Right Number, Wrong Girl

“Thank you, dear. Where is everyone? Is it a bank holiday? Why are you pouring my tea and not the staff?”

“Because I’m capable of pouring you a cup, and you complain when anyone else does it.”

“I don’t like yours either. I just don’t want to moan after you’ve had a conversation with your mother.” She sniffed, then licked her finger and elegantly turned the page, never taking her eyes off the paper. “Only your grandfather has ever been able to make a pot of tea the way I like it. It’s a distinct skill, and one that many people appear to lack these days.”

“You’re welcome,” I replied, walking back to where I was sitting at the island.

Most people would be insulted by her outspoken honesty.

I wasn’t. If Grandma was honest with you, it meant she trusted you.

It was an arse-backwards way of showing it, but it was trust all the same.

“Are you going over the guest list with Nancy?”

I glanced over at her. “I cannot think of anything I’d rather do less.”

“I think I saw Charlotte on there. You know, the one the Coventry lad was sleeping with.”

They were engaged, but I didn’t feel like correcting her this morning. She’d only argue with me.

“Charlotte can be on that list all she wants. She’s the last person on Earth I’d consider marrying,” I replied.

Well, perhaps. There were quite a few people on the never-marry list.

“Good. She’s a gold-digging bitch.”

“Grandma. You can’t say that.”

“Yes, I can. I just did.”

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

She put down her paper and turned around, peering at me with an unimpressed expression that was only exemplified by the fact she was wearing her glasses. “Why not? In case I might upset her? In case people don’t like the truth?”

“It’s… not polite.”

“I don’t care about being polite,” she continued. “There’s a time, a place, and a person to be polite to, and none of those things include someone who pays no mind to being polite to you, for a start.”

I lifted my mug to my lips, holding her gaze with mine.

“And let me tell you, Hugo, Charlotte is not the person one should be polite to until she herself has learnt a lesson about what kind of person she should be. As Maya Angelou once said, ‘When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.’ I happen to have seen who she really is, so I couldn’t give a flying fig on a fiddle if she’s offended by my opinion of her. If she doesn’t like my observation, she should be a better person, shouldn’t she?”

I swallowed.

That felt like a trick question.

“So no, Hugo. I shan’t be polite to her, and if she has the balls to show up at my bloody birthday party, I shall drown her in the lake.”

“Grandma!”

“If you attempt to court her, I shall drown you in the lake, too.”

Oh, for God’s sake.

“Don’t look at me like that. I know where your baby pictures are.” With that, she turned around and went back to her newspaper, putting the conversation to a very firm end.

I knew better than to discuss the matter further.