunday best…’ She stared into the past, smiling, rocking to and fro on her heels. I left to say hello to Pan. Alf and Glenda were on Gran’s table as well. Nik was chatting to Lynn now. I couldn’t wait to introduce him to everyone and beckoned for him to come over.
‘Alice tells us you’re from Australia,’ said Alf, interested eyes peering upwards. He squinted and ran a hand over his bald head, noisily breathing. ‘Your ancestors all convicts, then?’
‘Alf!’ Gran gave a glare harder than Betty’s and I waited for Alf to spout the Flat Earth theory that Australia didn’t really exist. Pan couldn’t help laughing. Glenda tutted.
‘Some people say those convicts never arrived and were really murdered,’ Alf continued.
‘Alf’s a fan of conspiracy theories,’ I said to Nik in a low voice.
‘I heard that, young lady,’ he said. ‘You make that sound like a bad thing, when the alternative is to believe that codswallop that man actually walked on the moon.’ He shook his head.
I’d learnt the hard way not to argue these points. He’d done his research and the detail of his viewpoint could go on for hours. A friend of his visited a couple of weeks ago and said Alf had always been interested the popular conspiracy theories, like the ones surrounding the murder of John F. Kennedy, and that his interest in theories had got much stronger since his wife had died.
Nik sat down opposite Alf, to the left of Gran. I sat at the end of the table, in between the two men, my leg accidentally brushing against Nik’s. For some reason I felt very aware of his physical presence.
‘In answer to your question, Alf,’ he said, ‘no, not convicts – my very law-abiding grandparents, on my mum’s side, emigrated from Finland.’
‘That explains your Viking height,’ said Glenda coyly.
Glendaflirting?
‘Probably, although there’s Greek heritage going right back. Must be why I love olives.’
‘I went to Australia once, with work,’ said Glenda.
‘What was your line of business?’ he asked.
‘I was personal assistant to the owner of a shipping insurance company,’ she said proudly. ‘Our client there lived in the famous Eureka Tower. The view was quite spectacular.’
‘Very exclusive. Lucky you.’
‘But Finland’s beautiful,’ I said. ‘All those lakes and forests… why did your grandparents want to leave, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Grams hated the cold. Winter temperatures can easily drop to minus thirty. A good summer’s day might hit twenty – low by even the UK’s standards. She was always catching colds.’
‘I had the pleasure of working with Hugh Jackman once,’ said Pan, in her Received Pronunciation tone. ‘He had a lovely accent like yours.’ A firework went off, outside, and Buddy jumped. Pan stroked his head and murmured comforting words. He’d settled at her feet. Buddy always seemed to know which residents were most vulnerable. He’d only just stopped going straight over to Alf each time we visited, as if sensing the widower had gradually become stronger. Alf had moved here after losing his wife eighteen months ago.
‘Couldn’t function after my Maisie went,’ he’d said one day, when Pan was talking about her late husband. ‘I swear, overnight, my heart failure got worse. She helped me get dressed on the days I was feeling dead tired and breathless. And she was a bloomin’ good cook. But most important of all, Maisie was the best company and I loved the bones of her. I’m man enough to admit I get lonely, but she and I always had an agreement – we’d never be a burden to the kids. So moving here was a non-brainer…’
‘Hugh was a gorgeous chap. So friendly,’ said Pan.
She meant Hugh Grant. Am dram had always been a hobby of Pan’s and once she’d been an extra inLove Actually. She’d got muddled sinceThe Greatest Showmanbecame her new favourite film, but it was kinder not to correct her. Since the diagnosis she felt unsure enough about her life as it was. She didn’t need other people constantly making her feel as if everything about her world was wrong. Gran had caught her crying after her hospital appointment. Something had been wrong for a while and now Pan didn’t know which was worse – the knowing or not knowing.
