As she spots me across the kitchen, her lovely creased face lights up. Andrea gives me a relieved nod hello and shuffles away as I join my grandma, resting my head on her shoulder.
‘I’ve only got ten minutes, while Rex gets his chest waxed,’ I say conversationally, as I help myself to a tuna sandwich from the counter and hand her the usual egg mayo.
‘Can I watch?’ she asks as we sit down at a table around the back. She fancies Rex.
I roll my eyes as Franny narrows her eyes at the sandwich.
‘This looks fucking disgusting,’ she mutters resentfully.
I snort. ‘Your girls made it, didn’t they?’
She shrugs and all the loose skin around her face rearranges itself into an expression of disapproval.
‘You can’t get the staff these days,’ she says, peeling back the cling film before taking a large, happy bite of the wilting bread. Mouth full, she continues, ‘I would put my last shilling on Andrea having made this one – it tastes like Andrea. It has that metallic tang of cheap French perfume and sad, abandoned wife.’ She cackles evilly and I have a sudden memory of her reading me Roald Dahl’sThe Witcheswhen I was little. She was so good at the scary voices.
Franny takes another bite before continuing – she always prefers to have a mouthful of food when she’s talking. ‘So how is my darling Rexy today?’ she says, through smooshed egg. ‘I’m glad to hear he takes care of himself, although personally I do prefer a full chest.’ This is true to the extreme. Franny’s usual type is very small, very hairy men. Her last husband, Husband Number Four, was the spit of Danny Devito.
‘He’s a nightmare, as usual,’ I say, and she reaches out to stroke my hand soothingly. It’s nice but now I have egg on my hand.
‘You should put him in his place occasionally. It would be good for him’ she says, gently scolding, and I laugh out loud.
‘I’d lose my job, Franny. He likes his assistants silent.’
She cocks her head at me. ‘He doesn’t treat your friend Aslan like that, though, does he? And he’s the same work level as you, isn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ I say, swallowing a bite of my sandwich. ‘But he’s a man. He’s less experienced than me, he started this job after me, and bless him, he’s not as good as me – but obviously he’s on more money and gets more respect. It’s the way the world works. You should see the way the contestants all ignore me when he’s there, or treat me like I’m the tea lady.’
Franny puffs out her chest, sitting up straighter. ‘Nothing wrong with being a tea lady, Delilah,’ she says huffily.
‘Oh no, no, I know,’ I say quickly. ‘I only mean that it’s not my job. I’m meant to be the assistant producer – I report to the actual producer of the show! – and yet I always seem to be the one fetching and carrying. And Rex is the worst of them all. He’s always openly telling everyone how he likes his women submissive – he even says it on the telly. It’s hisbrand. He thinks women should be in heels and lipstick at all times.’ I sigh.
‘You need to stand up for yourself more,’ she says, thumping her stick on the ground. ‘You let people run you ragged and take advantage. Your boss, your colleagues, even your family. Has that brother of yours paid back that money yet?’
I blush. It’s been a few weeks since I lent Tom another £100, and of course he never pays it back. I can hardly get him to answer the phone, never mind transfer money into my bank account.
I shake my head and Franny sighs, changing the subject. ‘How are things with Will?’
I smile at this, thinking about our lovely, quiet weekend together. We went to the cinema to see a shit horror film on Sunday, and then did our traditional race home. He got an Uber and I got the bus, and even though he beat me, we agreed that I was the true winner because I didn’t have to deal with the social awkwardness of chatting to the Uber driver.
‘He’s fine,’ I say simply. ‘Work want him to take on some extra projects this summer, so he’s going to be busy, but if he does well, it could mean a big promotion for him.’
Franny nods. ‘Well, tell him he still has to come see me some time, even when he’s a big-shot charity mogul. The last time I saw him, he promised me we could get drunk on sherry. Maybe he could even join us one Thursday night, Lilah? He owes me, you tell him that.’
‘I shall indeed,’ I say, standing up. I better go check how Rex’s chest contouring is progressing.
‘Oh, your dad rang me earlier,’ she says suddenly. ‘He says you haven’t returned his calls from the other day and he wants you to know that your mother is a witch. He says his penis used to be a perfectly good size, but they did something to him during the vasectomy – it wouldn’t stop bleeding afterwards – and now it’s not as big as it used to be but it’s still better than average.’
I shriek and cover my ears. ‘Oh my God, Franny, why would you tell me this? About your own son, too?!’
She throws her head back, cackling. ‘I just thought it was funny. I’ll say anything if I think it’s funny.’
Wedding Number Three:Harriet and Jamie, Trunch Hall, Liverpool
Theme:Red and gold. The bride’s side were all in gold, while the alcoholics on the groom’s side were glowing bright red.
Menu:Smoked salmon starter, followed by chicken and a meringue dessert. Veggie option: stuffed red pepper with goat’s cheese.
Gift:A personalised Moet magnum @ £120.
