Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Aron’s father had gone one better than booking Granny’s booth. He had hired a private dining room at The Dorchester for their tentative reunion.

“I can’t wait to see Victoria and Andrew,” Aron said. “I feel bad I’ve not had a chance before now.”

Granny squeezed his arm as they marched through the lobby of the hotel.

“That’s entirely my fault. I will tell them how hard I’m working you. They’re probably relieved I don’t have any jobs for them.”

“I feel honoured and cursed, Grandmother.”

Her laughter echoed around the room.

“Mrs Wimpole.”

“Albert.”

A short squat man embraced his grandmother.

“Come this way.”

They dutifully followed him. He glanced down to see Granny basking in the stares from everyone thinking she must be a star.

“Do you know everyone in London?”

“Only the ones worth knowing.”

They reached the doors which Albert opened with panache. The room was decent sized with a huge mural of green splashes of paint dominating one wall. There was no natural light. Probably best in case it descended into a slanging match.

“If you’d care to step this way, Mrs Wimpole,” Albert said.

“Thank you, dear. I do hope your wife and little one are thriving.”

“They are,” he replied, flushing. “Thank you, Mrs Wimpole.”

Granny floated past him. She looked radiant in a lavender suit with spotted blouse. Aron had put on a suit. He would not be accused of being scruffy.

He followed in her slipstream. His heart dropped when he saw his mother standing by the table. She looked older. It had been four years since they’d last seen each other so it stood to reason. Even so, it startled him. His father hadn’t changed as much. That was for sure.

Her new painfully short haircut didn’t help matters. She’d chosen a bright red dress that hung off her slight frame.

If there was ever a woman who should be glad they’ve got a gay son.

He came to earth with a bump as his siblings crashing into him on either side. Victoria was thirty-three and lived in London. Andrew was twenty-nine and currently resided in Hanoi.

“Hey, you two,” Aron said.

They’d both visited him on more than one occasion in New York. He’d loved showing them round. More than a few hangovers were created on their trips.

“What about your grandmother?” Granny said. “Don’t I get a hug, too?”

The two fell on the slight woman, who giggled.

“That’s more like it. Now why don’t we three go and find Albert and tell him we’re famished? Afternoon teas all round, I say. William, have you got this?”

She followed this up with one of her looks that suggested resistance was futile.

“Yes, Mother.”

Victoria glanced at Aron, worry etched on her face. He nodded. It would be fine.

Andrew wouldn’t remember most of the arguments. Victoria, however, hadn’t fared as well. She’d tried to defend him but his mother and sometimes grandfather were a forceful duo. In the end, he’d told her not to get involved. It was unfair that her life should be ruined by such bigotry.

She squeezed his hand as Granny led them out. For the first time in probably twenty years, Aron was alone in a room with just his parents.

“Come. Sit down,” his father said.

Aron complied. It was one of those moments where time felt like wading through treacle. He seemed to take an inordinate amount of time sitting at his place before meeting his mother’s gaze.

“Your father told me that New York has had a good effect on you,” his mother ventured. “You look healthy. I must say.”

“So do you,” he replied. “New haircut?”

She stroked the back of her head. “Oh yes. I felt like a change. Not as chic as New York but I like it.”

The Aron of yesteryear would have leapt on that as a dig. Instead, he let it float past. He would demonstrate that he was impervious to any perceived attack. Years of therapy had taught him how to hold himself together. This was the first time he had put it to the ultimate use. He would not fail.

“Tea?” his father asked.

“Sure.”

His mother hadn’t taken her eyes off him. A new occurrence. Usually, she couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes.

“Are you enjoying it?” she asked. “New York, I mean.”

“I am. There’s never a dull moment. How about you? Are you still on the hospital board?”

Aron’s maternal grandfather had been big in medicine. An irony that the cruellest man Aron had ever met would make it in the caring profession.

“Oh yes. It keeps me busy.”

