Chapter Nineteen

I take the careers test again in the morning, to see if it’ll throw up any careers I’m actually interested in, but it gives pretty much the same list, even when I keep fudging my answers to the multiple-choice questions. I’m not majorly impressed with the results. Teacher? No, thank you. Kids are okay in very, very small doses. Politician or diplomat? I don’t know the first thing about politics, other than it makes Dad shout at the telly a lot, and he refuses to discuss it with Jerry since a near punch-up during the lead-up to the Brexit referendum, and I have no idea what a diplomat is or does and I’m in no rush to google it. I do quite like the idea of being an artist, but I don’t think a few doodles in my bullet journal show a real passion for the arts. I had a chat with the careers advisor back when I was at school, who thought I’d be suited to becoming a nursery nurse as I enjoyed a bit of painting (‘Creative traits are useful when it comes to working with children!’), but it turned out she’d told all the girls that they should become nursery nurses (and the boys mechanics) so I didn’t give her opinion much weight.

Paul still hasn’t replied to last night’s message and I’m itching to tap out another, to prompt him to respond. Is that too needy? Probably, so I grab my crochet from the ‘project bag’ I bought myself at the supermarket yesterday as a distraction. It isn’t a real project bag like Gran’s, but the sunshine-yellow packed-lunch bag with the elephant squirting water on the front was too hard to resist, and it’s the perfect size to store my yarn and hook.

I’ve started on the body of the stripy sausage dog now and have got to the stage where I’m lengthening the trunk by repeating the same stitch over and over again, which is oddly therapeutic. So therapeutic, in fact, that I forget to check my phone for messages from Paul, and I jump a mile when it starts to ring. There’s an unknown number on the screen, and I consider ignoring it (it’s probably one of those annoying have-you-been-in-an-accident-that-wasn’t-your-fault type calls) but my thumb taps the answer button and I press the phone to my ear.

‘Hello?’ I carefully move my crochet from my lap to my project bag on the coffee table, hoping I don’t dislodge any stitches.

‘Cleo? It’s James.’

I unwedge my little scissors from where they’ve fallen down between the sofa cushions and toss them into the bag while grunting with reluctant acknowledgement.

‘It’s Cordy. She’s had an accident.’

I’m fully alert now, and Bolan starts as I leap up from the sofa, pressing the phone tighter against my ear.

‘Don’t panic. She’s okay.’

Too late, mate. ‘What’s happened to her?’ What did you do? I knew I couldn’t trust James. How could I have left her with him, vulnerable and na?ve to his scheming?

‘She slipped on the stairs.’

Slipped? Or was pushed?

‘I popped back to the house on my lunch break and found her at the bottom of the stairs. She was awake but a bit woozy. She thinks she banged her head, and she’s hurt her wrist. I’ve phoned for an ambulance. Cordy said not to, that she was fine and just needed a cup of sweet tea for the shock, but I think she needs to be checked over.’

I’m already making my way down the stairs as James is talking, my feet thundering on the steps in their haste. ‘I’m coming over.’ I end the call and shove my phone in my pocket as I yank open the door. I leg it all the way to Gran’s, cutting through the park to shave a few minutes off the journey, listening for the sound of sirens over the racket of my laboured breathing and the pounding in my ears. I’m worried about missing them, about Gran being taken away without me seeing her and reassuring her that she’s going to be okay, but my concerns are unfounded as the ambulance isn’t even there when I reach the house.

‘Oh my God. Gran.’

She’s in the hallway, her back leaning against the wall and her arm resting on a throw cushion on her lap.

‘I’m fine. Honestly, it’s all a fuss over nothing.’ Gran smiles at me, but the smile looks wobbly and her skin is pale and slightly clammy. She looks so small, sitting there on the floor. James is kneeling next to her and although he hasn’t taken a tumble down the stairs, he looks visibly shaken too. Concern – or a guilty conscience?

‘They said not to move her.’ He stands and heads for the door, which is still open behind me. He peers out. ‘What’s taking them so long?’

‘They’ll have real emergencies to get to, not daft old women who trip over their own feet.’

‘You’re not a daft old woman.’ I crouch next to Gran and place my hand against her forehead, like Mum used to do when I wasn’t feeling well.

‘I don’t even know how it happened. One minute I’m coming down the stairs, the next James is waking me up in a flap. I think I nearly gave him a heart attack, the poor boy.’

‘Waking up? So you passed out?’

Gran sweeps a loose strand of hair off her forehead with her good hand. ‘Maybe, but only for a minute or two.’ She peers past me. We’re the only ones left in the hallway as James has wandered out to the pavement. ‘I didn’t tell James that. Didn’t want to worry him even more.’

‘Oh, Gran.’ I take her good hand in mine and give it a gentle squeeze. ‘You shouldn’t be thinking about other people at a time like this. And when the paramedics get here, you have to tell them everything, okay? It’s important.’ I give her a hard stare, and she responds with a minute nod of her head. ‘Who was here, Gran, when you fell?’ I ask the question gently, trying not to glare out of the door towards James.

