Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
If nothing else, my silent conversation makes me smile, when my phone rings again. It’s another private number, but as I’m almost at the tiny hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, I let it ring out. I’ve got other things to concentrate on today, and nothing is spoiling my Zen.
I order two Turkish coffees and a pistachio pastry and turn left out of the shop for Baba’s nursing home, when my heart sinks to my Converse.
“Mila?”
My feet slow, my eyes shuttering closed. All the way out here? There are nine million people living in London in an area of over six hundred square miles. I might as well be on Mars as way out here—no way this speck of East London is Fin’s normal patch.
“Hey.” I paint on a small smile as I turn. My Zen is wobbling but not yet gone.
“What are you doing here?” we both say at the same time.
“You first.” I rub my nose with the back of my hand, conscious of how quickly these tiny coffees cool and how much I don’t want to have this conversation. Especially not here—this place is about as unlike Knightsbridge as you can get. And he looks so out of place in his bespoke suit, pristine shirt, and shiny white shoes. He’s an invitation for a drive-by mugging.
Give me your wallet, watch, and shoes. Handmade Italian leather. There’s bound to be a market for them.
“I’m here with Matt.” He gestures behind him to where a 1960s concrete shopping center stands. Beige pebble-dashed concrete, abandoned shop fronts, and unimaginative graffiti. “We were on our way back to the office but stopped to look at an investment opportunity coming up. It’s a shopping mall and business center that he hopes to get our investors interested in.”
“It’s about time gentrification spread this way.”
“It’ll be more like demolition. The whole area is to undergo a regeneration package.”
I think about the block of flats I grew up in. I hope they raze it to the ground. I can’t wait to move out. Move on. Again.
“So, what are you doing here?” He glances at the coffees and the brown paper bag containing Baba’s pastry.
“I’m going to visit my grandmother,” I admit, my heart heavy as I prepare to see her, wondering what kind of a morning she’s having.
“Baba Roza.” His inflection turns his statement into a question. I nod. “She lives around here?”
“Yeah, her nursing home isn’t far away.” Vague. Keep it vague.
“Oh.” His expression flickers with something that looks like sympathy. “I didn’t know.”
“Because I didn’t tell you.” I fold my lips together against any other escapes and make a gesture with the coffee cups. “I’d better get going before these get cold.”
“Can I . . .”
My feet shuffle but don’t move, though I cringe as he starts again.
“Can I come with you. Maybe meet her?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” In fact, as I turn warily, I think it’s a terrible idea. Possibly the worst I’ve ever heard.
“We don’t have to tell her we’re married. You can just introduce me as a friend.”
“My grandmother has dementia, remember? New things, new people, confuse her. I really don’t think it would be a good idea, especially as I haven’t seen her myself this week.”
Fin slides his palm over the top of his head, and my treacherous body reacts. “Yeah, sorry.”
“Well, I’d better get going.” I lift the paper cups as though in explanation. Or excuse.
“Let me walk you there, at least.”
“Not necessary!” I sort of sing, like the backdrop is less Trainspotting and more The Sound of Music. I don’t want him anywhere near the place. The facility is far from pretty. I mean, I’m grateful for the care they provide, and the staff are great, but it’s not how I envisaged Baba ending her days.
“Come on. I’m done here. Let me just walk you to the door.”
I stifle a sigh and nod, knowing he’s not going to give in.
We take a right, cross a road, and weave through the car park. A few minutes later, I press the buzzer on the hospital-style doors and turn to him. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”
“Sure.”
The buzzer sounds, and Fin pulls on the handle before I can get to it.
“Thank you.” I step inside, intending to put down the coffees to sign the visitor book, when pandemonium hits.
“Shut the door!” one of the nursing assistants calls as a large and seminaked male patient makes for the outside world.
I pivot as Fin steps inside, closing it behind him, but I can’t concentrate on that as I sidestep the escaping motion machine.
“Thanks.” The nurse smiles apologetically. “The inner door lock popped.” Her attention turns to her charge. “Come on now, Harry, your son will be here to visit you shortly. Why don’t you come back inside and we’ll get you dressed, ready to see him.”