Miss Wrong and Mr Right (27 page)

Kieron leant into the car and gently lifted Gran out, with one strong forearm under her legs, and one supporting her back. I scuttled round and grabbed her stuff and my bag and locked up the car.

‘Where to?’ asked Kieron.

‘We’re on the first floor,’ I said.
 

‘I’m Steve,’ said the skinny guy introducing himself. We followed as Kieron carried Gran up the steps. I pressed the button and we waited for the lift.

‘Vere are you two boys off to?’ asked Gran.

‘We’re having a party,’ said Steve bashfully.

‘Ooh a party!’ said Gran. ‘Natalie we have time, let’s go and join in!’

‘I don’t think it’s
quite
the party you’d enjoy,’ grinned Kieron. ‘But we’d love to have you over some other time, we’re on the top floor.’
 

The lift arrived and opened with a ping. Kieron carefully manoeuvred Gran inside and the doors closed.

‘Did you bring a bottle?’ asked Gran, leaning over and reaching into the paper bag Steve was holding. She pulled out a giant pink dildo. We all froze as it flopped to one side in her hand.

‘My God, whoever gets this vill have to bite down on a stick!’ said Gran. Luckily the two guys were very kind, and found Gran hilarious. When we reached the flat, they took her into the living room, and gently put her on the sofa bed where she began to doze.

'Sleeping like a baby,’ said Kieron.

‘Thank you so much. Is there anything I can give you?’ I asked.

‘It’s fine love,’ said Kieron, ‘Glad to help.’

‘Do you guys like Ryan Harrison?’ I asked.

‘Ooh yes,’ said Steve. ‘We saw him at Pride, on the float.’

‘It’s such a shame about his booze problems. The good-looking ones always self-destruct,’ said Kieron.

‘I run the theatre where he’s playing Macbeth. Let me comp you a couple of tickets, any night you like,’ I said.

‘That’s still going ahead?’ asked Kieron.

‘Yes, of course,’ I said.

‘That’s not what I read,’ added Steve. ‘They’ve fired him from that TV show, and his manager wants him checked into rehab…’

‘Where did you read that?’ I asked.

‘It just came up on PerezHilton.com,’ said Steve pulling a smartphone from the back of his leather trousers.
 

‘Shit,’ I said, reading.
 

‘Sorry to be the bearer of bad news love,’ said Kieron. I thanked them and they went off to their party on the top floor. I came back to Gran dozing on the bed.

‘Are you okay Zsa Zsa?’ I said, easing her out of her fur coat and slipping off the one shoe she had on.

‘I didn’t die, Natalie,’ she muttered drowsily.

‘No, you didn’t Gran,’ I smiled. ‘You are very much alive.’

‘I told that bitch nurse I vas forty-nine. She didn’t believe me!’

‘She probably had your notes, with your birth date,’ I said helping her into a lying position.

‘Vat vould I do vithout my favourite granddaughter?’ she said, and then she was asleep.

I went through to pour myself a drink when my phone went. It was Mum, asking how things were. I told her that everything was okay and that Gran was asleep in the living room. Leaving out the part with the helpful dildo-toting leather boys.

‘Just before you go, Mum,’ I said. ‘Did you know that Jamie’s nan is ill? I bumped into him this afternoon.’

‘Yes, I heard it from the lady at the butcher’s. Mrs Dawson is in hospital; they took her in this afternoon. Pneumonia…’ she said.

‘Is it serious?’ I asked.

‘Pneumonia normally is Nat, but they’re very good up at Devon North General…’

‘Will you let me know if you hear any more?’ I asked.

‘Course love, and you keep me posted about your Gran. Make sure she eats lots of fruit and veg, and don’t let her near the brandy.’

‘Yes, Mum.’

‘And don’t let her wear any high heels.’

‘I won’t…’

‘I’m serious Natalie. Find a high place on top of a cupboard and put them all up there, out of her reach. When she had her veins done she nearly got a clot from prancing around in stilettos the day after she’d been discharged from the hospital.’

‘Yes, Mum.’

‘And Natalie…’

‘What?’

‘It’s never too late you know…. You and Jamie.’

‘Oh Mum, that’s... no, that’s never going to happen,’ I said. ‘I’d better go, night, night.’

I hung up the phone, wondering where on earth that had come from.