‘Nobody. James was at work. I’m lucky he popped home when he did. I could have been lying here until teatime.’

So James didn’t hurl my gran down the stairs then. He’s donned his cape to be the superhero again rather than the villain, only this time I’m grateful for his actions.

‘Can I get you anything? A cup of tea?’

‘They said not to give her anything to eat or drink.’ James is back, striding into the hallway but still looking behind him at the street.

‘Not even a paracetamol, and my head is banging.’ Gran reaches for her head and winces. ‘That’s all I need, really. A paracetamol, a cup of tea, and a sit-down for a bit. I’ll be right as rain once I’ve got over the shock and embarrassment.’

‘Then that’s what the paramedics will advise.’ I give Gran’s hand another squeeze before turning to James. ‘Do Mum and Dad know what’s happened?’

‘I phoned your mum after I’d phoned for the ambulance. She’s picking your dad up from work and coming over.’

Gran tuts. ‘There’s no need.’

‘They’re worried about you. We all are.’ James is pacing up and down the hallway, peering out of the still-open door whenever he reaches that end.

‘I’m a little chilly, James. Could you be a dear and grab my blanket from the back of the sofa for me?’ Gran waits until James is out of sight before she lowers her voice. ‘I’m not really cold – I just had to give him a little job to do. The lad’s going to wear a path through my carpet if he doesn’t stop pacing.’

I feel a knot of guilt for suspecting he’d had something to do with Gran’s fall. From now on, I’m going to have nothing but Good Thoughts about James, and I’m definitely going to stop plundering his coffee pods.

Mum and Dad arrived about twenty minutes before the ambulance (by which point, James had worked on his hallway path a bit more, until Gran instructed him to keep watch outside, just to save her carpet). The paramedic examines Gran before giving the verdict she’s been dreading – she has to go to hospital. Mum goes with Gran in the ambulance while James offers to give Dad and me a lift.

‘Don’t you have to get back to work?’ Dad watches as the ambulance turns off the street before heading for James’ car.

‘Don’t worry about it. I rang them earlier to warn them I probably wouldn’t be in for the rest of the day.’

‘You’re a good lad.’ Dad claps James on the back and I feel that stab of guilt again. I’ve severely – and unfairly – misjudged the man. He’s been nothing but charming – good company for Gran, helpful around the house, generous with his coffee pods – and I’ve painted him as a monstrous grifter who’s only interested in getting his mitts on Gran’s pension. If I had my bullet journal with me, I’d add today’s lesson to it: ‘Never Make Snap Judgements’. I’d dedicate an entire page to it, using my most decorative (and practised) fonts and illustrating it with doodled flowers and maybe a fox, because I’m pretty good at foxes.

It takes an age to find a parking spot at the hospital, and we end up tucked away in a corner, as far from A & E as we could possibly be without leaving the grounds.

‘You all didn’t need to come.’ Gran shifts in the plastic chair when we find her in the waiting room, her lips pressed together with the discomfort the movement has brought. ‘I feel like an idiot, wasting your time like this.’

‘It isn’t a waste of anybody’s time.’ I sit next to Gran, noting with alarm that bruising has started to appear on her arms and cheekbone. ‘We want to be here, to make sure you’re all right. We’d only worry even more if we were stuck at home.’

‘Will you at least do something to stop him from pacing?’ Gran nods at James, who’s already tracing a path along the length of the packed waiting room. She smiles fondly as he turns smartly at the table of grotty-looking magazines and marches towards the desk.

‘Come on.’ I get up and thread my arm through James’. ‘Let’s go and find a vending machine. I need coffee, even if it’s of the disgusting kind.’ There’s a vending machine in the corner of the waiting room, but I pretend not to have noticed it and lead James through the swinging doors and into a corridor. My Converse squeak on the glossy floor as we wander through a maze of corridors, finally chancing upon another vending machine.

‘Thanks for everything you’ve done today.’ I feed coins into the machine and select from one of three coffee options (black coffee, coffee with milk, coffee with milk and sugar).

‘I didn’t really do anything.’ James digs in his trouser pocket and produces a fistful of change, which he holds out to me. I shake my head. The least I can do is buy the man a crappy cup of coffee after all the pods I’ve pinched from the cupboard.

‘You found Gran. You phoned the ambulance.’ I move the cup of vile-looking coffee out of the way and add more coins to the machine. ‘You phoned me and Mum. You gave me and Dad a lift here. You kept calm. Ish.’ I grin at him. ‘You really need to stop the pacing.’

‘I know, but I can’t help it. You should have seen me when Carla was in labour with Seth and Edith. I nearly wore a hole in the floor of the delivery suite. At one point, Carla threatened to tie me to the chair if I didn’t stop.’

I didn’t know his ex-wife’s name until now. There’s a lot I still don’t know about him because I haven’t bothered to find out.

