Granddad, eh! yanked Sam, a lanky boy with a toolarge coat, at his grandfathers elbow, his other hand patting his own lips as if searching for crumbs.
George Thompson gave his grandson a sideways glance, tightened the redandblack checkered scarf around his necka long, woolly thing with a shaggy fringe.
That fringe always got in Sams face whenever George leaned over and muttered something. Right now a stray tassel brushed the boys frostpink cheek.
Sam winced, rubbed his cheeks, then stared at George with a pleading look.
Come on, the old man growled, halfroar, halfsnort. Whats that eh you keep saying? Say Im hungry!you know the drill, right? Now! He stared into Sams eyes with his own crinkly, redveined stare.
Their eyes were like twins, one a miniature of the other.
Georges eyes had seen a lot, but he never let tears fall; they burned only with stubborn pride. Sams eyes, however, only knew the garden and the nursery, and occasionally the local pub where George called his mates the chums. Sams tears were quiet, the sort that didnt get a scold.
Eh Sam whispered.
Hungry! George barked.
Eh, eh Sam repeated.
They could have stared at each other forever while the snow kept falling, blanketing the two kin who barely understood each otherif not for a woman who stepped into the scene. Daphne Miller, the cook from the canteen All About Pies, shone like a string of fairy lights beside the flustered pair.
Davey, is that you? Daphne called out, clearing her throat loudly. And look at that scarf, dear! Red as a Santa hatwhat, did Father Christmas forget his?
Its me, George grunted, puffing his chest. And Ive had this scarf forever. Whats the point of fussing? He jabbed his nose into Daphnes ample chest with a grin.
Alright, love, youre getting grumpy. Whats the matter, another kid on the side? Does your wife not come around? Daphne winked at Sam.
Lydias away on a work trip, George explained, spitting out the words. Shes been here all month.
Lydias been hanging on you like a leech, you muppet! No word from the old man? Daphne teased, brushing the snow off Sams hat with her gloved hand.
Granddad remembered his first night, George snapped. Hes been off the radar for ages. Its a pain dealing with a disabled lad. Hes got a new one, a proper one. Got it, Sam? He gave the boy a halfhearted wink. Sam shrugged. I dont get it. Maybe its better that way.
Whether its right or wrong isnt for us to judge. What were you two arguing about? Daphne sniffed the air, which smelled of soup, meatballs and something sweet. Sams stomach growled in agreement.
Its simple, George said, furrowing his brow. He wont eat, he whines eh, eh. Ill buy him a bun if he learns to say Im hungry. Thats final. He knitted his brows together.
Daphne stared at him a moment, hand on her hips, biting her lip, then gave George a playful smack on the back. He staggered, nearly toppling over.
My final word: I wont let a starving child go hungry. Hes not a cripple; he just lags behind. Hell catch up. Can you keep up, Sam? she asked, nodding.
Sam stared back, feeling his belly twist uncomfortably.
Fine then, lets head to the canteen. Im off today, and Yvonnes covering for me. Plenty of room at the stove for everyone, so line up, you lot! Daphne rallied, waving her arms like a battalion commander.
Not now, weve got to get home, George muttered, pulling his coat tighter. He didnt want to be a guest in anyone elses kitchen.
Hed rather shuffle home, lift Sam to the eighth floor, and while the lift dinged, poke his grandsons fingers at the buttons, counting. Sam would squirm, George would grumble about raising a lad who never learned to speak properly.
Soon they were out the door, and Daphne watched them go with a sigh. She wanted to look after someoneanyone but George, who wasnt exactly her cup of tea. Sam, the shy little boy, though
Winter dragged on, Lydia hopping from one assignment to another, George still shuffling Sam to the garden, grumbling and tugging the boys cap with trembling hands. They trudged through white drifts, their red scarf a beacon in a sleepy, tired city. Daphne kept an eye on them, moving back and forth.
One particularly bleak day, she could take it no longer and hauled them into her canteen.
Dont go! Home now, Sam! Alex! George roared, reaching out for his grandsons hand.
Even he knew theyd reached a breaking point. Beyond it lay darkness and despair. Whether Sam understood it or not was a big question; he often sniffed his mothers coat in the hallway, yearning for her, while the old man frightened him.