Snakes on a plane

I’d underestimated just how serious Gran’s bunionectomy operation was. She was in constant pain and for the first few days she could barely walk. I moved her through to my bedroom, so she could recuperate in a proper bed and be nearer the bathroom. I also had to help her shower every morning with a plastic bag over her foot to keep the bandage dry. Gran insisted on choosing the plastic bag.
 

‘Darlink! You scrubbing my backside vith a sponge is bad enough, at least give me a Harrods bag to put over my foot and take my mind off it,’ she said. Luckily I had one in the cupboard under the sink.
 

I’m so glad the theatre was only a few minutes away, so I could pop back home throughout the day. I bought her scores of magazines, and Gran likes fairytales so I downloaded
Tangled
and
Frozen
. She was adamant she didn’t want to watch
Cinderella.

‘Is it because the older fairy tales have weak female role models?’ I asked stupidly.

‘No! I just don’t vant to be reminded of my bad bloody foot,’ she said.

‘So
The Wizard of Oz
is out of the question too?’ I asked.
 

‘Yes, just the thought of ruby slippers makes me want to cry,’ she grimaced, popping one of the super-strength painkillers from the hospital.

On Wednesday, Ryan was discharged from hospital and came back to work. We were now in the middle of the second week of rehearsals, so time was very limited. I was hoping to get to talk to him, but when I approached the theatre there was an enormous queue running several hundred yards back from the main entrance. I thought at first it was Ryan fans, but then I saw it was mainly greasy older men and young girls with tattoos – and each one of them had one or more clear glass tank containing a snake!
 

When I reached the front door, Val was jotting down their names on a clipboard and showing them through to the auditorium.

‘Gawd, these open auditions are always so popular,’ she said rolling her eyes. She took the name of an old man with waist-length grey hair and an eye patch. He had an enormous snake in a tank. Its scaly body was pressed flat against the glass.

‘Wanna see my python?’ he growled to Val.

‘Ooh, you sauce pot,’ she giggled and motioned him to go through.

‘What’s going on?’ I said as I watched him stride towards the doors of the theatre auditorium.

‘The open auditions for
Snakes on a Plane: The Musical
,
’ said Val.

There was a whoosh of a hand dryer then a short woman with a pierced lip emerged from the ladies loo with a giant white snake draped around her shoulders.

‘You see that one, it got down to the last two for when Britney Spears performed at the MTV awards,’ said Val. I stepped back with a shiver as the woman passed, the snake shooting out a black forked tongue.

‘Who the hell is doing
Snakes on a Plane: The Musical?
And who said they could hire out the theatre for auditions?’ I asked.

‘
You
did,’ said Val. She was about to let in a man and woman each cradling a clear tank with a colossal green and yellow snake.

‘Sorry, could you wait a moment please,’ I said. I pulled Val to one side.
 

‘What do you mean
I
did?’ I asked. Val rolled her eyes impatiently.

‘You sent me the message, from yer new email address. I thought it was an odd musical to attempt, but I know you have to stay fresh and modern for the bloody Arts Council…’

‘Can we please come in?’ asked the woman whom I’d stopped. ‘We’ve driven all the way from Thetford, and Molly and Mark need feeding.’

I nodded. They came into the foyer, and set down the tanks on the carpet. The woman pulled out a McDonald’s Happy Meal carton, and lifted out some live mice by the tails. Molly and Mark shifted in their tanks, their heads rising to the vents in the top of the glass.

‘What the hell is going on?’ cried Nicky squeezing past the snake-toting queue and through the door. We all screamed as the woman lowered a live mouse into one of the tanks.

‘I think this is Brendan’s latest prank,’ I said. There was a scream and Byron came running into the foyer.

‘I’m sorry. I’m naught a squeamish person, but snakes are my Achilles’ heel,’ she said. She noticed the snakes in the tank and put her hands to her face.

‘Three of our auditionees in the auditorium can’t find their snakes. They’re slithering loose in the theatre!’ she said through her fingers.
 

The theatre had to be evacuated for the rest of the day, and a snake specialist was called in from London Zoo at a cost of £500 an hour!
 
After five hours he finally rounded up the snakes. A grass snake and a python were found snoozing on a heater in the bar, and the rattle snake was located in the costume department, asleep in Macbeth’s sporran.
 

I was given a long lecture by the snake specialist, saying how irresponsible and impractical staging
Snakes on a Plane: The Musical
would be. I think their careless owners should have been ticked off too. All one man had over the tank for his python was a sheet of cling film! When the theatre was finally safe to reopen for the evening, I set off home.