‘You’re only three years older than me.’ I indicate that James should select his drink of choice. ‘How is it possible you have two kids already? I mean, my best friend from school has two kids, but they’re tiny. How old did you say Seth was?’

James pushes the ‘coffee with milk’ button. ‘He’s eleven.’

‘But that would’ve made you…’ I do the calculation in my head. ‘Seventeen when you had him?’

‘Yep.’ James lifts the cup carefully and grimaces when he clocks the browny-grey liquid inside.

‘ Seventeen? That’s so young.’ I add more coins to the machine and select ‘tea with milk’ for Mum. ‘I was still hanging out with my mates and getting pissed on cheap cider in the park when I was seventeen. I can’t imagine being responsible for another human being at that age. I’m struggling taking responsibility for a cat at the moment.’

‘I didn’t have much choice. It happened, so we had to deal with it as best as we could. It wasn’t ideal, but we’ve done our best and we had a lot of support from Carla’s parents. They’ve been great.’

‘What about your parents?’ I’ve gone from zero interest in James’ life to nosy bugger in a matter of seconds.

‘Mum’s done her best, I suppose, but we don’t have the best relationship. I don’t get on with my stepdad and Mum’s stuck in the middle. It’s all a bit awkward.’ James goes to take a sip of the minging coffee but changes his mind. ‘Dad’s never really been a major part of my life. He doesn’t have much interest in his kids – I think he’s lost count of how many he’s got, to be honest. So when Carla was pregnant with Seth, I knew I had to do better, whatever it took.’ James shrugs and takes the plunge, taking the tiniest sip of his coffee. I can see he regrets it immediately. His eyes search the corridor, but there’s nowhere to dispose of the foul drink – not even a handy potted plant – so he’s forced to swallow it.

‘For what it’s worth, I’m amazed. I couldn’t have been so grown-up at that age. I’m not even grown-up now.’

‘Being grown-up is overrated.’ James grabs the cup of tea and I select another one for Dad. ‘It didn’t feel amazing when all my friends were going off to college and university and starting the careers of their dreams and I was taking any crappy job I could get that only just managed to cover the bills. I was pretty miserable in the early years, but I was determined to provide for my son, whatever it took.’

‘I’m lucky, I guess.’ We start to head back along the corridor, more slowly this time with the cups of hot drinks. ‘I’ve always loved my job, and I’m good at it. I like chatting with the customers and some of them even like chatting back. I’ll miss it when I leave.’

‘You’re leaving?’ James uses his elbow to open the door at the end of the corridor and stops it swinging shut with his body so I can pass through.

‘It’s part of this whole growing-up thing I’ve got going on. I’m learning to drive, looking after myself more instead of relying on Mum, and I’m going to start a fabulous new career.’

‘Doing what?’

I shrug (carefully, so I don’t spill the minging drinks). ‘No idea yet. I’m still working on it. What do you do?’

‘I’m an accountant.’ He pulls a face. ‘Not the exciting career of my dreams, believe me.’

‘What did you want to be?’

James looks down at the floor, where his shoes are squeaking with each step. ‘I wanted to be a performer. I was in a band and everything, but then Seth came along…’

‘And you ended up being an accountant.’

‘Eventually. I’ve done all sorts in between – bar work, waiting tables, I even went out on the trawlers for a bit, which was bloody hard graft. But then Carla’s uncle took me under his wing and offered me an apprenticeship at his firm, and that’s where I’ve been ever since.’

‘And do you enjoy it? Being an accountant?’

James gives me a half-smile. ‘I wouldn’t say enjoy, but I don’t hate it and it’s a warm and dry nine-to-five kind of job so I can’t complain.’

We’ve reached the A & E department, where Gran’s still sitting on the plastic chair, looking bruised and miserable. Mum and Dad are sitting either side of her, and I sit next to Mum and hand her the cup of tea.

‘Any news?’

‘Nothing yet.’ Mum blows on her tea. There are flaky white bits floating on the top. ‘Hopefully it won’t be too long before they call us through though.’ She leans over to place the cup of vileness onto the table in front of us. ‘Your gran’s in a lot of pain. She’s pretending not to be, so we don’t worry, but I can tell.’

Gran tuts, but she’s cradling her hand and her face is pinched. ‘I’m fine. Embarrassed more than anything, and annoyed with myself for wasting everyone’s time.’

‘You’re not wasting anybody’s time, Mum.’ Dad’s tea, I notice, has been abandoned on the table too.

‘You should be at work, and Kitty and James. Cleo too, probably. Instead, you’re all sitting here, on these uncomfortable seats with that revolting-looking tea. Where have they dredged it from? A septic tank? If there’s one positive of chucking yourself down the stairs, it’s that you’re nil-by-mouth until they’ve assessed you. I hope they didn’t charge you for that muck.’

Mum catches my eye and raises an eyebrow. ‘See? Crabby. That means she’s really suffering.’