Page 45 of Birds of a Feather

‘I wonder where Gerry and Gran ended up?’ I asked rhetorically as I side-stepped a collection of half-filled bottles and glasses on the footpath, which implied a celebration had ended abruptly.

‘They’re probably at a nightclub doing shots and dancing on the tables,’ Nick replied jovially.

I laughed. Before last month I wouldn’t have dreamed Gran would find herself in a nightclub doing shots. But, recently, I had become much less trusting of the reliability of the status quo.

Nick smiled. ‘I just hope they had a good night, wherever they ended up.’

I was impressed at how genuinely invested Nick seemed in Gerry and Gran’s reunion being a success. I wasn’t sure whether his thoughtfulness and good manners were a feature of his aristocratic lineage, or whether it was just that he was a really nice person.

By the time we had arrived at the door of the hotel, the cool night air that had at first felt refreshing had chilled me to the core.

‘Thanks so much for tonight,’ I said, clenching my jaw to stop it from chattering. I hoped he felt my sincerity; during an argument, Jarrah once told me my attempts at sentiment were easily mistaken for sarcasm. ‘I really appreciate you taking me out. I’m sure being saddled with your great-aunt’s ex-girlfriend’s granddaughter is probably not how you wanted to spend your evening.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he said warmly. ‘I had a great time. And I plan to hold you to your promise to return the favour in Australia one day. In the meantime, I’ll check in with Aunt Gerry to see what she’s got planned for the next few days.’

Nick held out his outstretched arms and took a step towards me.

Usually, I avoided unnecessary physical contact with others. My family had worn me down over the years and, of course, it played a necessary role during sex and medical examinations, but I just wasn’t much of a fan. However, I was not repelled by the prospect of Nick’s embrace in the way I would have been if it was anyone else’s. In fact, I felt an unfamiliar compulsion to step towards him.

I extended my one free arm; the other was laden with my bag.

He stared at my hand and then awkwardly thrust his own out as if to meet mine in a handshake. I startled and retracted mine backwards. We then engaged in a mortifying push-pull of jolting and thrusting our arms at one another over several cringeworthy moments.

‘Sorry,’ I said finally, stepping backwards to disengage. ‘I thought you were … I mean, I thought we were going to …’

‘No. No. I’m sorry,’ he said, a hint of red colouring his cheeks. ‘I shouldn’t have assumed.’

‘It’s fine, really,’ I said, feeling my own cheeks warming and a prickle of disappointment.

He held up his hand for a high five. We both laughed as I lifted my hand to connect with his. The moment of awkwardness dissipated into the cool air.

‘Well, thanks again,’ I said, stepping towards the hotel door.

‘I look forward to seeing you again,’ he said with a tiny wink.

Once upstairs, I listened at the room door for any indication Gran might be in there with company. After a few moments of silence, save for the muffled television coming from the room next door, I unlocked and opened the door. The room was dark.

I turned on the lamp, fished around inside my bag for my phone and wrote a quick message to Gran.

Hi Gran. Hope you’ve had a terrific night. I’m back at the hotel, but let me know if you’d like me to come and get you to bring you back.

I sat on the edge of the bed and opened a browser to search the internet for information about things to do in London. I was keen to make an itinerary for the coming days. Usually I would have made one well before I arrived, but time had not allowed for it.

A message popped up from Gran.

Thanks, pet. It’s been great. I’ll stay at Gerry’s tonight. ;) No need to come and get me. Love you, Gran xxx

I read the message again and wondered if a sleepover and winky face meant the same thing for an eighty-two-year-old woman as it did for someone my age. I shuddered involuntarily. I was happy for Gran, but I definitely didn’t need to think of her engaging in a night of passion. Not to mention, it was sobering to realise she was getting more action than I was.

Chapter 23

Beth

I got to the end of the paragraph of my book and realised it was the third time I had read it. I was trying to concentrate on the novel I had perched on my thighs – a fascinating and insightful book about feminism in modern Australia – but my mind constantly wandered to thoughts of Gran.

The last I’d heard from her was the text she’d sent the previous night to say she was staying at Gerry’s house. I couldn’t get through by calling her, and she hadn’t responded to any of the messages I’d sent this morning, which I assumed meant her phone was dead.

It wasn’t like Gran had a curfew; she was a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. But I wondered how long I should wait until I alerted the Scotland Yard – or whichever authority dealt with missing Australian grannies – that she’d set off last night to reunite with a long-lost lover and I hadn’t seen her since. I couldn’t ignore that it was beginning to sound like the makings of a true crime podcast.

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