Chapter Twenty-Two

With Bolan being away, I managed to have a well-deserved lie-in this morning but it means I’m running late. I said I’d be at Claire’s for eleven, to give her time to get ready for her date, and it’s already quarter to and I’m still in my pyjamas and shovelling muesli into my mouth. It’s almost half past eleven by the time I collapse against Claire’s front door, wheezing from the sprint across town with only just enough energy to press the buzzer for her flat. I don’t even have the energy reserves to weep at the thought of climbing the stairs up to the second floor.

‘Sorry. I’m. Late.’ I’m doubled over, my hands resting on my thighs as I gulp down oxygen when Claire opens the door to her flat. When Paul and I meet up again, we should definitely start working out together. I’m so unfit, and there’s no better motivation to work out than getting to see Paul with his top off.

‘It’s okay. You’re just in time to help me decide what to wear.’ Claire leads the way to her bedroom, where there are three tops hooked on to the front of her wardrobe door. ‘I’m definitely wearing these.’ She picks up a pair of ripped skinny jeans and rests them against her body. ‘But I can’t decide which top. We’re going bowling, so is this too dressy?’ She unhooks a white low-cut top with voluminous sleeves and holds it above the jeans. It’s a beautiful top that’s fitted at the bust but flares out with pleats underneath to give a floaty effect.

‘The sleeves may become a problem if you’re bowling.’ I pinch one of the sleeves between finger and thumb and stretch it out. That’s a lot of fabric for a sleeve.

‘I really like this vest.’ Claire hooks the white top back on to the wardrobe door and grabs a cropped floral vest top. ‘But it’s a bit… blah, for a first date, don’t you think? Yeah, definitely blah.’ She tosses the vest onto her bed and plucks the third and final top from the wardrobe door. ‘What do you think?’ She holds the dusty rose-coloured sweater against her body. It’s off the shoulder to one side with oversized three-quarter-length sleeves.

‘I think it’s perfect.’

Claire gives a decisive nod. ‘Me too.’

I leave Claire to get changed and head into the living room, where Arlo is building a racetrack out of bits of orange and green plastic while keeping one eye on the telly. He doesn’t seem to notice I’m in the room as I sit down on the sofa, moving the abandoned bowl of browning apple slices from the seat to the coffee table, but he doesn’t start when I speak.

‘What’re you watching?’

Arlo’s eyes flick to the TV screen. ‘ ThunderCats Roar .’ He picks up a bit of orange track and slots it into the structure he’s working on.

‘Is that for your cars?’

Arlo nods and carries on slotting bits of track together.

‘We’re going to be spending the day together. What shall we do?’

Arlo shrugs, his attention firmly on the track in front of him.

‘It’s a bit rainy today. Do you have any wellies? We could go for a stomp in the puddles.’

I wait for a reply, or some sort of response to show that the kid has heard me.

Nothing.

Today is going to be Fun.

‘Cleo?’

I jump up from the sofa, grateful for Claire’s distracting call, and head back to her bedroom. She’s wearing the jeans and the sweater and, although it’s a casual ensemble, she looks stunning. This girl could wear a bin bag and still look like a goddess.

‘How shall I do my hair?’ She gathers a section of hair and twists it on top of her head. ‘Messy half-up topknot?’ She drops the hair before gathering it to the side. ‘Chunky fishtail?’ She releases the hair again and combs her fingers through it. ‘Or shall I just leave it down?’

‘Topknot.’ I take my phone out of my hoodie pocket under the guise of checking the time, when really I’m checking for messages from Paul. ‘What time is Danny picking you up?’

‘I’m meeting him there at twelve, but it doesn’t matter if I’m a bit late. It’ll keep him on his toes.’

I nod, though I’m not really paying attention. I’ve sent Paul two messages already today – one to say good morning and the other to let him know I may not reply to his messages straight away because I’m babysitting this afternoon (I will absolutely reply straight away, but the being-in-charge-of-a-kid sounds grown-up). He hasn’t replied to either message yet and he hasn’t liked the photo I took of our drinks in the pub yesterday, to show off the fact I was partaking in a bit of daytime drinking with my friends (it was just one friend, who isn’t actually a friend, and we were only there because Gran made us, but Paul doesn’t have to know that).

