Page 102 of Forget It

“She’s a twister.” She grins at me.

I laugh, before taking a sip of my drink. “I wish she’d be a bit lazier. She’s giving my internal organs a hammering.”

“I think Jackson permanently dislodged my spleen with a foot once.”

I choke on my water. “Huh?”

37

JACKSON

“Hello, Betty,”I say, pressing a kiss to Nanny Taylor’s cheek, “You ready to go?”

She’s waiting for me in the main room of the care home, where an elaborate game of festive charades is being chaired by an over enthusiastic elf.

Betty tugs me closer with a firm arm and whispers, “Get me away from them all, Jackie.” She’s wearing a homemade jumper that just says ‘Sleigh’. A Betty Taylor Original.

I chuckle. “You don’t want to play another round of charades?”

The look Betty sends me is flat, and I wink at her as I help her out of her chair. We wander slowly back to her room to find Maryanne, one of the carers, already helping pack a bag.

“There you both are,” she says with a kind smile. “Are you excited, Betty?” She raises her voice in the semi-patronizing tone that has Betty replying with a wave of her hand.

“Yes, yes, did you make sure my yarn is in there?”

“I’m just going to sign the paperwork.” I leave Betty in Maryanne’s care and head back to reception.

“Merry Christmas,” I tell Penny as I lean over the desk.

“Merry Christmas.” The woman smiles as she hands over the paperwork. “It’s so lovely that Betty’s getting away. Is her granddaughter excited?”

“She will be.”

Am I kidnapping my girlfriend’s ninety year old grandmother on Christmas Eve? Maybe. Will my girlfriend be happy about it? I sure hope so.

I slide the paper back across the desk, chuckling as I finally see Betty’s full name. “Thanks again for helping me with this.”

“Of course.”

It’s a plan I concocted a few weeks ago on one of our monthly visits. Rosie assumed her parents would be picking her up but when I quietly asked Penny, she told me no one had informed the staff or requested any paperwork. I knew if I told Rosie, she’d stress and try to get Betty to come to stay with us anyway, so I decided to ease her burden and create a little Christmas magic at the same time.

I wander back to Betty’s room. Maryanne has gone, and Betty is dressed in her light pink puffer coat with her bag clasped on her lap and her suitcase by her feet.

“You ready to go,Elizabeth Taylor?”

Betty laughs. “Don’t you start with that too. I had that from my husband since the day he proposed. He’d tell me I was his Cleopatra. That’s where Cleo got her name, you know.”

I swipe her suitcase up in one arm and help her stand with the other.

“Oh really?” I ask gently.

“Is she coming for Christmas? Cleo? I haven’t seen her in months.” I hold my tongue, Rosie and I spent all of Betty’sbirthday with her last month but none of the rest of the family showed up.

“It’s just us and my family.” I help her out of the front door, waving goodbye to the staff who are head-to-toe in tinsel. “I can’t believe I never put it together,” I say, changing the subject back to her famous moniker as we slowly amble to the front where I’ve left the car.

“It’s my secret fun fact,” she chuckles.

Getting a small, ninety-year old woman into an SUV is a challenge, but Betty and I persevere. I let her control the radio until we’re listening to Bing Crosby dream about a White Christmas. Betty spends the drive staring out the window as the setting sun allows the Christmas lights to flicker on outside the houses lining the street.

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