Silence descended. In some ways their awkwardness was more painful to Aron than all the insults they’d hurled at each other over the years. There had been good times. They were the ones he tried to block out the most. It was too painful to remember.

“Aron,” his mother said. “It really is good to see you.”

Hope glimmered within him. A flame that he thought he’d doused many years ago. He needed to force it down. It was far too dangerous to play with.

“You too. Both. And how exciting that we’re meeting for Granny’s wedding. Who would have thought it?”

I need to get on neutral ground. At least until I’ve sussed this out.

His mother nodded. “Yes. There’s hope for us all to change, I suppose.”

Her meaningful expression unnerved Aron. Thankfully, the moment was broken by Granny and his siblings returning.

“We’ve gone for the Christmas afternoon teas,” Andrew said, flopping into the chair next to Aron. “Bloody love mince pies.”

“They’re considered a delicacy in New York. It took me ages to find a baker that did them,” Aron replied.

“And fizz,” Victoria added. “It is a celebration after all.”

“Quite right,” Aron’s father said.

Granny sat on Aron’s other side. Her presence instantly calming him. The lack of natural light in the room did give it an intense atmosphere. Probably amazing for an intimate meal. Not great for a tense family reunion.

“I dread to think how much I’m going to drink in the next week,” Granny said with a chuckle. “I’m having a hen do on Thursday. My first.”

“Didn’t you have one before you married Grandpa?” Andrew asked.

“Oh no. It wasn’t respectable, according to my mother.”

Victoria turned to her parents. “Did you have one, Mum?”

His mother smiled. “I had a fancy dress party at Tramp in town.”

Aron raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t imagine his mother partying with the Tramp crowd that generally included A-list celebrities and royalty back in the day.

“Who did you go as?” Aron asked, genuinely interested.

“Princess Diana,” his mother replied. “I had the haircut in those days. Everyone did.”

There was a warmth in her eyes that hadn’t been there for such a long time. It unnerved Aron. Yet, instinct told him to respond.

“Hey,” Aron said, glancing across at his mother. “Would you like to come? And Victoria.”

To his amazement, she flushed red. “Really? Oh I’d love to.”

“Me too,” Victoria piped up.

He sipped from his drink. He didn’t know what to make of this situation. One thing was for sure, he would get to the bottom of it. For good or for bad.

Stealing a glance at his mother, he saw a smile that went all the way to her eyes.

Weird.

It was well into the evening when they got home. Once they’d finished at The Dorchester, Granny had insisted they go to a wine bar that she and the Professor had found recently on a jaunt into the city. Of course she would.

It was fabulous and drinks flowed. Aron and his mother still circled each other warily but no arguments had erupted. Just to be sure, he had gone onto sparkling water early on in proceedings. Unlike Granny, Victoria, Andrew and his father who would have a monster of a credit card bill tomorrow.

Granny had gone straight to bed. The champagne must have hit her harder than he realised. He saw no other reason for her not indulging in a blow-by-blow dissection of the day.

It came as a relief. His mother’s charm offensive had confused him enough without Granny’s opinion. He needed to let things settle a bit before facing that.

The clock had only just chimed nine. Aron put the book down he’d been trying to read. The silence in the house was suffocating.

“Fuck it.”

He leapt up and grabbed his coat. The cold air slapped like a frozen fish as he stepped out of the house. Gently he closed the door behind him. Granny might be in a Bollinger-induced slumber, but he wouldn’t put it past Parkin taking notes on his movements.

The Crescent was quiet as he dashed up the cobbles.

Aron ran up the steps to the Professor’s house and pressed the bell. It was opened by the man himself.

“Aron.”

“Oh hi, Professor. I wondered if Paul was available.”

“He’s in the bath.”

Suddenly, he realised how ridiculous he was being.

“Of course. Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Why don’t you come in? I’m sure he’ll be like a prune by now. I’ll give him a knock.”

“Are you sure?”

