Levi shook his head vigorously. ‘Not in the slightest. I prefer places like yours or where we ate today – but I trust you to choose.’
He watched as Honey squinted at her phone, ‘I’ve got your email by the way…so your surname is Robinson. I’ve been meaning to ask about your first name. It’s unusual and I wondered if it was a bible name. I love quirky names, don’t you… so now you’re going to tell me you go to mass every Sunday and that your dad’s called Moses, or Noah.’
Levi shook his head again, ‘Nope, nothing of the sort. My mum picked my name off a telly advert from the eighties.’
Honey’s eyebrows lifted. ‘No way! Which one?’
‘Well, my mother had a massive crush on Nick Kamen who, I’m reliably informed, was hot back then – by the way my mum overshares – but she didn’t like the name Nicholas, it’s too boring apparently so…’
By this time Honey was holding her stomach and laughing, ‘I know what you’re going to say, it was the jeans advert, the famous one in the launderette where he takes them off and stands there in his boxer shorts.’
‘Yep, yours truly is named after a pair of Levi 501s. Thanks entirely to my mad mother’s crush on a supermodel. And moving swiftly on, how did you get the name Honey?’ Levi actually quite liked his name and the story that went with it and the fact he’d made Honey laugh.
‘Oh, mine’s a lot more boring. My mum’s favourite plant is Honeysuckle and then, when she was pregnant with me, she had a craving for honey – swore it was the reason she never got morning sickness or stretch marks. She’s always attaching importance to random stuff, so when I was born I had whisps of hair that was actually the colour of honey, even though it darkened to auburn as I got older. Mum named me Honeysuckle which I hated when I was little because it took ages to write in my schoolbooks, so I shortened it to Honey. Either way I suppose my name does suit me.’
Levi loved Honey’s hair colour and told her so. ‘I think it’s a lovely colour. In fact, my great-grandma used to have hair the same colour as yours.’
‘Do any of your family members have it, too? Passed down the line?’
‘No, because she’s my step-great grandma. I don’t know the full story, but she couldn’t have kids and brought up her husband’s children as her own. Their mum died in childbirth, I think, during the war. My great-grandad was a doctor and was left with two little children to care for and, because his occupation was protected, chose not to enlist. He was scared his children could be left orphaned. When he met my great-grandma, she took them under her wing. Everyone adores her. She’s quite a character too. Very vocal about what she believes in and who she doesn’t like. The Conservatives are right up there on that list, and royalty … you should have heard her banging on about how much the King’s coronation cost. Refused to watch it on the telly but went to the street party because she likes a bit-of-a-do. Once she gets something in her head, though, she sticks to it.’
Honey had moved closer to her laptop screen, soaking it all up. ‘I love her already, tell me more.’
Levi was proud of his grandma and happy to oblige, ‘Well, back in the day, she burnt her bra by all accounts. Went on ban the bomb marches, camped out at Greenham Common, collected money for the miners’ strike, that kind of thing.
‘And she totally embraced the whole yoga and vegetarianism vibe in the sixties and seventies, still meditates and drinks vile green concoctions that Mum blends up for her. Rattles from all the vitamins she takes and has hardly anything wrong with her medically. She does struggle a bit to get about but her mind’s as sharp as anything. She’s probably healthier than me. Oh, and guess how old she is.’
He watched as Honey tried to do the maths so helped her out. ‘She’ll be a hundred and two at the end of the month. How ace is that!’
‘Oh my. That’s really ace. I’ve never met anyone that old.’
Levi didn’t miss a beat. ‘Well you can come to her big birthday as she calls it. The last two were called the same, when she was one hundred then one hundred and one. She reckons that she deserves a fuss, so we’re having another party. It’ll be full of oldies, but you’d be very welcome.’
Honey was beaming. ‘I’d love that so yes, I accept. I’ll look forward to it.’
The sound of Levi’s phone ringing interrupted and once he’d located it under a cushion, saw it was his mum and after signalling to Honey he’d be one minute, answered, ‘Hi, Mum. I’m just on a Facetime call at the mo, can I ring you back? Is everything okay?’
After swerving the question about who he was talking to, otherwise she’d want to interrogate him, he listened patiently as his mum told him it wasn’t urgent, but could he definitely call her back as she needed to pencil him in on the Batty Bus rota, she finally hung up.
‘Sorry about that, I’ll ring her in a bit.’
‘Hey, it’s fine and it’s getting late, so I’d best get on. A girl has to look her best when she’s serving all-day breakfasts and as much as it’s a big cliché and totally not an excuse, I need to wash my hair.’
He would’ve talked all night, but they’d covered quite a bit of ‘personal stuff ground’, so it was a good place to leave it. A weekend date was in the bag, and she’d said yes to meeting his family, so he couldn’t grumble. After re-affirming their plans, because he was a worrier like that, and promising to drop her a text the next day… and every day after that even though he didn’t actually say that thought out loud, they signed off.
Levi took a moment to take stock and congratulate himself on not messing up for once, and then with a sigh picked up his phone and rang his mother, vowing that no matter how much she twisted his arm, he would not be driving the Batty Bus anywhere on Saturday. Fact.
CHAPTER30
HONEY
Hump day had arrived. And as she lay in bed snuggled under the duvet with her eyes closed, Honey knew that this Wednesday’s hump was a biggie. Worse that the camel’s hump bridge they’d had to cross to get to primary school. Even though it spanned the canal below, it wasn’t actually that steep, not when seen through adult eyes, but to a child, it looked like Mount Everest especially in winter.
Honey used to be terrified because the smooth cobbles were often covered in ice and if it snowed – which it always did back then – it was a death-trap. When she looked back, she did chuckle at the image of mums and little kids, gripping onto the wall of the bridge, taking tiny sideways steps upwards, desperate not to slip. Going down was like taking your life in your hands – a white-knuckle slide. The number of times Honey had slipped and gone to school with soggy knickers and a bruised bottom was nobody’s business.
As her alarm came to life and she reluctantly pushed back the duvet and whacked the button hard, making the racket stop, Honey knew that the next few hours were going to be like going over the camel’s hump bridge.
First she had to get to the top without her grandad losing his mind, or his rag, or both, knowing him. Then they had to get down the other side in one piece and work out what to do next. Most of all, she didn’t want to fall out with him over someone else’s mistake.
