Caring Grandma
Elizabeth Smith, a lively and determined lady just past sixty, sits her granddaughter down one afternoon and says,
“Lucy! Ive been waiting patiently, but Im at the end of my tether. Are you ever going to let me rest in peace?”
Lucy, a slim brunette and a devoted art historian, raises her eyebrows at such an odd remark.
“When are you going to get married? So I can finally rest easy, knowing youre settled? Youre nearly twenty-seven.” Elizabeth continues, “Did you think I spent the whole summer at the cottage with Maureen Brown, listening day in and day out to her tales of aches and pains, just for fun? I did it so you could sort your private life out. But you havent even met anyone!”
“Grandma, when and where should I meet someone? Theres work, theres Spanish lessons, and my dissertation. At the gallery, the only single man is Mr. Parkeryou remember him.”
Elizabeth sighs. “Mr. Parker is, frankly, not even a fish in the sea, hes more of a half-dead prawn.”
The next day, Elizabeth phones Maureen Brown and discovers Maureens granddaughter met her future husband in a nightclub.
Lucy avoids nightclubs, so Elizabeth resolves to check out candidates herself, or perhaps find somewhere else where eligible men may roam.
She learns theres free entry for women at the club from 9 to midnight, so the following evening she heads out, telling Lucy shes off for a bedtime stroll.
Effortlessly silencing the bouncer who tries to protest about her age, Elizabeth manages to secure a high stool at the bar. She scans the scene with an air of authority, instantly turning the atmosphere tense, reminiscent of a school parents evening when the headteacher catches a group of Year Seven pupils sneaking beers on the field.
The barman approaches sheepishly, sliding her a tall glass. “Non-alcoholic cocktail, compliments of the house. How are you finding it here?”
“Absolutely hopeless,” Elizabeth responds, crisply. “A decent girls got nothing to gain here. Although, you could splash some brandy insurely that wouldnt bankrupt the business! And what about that ginger chap? Either hes got hip trouble or thats what passes for dancing these days.”
Before New Years, Elizabeth tries a rock concert, a fire show, a gloomy folk gig, an extreme cycling event, a bridge tournament, and, out of sheer desperation, a young poets seminar. The poets are the last straw. No point casting the netGod forbid one might actually bite!
“Lucy, love, I understand. In my day, I had to choose between your grandfather and at least ten others just as good. Even Maureen Brown had options, though she spent her life gazing at your grandad. But nowadays, the young men are remarkably diminishednot one youd care to glance at twice.”
In March, Elizabeth, while visiting Maureen, decides to drop by Lucys workplace. Near the gallery, she slips and fallsfortunately not on the steps. A military officer rushes to help her up. Elizabeth, leaning on his arm, checks herself for broken bones and sprains, then peers at him and declares:
“Major, I can see youre a tank man. My late husband commanded a tank regiment. Now tell me, do you have an hour free?”
The major, resigned to the fact he may need to escort this retired commander home and already mentally berating his kindness, nods warily.
“Splendid. Have you ever visited this history gallery?” Elizabeth asks. “No? What a shame. I strongly recommend you pop in now, and request Lucy Smith for your tour guide. Shes excellentyou wont regret it.”
The major never really understood why he allowed himself to be dragged into the gallery. The old lady hypnotised him…
***
Recently, Elizabeth quietly whispered to her sleeping great-grandson, Matthew,
“My darling, my little bear, soon youll start school, your dad will finish at Sandhurst, and your mum will finally finish her doctorate. Then Ill feel at peace. But what, are you going to grow up all alone, my little sparrow? No, you need a sister! And when shes born, then shell start school, and Well, well see what happens next”
