Chapter Five

Gwen is jiggling the final drops out of a bottle of wine when I approach the drinks table for a top-up. It’s been an hour since Gran arrived and Gwen has spent that time working her way through the wine Mum’s been stockpiling over the past few weeks.

‘Gone.’ Gwen shrugs and drops the empty bottle onto the table, where it wobbles before toppling over. ‘S’all gone.’ She drains the contents of the glass, shaking it over her open mouth to dislodge every last drop.

‘I’ll go and get some more.’ I grab the upended wine bottle but Gwen gives a dismissive wave of her hand and clumsily unscrews a bottle of vodka. She moves her hips from side to side, almost in rhythm with the music playing from the stereo, as she glugs vodka into her glass.

There’s a box under the kitchen table that’s already starting to fill with empty bottles, and I add the latest one to the collection. Gran’s recycling bin is going to be overflowing at this rate.

I catch Gran’s eye as she steps into the kitchen. ‘She’s started on the vodka.’

‘Already?’ I haven’t even named anybody, but Gran knows who I’m talking about. ‘But it isn’t even six o’clock yet. And we haven’t even got round to starting on the buffet.’

This is typical Gwen behaviour. She always ends up being half carried from parties and folded into the car, with Jerry begging her not to throw up until they get home. Every birthday party, every Christmas lunch, even family christenings. If there’s alcohol, she’ll consume it until it’s removed or she falls down and can’t get up again unaided. It’s worrying, but Gwen is adamant she is simply a social drinker who likes to have a good time and insists to anyone who suggests otherwise that they’re party poopers.

Gran grabs a paper plate from the pile on the worktop and starts to add a few nibbles. ‘Here, go and take that to her. It might help soak up the alcohol.’ She passes the plate to Mum, who takes a fortifying breath before she strides out of the room. It’s just me and Gran and a cargo ship’s worth of food left in the kitchen. If Gwen is allowed to start on the buffet, does that mean it’s open to the rest of us?

‘Have you had a nice birthday?’ I inch a little bit closer to the sausage rolls. The lingering smell of them warming in the oven is making my stomach rumble, despite the chips I wolfed down earlier.

‘It’s been lovely.’ Gran hands me a paper plate with a wink and I start to load it up with goodies. ‘I’m very lucky to have such wonderful family and friends, and it’s a good chance to introduce you all to James. He did a good job with the bunting.’ She gazes up at the window, where the yellow and pink gingham triangles swoop perfectly and symmetrically. ‘What do you think of my new lodger?’

I swerve the tuna sandwiches (bleurgh – fish should be battered and served with chips) and plump for an egg and cress. ‘I think you’re mad.’ I add a mini pork pie and half a scotch egg. ‘He could be anyone, Gran. A serial killer. A con man. You watched The Tinder Swindler with me. You know what these men are like. He hasn’t asked you to change your will yet, has he?’

‘Oh, Cleo.’ Gran tuts and rolls her eyes. ‘James is a lovely young man, and I’m looking forward to having a bit of company about the place for a little while. I’ve been rattling around this house on my own since your grandad died. I haven’t said anything, but it’s been quite lonely and I’ve been struggling for a while.’

‘How can you be lonely?’ I pause my buffet harvest, even though I’m almost up to the big bowl of crisps. ‘You never stop. There’s always something to do – stuff with the Brownies, the charity shop, meeting up with your friends. And I’m here most days. When do you get the chance to get lonely?’ I honestly don’t understand it. Gran is the most positive go-getter I know. She doesn’t have a spare second to feel isolated.

‘Why do you think I do all those things?’ Gran spreads her arms out before letting them fall to her sides. ‘I try to pack my days, but it’s the evenings. When you’ve gone home and there’s no work to do. And the mornings, when everybody’s busy getting ready for the day and I’m wandering around this empty house. This house isn’t meant for one. It’s supposed to be full of life, like it was when your dad was small.’

‘I could move in with you. I’m here all the time anyway, and wouldn’t you feel safer living with someone you know rather than a stranger who’s probably going to steal your pension and siphon off your savings?’

Gran’s eyebrows lower and she shakes her head. ‘Oh, Cleo, no . That’s the very worst thing that could happen.’

I try not to feel offended but fail, big time. I know I can be a bit messy, and I don’t know what all the buttons and dials mean on the washing machine, and I’m constantly forgetting to replace the empty loo roll, but Gran and I get on so well. She’s more of a friend than a grandmother. My mood had already plummeted when I read Paul’s message earlier, but now I’m definitely out of the celebratory mood, even if I have a plate full of party food.

Three months. That’s how far away Shona Franks’ fiftieth birthday is. Three months until I get to see Paul again and live happily ever after. And what if he meets somebody else in the meantime? Somebody who doesn’t still live with their mum and dad. Someone who doesn’t have to pretend to have a career because they’re actually doing something with their lives other than serving fish and chips in a small seaside town. Whoever Paul ends up with will be a woman . A proper grown-up, with life goals and prospects.

‘Oh, Cleo. Don’t look so gloomy.’ Gran places a hand on my cheek and smiles. Gran has lovely cheeks: plump and doughy and rosy, and they go all crinkly when she smiles. ‘You know you’re my favourite person in the whole world. I love the very bones of you, girl. And that’s why I can’t think of anything as horrifying as a young woman like you moving in with an old wrinkly like me. You should be out there, spreading your wings and living life to the full, not moving out of your childhood bedroom into my guest room.’

‘Reggie wants to do presents before food.’ Mum’s back in the kitchen, and she whisks my paper plate of buffet nibbles away and plonks it on the side. I watch it mournfully while Mum starts to usher Gran from the kitchen. ‘He can’t wait to give you his present from us. He’s practically pink with glee, bless him.’ She waits until Gran is out of the room before she hands me a small wrapped box. ‘I wrapped the perfume for you.’

We head into the living room, where Gran’s surrounded by Dad (who is pink with glee) and her friends, plus a host of gifts. I’d totally forgotten to wrap the perfume. I bet whoever Paul ends up with wouldn’t turn up to a party with an unwrapped gift, because she’ll be a proper grown-up. There’s no way Paul will want to live happily ever after with someone who still lives like a teenager, relying on Mummy for everything.

But then I have three months until I see Paul again. Three months in which I can finally get my act together and be the grown-up I should have been all along. I’ll get my own place and learn to drive so Mum doesn’t have to ferry me around like an unpaid taxi driver, and I’ll start an actual career and smarten myself up, replacing my tired old leggings and hoodies with garments with non-elasticated waists (which doesn’t sound nearly as comfortable but at least I’ll be taken more seriously clad in trouser suits and killer heels). I’m probably not going to become an award-winning editor in three months, but people change careers all the time. My mind is swimming with all the ways I can become a more refined version of myself as Gran starts to peel the paper from the large box in front of her, revealing a wooden box with a domed roof and a small opening at the front. Dad pounces on the box, telling us all about the hedgehog house with the in-built motion sensor camera that they can capture the prickly garden critters on. But I’m not really paying attention, because I’m thinking of the things I can change to become the grown-up I described to Paul, the grown-up he will fall madly in love with in three months’ time. I need my bullet journal, so I can get organised and make a list. A grown-up to-do list that will bag me my dream man.