Perfectly Ordinary People(51)

I told her I could go, too, if that was really what they wanted, but she shook her head. ‘No, he has something he wants to tell you,’ she said. ‘He’s out in the backyard. Go and talk to him.’

I found him gathering tomatoes from the plants he had nurtured in grow-bags, and we set up two deckchairs by the back wall in the middle of a small square of autumnal sunlight.

‘Your grandfather died,’ he told me immediately I was seated. ‘I’ve just got back from Bordeaux.’

‘Oh!’ I said, too shocked to come up with anything more eloquent. I sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the news before asking him if he was OK. And slowly, bit by bit, Dad told me the story of his trip.

He’d flown to Bordeaux airport, he said, where he’d rented a car to drive to Arcachon. But by the time he’d got there, Grandpa Chris had been moved to intensive care in Bordeaux, so he’d turned around and driven right back. Once there, he’d rented a room in an ugly hotel next to the hospital.

Within a few days, Grandpa Chris was officially dying, so he’d decided to stay on until the end. And then once the end had come, he’d decided to stay on for the funeral. All in all he’d been out there over three weeks. ‘God knows how I’m ever going to catch up on work,’ he said.

‘Did you get to talk to him?’ I asked.

‘Not much,’ Dad said. ‘He was pretty bad by the time I got there. On oxygen and stuff.’

‘Did you go back to his house in Arcachon?’

Dad nodded and pushed his tongue into his cheek.

‘Is it nice?’

Another vague nod and a shrug.

‘So are you – are we – inheriting this place?’ I asked. I realised as I said it that it might be misinterpreted as sounding mercenary, and that hadn’t been my intention at all. I’d actually been thinking about all the formalities, about the hassles of having to empty and sell an overseas property, and whether that was something I might be able to help him with.

‘This Igor chap’s living there,’ Dad said. ‘That’s the thing.’

‘His friend?’

‘Yes.’

‘Like a lodger?’

‘Yes. But he was also a very good friend, I think. He was widowed quite young, when I was still a teenager. Maybe a bit later, actually. But yes, his wife died. Cancer, I think it was.’

‘Oh, I see,’ I said. ‘So they’ve known each other for ever.’

‘Yes,’ Dad said. ‘Pretty much.’

‘And he’s been living there?’

‘Yes. It seems that way.’

‘Not just on holiday or visiting because Grandpa was ill?’

‘No,’ Dad said. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘But the place must be yours, right? Grandpa didn’t have any other children?’

‘Not that we know of,’ Dad said.

‘So it must be. Did this Igor say anything?’

Dad shrugged. ‘Look, I feel silly about this . . .’ he said. ‘But it didn’t feel right to ask.’

‘Ah . . .’ I said. ‘OK.’

‘He . . . Igor . . . he’s just lost his best friend. I feel like I should have . . . you know, asked for more details . . . but I couldn’t. He was very upset. More than me, in some ways. There was no . . . space . . . I suppose you could say . . . in which to ask.’

‘Of course,’ I said, in an attempt at reassuring him. ‘That makes sense. That makes perfect sense, Dad. And there’s no hurry, is there?’

‘No,’ Dad said. ‘No, we said we’d keep in touch. With Igor. I suppose it will all become clear.’

‘There’s got to be a will, hasn’t there?’ I asked.

‘Again,’ Dad said. ‘I couldn’t bring myself to ask. It’s daft, I know, but there it is.’

He turned away and looked out over the fence, and after a moment I asked him once again if he was OK. ‘Of course you’re not OK. But has it knocked you for six?’

Dad wobbled his hand from side to side. ‘I just feel sad that I never really knew him,’ he said. ‘I feel sad for whatever it was we should have had but didn’t.’ And then he stood and returned to his tomato harvest.

I desperately wanted to ask him what he meant by that but I could see that this was not the right moment – there was no space, as he’d say, in which to ask it. That question, too, would have to wait.



The beginning of October was to be the beginning of my experiment living with Dan and I was glad to have something to distract me from thinking about Dad’s sadness and my grandfather’s death.

Because moving into an apartment that was big enough for both of us was a stunningly complex and expensive endeavour – I owned my flat, or rather the bank did, while Dan’s shared rental was a bargain – we’d decided to timeshare between our two places and see how that worked out first. The first two weeks of the month we’d spend at my place, and the second half at Dan’s.

The losers in this game were undoubtedly Buggles, who’d have to move back and forth, and Dan’s co-renters, who were going to have to put up with me.

It wasn’t an ideal solution by any means, both of us could see that, but it seemed to be the best way available to test the waters before having to truly jump in.