‘Sometimes,’ he agrees, making me laugh. ‘Let’s get her ladyship home, shall we?’ He nods towards the other side of the car and I follow his instruction, taking myself to the passenger side and jumping in the back with Nan.
When I’ve got my seat belt on, I look across and find her fiddling with hers, so I lend a hand and secure it for her. ‘There,’ I say, resting back in my seat and watching as she takes in the sumptuous interior of Miller’s posh car. She reaches up and presses a button that puts a light on, then turns it off again. She fiddles with the air-con buttons between the footwells, humming her approval. She pushes a button that sends her window down, then pushes it again to close it back up. Then she finds an armrest between us and pulls it down, sliding the runner back to reveal cup holders. Old, amazed navy eyes fly up to mine and she forms an O with her marshmallow lips. ‘I bet the queen’s car isn’t as posh as this.’ Her comment should make me laugh, but I’m too busy flicking nervous eyes to Miller in the rearview mirror, trying to gauge his reaction to all this messing of his perfect world.
He’s staring at me, his jaw tight, and I return that smile awkwardly, mouthing ‘sorry’ on a bunched up face. His lovely head shakes from side to side, tousling up his waves as he virtually screeches out of the parking space. I conclude very quickly that he wants to get this journey over with as soon as possible and limit the time my dear grandmother has to screw around with his perfect world. God forbid if she could reach the temperature controls up front. I inwardly laugh. And he wanted to move her into his flat? Holy shit, he’d have a seizure every five minutes!
There are continuous hoots of glee coming from Nan as Miller zips and weaves through the London traffic, but her excitement dulls to nothing when she catches sight of my left hand as it reaches up to rest on the seat in front of me. I realise what’s holding her attention straightaway. She reaches across the car and takes my hand, pulling it towards her and studying it quietly. I can do nothing more than let her, bracing myself for her reaction. I turn pleading eyes up to the rearview mirror and find Miller watching intermittently between keeping an eye on the road.
‘Hmmm,’ she hums, rubbing across the peak of my ring with the pad of her thumb. ‘So, Miller, when are you marrying my beautiful granddaughter?’ Her raised grey eyebrows are quickly on me, despite the question being directed at Miller, and I shrink into the leather seat. He better think of something quick-sharp, because I haven’t the foggiest idea of what to tell her. I need her to stop looking at me like that. My cheeks are flaming red-hot and my throat is closing off under the pressure, making speech impossible. ‘Well?’ she prompts.
‘I’m not.’ Miller’s short, sharp response makes everything die inside. He has no problem telling my spunky nan, and while I understand him, I’m not sure she will. She’s old school.
‘Why ever not?’ She sounds offended, almost angry, and I consider the possibility of her reaching forward and smacking the back of Miller’s head. She probably would. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
I’d laugh if I could find air to draw breath. What’s wrong with me? Everything!
‘That ring is a sign of my love, Mrs Taylor. My eternal love.’
‘That’s all good and well, but what’s it doing on her wedding finger?’
‘Because your beautiful ring holds position on her right hand and I wouldn’t be so disrespectful as to ask her to replace what’s been in her life for longer than me.’
I swell with pride and Nan stutters her astonishment. ‘Can’t we just swap them?’
‘Are you trying to marry me off?’ I ask, finally finding some words.
‘So?’ she huffs, her nose put firmly out of joint, not even Miller’s respectful explanation diluting her displeasure. ‘You plan on living in sin forever?’
Her absent-minded choice of word resonates deeply, and I find mine and Miller’s eyes locked together in the mirror, mine wide, his wary.
Sin.
There are so many sinful things she’s unaware of, things that my poor mind is struggling to deal with. I wouldn’t have exposed her to it before, no matter how sassy and spunky she might be, and I’m most certainly not exposing her to it now. Not with her being so delicate after her heart attack, though you’d never know it. Being hospitalised for the past few days seems to have injected even more sass into her Taylor bones.
Miller returns his eyes to the road, and I remain tense in my seat, but Nan keeps expectant eyes on my OCD-suffering, ex-prostitute, notorious male ex-escort . . .