He blathered on to such an extent that in the end I felt positively sorry for him. The awful truth was that he meant every word he was saying. Right at that moment. He was one of those men who have been cursed with this ability to charm women, and he uses it not because he’s a slimy creep, but because when he meets women he really does love them at that moment. And he can’t help telling them.
‘You’ve got a lot of charm, Louis,’ I said, looking intently into his eyes and hoping I appeared like some mad old witch. ‘But you should remember to use it carefully. If you don’t watch out, you could hurt someone. As I’m sure you already have. Frequently. You nearly hurt me. Very much. Now don’t get up hopes about this Masani. I hope you’ll be happy with her, but try to think ahead before you blurt out your feelings this time – for her sake,’ I added, feeling suddenly very sorry for this poor little African girl who was all ready to fall into Louis’ web of charm.
But I don’t think he’ll change. He left, swearing undying love and friendship, and yet I have a funny feeling I won’t hear from him again.
But who knows?
And who, I’m afraid, cares?
16 December
‘Well,’ said Penny, when I rang her, ‘You could always spend it with us …’ She was going to spend Christmas with her daughter and son-in-law. But I knew that really she wanted to have it with her relatives on her own, and why not? I do. It’s funny how much you can tell just by the faintest pause in someone’s voice what their real feelings are. ‘I mean, we’d love to have you … couldn’t bear to think of you sitting at home all on your own.’
‘That’s really kind of you,’ I said, ‘But I’m sure I can find somewhere …’
I thought of Sylvie or James or even Marion – they’d all offered. But otherwise, would Christmas on my own really be all that grim? Mightn’t it actually be rather a relief? There’d be no one in London, I could do exactly what I wanted, and I know quite a few friends who say how much they hate Christmas and just spend it curled up watching old films on the telly by themselves, and having a great time.
I was just sitting down and wondering what I could do, and feeling a bit empty now all the excitement of the trees is over, Archie gone and Louis out of the picture, when the phone rang. It was Jack, asking if I would go on Skype.
I logged on, and there he was. Gene was by his side, hopping up and down.
‘Stop hopping, darling!’ I said. ‘I can’t see your face! By the way I’ve nearly finished your jersey!’
‘We’ve got some news for you, Mum,’ said Jack. He had a big grin on his face.
Gene pushed in the way. ‘Yes, Granny! We’re coming back!’
‘For Christmas? How lovely!’ I said. That was wonderful news!
‘No,’ said Gene, ‘We’re coming back, coming back properly. To stay!’
‘Stay for how long?’ I asked, nervously. I still couldn’t quite believe it.
‘No, no, stay … live!’ said Jack, beaming. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when we get back properly, but we’ve been thinking about it for a few months. That’s why we’ve been so hopeless about Christmas. I’m so sorry. I know how much you’ve been wanting us to come back and I couldn’t bear you to get your hopes up and then disappoint you. The fact is, we just can’t adjust here. Chrissie’s working too hard. And although everyone’s so friendly, we haven’t made any real friends. And you know we don’t want Gene being brought up American. All the usual reasons. You were right, Mum. It’s the gee-whizzness of it all. And Chrissie’s been offered her old job back and she’s taking it part time and I’ll have a much better chance of working … and anyway London’s our home …’
Well, I didn’t know what to do or say. I just felt wave after wave of happiness flooding over me. Tears came to my eyes. I felt as if a huge boulder had been rolled away from my shoulders and suddenly I felt, well … would it be too much to say born again? I couldn’t speak.
‘Mum? Mum? Are you all right?’ said Jack, leaning forward.
‘I’m so so happy,’ I sobbed, reaching out to touch his face on the screen. ‘Oh darling … how wonderful … and when are you coming? I’ll be at the airport to meet you … oh darling … what wonderful, wonderful news!’
‘We’ll book a flight as soon as possible. It’ll be a nightmare and terribly expensive, but we’ll be home for Christmas if it kills us,’ said Jack.
