After caring for sweet old lady Beatrice Trenton for over a year and hearing all about her brave paratrooper, grandson, Penelope is pleased to finally meet him. Sparks fly and before she knows it, she's calling him her boyfriend, and he is confident...
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PENELOPE
I stop what I'm doing and listen to Beatrice talking to Max. It's Sunday which is the day they get together for a good catch up, and it's my day off too, but I can't seem to keep away.
"Penelope, will you come and sit down for two minutes?" Beatrice shouts through to me.
After another stay at the hospital this week with suspected shingles, she's extra pissed off at the world. Her health is steadily declining and the doctors recently diagnosed her with early stages vascular dementia.
They didn't keep her in at the hospital for more than four nights. Well, it isn't like she gave them much choice, but to discharge her when she packed her bag and asked for the paperwork.
"I'm just making sure your hospital clothes are in the washer," I call back.
She mumbles something to Max, who tells her to quit being so grumpy. "You can do that tomorrow when you're here, Penelope. Sit and eat these mince pies. I'll admit, they're not as good as mine, but they're close."
Once I throw in the detergent tablet and pour the conditioner, I set it to high and go join them. Max spreads his arm across the back of the sofa when I grab a seat next to him.
Beatrice leans over with the plate of pies, grabbing my hand when I reach for one. "I don't see a ring on her finger yet, Maxie."
My hand is still encased within hers when I look over at Max. "You can't say things like that," I say.
She tuts. "Oh, please. It seems to me like he needs a push. You're a girl he needs to secure, darling."
"Maybe we're not ready for big steps yet," I respond.
"I courted my Clive four months before he proposed," she says, handing a second mince pie over to me. One in each hand.
"It was a different time back then," I blurt.
"Hey, gran," Max says, throwing her a careful look as he bites into a mince pie. "Give me a chance, yeah?"
"Well, I'm just saying." She puts the plate back down and sits back in her big armchair. "I would like to meet at least one of your kids before I totally lose my marbles."
"God, gran!" Max shouts, frowning.
She shrugs. "Who knows how quick I'll start forgetting people."
"We have things under control," he replies, stiffening when he stands up. "I need a smoke."
"Erm, not at my house, young man," she quips, frowning at him.
"Seriously?" he asks and she narrows her eyes.
"Yes. Seriously. I won't play a part in you ruining your insides. You don't look cool, Maxwell."
"It's not about looking cool. I'm stressed," he replies, glancing at me for help, but I agree with Beatrice so I keep my mouth shut.
