‘Excuse me?’ Bill pulled his head back, affronted. ‘You promised me a rematch.’
Gramps looked smug. ‘Sucker for punishment, this one. Fair enough. Same time next week. No cabbage.’
As Gramps insisted on heaving himself up, then started shuffling with Mary towards the foyer, Beckett waited behind in a daze. He’d tried a day centre, back when Gramps first came home from the rehabilitation place. The plan that the healthcare team had come up with included Gramps attending various groups on top of his physiotherapy. He had either refused to go back after one visit, or made sure he wasn’t welcome.
‘I don’t suppose you do any home-care work?’ Beckett asked Bill, before he could move on.
Bill raised his eyebrows. ‘Only at my own. Our lass has moved in with three kiddies while her sailor’s on deployment. Believe it or not, I’ve come here for a break.’
‘Do you think anyone here could recommend someone?’
He looked thoughtful. ‘I’ll ask around, let you know.’
‘Thank you. I’d appreciate it.’
Since the initial support from the recovery healthcare team had tailed off, Beckett had been navigating the social-care system alone, an organisation he’d come to view as a behemoth as frail and infirm as most of its older service users. Endless waiting for appointments with people who simply shunted them onto another waiting list. Wrangling with forms and files, policies and procedures. Trying to get his grandfather seen as a person, not a problem. Tanya had been an ally of sorts, at least before she’d grown sick and tired of Beckett taking her for granted. She at least knew the system and in the initial days had offered sympathy and the occasional word of advice. Now, he was forced to yet again entrust Gramps to a stranger, and he’d seen how badly that could turn out enough times to be losing sleep over it. To have something as simple as a recommendation, to know someone who could offer one. Beckett appreciated that in the way only a man with no friends or family could.
Once back in Bigley, Gramps immediately fell asleep in front of the television, so Beckett made coffee and Mary started to wade through the boxes of material and costumes. This rapidly became a game of ‘guess the plot’ as they pulled out increasingly baffling outfits.
‘Okay, so this banana hates Christmas. He’s fed up with it being all about the clementines and sultanas, the cranberries rubbing their big moment in all the other fruits’ faces. Barnie’s being rude and – yes, obviously that’s the banana’s name, what would you call him?’
Beckett pulled an impressively serious face. ‘It’s not about me. What would the Christmas Day Twins call him?’
‘Barnie, actually.’ Mary gave a smug nod, dropping the banana costume and holding another one up against her. ‘So, he’s sulking in the bowl when everyone else’s gone carolling, and suddenly the magical Christmas Eve toad appears.’
‘A magical Christmas toad?’
‘The magical Christmas Eve toad!’ Mary’s eyes, looking more grey than blue today, became round. ‘Please don’t tell me Gramps never told you about her?’
‘It’s a her?’ Beckett furrowed his eyebrows. ‘Toads are always male.’
‘Then how do we get toad tadpoles?’
‘In stories, I mean.’
‘Not to the millions of children who have grown up enthralled by tales of the magical Christmas Eve toad. Susan, to her friends, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘So, anyway, Sue gives the old pep talk, Christmas spirit, let poor Russell the Brussel enjoy his chance to shine, everyone hates him the rest of the year, blah blah blah, when suddenly, up pops the evil Boxing Day… um, let’s call it a saxophone?’
Once Bob’s cries interrupted the silliness, Beckett sorted the costumes and fabrics by colour and packed them back up while Mary fed him. Beckett had to work hard at not grinning like a chump the whole time. He wanted to ask if they’d stay for dinner, but that felt too much, on top of lunch and everything else. The ‘date’ comment was still ringing in his ears. Besides, Gramps had woken from his nap extra antagonistic and foul-mouthed. As understanding as Mary might be, Beckett didn’t want to risk Gramps ruining what had been the best day – for both him and Gramps – in such a long time.
He arranged to pick her up on Sunday for the first carol-concert rehearsal, where Mary could measure the cast for costume sizes, and by which time she’d hopefully have come up with some basic ideas so she knew what to measure for (three days felt like an age away). Beckett then called a taxi, seeing as getting Gramps back in the car would take more time and effort than any of them had the energy for.
‘Thank you,’ Mary said, giving his wrist a quick squeeze as Jakob, probably the only other Sherwood Taxis driver he’d trust, pulled up. Her thumb skimmed the bare skin at the edge of his hoodie sleeve, sparking a cascade of memories from the day they’d met, swiftly followed by that almost primal urge to protect her. ‘I haven’t laughed that much in… well, since moving here, for sure.’
‘I’m still crushed at how mercilessly you mocked Monsieur Peppercorn. Please don’t bring it up again.’
‘Oh. But I will. It’s my new favourite festive tradition. From now on, Christmas won’t be Christmas until I’ve seen you squeezed into those peachy bloomers.’
Beckett ducked his head, his arm feeling bereft as she let go and grabbed the pram handle. His heart fizzing like a Catherine wheel. If he unzipped his hoodie, she’d be able to see it glowing through his T-shirt.
From now on. He couldn’t quite believe Mary was here this Christmas, let alone dare to imagine she might be part of his future.
He’d wear those damn bloomers every day if it meant he got to see her smile.
On Friday afternoon, Beckett met with the registered manager from a local domiciliary care company. He wasn’t sure whether them being available at such short notice was a good sign or not.