20 December
Haven’t written the diary for far too long, because I’ve been doing nothing but rushing about making mince pies, ordering the turkey, putting up the decorations (I was very careful with the ladder and got Penny to come and hold it) and finishing Gene’s jersey, as well as trying to sort out Jack and Chrissie’s house for them. The tenants have left it in a dreadful state and I’ve had to repaint bits, and had a huge rush to get the carpets cleaned so it’s now looking absolutely spotless and just as Jack and Chrissie left it.
They’re coming back tomorrow and I can’t speak for joy. I can hardly type this. Forget facelifts, I feel about ten years younger just with happiness and have been dancing in my kitchen like a whirling dervish. Suddenly realised, however, that Brad and Sharmie next door would be able to stare out of their upstairs windows through my glass roof, and get an extraordinary view of the old neighbour capering about. Then I thought, ‘Well, let them! Who cares!’ And continued cavorting about the kitchen to Gladys Knight and her marvellous Pips.
I’ve bought Chrissie an art nouveau lampshade which I know she’ll like, and Jack a book on surrealism and Gene’s getting a huge set of Lego. It’s all just so wonderful. As if all the stress of this past year has been wiped out at a single stroke.
And to cap it all, I’ve finally cancelled the Daily Rant! I’m giving it up for good!
21 December
They’re all back!
I drove down to Heathrow and parked the car and went on legs that were quite shaky with excitement to the barrier. There were the usual Indians and Arabs and Chinese, all no doubt with their stories to tell, and none of them knowing what I was feeling, all staring desperately at the gate and scanning the faces of people emerging with their trolleys. There were loud flight announcements, the sounds of some computer game bleeping and whizzing in the background, and the general buzz of the terminal. I was so excited I could hardly contain myself, hanging on the rail and willing them to come through. I was even trying to read the flight numbers on the labels on people’s suitcases … impossible, of course. Why is it that when you’re waiting at the barrier the people you’re waiting for are always the very last to come through?
And at long last, there they were! Gene was pushing the trolley – far too big for him – and looking around everywhere. The moment he saw me, he left the trolley, dodged under the barrier and raced up to me. I held on to him for dear life, as if I’d just rescued him from that raging dream tsunami. Then Jack and Chrissie came up and we all got a bit tearful. I could hardly speak.
‘Oh, it’s wonderful to see you!’ I said, in a breaking voice. ‘I can’t tell you …!’
‘Where’s my jersey, Granny?’ said Gene. ‘I want to see my jersey!’
I produced it from my bag with a flourish and he immediately threw off his coat and pulled it on. ‘It’s brilliant!’ he said, twirling round in it. ‘And I like the elephants. How did you do them, Granny?’ and he started making elephant noises, followed, after a moment, by elephant pooing noises.
‘That’s enough,’ said Jack, as we tried not to giggle at these head-turning sounds. ‘Come on, Gene, we’ve got to get back now. I can’t wait to be home.’
‘Nor can I,’ said Chrissie. ‘Oh, it’s so good to be back!’
‘You go ahead to the car, Mum,’ said Jack, as he took the trolley from Gene. ‘We’ll follow you.’
Gene and I forged ahead to the car park. He took my hand and started jumping up and down as we walked. ‘I want to come over and see your house, Granny,’ he said. ‘And then can we play the elephant game? And can I tell you what I want
for Christmas?’
‘Of course, darling,’ I said. ‘What do you want?’
‘Well, I want some Lego,’ he said. ‘And a guinea pig. But what I want as well,’ he said, looking down, rather shyly, ‘well, you see, Granny, there are these people in Africa, and they’re so poor, they’ve got nothing to eat. And Dad says you can buy a goat and give it to them for Christmas, and they can get lovely milk from it and that will give them vitamins and they’ll be happy and well. And it’ll say ‘love from Gene’ on it. Could we do that Granny? Could we? Would it be too expensive?’
And as he looked up at me, his big eyes full of trust and warmth, I felt my heart break.
‘Of course, darling,’ I said, squeezing his warm little hand in mine. ‘We’ll send just as many goats as you like.’
And we did.
No! I Don’t Need Reading Glasses! Page 28