Kook

Grandma had these bright blue eyes that seemed a whole lot younger than she was.

“Oh, Sam,” she said, then flung herself at me and held me tighter than anyone ever had.

“Grandma?” I said, hugging her back. Kind of. I felt embarrassed. She was a stranger. She stopped hugging, but got a good hold on my shoulders, like she wasn’t going to let me go. Not after all this time.

“My God, if he could see you now.”

“Hello, Grandma,” I said. It was odd. She was a total stranger, but she had the same eyes and square jaw as my dad. And yeah, I could see how I looked like her too.

“And you must be Tegan,” she said. Teg got ready for a big hug, but all she got was her hair ruffled.

Grandma left Mum till last. “Hello, Jean,” she said. They air kissed. Mum had a frozen smile on her.

But Grandma was really smiling. She was so happy, she was working hard to stop the tears.

“Are you… okay, Grandma?” I said.

“Never better, Sam. Come in, the kettle is on. There’s scones too.” She wiped the tears away and led us through a hall to a large lounge on the other side of the house. There were huge leather sofas and chairs, and dark red rugs covering the wooden floor. The walls were white, with bookshelves, a mirror and paintings of the sea.

But what I noticed most was the view. The house was so near the cliff, when you looked out the window you didn’t even see rock, or land, just this great big blanket of blue and green.

We sat down, while she went out to get the tea. We didn’t talk, we just sat there, taking it all in.

Grandma came back with a tray loaded up with scones and cream, jam and tea. Before she organised it all, she set Tegan up in the biggest chair, by the fireplace, with a set of crayons and a pad pulled out of a WHSmith’s bag.

She glanced at Tegan, to make sure she was distracted, then said to me, “I hope you like the house,” and gave me this weird loaded look. Then I twigged. She meant, the house I’m giving you; the house you’ll live in when I’m dead. She was going to die. We were getting the house. Some people dodge around the awkward stuff, the big stuff. Others just get to it. She was one of those. I didn’t know what to say to that.

“We’ll sort all that out,” she said, seeing the look of confusion on my face. “There is so much to plan. But first, tell me all about the move, your new cottage. What you have been up to…”

She talked on and I answered as best as I could. It was nice, but I thought it was weird how everything she said was to me, not Mum. All the time she was staring at me, real keen, and I couldn’t help but stare back. Apart from the headscarf, which I guessed was to cover her bald head from the chemo, she didn’t look ill. Not even that old.

“So, Sam. You’ll make friends here. At your new school. It’s hard to go from one place to another, where you’re a stranger. But you’ve done it before; I’m sure you’ll cope.”

She didn’t look at Mum when she said that, but the way she said it… it sounded like a dig.

“He’s met a girl,” said Tegan, scribbling away with the crayons.

“Excellent,” said Grandma. “Is she a looker?”

“Um, yeah, I guess so,” I said, “but we’re just mates. Not even that. I only just met her.”

“Are you going to ask her on a date?”

“I don’t think she goes on… dates. She’s a surfer.”

“Wonderful. A girl and a healthy activity.”

I thought maybe if Grandma had seen us round the campfire, she might not think it was such a great choice of ‘healthy activity’.

“Er, yeah,” I said, feeling awkward.

We changed the subject. All the time we talked, Grandma stared at me. A lot.

“You’re the spit of him at your age; it’s uncanny. It’s like the ghost of his teenage self came round for tea and scones.”

“Thanks,” I said, and spluttered some cream out of my mouth. I couldn’t help laughing. Grandma laughed too. Mum didn’t.

“Do you remember him much? Do you remember this house?” Grandma asked. I dug into my mind, tried to remember stuff, looking for something. Anything. I felt bad not giving her what she wanted.

“I helped him paint a boat once, like a sailing or maybe a row boat. I remember this dark blue paint and getting it all over my T-shirt. And he used to take me in the sea, paddling. He’d lift me up when a wave came, and say, ‘It’s only water, Sam,’ and…” But there was no “and…”. That was pretty much the total of my memories of my drowned, dead father. It didn’t upset me going through those memories. It didn’t make me happy either. I was kind of removed from them, like they were someone else’s memories.

It was different for Mum though. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes were wide and worried, darting from me to Grandma, and back again.

Then …

“That smell…” I said it before I even thought it. What was it? Leather, baking, the sea, the coal fire? All of those things together. And I remembered it. The smell of the house, and the heavy tick and tock of the clock in the hallway, with the sounds of sea and wind muffled through the walls. I wasn’t just imagining it – I did remember being there.

“I only just recognised it,” I said. “How weird is that?” I was spooked. In a good way. I was going to go on, but I clocked Mum, her eyes filling up, her hand gripping the side of the chair.

I was trying to find my memories. Maybe Mum didn’t want to find hers.

“Your mother and I need to talk,” said Grandma. “Have a look around the house. You’ll find your dad’s room up there.” She pointed at the ceiling. “There’s a few of his bits and bobs; a few things that didn’t get thrown away when you upped and left for London.”

Mum clunked her cup on the saucer and glared at a painting on the wall. She was grinding her teeth, stopping herself from saying something.

It was a good time to leave them to it. Me and Teg went upstairs. Teg was chewing her hair. I held her hand.

“This must be weird for you, Tegs. He wasn’t even your dad.”

“No, but she is my grandma,” she said, like she was totally sure it was true. I didn’t want to tell her different. We were a tight little team, me, Tegan and Mum, but there were only the three of us, and if the family got to grow, by one, that was cool. Even if it wasn’t going to be for long.

“Are we going to live here one day?” she asked. She’d clearly overheard some of what we’d talked about.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“But we live in the cottage now.”

“Look, it’s complicated. I dunno what’s going to happen.”

“Will we go back to London?”

I couldn’t blame her for asking. The situation had to be pretty freaky for her. I just didn’t know how to answer. “Reckon she’ll see how it goes down here. Mum might not decide till… later. Would you like to live here?” I said. Tegan looked around the hallway, with its big wooden doors and huge window looking over the moor. She nodded.

“Which one would be my room?” she said.

“Any one you want, but you got to bags it.” This was a game we played for slices of cake or the best place on the sofa. Now it was for something important. Her eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. She let go of my hand and ran off to explore.

Either by fluke or some old memory, I went straight to my dad’s room. I thought it would be tidy, because the rest of the house was so neat. But it wasn’t. It was a mess. The curtains were closed, but thin, letting in a strong light. There were a load of boxes with books in. In the corner was an old record player, and a chunky grey computer from the Stone Age. On the shelves were more books, all of them about the sea. And some old metal instruments, covered with dials and numbers and cogs. I guessed they were navigation instruments.