Page 36 of Birds of a Feather

‘I’m a meteorologist,’ he replied.

‘Oh, how interesting,’ Gran said enthusiastically.

‘To us Brits, maybe. Do you know, there was a study done a few years back that found that 94 per cent of Brits had discussed the weather in the past six hours?’ he said rhetorically. ‘Mainly about how awful it is. I worked as a forecaster while I finished my PhD, and it got a bit monotonous telling people it was going to rain day after day.’

I thought back to my last visit to London when unexpected and intense downpours punctuated many of the days. I had indeed cursed the forecasters for not providing more accurate predictions.

‘Even my friends and family trolled me every time it rained unexpectedly,’ he said dryly. I looked to the rear-view mirror in time to catch him winking at me. ‘And then you add climate change into the mix and the grim forecasts for what our planet is going to look like fifty years from now …’ his tone had changed, indicating he felt the burden of responsibility shared by many of our generation.

‘So you’re no longer a forecaster?’ I asked.

‘Not anymore,’ he responded. ‘Now I’m at a private company where I do climate modelling and analysis to inform wind- and solar-power projects.’

‘That sounds wonderful. Beth works in environmental management for a local council,’ Gran said, a little too enthusiastically.

Nick looked at me through the rear-view mirror again. A gathering of crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes indicated he was smiling as if somehow this was good news. ‘Really?’ he prompted. ‘That’s great.’

As Nick navigated the heavy traffic, narrow London roads and hordes of bikes and pedestrians, I told him about my local council area and some of the projects I was involved in. He was particularly interested in the possum bridge and asked loads of questions. At first I was worried that I was boring him with unnecessary detail, but he continued to prompt me, as if genuinely interested. Despite being utterly exhausted, I found him easy to chat to.

We were mid-discussion about the difference between English and Australian magpies when Gran issued a loud, guttural snort from her position in the front seat. It startled us both, and caused Nick to swerve out of his lane. He corrected the car and waved to the driver beside us who had responded to our unexpected deviation with a long honk.

Gran mumbled and masticated for a few moments before settling back to sleep and a rhythm of soft snores.

‘Good grief,’ Nick whispered sharply. ‘That was a big noise to come out of a tiny person.’

Gran’s snoring was legendary. I remember staying at her house as a child and being woken by what sounded like a wild boar. As I crept out of bed and down the corridor towards her room looking for comfort, I discovered she was the one making all the noise.

‘She’s definitely greater than her size,’ I replied. ‘In all respects.’

‘It sounds like she’s been carrying a lot of baggage for her tiny frame too,’ he offered insightfully. ‘From what Aunt Gerry has hinted at.’

‘Yes,’ I replied, my eyes connecting with his again in the rear-view mirror. ‘You’re not wrong.’

‘Have you two always been close?’ Nick asked, gesturing with his head towards Gran.

Explaining the nature of our relationship required me to describe the rest of my family for context. But I didn’t feel like explaining that I was the boring, awkward Dwyer and Gran was the only person in the world who’d ever seemed to get me.

‘Yes,’ I replied, without further elaboration.

‘You’re lucky,’ he said earnestly. ‘My grandmother died young; before I was born. Aunt Gerry became a kind of surrogate mother to my mum, and a grandmother of sorts to my sister and me. Having a family of her own was never really …’ he hesitated as if searching for the correct word … ‘available to Aunt Gerry. So our relationship means the world to all of us. And she’s terrific. I know you’ll love her. But I’m sure Elise has already told you that.’

He took his eyes off the road to smile at me again in the mirror.

‘We’re nearly at the hotel,’ Nick said, turning down a lovely street with a long, walled park. ‘Once we’ve got you settled, I’ll leave you to rest and head off to work. Then, Aunt Gerry is hoping to meet up with your gran for dinner. Did you fancy getting a pint and leaving them to it? There’s a great little pub a couple of doors up from where you’re staying. I can meet you there after I’ve dropped Aunt Gerry off, so they can reunite without us hanging about.’

I was exhausted and had planned to spend the evening unpacking and realigning my body clock with an early night. And the in-flight magazine I read on the plane advised that drinking alcohol exacerbated the impact of jet lag.

However, as I glanced in the rear-view mirror just in time to catch his gaze I was surprised to hear myself say, ‘That sounds great.’

Before I could correct myself, we pulled up in front of a quintessentially London white-terraced building.

‘Here we are,’ he announced loudly.

Gran responded with a snuffle and groan.

Nick tapped at the screen to turn off the car, and I put my hand on Gran’s shoulder and gently squeezed it.

‘Gran,’ I said quietly, not wanting to startle her. ‘We’re here.’

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