‘Marian?’ he said at first. Then his face cleared like the sun coming out. ‘Issy? Is that my Issy?’
Issy’s heart lifted with relief.
‘Yes!’ she said. ‘Yes, it’s me.’
‘Did you bring me some cake?’ He leaned over confidentially. ‘This hotel is all right but it has no cake.’
Issy peered into her bag. ‘Of course! Look, I made Battenburg.’
Joe smiled. ‘It’s soft for when I don’t have my teeth.’
‘It is.’
‘So what’s with you, my darling?’ He looked around. ‘I’m here on holiday but it hasn’t been terribly warm. It’s not very warm.’
‘No,’ said Issy. It was boiling in the room. ‘I know. And you’re not on holiday. You live here now.’
Gramps looked around for a long time. Finally, she realized it was sinking in, and his face seemed to fall. She reached over and patted his hand and he took it and changed the subject briskly.
‘Well? What have you been doing? I would like a great-granddaughter, please.’
‘Nothing like that,’ said Issy. She decided to try her idea out loud again. ‘But … but … I’ve been thinking about opening a bakery.’
Her grandfather’s face broke open into a wide grin. He was delighted.
‘Of course you are, Isabel!’ he said, wheezing slightly. ‘I just can’t believe it took you all this time!’
Issy smiled. ‘Well, I’ve been very busy.’
‘I suppose,’ said her grampa. ‘Well. I am pleased. I am very pleased. And I can help you. I should send you some recipes.’
‘You do that already,’ said Issy. ‘I’m using them.’
‘Good,’ said her grandfather. ‘That’s good. Make sure you follow them properly.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘I’ll come down and help out. Oh yes. I’m fine. Totally fine. Don’t worry about me.’
Issy wished she could say the same about herself. She kissed her gramps goodbye.
‘You always perk him up,’ said Keavie, walking her out of the door.
‘I’ll try and get up more often,’ said Issy.
Keavie sniffed. ‘Compared to most of the old folks in here,’ she said, ‘he’s doing pretty bloody well by you.’
‘He’s a nice chap,’ she added as Issy left. ‘We’ve got fond of him in here. When we can keep him out of the kitchen.’
Issy smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you for looking after him.’
‘That’s our job,’ said Keavie, with the simplicity of someone who knew her vocation in life. Issy envied her.
Emboldened, Issy marched back into her flat. It was a wet Saturday night and obviously she didn’t have a date and Graeme hadn’t called, that scuzz, and anyway he often didn’t see her on Saturday nights because he’d be out with the lads or up early for squash, so it hardly mattered, she told herself, nevertheless conscious of how much she missed him. Well, she wasn’t going to call him, that was for sure. He’d tossed her out on the street like garbage. Swallowing heavily, she went into the cosy sitting room to find Helena, who was another dateless wonder but never seemed to mind about it quite so much.
Helena did mind, of course, but didn’t think it was particularly helpful to add to Issy’s woes at this particular point in time. She didn’t like being single at thirty-one any more than Issy did, but she didn’t want to lard on the misery. Issy’s face was tense enough already.
‘I’ve made a decision,’ Issy announced. Helena raised her eyebrows.
‘Go on then.’
‘I think I should go for it. For the café. My gramps thinks it’s a great idea.’
Helena smiled. ‘Well, I could have told you that.’
Helena did think it was a good idea – she had no doubt about Issy’s ability to bake the most delicious cakes, or the skills she’d bring to working with members of the public. She worried a little more about Issy handling the responsibility of her own business, and the paperwork, seeing as she’d rather watch World’s Goriest Operations than open her own Visa bill. This bothered her a little. Still, anything at the moment was better than moping.
‘Just for six months,’ said Issy, taking off her coat and going into the kitchen to make some chocolate-covered popcorn. ‘If it fails, I won’t be bankrupt.’
‘Well, that’s the spirit,’ said Helena. ‘Of course you won’t fail! You’ll be brill!’
Issy looked over at her. ‘But …’
‘What?’
‘It sounds like you want to put a “but” in there.’
‘Then I shan’t,’ said Helena. ‘Let’s open some wine.’
‘Can we call someone?’ said Issy. She had seen so little of her friends recently, and had an inkling she was about to see a lot less. Helena raised her eyebrows.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘There’s Tobes and Trinida, moved to Brighton. Tom and Carla, thinking of moving. Janey, pregnant. Brian and Lana, got the children keeping them in.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Issy, sighing. She remembered when she and Helena and the gang had all met, back at college. Then they were all in and out of each other’s houses, breakfast, lunch, dinners that lasted all night, weekends away. Now everyone was settling down, talking about IKEA and house prices and school fees and having ‘family time’. There wasn’t much popping in any more. She didn’t really like the sense that since they’d all turned thirty, there seemed to be two tracks opening up, like a railway line out of a junction; lines that had been parallel were now drawing inexorably further apart.
‘I shall open the wine anyway,’ said Helena firmly, ‘and we can make fun of the TV. What are you going to call it, by the way?’
‘I don’t know. I thought maybe Grampa Joe’s.’
‘That makes it sound like a hotdog stand.’
‘Do you think?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hmm. The Stoke Newington Bakery?’
‘There is one of those. It’s that little place on Church Street that sells dusty Empire biscuits and jumbo sausage rolls.’
‘Oh.’