Chapter Twenty

Gran’s eventually assessed, and an X-ray reveals she has a broken wrist. It isn’t a bad break, but Gran’s admitted for an overnight stay due to the bump she took to the head on the way down the stairs. She isn’t happy about it, but she doesn’t put up a fight and she’s soon settled on the ward with a stack of magazines, a cup of ‘decent enough’ tea and a bunch of flowers Dad bought from the hospital’s little shop.

‘You two can get off now.’ Gran’s finally had some painkillers, but she still winces as she shifts position on the bed, her eyes flicking between me and James. ‘I think you’re only allowed two visitors, so Reggie and Kitty will keep me company for a bit before I send them packing too.’

‘I’ll come and see you tomorrow.’ I stoop down and kiss Gran’s cheek. She’s got a bit more colour to her now, but she looks frail for the first time. I always assumed Gran was invincible, but today has been a stark reminder that she’s no spring chicken (not that I would ever dare say this out loud to her).

‘I’ll be home tomorrow.’ Gran may look diminished tucked up in the narrow bed, but her voice rings clear.

‘Then I’ll come and see you at home. You’ll need help around the house now you’ve got a busted wrist. I’ll help you out with cooking and stuff.’

‘Haven’t I suffered enough?’ Gran chuckles as she reaches out to take my hand with her good one. ‘I’m kidding. That would be very helpful. You’re a good girl.’ She squeezes my hand before turning her attention to James. ‘And you’re a good lad. Thank you for everything today. I’m not sure I would have been able to drag myself up off the floor. You do realise this means you two will have to crochet all those sausage dogs yourselves now, don’t you?’ She lifts her plaster-casted arm gently off the pillow it’s been resting on. ‘I’ll be out of action for about six weeks, according to the nurse.’

‘What?’ I look from Gran to James and back again, my mouth gaping. ‘But I’m rubbish at it. I can barely make a granny square. How am I supposed to make a whole dog on my own?’

‘Not just one whole dog. Several of them. As many as you can manage. I promised the shelter we’d deliver a whole litter.’ Gran winks at me. ‘You’ll be fine. You’ve already got the hang of it. It just takes practice, and you can help each other out. And I’ll be there to advise, even if I can’t physically do much.’

‘But…’ I look at James for support, but he simply shrugs and starts to back away. Just when I was starting to warm to him.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Cordy. Let me know if you need anything. I can pick you up once you’re discharged?’

‘Could I get a lift with you now?’ Mum grabs her handbag from under the chair and hooks it onto her shoulder before turning to Gran. ‘I’ll go and grab some bits and pieces for you – your own nightie, some clean clothes, toiletries, that sort of thing.’

‘My reading glasses are on the coffee table.’ Gran nods towards the stack of magazines on top of the bedside locker. ‘And I’ll need my night cream and a hairbrush.’ She pats her bedraggled hair. ‘I must look a state.’

‘You look as beautiful as ever, Cordy.’ Mum stoops to kiss her on the cheek. ‘I won’t be long.’

We head through the maze of corridors and trek across the car park to James’ car. I’m miffed about the sausage dog thing, so I hang back, trailing after Mum and James as they chat, mostly about Gran. It isn’t James’ fault I’ve been roped into the project, but he could have backed me up just then. As far as I know, James hasn’t even attempted the sausage dog pattern, so although he aced the granny squares, he could be totally crap at whimsical amigurumi pets. Magic loops may be the undoing of him.

I slip into the back seat of the car, spotting signs of James’ family life back here, from the child’s booster seat on one side, an abandoned blue teddy bear with a pirate’s patch over one eye, and a pocket stuffed with empty crisp packets. I still can’t believe he’s a father, even with the evidence right in front of me.

Mum and James are still chatting as we set off, and I’m still slightly miffed at the sausage dog thing, so I tune them out and take my phone out of my pocket. I haven’t spoken to Paul all day, I realise, so I send him a quick message about Gran, assuring him she’s okay but leaving enough room for a bit of sympathy for her worried granddaughter. He replies almost straight away.

That sucks glad she’s on the mend though xx

Two kisses. I’m still grinning about them when James pulls up outside The Fish & Chip Shop Around The Corner, until I remember poor Bolan hasn’t been fed since early this morning and he’s usually demanding his ‘evening’ meal by mid-afternoon. I rush straight up to the flat to feed the cat, whose hunger is so great he zigzags between my feet and nearly sends me flying across the kitchen. With Bolan wolfing down his organic chicken and lamb casserole, I head downstairs to relieve Bridget, who has stayed on to cover my absence. The teatime rush is imminent, so I hurry to wash my hands and shove my tabard, hairnet and hat on before getting stuck into the prep for the evening’s trade. It’s a Friday, so I’m kept busy until closing. I have Ross out the front with me, while Elliot is in the back, keeping us stocked up with sliced potatoes and loading and unloading the dishwasher. Babs is back, smiling even as she tells me about the super-stressful day she’s had at work (‘But please don’t let me have chips. I shouldn’t even be in here at all…’), along with Riley, who’s miffed that Claire has switched her shift with Ross so she can finish off an assignment that’s due in tomorrow, and Fleetwood Jack, who’s meeting Ross for the first time.

‘I’ll give owt a go, me.’ Jack lifts his shoulder in a casual shrug. ‘I once snorted a line of baking powder that my mam hadn’t cleared up off the kitchen worktop, just to see if it had the same effects as coke.’ His shoulders slump. ‘It didn’t. Shame, really. It’s much cheaper.’

Poor Ross doesn’t know how to respond and simply gapes at Jack, unblinking, uncomprehending, until I swoop in, nudging Ross aside so I can serve Jack and have him on his way. I should have taught him about Jack before we mastered chip-wrapping.

I’m so busy in the shop, I don’t have the time to worry – about Gran and the sausage dog project – until I flop into bed. I’m exhausted but my mind won’t switch off with what ifs. What if James hadn’t come home for lunch? What if James hadn’t moved in with Gran and she’d been left slumped at the bottom of the stairs for hours? What if the bump to her head had been more severe? What if she hadn’t walked away with a broken wrist and bruises? What if…?

My bullet journal is on the bedside table, and I grab it to take my mind off the questions buzzing around my brain. Flicking through my grown-up to-do list, I’m dismayed to find I’ve only managed to cross off five items of many, especially as I need to add ‘find permanent flat’ because Russell and Jed will be back tomorrow, and unless I’m planning on claiming squatter’s rights, I’ll be moving back home to Mum and Dad’s. I’ve missed them, obviously, but it’s definitely time to move out and get some independence.

Pushing a hand against my mouth, I stifle a yawn as I plonk the journal on the bedside table. Tomorrow, I’m going to stop messing around and start taking this growing-up thing seriously.