“Got a bus pass, don’t use it. Not like old Jane Barry next door. Never goes anywhere. I told her, you should take the grandkids to Guernsey for the day. But no. Why should I, she says. Too tight to spend Christmas, these locals.”
When my gran gets into monologue mode, she’s hell on legs.
What I normally do is nod at her, while quietly thinking my own thoughts. I didn’t have time for that though, I had to get to Gorey to interview a man who collects Marilyn Monroe’s dresses and Jesse James’ guns.
He sounded mad on paper, but mad often makes good material, and if I could keep him comprehensible I may be able to sell it to a glossy mag.
Maybe, if he’s a really good mad, I could even sell it to a national.
So I had to get out quickly, without upsetting her.
To outsiders she seems a tough old bird, but my gran can take offence really easily. I remember times when she wouldn’t speak to me for days if I didn’t mention her new hair cut, or her new shoes, or even her new apron, for Christ’s sake.
All I’d get was fuming silence through dinner, tea, and then the next day’s breakfast as well.
It was usually one of the animals who’d loosen her up, and when I heard her chatting away to one of the cats, I’d know forgiveness was on its way, or if not forgiveness, at least forgetfulness.
But there are no animals left, no real ones anyway.
“…and old Ma Roberts, she’s had another operation. Gawd, she’s had so much taken out of her she must be hollow by now…”
It looked like Ga was in for a long one, so I was just going to have to do it the hard way.
“Sorry, got to go.”
I was backing out of the kitchen as I spoke, holding onto the Co-op bag containing my secret haul of notes.
She stopped, looked at me and then at the bag.
“You been shopping?”
“Yes, on my way here. Bye then, see you tomorrow or
Wednesday, not sure when I’ll have time yet.”
“Please yourself.”
And she pretended not to care as she turned her back on me and wiped imaginary crumbs from the plastic table cloth.
