Caring Grandma
My grandmother, Elizabeth Matthews, an energetic and no-nonsense lady in her early sixties, once turned to me with a serious frown and said, Emily! Ive waited long enough, and my patience has finally worn thin. Are you ever going to let me leave this world in peace?
I was caught completely off-guard by her question. Im a petite brunette, an art historian, and I simply blinked at her in confusion.
When will you settle down and get married so I can rest easy, knowing youre looked after? she pressed on. Youll be twenty-seven soon, you know. I spent the whole summer at Rose Baxters cottageenduring her endless tales about her piles and sympathising with her twenty times a dayfor what? So you could finally get your life together! But you havent even tried to meet anyone!
But Grandma, when am I supposed to meet someone? Ive got work, my Spanish classes, my dissertation! And the only single man at the museum is Arthur Smithyouve met him.
Oh yes, Arthur Smith, Grandma remarked with a sigh, Hes not exactly a catch. More like a half-dead prawn from a pond with no fish.
Undeterred, the very next day she rung up Roseher old fool friendand discovered that Roses granddaughter had met her future husband at a nightclub. Unfortunately, I dont go clubbing, so Grandma decided shed have to investigate suitable bachelor territory herself or find alternative hotspots for eligible young men.
After some quick research, she found out that women could enter the local nightclub for free between 9pm and midnight. Wasting no time, she informed me that she was popping out for a stroll before bed, but in reality, marched straight to the club.
She practically bowled past the bouncers who dared question her age, plonked herself down at the high bar stool (with their reluctant assistance), and surveyed the room with a stern gaze. The atmosphere instantly shifted and felt as tense as a sixth form parents evening when the headmaster catches students drinking cider behind the bike sheds.
How are you finding it here? Enjoying yourself? the nervous young bartender asked as he slid her a tall glass. Its a non-alcoholic cocktail, on the house.
Hopeless, declared Grandma, unimpressed. Theres nothing for a respectable girl here. And you wouldnt bankrupt the establishment by putting a drop of brandy in this, would you? As for that red-headed ladis he dancing like that because of his hips, or is that just the style nowadays?
By Christmas, Grandma had attended a rock concert, a fire-juggling show, a painfully earnest folk music night, an extreme BMX competition, a bridge tournament, and, in total despair, a young poets seminar. The poets finished her off. The last thing she wanted was to lure one inwhat if she succeeded? Unthinkable.
Yes, Emily, I do understand, she later confided in me. In my day, I was choosing between your grandad and at least ten other perfectly nice men. Even Rose Baxter had her own fair share of suitors, though she only ever had eyes for your grandad, silly woman. But boys these days, Emilytheyre simply not up to much. Not one worth a second glance, Im afraid.
Then, one March afternoon, after visiting Rose, Grandma decided to drop by my work. On her way to the museum, she slipped and took a tumblethankfully, not down the steps. A military gentleman ran up to help her to her feet. Leaning on his arm as she checked herself for bruises or breaks, she looked him up and down and said, Major, are you in the Royal Tank Regiment, by any chance? My late husband commanded a tank regiment. Tell me, Major, do you have an hour free?
The Major, thinking he was going to have to carry an ex-colonels wife home and cursing his own good nature, just nodded wearily.
Wonderful. Have you ever been inside this history museum? she continued. No? Thats a shame. Do step in now! And ask for Miss Emily Matthews to give you a tour. Shes a wonderful guide. You wont regret it.
The Major didn’t even quite know why he let himself be swept up by this formidable woman, but it was as if shed hypnotised him…
***
Not long ago, I overheard Grandma softly murmuring to my sleeping son, Jamie, My sunshine, my dear little bear, soon youll be starting school. Your daddy will finish Sandhurst, your mummy will finally complete her doctorateand then I can rest in peace. But will you grow up alone, my little sparrow? No, you need a sister! And when shes born, and then starts school, well then well see. Maybe Ill postpone my rest a while longerJamie stirred and half-opened his eyes, tiny fists tangled in his blanket. Grandma smiled, smoothing a wayward curl from his forehead, her gaze bright with mischief and warmth. You see, Jamie, she whispered conspiratorially, a familywell, its never quite finished growing. It just keeps finding new ways to make room in its heart. I suppose Ill have to stick around a bit longer. Someone needs to keep your mummy and daddy in line, and coach you on the finer points of bridge.
At that, Jamie gave a sleepy giggle, as if even in dreams he understood her game.
In the hallway, I watched, suddenly overcome by gratitude. Grandmas fierce love had marched me, uninvited and unafraid, right into the mess of livinga place where sometimes you didnt find what you were looking for at all, but something else altogether: an unexpected friendship; a gentle Major with shy blue eyes; the sparkling, uncertain promise of ordinary days.
And as sunlight crept into the room and caught the silver in Grandmas hair, I realized shed become the heart of our story, a tireless sentinel watching over the next adventure.
Much, much laterafter graduation dinners, after baby laughter and the music of busy, happy yearsId find her sitting beneath the apple tree, hands folded in her lap, absolutely still except for a sly, satisfied smile. Dont worry, Em, shed whisper, eyes twinkling, Ill rest soon. But not yet. Theres always time for one more miracle.
