Page 79 of Loving London

I watch, fascinated, as she speaks to this man, as if he’s interested, as if he’s talking back with her. She doesn’t end with the proposal. She continues with stories of our time together. She tells him about my work with veterans and the speech I gave when she saw me again for the first time.

It’s bizarre because, as I listen to London and this one-sided conversation, it’s as if she’s sitting here, having a legitimate conversation with my grandfather. She pauses and laughs and tells the stories with enthusiasm and love. In this moment, I fall in love with her a little more.

After a couple of hours, we decide to go.

I touch my granddad’s arm and say, “We’ll come back another day, okay?”

As I pull my hand away from his arm and stand, he turns his head and looks at me. I freeze and stare into his eyes.

He blinks. His voice is hoarse as he says, “William?”

He thinks I’m my dad.

“Yeah.” I nod.

“How are you, son?” He reaches his arm out and takes my hand.

“I’m good, Dad,” I answer.

“Where’s little Loïc? Did you bring him?” he asks, hopeful.

I shake my head. “Not today.”

“You must bring him to visit. Your mom and I just adore that boy. He’s a special one, isn’t he? Such a gift.” A small smile touches his face before his eyebrows crinkle. “Where’s your mom?” he asks, almost panicked.

“She’s coming. She’s on her way.”

“Good, good. I miss her.”

“She misses you,” I say.

His grip on my hand releases, and he drops his hand to his lap. He closes his eyes and then opens them again. When he does, he’s gone. The blank expression has returned.

“Dad? Granddad?”

There’s no sign that he hears me as he looks out the window again.

I turn to London to find her eyes red with tears.

“That was amazing,” she says, reaching out to grab my hand.

I take hers in mine and squeeze softly.

“Yeah.” I shake my head in awe at what just happened.

“Try again,” London urges.

“Okay.”

I gently grip my granddad’s arm and say, “We’re going to get going now, Granddad. We’ll be back another day, okay?”

I wait for a response, but there’s nothing, and it’s all right.

As we walk out of the home, the reality that something like that might never happen again sets in. Yet I’m oddly fine with it because I feel like I was just given a gift. My granddad came back to life, if even for a few seconds, and it was magical. He didn’t know who I was, but he loved me. They all did. None of them wanted to leave me, but they weren’t given the choice.

Nan was right. It’s not England that’s magical; it’s life. Sometimes, one can pray for a miracle, and it never comes. And, other times, one might not know they need one, yet they get a miracle anyway.

Now, almost twenty years later, I finally know the truth.

---