Page 97 of Great Sexpectations
‘The rug or the lamp post?’ I ask as I push him through the door into Nan’s flat.
Sonny scampers in and heads for a sofa as our grandmother watches with some level of admiration that I’m casually just holding a pair of bolt cutters to my side like some gangland boss bitch.
‘Both? And who’s she?’ Nan asks. In my fatigued, frozen state, I think she’s talking about me. I’m your granddaughter, Nan. Josie. But then I realise she’s talking about the blow-up doll. We really should deflate her, she’s a faff to carry around and her hair is all matted like a wet dog.
‘This is Keeley, Nan. She’s Sonny’s new bird.’
‘I don’t like the looks she’s giving me,’ she laughs. ‘I’ve put the water on if you want a bath, Son? What about some tea? I don’t have any clothes for you, so you’ll just have to wear my house coat, wrap yourself in towels and hot-water bottles.’
Sonny doesn’t talk but scampers next to Nan’s portable storage heater and holds his hands out, putting on some of her woolly socks and gloves.
‘I’ll take a tea?’ I say, following Nan into the kitchen. I like how she’s still got her curlers in. ‘Sorry for waking you up. It’s just your place is closer. I didn’t want to traipse him through the hotel I was staying at.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’ She opens the cupboard and gets some biscuits out. Jam sandwich creams. Yes, Nan. ‘Anyway, you and me need to have words.’
‘About?’ I ask. I’m also a tad cold so put my hands close to the warming kettle to heat them up.
‘I was on Instagram. How come I didn’t get an invite to this party you were at? How come I got stuck with the afternoon tea element of the hen do?’
‘I don’t think your heart would have taken it, Nan,’ I tell her.
‘I am the mother of a porn star, you silly bint. You had me at The Grosvenor with all the elderly aunties sipping Darjeeling and listing to all the medications they’re on. Boring as hell.’
I dig through my handbag as she pours hot water over a couple of mugs on the counter. Did we keep Nan away to protect the strippers? Maybe.
‘Here, don’t be sad. You can have some treats,’ I tell her, finding some favours at the bottom of my handbag. ‘It’s all penis-shaped, I’m afraid. These are bath bombs, smell them, they’re lovely.’
Does my nan stick a penis up her nose and smell it like a Vicks inhaler? Yes, she does.
‘What do you mean bomb? Does it explode? Is this going to aggravate my dermatitis?’
‘When it hits the water, it foams up. I use them, they’re very skin-kind. Here’s some other bits. I’d mind that lollipop on your teeth, though.’
I empty my handbag onto her kitchen counter. She picks up the four-inch lollipop.
‘Reminds me of someone I once dated,’ she says, cackling.
‘Nan!’ I shriek. ‘Do you want rubbers too?’
‘Well, I’m not getting pregnant at my age, am I? You silly mare. I thought you worked in sex, have you not worked that out yet?’
I narrow my eyes at her. ‘Do you know where the highest rising incidence of sexually transmitted diseases are these days? Older adults. I don’t know who you’re sharing a bed with on your bingo jollies, but I don’t want you getting the clap.’
‘You cheeky bird!’
She doesn’t deny it, though, and I don’t want to think too hard about that. I grab the mugs and bring them into the living room, stopping for a moment to see the balcony, the place I once stood with Cameron, the sofa we snoozed on. Damn it. Such is the problem with recent break-ups, everything becomes a trigger. Next time I see someone with chickenpox, I’m sure my eyes will glaze over.
‘You all right, you’re not going to throw up, are you?’ Nan asks me, wondering if I’m a bit merry and taking pause to keep myself from vomiting.
‘Nah. Just, it’s been a long week, a long month.’
‘Well, put your feet up, love,’ she tells me.
As I put the mugs down, I notice Sonny has gone down the solid insulation route, lying on the floor rolled up in about three duvets. I hand him a hot-water bottle and some tea, trying to locate his arms.
‘How’s it going in there? Do I need to set up IV fluids?’ Nan asks.
‘No… Hello, Nan,’ he says, his face poking through like a glow-worm.
