Cutting the Feet From Under You

Tina Pian smiled. She couldn’t help it. Everything was just so. Happy and perfect, the satisfaction temporarily easing her aching joints. The room was flickering as the flames danced in front of her, making little Harvey a giant in silhouette, the rosy glow bouncing off his JCB hard hat. His high-pitched giggle echoed round the house. The room was all smiles and crinkled eyes and contented silence, broken rhythmically with bang, bang, bang as Harvey hammered the floor happily.

When his builders’ belt fell from his wiggling hips to his ankles, he stopped and watched it in fascination. When a hand suddenly curled round his stomach and scooped him high into the air, he squealed in delight.

“Lauren!” he giggled. “Me want to go down!”

The teenage girl obeyed. She lowered him down and knelt in front of him.

“Your belt fell off,” Lauren smiled. “Should I put it back on for you?”

“No. Me do it by myself.” Harvey took the yellow belt off of his cousin and tried in vain to put his belt on. It stayed up for a minute or two, before falling and nestling around his ankles again. He watched in fascination, and everyone watched him, until he eventually looked up.

“Do you want me to do it for you?” Lauren smiled.

The three year old gazed at her a second before answering. “Yes please.” Lauren did it up and Harvey grinned, and went to pick up his hammer and get back to work when his mother caught his eye.

“What do you say to Lauren?”

The small boy looked away, and then looked back at Lauren, who was still kneeling in front of him. “Thank you...” he mumbled.

“You’re very welcome, Munchkin.” She got up and returned to her seat, next to her mother.

“Tout va bien, Maman?”

“What? Are you talking French again?”

“Yes Grandad.”

The aging man watched her a moment. “Well, what did you say?”

“’Are you ok, Mum?’ is what I said.”

“And what would my reply to that be?” Ann asked her daughter.

“Well, are you ok?”

“Yes, Sweet Pea. I’m fine.”

“Well then you would say...’Oui, je vais bien, merci.’”

Ann repeated slowly, and then smiled at her accomplishment.

“So what’s my name in French?” Lauren’s grandad asked. “George. What’s George in French?”

The girl thought for a while before pronouncing ‘George’ with her best accent.

“Gorge?” he repeated, looking puzzled.

“No, George.”

“Gouge?”

“No Grandad. George.”

“Gorge. That’s what I said.”

Lauren looked witheringly around the room for support. None came. Eventually, Joann piped up. “You’ll have to excuse your Grandad, baby. He is deaf, remember.” Uncle Thomas opened his mouth to make some joke or other about the fact but closed it after a look from his wife. Defeated, he turned his back to them, and busied himself with his son, who had lost interest in his hammer, and was now playing with his screwdriver.

The room went quiet for a while, only the odd mumble of “Pass me my saw please, Daddy.” breaking the silence. No-one said anything. But when Joann offered to put the kettle on, there was uproar. Everyone wanted coffee and tea just so.

“Not too milky. Two levelled teaspoons of sugar, Joann. Goodness knows I have enough fillings as it is without you sending me up the dentist again with those heaped teaspoons of yours. You’ve left the water too long. You’ll have to boil the kettle again.”

Ann went out into the kitchen to help her struggling sister. With Thomas and Harvey playing together, and George having dropped off in his chair, Lauren got up and settled herself down next to Tina.

“You alright, Nanny?” she sighed, snuggling up to her beloved grandmother.

“Yes, Darling. I’m fine.”

“You’re very quiet, tonight.”

“No. I’m just happy. It is my birthday after all.”

Thomas looked up and grinned. “Yeah, you’re an old age pensioner now, T.”

Tina smiled politely, and without missing a beat she said “I could still teach you a thing or two, Thomas. Don’t you worry about that.”

Lauren couldn’t help but smile. She adored her Nan. She was wonderful. You could tell her anything. She saw both sides to everything and could cook really yummy food. When Lauren was younger, she used to go to bed and fall asleep to her Nan’s tales of missing cupcakes and a mysterious boy who a little girl called Lauren made fast friends with.

Lauren was good at writing and always kind of thought her imagination had stemmed from those bedtime stories and playing shops in the green right near her house.

“Hey, Nanny?”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember those bedtime stories?”

Tina smiled fondly. Of course she remembered. Making up those stories while giving Lauren a bath, then sitting on the edge of the bed and watching as her little granddaughter drifted off, muttering about how she and the mysterious boy would go and play together on the moon.

“Yes Darling. I remember them.”

“Well, I have another present for you.”

“Oh, really? What is it?”

“That would be telling.” Lauren grinned. “Hold on. I’ll go and get it.”

Lauren got up and disappeared out of the room. Thomas and Harvey were now being fireman and dousing a snoring George with their fire hose.

From the kitchen, Joann and Ann were sitting on the work top, giggling and chatting away like it was twenty years earlier, when they couldn’t have been more than ten years old.

When Lauren came back into the room, she had a parcel under her arm and her brown curly hair was damp and wavy.

“It’s raining cats and dogs out there!” She exclaimed, and giggled as Harvey looked around the room in surprise.

“Here you are, Nanny.” Lauren handed her the parcel and sat down opposite her grandmother, so as to see her reaction.

Tina thanked her and, after commenting on how lovely the wrapping paper was, tore open the package and gasped.

A thick, leather diary fell into her lap, the golden edges of the paper glistening in the rosy glow of the room.

“Oh! It’s beautiful. Thank you, Lauren.”

Lauren smiled. “You’re very welcome, Nanny. It’s completely blank so as you can write a story in it. Do you have a story to tell us, Nanny?”

Tina looked at the teenage girl sitting cross-legged on the chair in front of her. Her brown eyes were shining. Smiling, Tina closed her eyes, as if to browse the shelves of her mind for a good story to write down.

Her eyes flicked open quickly. Lauren’s eyes grew wide.

“As a matter of fact, Lauren,” she whispered excitedly. “I do.”

She looked into the far corner of the warm room, where an old woman sat, one leg crossed over the other, looking grumpy and sour. Her floral dresses were immaculate, her hair perfectly curled.

Lauren followed her grandmother’s gaze, and then looked back, puzzled.

“Your story is about...Burney?”

Tina nodded slowly, still watching the sour-faced woman. A silence elapsed between the two, broken rhythmically by bang, bang, bang as Harvey hammered the floor, happily.