To Beckett’s relief, his grandfather then hunched over his bowl and proceeded to determinedly finish the whole lot without feeling the need to make any further comment. Beckett was so relieved, he managed to join in with some of the other conversation.
Mary slid into the empty seat a while later.
‘All sorted?’ he asked.
She nodded across the table to where a woman with silvery hair was cuddling Bob, his head resting on her shoulder. ‘He’s drunk his fill. Which means he’ll probably throw half of it up on her any second.’
‘Here.’ Sofia placed a bowl loaded with tagine, rice and salad in front of Mary. ‘You must be ready for this.’
‘It smells heavenly, thank you.’ Once Sofia had returned to sit with her younger two children on the opposite end of the table, Mary ate a huge spoonful, closing her eyes as she swallowed. ‘Oh, it tastes even better. I think this is just… it’s the most… I’d started to forget what proper food tastes like. Oh, crap,’ she murmured, face screwing up and rapidly turning blotchy. ‘Here I go again. Every single time someone is nice to me!’
She turned towards Beckett, holding one hand up to shield her face from the rest of the table and mouthing, ‘Help!’ as a fat tear leaked out.
‘Gramps told Sofia’s eldest son – Eli, sat next to him – that the food looks like dog sick.’
She gasped, the glisten in her eyes switching to a sparkle, until she suddenly dropped her hand from her face, resting it on Beckett’s hand. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not funny. What’s happened to him is horrific, and it must break your heart to hear him say those kinds of things.’
Beckett’s mouth twitched up. ‘Yeah. It’s terrible. Only…’ He found it impossible to stop the twitch spreading to a full-on smile. He honestly didn’t know if it was being here, or being with her. Being the one to turn her tears into laughter. Most probably it was the warmth of her hand on his – he was more than a little starved of human affection.
‘If I didn’t find the funny side of a rude comment, I don’t think I could bear the straight-up meanness when I’m cleaning him up in the middle of night or he refuses to take his medication, and there’s no one to share the wretchedness with.’
She nodded, understanding. ‘Would he have found this funny, maybe? Did he have a good sense of humour, before the stroke?’
Beckett shook his head. ‘He didn’t even have a bad one. I reckon he was born a dour old man.’
‘Well, I’m glad you don’t take after him in that respect, at least.’
It was a slight dent to his ego that Mary might think he took after Gramps in other ways. Not the Gramps she knew, anyway.
Once slices of either carrot or coffee cake had been passed around, and drinks topped up, Moses called for everyone’s attention.
‘Now you’re all in that post-lunch state of bliss, it’s time to get those amazing brains working and creative juices flowing. We aren’t here just because we love Ali’s cooking.’
‘Speak for yourself!’ someone said.
‘I’m only here to get a look at the baby,’ another person added. ‘I’m not at all sure I want to help at the carol concert this year. Why add to all the Christmas stress if you can help it?’
‘What was that, Auntie?’ Moses raised his eyebrows innocently. ‘How very kind of you to volunteer to organise the flyers before the meeting’s even properly started.’
‘You might be my pastor, but you’re still my nephew. Just remember, boy, I changed your nappies once upon a time,’ his auntie replied archly. ‘And yes, put me down for that, and I’ll help with set design. As long as we aren’t using that high-wire harness again. My blood pressure can’t take it.’
‘That’s wonderful, but before we run away with ourselves, I’m going to hand over to this year’s carol-concert organisers.’
‘Um, before you start, we should probably get going.’ Beckett stood up, because the last thing he wanted to do was sit in on a meeting that was nothing to do with him. He had a million things to catch up on at home, thanks to having no carer. Not least of which was to find a replacement.
‘Mary hasn’t had any cake,’ Bill said, perturbed.
‘No, but we don’t want to gatecrash your meeting. She could take some home with her.’ He turned to Mary. ‘Do you want to take a piece home?’
‘No,’ Mary said, causing Beckett to frown in confusion. ‘I want to eat my cake here, please. With my new friends.’
‘Okay, but I really think that Gramps…’
‘Can someone bring me a second slice?’ Gramps called. ‘To eat in. I don’t do takeaway. And another coffee. Four sugars and full-fat milk.’
‘Fine. Okay. Fine. Sorry for interrupting.’ Beckett sat down again. ‘But he doesn’t take sugar. And only a small piece of cake.’
‘Are you fat-shaming your grandpa?’ Eli asked, leaning back and rubbing a languid hand over his cornrows. ‘Because to me he looks like he needs all the calories he can get.’
