isn’t feeling up to two visitors today and will see only her son.
‘I hope she’s OK,’ I say.
‘Just tired,’ the receptionist explains, but she looks a little awkward .
‘You go ahead,’ I say to Greg.
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah. I’ll go for a walk.’
‘I won’t be long.’
‘Take your time.’
The lawns are beautifully manicured, the shrubs trimmed, the flower beds weed-free. I stroll around, trying not to worry that she doesn’t want to see me. After twenty minutes, my mobile rings. Greg’s on his way out.
We meet at the door and walk to the car.
‘Was she OK?’
‘Fine. Just tired.’
‘Not ill, though?’
‘Nah. She’s a tough old bird,’ he says with love in his voice.
‘Why is she in a home, Greg?’
He smiles. ‘Thought you might ask.’ He shrugs. ‘It was her choice. She won’t come to live with us. She’s very independent.’
‘But being in a home isn’t being independent, is it?’
‘Here, it is. You should see the set-up. There’s a section for active residents. She lives in a suite. It’s like a top-class, one- bedroom apartment. She comes and goes as she pleases. She has a few good friends she likes to fuss over. She has the chapel and her flat -screen TV. She has every modern convenience without having to cook or wash for herself. Rob takes her out shopping once a week. And she visits us for lunch every Sunday – on her own terms; she takes a taxi there and back.’
‘She sounds like a character.’
He smiles. ‘She’s that all right.’
As we drive through the gates, I turn to him. ‘OK, so this is going to sound paranoid, but do you think she just didn’t want to see me?’
‘No, Lucy. She was tired, that’s all.’ But he doesn’t look at me.
And I know, instinctively, that here is another person who doesn’t want someone new in Greg’s life.
I meet Colette, Grace’s friend, in a coffee shop. We settle down in a quiet corner, me with a coffee, Colette, peppermint tea. She waves away my thanks for her time. Then I fill her in.
‘So, how many times have you met Rachel and Toby now?’ sh e asks.
‘Three. Once for a barbecue, then a movie, then we took them to a playground.’
‘And how did you get on?’
‘They’re very quiet. Polite. Like I’m a total stranger. Which I am. They stick with Hilary – the nanny – mostly.’
She nods like a doctor listening to symptoms. ‘And how are you with them?’
‘Terrified. I’m parachuting into their little lives. Sometimes I feel like apologising.’
She smiles. ‘Well, you’re lucky in one sense; they’re still young. Teenagers are so set in their ways. If they take a dislike to you, that’s pretty much it. But,’ she says brightly, ‘every situation is different, every child is different. You just have to feel your way. Have you bought any step-parenting books?’
‘Three.’
She laughs. ‘Only three?’
I smile.
‘And how are you with Greg around the children?’
I have to think about that. ‘Well, I avoid public displays of affection like the plague – obviously.’
‘Recipe for disaster, right there,’ she agrees.
‘I try not to feel like he’s judging how I am with them. Because he’s not. He’s not like that. He knows it’ll take time.’
‘Good. And, listen, if you learn nothing more from me than this, always remember you’re in this for Greg. That’s the most important relationship here. There’ll be tough times, challenging times, when you feel like you can’t go on. That’s when you’ll need to remind yourself why you’re doing this.’ I swallow. ‘But I really believe that, if you’re patient and sensitive to the children’s needs, if you give them space, carefully build a relationship and never try to replace their mother, then, eventually , you might all fit together.’
The word ‘might’ has never sounded so huge.
I make Colette repeat everything she’s just said so I can ta ke notes.
The following day, Greg and I drive to
‘I hope she’s OK,’ I say.
‘Just tired,’ the receptionist explains, but she looks a little awkward .
‘You go ahead,’ I say to Greg.
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah. I’ll go for a walk.’
‘I won’t be long.’
‘Take your time.’
The lawns are beautifully manicured, the shrubs trimmed, the flower beds weed-free. I stroll around, trying not to worry that she doesn’t want to see me. After twenty minutes, my mobile rings. Greg’s on his way out.
We meet at the door and walk to the car.
‘Was she OK?’
‘Fine. Just tired.’
‘Not ill, though?’
‘Nah. She’s a tough old bird,’ he says with love in his voice.
‘Why is she in a home, Greg?’
He smiles. ‘Thought you might ask.’ He shrugs. ‘It was her choice. She won’t come to live with us. She’s very independent.’
‘But being in a home isn’t being independent, is it?’
‘Here, it is. You should see the set-up. There’s a section for active residents. She lives in a suite. It’s like a top-class, one- bedroom apartment. She comes and goes as she pleases. She has a few good friends she likes to fuss over. She has the chapel and her flat -screen TV. She has every modern convenience without having to cook or wash for herself. Rob takes her out shopping once a week. And she visits us for lunch every Sunday – on her own terms; she takes a taxi there and back.’
‘She sounds like a character.’
He smiles. ‘She’s that all right.’
As we drive through the gates, I turn to him. ‘OK, so this is going to sound paranoid, but do you think she just didn’t want to see me?’
‘No, Lucy. She was tired, that’s all.’ But he doesn’t look at me.
And I know, instinctively, that here is another person who doesn’t want someone new in Greg’s life.
I meet Colette, Grace’s friend, in a coffee shop. We settle down in a quiet corner, me with a coffee, Colette, peppermint tea. She waves away my thanks for her time. Then I fill her in.
‘So, how many times have you met Rachel and Toby now?’ sh e asks.
‘Three. Once for a barbecue, then a movie, then we took them to a playground.’
‘And how did you get on?’
‘They’re very quiet. Polite. Like I’m a total stranger. Which I am. They stick with Hilary – the nanny – mostly.’
She nods like a doctor listening to symptoms. ‘And how are you with them?’
‘Terrified. I’m parachuting into their little lives. Sometimes I feel like apologising.’
She smiles. ‘Well, you’re lucky in one sense; they’re still young. Teenagers are so set in their ways. If they take a dislike to you, that’s pretty much it. But,’ she says brightly, ‘every situation is different, every child is different. You just have to feel your way. Have you bought any step-parenting books?’
‘Three.’
She laughs. ‘Only three?’
I smile.
‘And how are you with Greg around the children?’
I have to think about that. ‘Well, I avoid public displays of affection like the plague – obviously.’
‘Recipe for disaster, right there,’ she agrees.
‘I try not to feel like he’s judging how I am with them. Because he’s not. He’s not like that. He knows it’ll take time.’
‘Good. And, listen, if you learn nothing more from me than this, always remember you’re in this for Greg. That’s the most important relationship here. There’ll be tough times, challenging times, when you feel like you can’t go on. That’s when you’ll need to remind yourself why you’re doing this.’ I swallow. ‘But I really believe that, if you’re patient and sensitive to the children’s needs, if you give them space, carefully build a relationship and never try to replace their mother, then, eventually , you might all fit together.’
The word ‘might’ has never sounded so huge.
I make Colette repeat everything she’s just said so I can ta ke notes.
The following day, Greg and I drive to
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