“Right. Sure,” she replied, looking up at me when I stood. My eyes were drawn to the cute smattering of freckles across her cheeks. “When will I see you again?”
“I’ll stop by tomorrow after work.”
“Great, see you then.”
***
By the time I arrived at Grandma’s house, it was almost seven-thirty.
“You’re late. That’s not like you,” she commented when I entered the kitchen. She sat at the table with a cup of tea, a magazine open in front of her.
“Sorry about that. I was helping out a friend.”
“You’re a good lad, always doing favours for people, so much like your father,” Grandma said wistfully. “Rosie and I have already eaten, but there’re some lamb chops, potatoes, and carrots in the oven. Oh, and I made my special rosemary gravy.”
“That sounds like heaven. I’m starving,” I said as I pulled out the plate, grabbed a knife and fork from the drawer, then sat down across from Grandma to eat.
“So, which friend were you helping?”
“She’s a new friend,” I replied. “Her name is Afric.”
“That’s a pretty name. How did you meet?”
“Through Michaela. They used to be flatmates before Michaela moved in with her partner, James.”
Grandma gave a thoughtful frown. “This isn’t the same friend of Michaela’s you said was particularly unpleasant, is it?”
I was surprised she remembered me saying that since it was a few weeks ago now. Then again, Grandma was a shrewd woman with a memory like a steel trap. Very little evaded her. “Actually, yes, but I was wrong about her. Mostly. I thought she was unpleasant, but I’m beginning to learn she’s just a bit eccentric. It takes a little getting used to.”
“First impressions aren’t always correct,” Grandma nodded. “What were you helping her with?”
“She’s self-employed, and her accounts are being audited. I offered to lend a hand sorting through the mess.”
Grandma’s lips curved in a smile as she lifted her mug for a sip. “You must like her to make an offer like that.”
“Don’t give me that smile. I don’t like her in the way you think. She’s not my type at all. And besides, you know tidying messes is my favourite pastime. I’m doing myself a favour more than anything else.”
Grandma laughed. “That’s true. You do love a good tidying up.”
She returned her attention to her magazine while I cut into the lamb chops. Rosie entered the room and took a seat at the table. “Hey! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“He was late because he was doing a favour for his new friend Afric,” Grandma said, still with that faint curve to her lips. She thought she knew something, but she was dead wrong. My friendship with Afric was pure convenience. She was helping me with Annabelle, and I was helping her with her accounts. It was that simple.
Rosie’s eyes widened with interest. “Oh, really? You know there’s this girl online I follow called Afric. I didn’t think it was a very common name, but that always happens, doesn’t it? You learn a new word you never heard before, and then suddenly, you’re hearing and seeing it everywhere.”
I glanced at my sister as I chewed a bite of carrot. What were the chances it was a different Afric? Especially since my Afric was an online personality, or whatever it was you called people who did what she did.
“Who’s the girl you follow?”
Rosie grinned. “It’s this Irish girl. She livestreams while playing video games. I’m not really into the games, though. I watch mostly for the funny banter. There’s a Scottish guy and an American girl who she plays with, and the three of them are just hilarious together.”
Hmm. I didn’t remember there being a Scottish guy when I checked out her stream. I must’ve been wearing my thoughts on my face because Rosie gave an excited gasp.
“Oh, my God! Is your friend the same Afric? This is so cool. Can you get me her autograph?”
“I never said it was the same person,” I countered, but my sister waved me away.
“Your expression said it all.”
“She’s right,” Grandma added. “Rosie has always been great at reading expressions.”
“If I weren’t a librarian, I’d become one of those fake psychics who use cold readings to pretend they know stuff about your dead relatives.”
“Do that, and we’ll all disown you.”
“So, what’s she like in real life?” Rosie went on.
“Who?”
She rolled her eyes. “Afric. Who else? Is she as funny as she is on her stream?”
“I’m not sure funny is the right word. The woman doesn’t have a filter. I suppose some people find that sort of thing amusing.”
“Oh, don’t act like your sense of humour is so high-brow. I saw you chuckling away at an old episode of Faulty Towers last week.”
“I was not chuckling,” I argued. “I might’ve smiled in mild amusement, but that’s all.”
“Please get me an autograph. Please,” Rosie begged.