The Professor opened the door wider. Aron took his cue and went inside. The Professor’s style was far more chaotic than his granny’s. His home still had a feeling of cosiness to it.

Not for the first time, Aron fretted about how married life would pan out for these two. He certainly couldn’t see Granny living amongst all the memorabilia currently surrounding him.

They went up to the Professor’s drawing room.

“I won’t be a jiffy.”

Aron took a seat on the comfy overstuffed sofa. Every seat appeared to be designed as if curling up with a book was the main activity. In this very room Aron had first understood the glory of the written word. Something that had seized him and never let go.

There were some books on the shelves that the New York Public Library would probably want to get their hands on someday.

It had been quite a day. From the call with Jane to the glimmer of an olive branch from his mother.

The Professor soon came back.

“He’d fallen asleep,” he said. “I must say, I do enjoy having him home. Is everything okay, Aron? It’s not your grandmother, is it?”

“Nothing like that,” Aron replied. “She’s fast asleep.”

The Professor’s eyes shone. “Albert at The Dorchester’s never-ending supply of champers?”

Aron nodded. “Then your new favourite bar in Mayfair.”

“That’s my girl.”

This man really loved her. Aron couldn’t believe he’d never noticed it before. Now things were out in the open, it was so obvious.

“How did today go?”

Aron sighed. “Honestly? I’ve no bloody idea. Mum was…well, she was friendly.”

It broke his heart how suspicious he sounded. Yet, it was for good reason.

“And you don’t trust her?”

“I don’t know if I can. So much has passed between us.”

The Professor nodded. “I understand that. She has been very hard on you over the years. What does your grandmother think?”

Aron shook his head. “In the cab she was on a loop about how I need to protect myself. I think I’ll revisit it with her tomorrow. If you don’t mind me asking, what are your thoughts?”

“Mine?”

“Yes. I would value your opinion.”

The Professor seemed genuinely touched that Aron would ask him.

“Well, I hate to say that I may come at this from a different angle from your grandmother. I hope you’re not going to cause the first marital squabble.”

“Anything you say will be treated with the utmost confidentiality.”

The Professor grinned. “I do believe an alliance has been formed.”

Aron reached forward and squeezed the Professor’s arm. “I got you.”

This made the Professor howl.

“Oh we really must steal you back from America,” he said. “The literature buff that I discovered would never say that.”

Aron giggled. “Sorry, Prof.”

“But you asked for my opinion,” the Professor said. “I think that people should be given the opportunity to atone for their mistakes. Things don’t always have to return to the way they were. Indeed, many times they can’t. However, to feud is such a waste of one’s energy and only leads to regret.”

There he had it. Someone had verbalised that tiny flash of hope that refused to be extinguished. Something that would probably keep him awake tonight as he mulled it all over.

“I think you wanted me to say that, didn’t you?”

Aron’s eyes welled. “I really did. Thank you. I’m terrified.”

“Remember, you can’t lose something you don’t have,” the Professor replied. “I’ve learnt that, on occasion, going with the flow and letting things happen can have the most fruitful of outcomes.”

“A plan I feel will come in handy for your future married life.”

They both burst out laughing.

“What’s going on in here? Are we having a party?”

Paul came in the room as impossibly gorgeous as ever. He had on grey sweatpants and a blue sweatshirt. His locks, still wet from the bath, hung around his face. The sweatpants on the other hand clung to something far more interesting.

Aron was transfixed which only served to put that cocky grin on Paul’s face.

He flopped down on the other side of the couch to Aron, who drank in the smell of the potions Paul had had in the bath.

“How about a glass of wine?” the Professor said, getting to his feet. “Can’t let my fiancée have all the fun.”

Without waiting for an answer, he left the room.

“So what’s up?” Paul asked.

“Nothing,” Aron replied. “It’s stupid really. I’d identified an emotion and thought I’d share.”

“Oh yes? What’s that?”

Without thinking, Aron crawled up the couch and kissed Paul on the lips.

“Hope.”