Danny stood in his dad's kitchen after washing the dishes. He remembered the state the kitchen would be in after Christmas as a kid back home. There'd be mountains of plates, pans, cutlery and glasses, and his mum would almost be permanently attached to the sink. He sighed and dried his hands on a tea-towel, looking at the apron hanging on the back of the closed kitchen door, remembering how she used to wear it like a uniform. Those Christmases were long gone. From the minute his dad had uprooted the whole family to London from the sleepy town of Athenry in Ireland, misery had decided it liked their company. His mum had died and the pub his dad bought in South London went bust, all in the space of two, short years. Since then, cancer, divorce and emigration had reduced his family until there was only himself, his dad and grandpa left.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and, after unlocking the screen, he smiled at a photo of Claire, pulling a silly face as she held her niece. They'd swapped messages on and off all afternoon, and it sounded like she was having a great Christmas. He couldn't say the same for himself. His dad had refused to entertain the idea of spending the day at Danny's spacious home, preferring to stay in his cramped, gloomy flat instead. Danny had toyed with the idea of trying to convince his dad to move again. He'd offered to buy him a bungalow a few months back, somewhere with more space and no stairs to climb when the communal lift broke down, but he knew it was pointless. His dad had vowed never to leave the flat he'd shared with his wife and Danny couldn't see that ever changing.
He made three cups of coffee, adding a slug of whiskey for his grandpa and headed back into the living room. His throat tightened at the sight of his dad, dozing on the sofa with his grandpa next to him. Both men were widowed and both were mere shadows of the men he remembered from his childhood. Was this what life held for Danny too, sitting in front of a box while the world moved past outside?
Dissatisfaction wrenched at his gut as he set the cups down on the scuffed coffee table. It was as if his dad was intent on simply existing instead of living like he'd used to do. He was the reason Danny got into the bar industry. Every weekend, he would be made to help out in the family pub back home. It was the hub of their little town, and his dad had been larger than life itself. Being behind the bar of his own pub was when his dad was always at his best, and the same went for Danny. It was in his blood, in his genes. His dad had passed that down to him as surely as he'd passed down his laid back charm and the dimple in his chin but, nowadays, his once tenacious dad rarely set foot outside more than once a week. Danny had fully embraced the hectic, cosmopolitan lifestyle the capital offered but, as soon as he stepped over the threshold to his dad's flat, he was just Danny. A small town boy with nothing behind him and nothing to look forward to.
'When's this young lady of yours coming?' his grandpa asked and Danny blinked. It was the first thing he'd said for hours and, as usual after his prolonged periods of silence, his thick accent seemed more pronounced.
'I don't have a lady, Grandpa. Remember?'
'Oh, yes. That's right.' His grandpa nodded. 'But why not? Sure, when I was your age, I was already married with three boys. Even your Da was married by your age.'
'I know, but things are different these days.'
'You still need to find yourself a woman. Settle down, raise a family.' His grandpa leaned on the arm of the sofa and beckoned at Danny to come closer. 'Are you...you know. One of those homosexuals?'
Danny laughed. 'No, grandpa. I'm not a homosexual.'
'Well at least tell me you're cleaning your pipes regularly?'
'Grandpa!' Danny groaned. 'Really?'
'What? Are you a man or aren't you? Once a day keeps the doctor away. How else do you think I've lived this long.'
Danny laughed again, shaking his head. It was becoming a real juggling act with his grandpa. His Alzheimer's was getting worse and his lucid moments were getting fewer and further between, marred by ever prolonged periods of forgetting who, where or even when he was. But then there were times like this when he reverted back to the Grandpa Gerry he remembered - outspoken and full of bare-faced cheek. Danny looked at him as he slipped back into his vacant expression and stared past the television. The moment was gone as quickly as it had come.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and he quickly took it out, grateful for the distraction. Thinking about his grandpa's deteriorating health was something he couldn't deal with, not today.
- Soooooo. I was thinking. Maybe we could meet up for a drink or something and do this face to face?
Danny smiled. He was going to ask Claire the same thing but he liked that she'd beaten him to it. She seemed like the type of woman who could give him the thrill of the chase and give as good as she got - exactly his type.
- Sounds great to me. When are you free?
- Well, I've a flight out in a few days so it's pretty hectic, but I could do tomorrow?
Like his grandpa said, he had to settle down sooner or later, and Danny couldn't agree more. If nothing else, meeting up with Claire would be fun, something to brighten his mood after today. The idea of spending another Christmas like this one made him feel sick to his stomach. He didn't want to end up an old man, alone in a flat when everyone else celebrated.
Next year, things would be different.
YOU ARE READING
Pull
RomanceIn a world where Alpha Male's rule, meet the girls who are calling the shots instead... The last thing Claire wants is a relationship. With a job taking her to the world's most glamorous cities, casual encounters give her the freedom she needs. Unti...