I phoned Dave and asked if he could locate a black-and-white snooker match from the sixties to put on the screen of The Big O.

That evening my mood lightened when Sharon came over with a homemade lasagne, and when Gran insisted I do her hair and make-up, I knew she was getting better. They thought the snake story was hilarious.
 

‘I bet it was Jamie, cheeky bugger,’ said Sharon. ‘He always had such a great sense of humour…’

There was an awkward silence and Gran asked if Sharon could help her through to the bedroom. I made some coffee and then followed them through.
 

Sharon was perched on the end of the bed as Gran scrolled through her phone.

‘Sharon, my darlink, your family is beautiful,’ Gran was saying. ‘Such beautiful dark hair, your little girl…’

‘Amy is ten and Felix is eight. Fred is Italian,’ said Sharon. ‘They’ve inherited his dark looks.’

‘I love Italian men. A little vain, yes?’ asked Gran.

‘Yes, Fred can be vain,’ grinned Sharon.

‘Does he vear his suit, just so, as Italian men do, a little louche?’ asked Gran.

‘He wishes! He’s a plumber, so most of the time he’s in overalls.’

‘You have it all vorked out Sharon. You are in the post office, Fred unblocks toilets.’

‘It doesn’t sound glamorous when you say it like that,’ moaned Sharon.

‘But it’s perfect, whatever happens in the vorld people always need to poop and post letters.’

‘Well, things are a bit tight money-wise,’ she said. ‘We’re looking for a lodger.’

‘You need to find a nice ugly woman or a gay man,’ said Gran. ‘You don’t want to upset your family dynamic.’

Later on, when Gran had fallen asleep, Sharon helped me in the kitchen with the washing up.

‘Anouska hasn’t changed,’ said Sharon. ‘Do you remember that first night when we came to London with her. She took us to that gay bar, Mr Bojangles
.
’

‘I know. It was like a different world to Sowerton, so glamorous and exciting. We could be whoever we wanted,’ I said.

‘And
everyone
knew your Gran,’ added Sharon.

‘We were treated like royalty, free drinks all night…’

‘Wasn’t there even a drag queen who’d named himself after her?’ asked Sharon.

‘Anouska Temple,’ I grinned.

‘Yes! They got up and sang ‘I’ve Got You Babe’
together.’

‘Gran insisted on singing the Cher part,’ I added.

‘She was good…
Dey say our lav vont pay de rent
,
’ sang Sharon, grabbing a banana as a microphone.

‘Shhh!’ I grinned. ‘You’ll wake her up.’

‘She was so popular back then,’ said Sharon putting the banana back in the fruit bowl. ‘Where are all those people now?’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘I dunno. She’s turned up on your doorstep, homeless, with no money. There’s no one here but you to help her out…’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. There was a silence, I carried on washing up.

‘It’s got so crazy at work, Sharon. This stupid feud with Jamie’s venue is getting in the way of what matters. And I ran into him the other day, and then fell over,’ I said.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, apart from a big bruise on my backside…’

Sharon’s phone rang.

‘Sorry hun, hang on it’s the kids. Hold that thought…’ She picked up her phone and said goodnight to Amy and Felix, checking they had had their baths and done their homework.

‘What is it?’ asked Sharon when she came off the phone and saw the sad look on my face.

‘Do you think I’m going to end up like Gran?’ I asked.

‘What, with a bunion?’
 

‘I’m being serious. What if I end up old and alone?’ I said, wiping a tear away.

‘Don’t be silly. You’ve got me and Fred, and…’

‘And?’

‘And you will always be Amy and Felix’s Godmother… If Fred, God forbid, were to die… I don’t know, fall down a drain and if I licked a toxic stamp, you would be there for them,’ she said.

I laughed.

‘Joking apart, I’m serious, Nat…’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘What were you talking about, before the kids rang?’

‘Jamie… I fell over on my arse in front of him when I was rollerblading. It’s hardly Jane Austen stuff.’

‘Okay. And what about Ryan?’ asked Sharon.

‘I’m leaving that one alone for now.’

‘You should talk to Ryan, Nat because…’

‘My God! Jamie, Ryan, Benjamin! They’re the kinds of relationships fifteen-year-old schoolgirls have. I don’t think I’m cut out for a proper adult relationship. I’m too set in my ways now, I’ve missed the boat.’