I last approximately ten minutes with Arlo before we pack a little bag of snacks and toys and head over to Gran’s. He lost interest in his car track and the TV as soon as Claire headed out and I’ve failed to find anything to occupy him since. But Gran will know what to do. I used to love spending time at Gran’s when I was a kid, and there was always something fun to do, whether it was baking fairy cakes, or having a teddy bears’ picnic in the garden, or gluing and sticking at the kitchen table.

‘When’s Mummy coming back?’

Arlo’s clomping next to me in his wellies, his clammy little hand in mine as we walk across town. I try not to take offence that he’s bored of my company already.

‘In a little while. She’s meeting a friend, but she’ll be back before teatime. Look, there’s a big puddle. Go and jump in it.’ I wriggle my finger towards the giant puddle taking up half the width of the pavement, but Arlo simply looks up at me with his big brown eyes, still clomping along beside me. ‘Not a fan of puddles, eh?’ What a waste of a pair of wellies. If I was wearing something more watertight than my Converse, I’d be bouncing up and down in there like a shot, but perhaps that says more about me than it does about Arlo. ‘What do you like doing?’

‘Eating ice cream.’

‘Me too!’ Now we’re on the same page, kid. ‘What’s your favourite flavour?’

Arlo takes a moment to consider his response, but this time the silence isn’t awkward. Deciding on a favourite ice cream flavour takes careful deliberation.

‘Pink, with sticky sauce and a wafer.’

‘Ooh, good choice.’ We pass the giant puddle and I resist the urge to jump in. ‘My favourite is mint chocolate chip.’

Arlo scrunches up his little nose as he looks up at me. ‘Yuck. Mint ice cream tastes like brushing my teeth. I hate brushing my teeth.’

‘How about raspberry ripple then?’

Arlo nods. ‘I like raspberry ripple.’

‘That’s my second favourite, I think. Or maybe Neapolitan.’

‘What’s nepapoltan?’

I try not to giggle at the mispronunciation. ‘Neapolitan is three different flavours in stripes – vanilla, chocolate and strawberry. I like it because you get to eat three flavours at the same time.’

‘That sounds awesome . Nepapoltan is my new favourite.’

I feel a little glow. Something I said sounds awesome . We’re bonding here. ‘Maybe we could go for an ice cream after lunch?’

‘Is that when Mummy’s coming back?’

The glow dims, but I get a different kind of joy when my phone pings with a new message from Paul. It’s short but sweet (‘Have fun!’) but it comes with three kisses at the end. Although it pains me to do so – even more so than avoiding another giant puddle – I slide my phone back into my pocket without replying. I have the very important, very mature task of looking after a little boy today, so Paul will have to wait. At least until we get to Gran’s.

I expect to find Gran convalescing, perhaps in her armchair with her favourite blanket over her knees and a cup of tea within easy reach. What I do not expect – and what I actually find – is Gran in the kitchen, somehow making sandwiches one-handed while she jiggles her bum along to T. Rex.

‘What are you doing?’ My hands plant themselves on my hips as I observe the scene before me. Gran turns, still jiggling away to ‘Jeepster’. It’s one of Russell’s favourites.

‘Hello, love. I didn’t hear you come in.’

‘Well, you wouldn’t, would you?’ I head over to the little portable stereo and turn the volume down. ‘I didn’t know you were into glam rock.’ And not at top volume on a Sunday afternoon.

‘I’m not really.’ Gran turns back to her sandwich-making, layering sliced tomato on top of lettuce. ‘It’s one of James’ CDs. It was left in the stereo and I thought why not? It’s easier than trying to get another one out of its case with this thing.’ She lifts her cast and rolls her eyes up to the ceiling.

‘And yet you’re managing to make sandwiches. Hey, Gran. Why are you making sandwiches when you should be resting? And why so many?’

‘Seth and Edith are on their way.’ Gran lays the last piece of tomato down and repeats the process with sliced cucumber. ‘Carla will be dropping them off any minute now.’

‘And where’s James? You know, their dad .’ I’m going to kill him. Or hurt him really badly. He said he’d look after Gran. I trusted him. But he’s not only shirked the responsibility on day two, he’s got her running around after his kids .