Sometimes Sam would weep in his sleep, reaching for someone; George would slip his hand in, only for Sam to push it away.
That foolish love of yours! George moaned. Your mother isnt needed! Shes probably at a restaurant, sipping wine, while youre here whining
Imagining those evening torments, George finally relented and went to Daphnes workplace.
Right, Victor! Whats going on at home? Ive got a cake! Lets go! Daphne shouted, leading the way.
The All About Pies canteen was packed. Cheap, hearty, and comfortinglike home. The menu was simple: broth, roast, buckwheat, salad, compote, occasionally a plump pilaf that Daphne learned from a suitor, though she never used a cauldron. Her carrots were sweet, onions finely diced, rice grains separate and glossy, with just a whisper of butter.
Enjoy, love! Daphne chirped whenever someone thanked her.
She cooked as if for a big familyplump kids, a hardworking husband, a bit of whisky with salted herring, politics, and songs. Shed always wanted three kids, gender irrelevant, just a warm brood to feed.
She never told anyone why she was alone. She just lived, and that was enough. The world needed more women like her.
Patrons glanced at the triograndfather, grandson and cookthen bowed politely, as if thanking the innkeeper for not sending them packing.
Come on, Sam, sit down, Daphne said, opening the staff room door, a tiny space with two tables, a bed, a wardrobe. Cold? Hungry? Weve got soup! Take a seat, little bear. Heres a chairbig enough for a tiny bear like you. And one for granddad. She flexed her arm like a horse rearing.
George reluctantly stripped off his coat, shivering. Hed been feverish for days, bones aching, dreaming of tea and toast at home. Now Sam was here
Sams mother Lydia had, after his birth, told his father straight away that something was wrong.
Did someone drop him? the doctor asked, frowning. Did you miss something?
No, he just didnt want to leave the womb. Maybe I shouldnt have had him, Lydia muttered angrily.
Dont worry, itll be fine, a young doctor cooed, leaning over the cot where Sam wriggled in his blankets.
Weeks passed, the doctor vanished, and Lydias silence grew. She hadnt spoken to George for a year and a half after a spat at her birthday party, when shed thrown him out, claiming he was a nuisance. Hed moved into a flat left by relatives, his wife long gone, his heart heavy.
Shed once been set to see The Nutcracker at the Royal Opera House, tickets bought on a whim, a new dress ready, a cab waiting. But an ambulance arrived and she stayed home, watching her mother being taken away. The tickets were tossed.
Since then, George loathed The Nutcracker, and Lydia loathed the father who never let her into the palace of the Russian court.
Lydia! You dont get ityour mothers dead! George whispered, clutching a tie.
Shed never understood, hardened to the bone, always demanding everything from everyone, especially Sam, who was expected to meet impossible standards.
When Lydia finally gave up on Sam, she tried to pass him to George. Morning after work, George would take Sam to the garden, bring him home, wash him, fry two eggs, eat in silence, forks clinking. Hed sip a dram of whisky, the teacher inside him awakening.
After clearing dishes, hed sit on a small sofa with a sleepy Sam, hug him, and watch Youth on TV, episode after episode. Sam would stare at pictures, trying to mimic words, his fingers stumbling over the subtitles. Hed get frustrated, George would sigh, the magazine would tumble, and Sam would drift to sleep.
Did George love his grandson? He wasnt sure. Maybe love was just a lack of understanding. He didnt know how to help.
Come on, lad, grab a spoon! Daphne burst in with a tray piled high with plates.
Sam turned away and began to cry.
In the garden, Mrs. Gillian, pressing his lips gently, tried to coax a spoonful of soup into Sams mouth. He squirmed, she cursed under her breath.
Daphne settled beside a stool, placed plates before her, and sighed. George ate, feeling warmth spread through his chilled body, like a broth scented with bay leaves and pickles.
Weve known each other for thirty years, havent we? Daphne said to Sam. Youre about that age, right? Weve argued, made up, I even proposed to you onceyes, really! she laughed, nudging Sams spoonful of soup toward his mouth. Taste good? See? Always eat well, Sam. Bad food is a sin, and life should be a joy.
