‘Why?’ I don’t pull my arm from his grip because the heat of his touch is working its way through my denim jacket and warming my chilly skin, setting my blood alight. I’ve never felt anything like it.
‘You really don’t want to get involved with me.’ He doesn’t sound convinced of that himself, so he must be kidding himself if he expects me to buy it. I want to buy it. I want to walk away and wipe my encounters with him from my mind and return to being stable and sensible.
‘Then let me leave,’ I say quietly, meeting the intensity of his stare with my own. The long silence that falls and lingers between us is an indication that he really doesn’t want to, but I decide for him and remove my arm from his grasp. ‘Goodnight, Miller.’ I take a few backward steps before turning and walking away. It’s probably one of the most sensible decisions I’ve ever made, even if the majority of my scrambled mind is willing me to pursue it. Whatever it is.
Chapter 3
The lingering strangeness of Friday evening was soon hijacked by Nan on Saturday morning when she said my three favourite words: ‘Let’s go sightseeing.’
We roamed, we sat, we drank good coffee, we roamed some more, we had lunch, we drank more good coffee and we roamed again, finally falling through the front door late Saturday evening with a fish and chip supper from the local chippy. Then on Sunday, I helped Nan stitch together the patchwork quilt that she’s been making for a soldier based in Afghanistan. She has no idea who he is, but the local oldies group all have pen pals out there, and Nan thought it’d be nice if hers had something to keep him warm . . . in the desert.
‘Have you got the sun tucked away in your socks, Livy?’ Nan asks as I walk into the kitchen ready for work on Monday morning.
I look down at my new canary-yellow Converse and smile. ‘Don’t you love them?’
‘Wonderful!’ she laughs, placing my bowl of cornflakes on the breakfast table. ‘How’s your knee?’
Sitting down, I tap my leg and pick up my spoon. ‘Perfect. What are you doing today, Nan?’
‘George and I are going to the market to buy lemons for your cake.’ She places a pot of tea on the table and loads my mug with two sugars.
‘Nan, I don’t take sugar!’ I try to swipe the mug from the table, but my grandmother’s old hands work way too fast.
‘You need fattening up,’ she insists, pouring the tea and pushing it across the table to me. ‘Don’t argue with me, Livy. I’ll put you over my knee.’
I smile at her threat. She’s promised it for twenty-four years and never followed through. ‘You can get lemons at the local store,’ I point out casually, plunging my spoon into my mouth to stop me from saying more. I could say so much more.
‘You’re right.’ Her old navy eyes flick to me briefly before she slurps her tea. ‘But I want to go to the market and George said he’d take me. We’ll speak no more of it.’
I’m desperately holding back my grin, but I know when to shut up. Old George is so fond of Nan, but she’s really quite short with him. I don’t know why he sticks around to be bossed about. She plays all hard-hearted and uninterested, but I know George’s fondness for her is quietly returned. Gramps has been gone for seven years and George could never replace him, but a little companionship is good for Nan. Losing her daughter sent her into dark depression, but Granddad took care of her, suffering in silence for years, silently coming to terms with his own loss and hiding his own grief until his body gave in. Then there was just me – a teenager left to hold it together . . . which I didn’t do a very good job of in the early days.
She starts to top up my bowl with more flakes. ‘I’m going to Monday club at six, so I won’t be home when you get in from work. Can you sort your supper out?’
‘Of course,’ I say, holding my hand over my bowl to stop the flow of cornflakes. ‘Is George going, too?’
‘Livy,’ she warns sternly.
‘Sorry.’ I smile as I’m attacked by annoyed eyes, and she shakes her head, her grey curls swishing around her ears.
‘It’s a very sad situation when I socialise more than my granddaughter.’
Her words kill my smile. I’m not getting into this. ‘I need to go to work.’ I stand and dip to kiss her cheek, ignoring her sigh.
*
I jump down from the bus, dodging people as I hurry through the chaos of rush-hour pedestrian traffic. My mood reflects the colour of my Converse – bright and sunny, as does the weather.