‘I sent him out to the shop for milk.’ Gran crosses the kitchen and opens the fridge, where there are two unopened bottles of milk. ‘I needed to get him out of my hair for five minutes. Don’t get me wrong, I love having the boy around, but he doesn’t half fuss. My feet have barely touched the ground since I got home from the hospital. He wants me glued to the darn chair all day while he fetches and carries for me.’ She returns to the task of sandwich-making while I stare at her, open-mouthed. ‘Hello there, Arlo. You’re being very quiet. I didn’t even know you were there.’

Arlo’s peering out at Gran from behind my legs, his fingers clutching at my coat. ‘I want my mummy.’

‘How about a sandwich for now? Do you like tomatoes?’

Arlo shakes his head, still hiding behind my legs.

‘What about cucumber?’

‘What about you going to sit down while I make the sandwiches?’ I give Gran my most severe look, to show I’m not kidding around and, miraculously, she shuffles off to the living room. It’s with a heavy eye-roll, and she’s muttering to herself about not being a child, but it still feels like a victory.

‘Okay, mister, what would you like on your sandwich?’ I help Arlo to take his coat and backpack off and hook them over the back of one of the chairs. ‘It looks like we have ham and salad here.’

Arlo scrunches his nose up. ‘Don’t like salad.’

‘No, me neither.’ I make a face of my own. ‘But why don’t we have a little bit of it, just to make us big and strong? I’ll put some on the side, so we can have a nibble.’ I finish off the sandwiches Gran was in the middle of constructing and make a couple of plain ham sandwiches for myself and Arlo. ‘Hey, this can be the Hulk.’ I hold up a couple of slices of cucumber and place them in front of my eyes. ‘Do you know who the Hulk is?’

Arlo looks at me as though I’ve sprouted another head. ‘Er, yeah.’

I plonk a cucumber slice next to the ham sandwiches and pick up two slices of tomato. ‘And these can be Spider-Man.’ I place them next to the cucumber and pinch two tiny fingerfuls of shredded lettuce. ‘But who can this be?’ I wiggle the lettuce in front of Arlo’s face, which makes him giggle.

‘The Green Lantern!’

I have no idea who that is, but I go with it. ‘There you go, Mr Green Lantern. You sit next to Spider-Man and the Hulk.’

‘And we’ll gobble you up!’ Arlo hops from foot to foot, his hands held out in front of him with his fingers bent so they look like Bolan’s claws as he battles with his flamingo toy. ‘Raar!’

‘Raar!’ I make the claw-hands and roar at the salad just as James steps into the kitchen with the milk.

‘Having fun?’ James ruffles Arlo’s hair as he passes. ‘Hello again, mate. Cool backpack. Bunny from Toy Story 4 . Great film.’ James is grinning as he swings the fridge door open, but it’s wiped clean off his face when he spots the bottles of milk already in there. ‘That little minx. I can’t believe I fell for it again.’

‘Again?’

‘Cordy sent me out for batteries for the remote yesterday.’ He slots the milk in the fridge before jabbing a finger at one of the kitchen drawers. ‘Turns out there’s a million batteries in there. Every size you could ever want.’

‘She says you’re fussing.’

‘I’m just trying to make sure she’s resting.’

I hold my hands up. ‘I’m on your side. I caught her making these.’ I indicate the sandwiches on the worktop. ‘I’ve had to send her into the living room to sit down.’

‘I caught her dragging the hoover out this morning. I had to wrestle the thing off her. She may be functioning with one hand, but she’s still got some strength to her.’

I start to move the plates of sandwiches from the worktop to the table. ‘She’s a tough cookie, but she doesn’t realise when she needs to slow down.’

‘I’ve got a broken wrist, not broken ears, you know.’ Gran’s in the doorway, her eyebrows arched. ‘I’ve just come to see if you need a hand with those sandwiches. I do still have one hand in working order.’

‘It’s all done.’ I pull out a chair and indicate that Gran should sit. She ignores me and heads for the kettle. ‘And I can do that. Please, Gran, sit still for five minutes. For me.’

The doorbell goes while I’m filling the kettle, and Gran’s off before any of us can stop her. There’s definitely nothing wrong with her legs. I think we’re going to have to strap her to the bloody chair at this rate.