Wheres the joy coming from, Dasha, when the lads mothers gone and I cant manage him? George snapped. Maybe we should get him some meds, but Lydia wont let anyone diagnose him. Its killing him! He wiggled his mouth.
Joy comes from everywhere. You need to smile, even if you have to clench your teeth, Daphne replied firmly. I know that. Keep on living.
Sam opened his mouth, reached for the spoon, and clumsily patted Daphnes shoulder.
Sorry, love, I got distracted, she said, scooping more soup and feeding him.
The soup vanished quickly, followed by a meatball drenched in gravy, a mash on which Daphne doodled funny faces, then wiped them clean to make a smooth little landscape for Sam.
Tea followed, and Daphne served a slice of apple cakethe one she always promised to bring. She kissed her own wifes cheek before settling on a sturdy stool, a pillar of goodwill.
George adored her pies. His own wife never baked, so he welcomed Daphnes treats with gratitude, never getting jealous of her friendship with his wife.
He also loved hearing Daphne sing, her low, throaty voice filling the room, making even the walls murmur. George hummed along, and Sam, after a while, managed a tentative line from a song about a horse galloping through fields of poppies.
Sam was like that horseyoung, clumsy, stumbling but trying his best.
After a while, George stood abruptly, shook his head to chase away sleep, and told Sam to get ready to go home.
Daphne helped him into his coat and said, Dave, give me a ring if you need anything. Ill help.
George nodded.
A few days later, George fell ill. He woke one morning unable to get out of bed. He needed Sam to be woken, fed, taken to nursery, and still get ready for worknone of which he could manage. A hacking cough made him curl under his blanket. Then a dizzy spell hit, the room spun, and night fell.
A frightened Sam sat on the edge of the bed, pulling up his socks and sweater.
Look at you, all dressed, George whispered with a smile. Sam, I love you, you hear? I love you very much!
It was the first time hed said it outright. Hed been shy before.
Do you understand? Sam asked, eyes wide.
Sam lunged onto Georges chest, pressed his lips to the granddads chin, then hugged his neck tightly.
George became the whole world for Sammother, father, everyone. Sam finally understood.
Later, Daphne knocked on the door, urging Sam to open it. When it finally creaked, George stood in the hall, looking gray and frail.
Whats the fuss? Daphne growled. Did your arm fall off from shouting? Shut up, hypochondriac! Going to die? Lydiall pull you out of the coffin! Me too! she shouted, hauling bags into the kitchen.
She later gave George painful injections in his fifth point. Sam turned his head to his granddads head and patted the hair.
Dont worry, the boy whispered. Itll pass. Daphne, despite her flurry, managed a quick jab.
George howled, then laughed, rolling onto his back, scooping Sam onto his chest and shaking him.
Youre lying, you old fool! he muttered. Why should I whine when youre here? Sam felt something click; words started forming.
On a summers day, sitting on a riverbank bench, Sam swatted a mosquito landing on Georges arm and, perfectly, said, I love you, got it?
Got it, George shrugged, then wepttears of joy. Daphne urged them to stay happy, and she was right. Joy sat beside them, barefooted, humming. Lydia, meanwhile, was off somewhere else, and that suited them fine.
From then on, the old man and his grandson became regulars at All About Pies. Daphne always kept an eye out, peeking through the window whenever her shift ended, and even when it didnt she still dropped by to feed them.
Lets make a deal on the Riverbank, George said one afternoon. Just friendship and respect, yes? No funny business.
Of course! Daphne laughed. You still need feeding, and well keep everything proper.
George was a bit miffed at first, then changed his mind. It felt good to be cared for.
The next time he bought Daphne flowers, Sam watched his granddad rummage through a florist, sniffing buds, puckering his lips, and making funny faces. Finally, a bouquet of chrysanthemums emerged.
Those chrysanthemums have been blooming for ages, Sam noted, recalling a ditty Daphne loved.
George patted his chest. Love never dies in my ailing heart.
Sam darted after him, hopping joyfully. It was a good day. George was good, too. Whether the chrysanthemums were worth the trouble? Time would tell.
