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“Me too.” Alex held on for dear life.

“You lot were knackered last night. I didn’t know if I was picking up my daughter and her friends, or the cast of The Walking Dead.”

Alex scratched her head as she pulled away. “What was it? Gone midnight or something? We couldn’t get here any earlier. Blame work.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining.” He nudged his wire-rimmed glasses back up his long nose. “I’m just happy you’re here. I was beginning to think we wouldn’t see you until Christmas. You kids are so busy.”

He grabbed several mugs from the cupboard. “Helen popped down to the shop to get more milk. She’ll be back any minute.”

“Dad, after breakfast, can I speak to you about something privately…just you and me?” Alex squeezed her robe’s belt.

“Yeah, of course, love. Let’s catch up before United’s match comes on. If you’re still thinking of going into town, Helen could drive your friends to the station, and you can meet up with them after.” He placed a final mug on the counter and then counted out tea bags for each one.

“That works. Thanks. Are Lucy and Freddie watching TV?”

“They’re chatting with Joan…”

“Oh no…” God knows what embarrassing tales Joan had shared with her two friends. Alex rushed through the doorway into the lounge. Joan sat wedged between Freddie and Lucy on the overstuffed blue couch, wearing jeans and her poppy red 1998 Manchester United shirt with Beckham and seven on the back. Photo albums and boxes of loose pictures covered the coffee table and their laps.

“Morning, Lex,” said Lucy, clad in her fleecy Hogwarts pajamas. “Why didn’t you tell us your grandmother —oh, I’m sorry—Joan…was so cool? I just followed her on Instagram.”

“Joan, you still ride a motorbike?” Freddie peered at the picture in his hand. “Alex, you’ve gotta see these old photos. They’re fabulous.” He sipped his orange juice.

Despite being seventy-six, Joan had more crazy hobbies and pursuits than the rest of her family combined. Perhaps speaking her mind and stepping outside her comfort zone kept her young and feeling more fifty-six than seventy-six—that and not allowing anyone to call her Granny. Her tiny frame, fair hair, and pale skin hinted as to where Alex’s looks came from.

“You have an Instagram account?” Alex raised her eyebrows.

“There she is.” Joan shifted the heaviest photo album off her lap and into Freddie’s waiting grasp. “Alex, come here and give Joan some love.” She stood up with arms out, willing a hug to happen.

Alex pressed her lips together and crept forward. Joan was having none of it. She tugged her granddaughter close, kissed her on the mouth, and hugged her into submission. Her slight build and advanced age belied the fact that her suffocating squeeze would make a boa constrictor envious. Squinting over Joan’s shoulder, Alex’s eyes pleaded forgiveness from her friends seated below.

“FaceTime has a lot to answer for. You’re taller in person. Have you grown since our last video chat on your birthday?” Joan planted a hand on each of Alex’s shoulders and stepped backwards, her eyes spanning from her granddaughter’s toes to her chest. “Ah, look at ya—you’re a woman now.”

Heat rose in Alex’s cheeks. Lucy smirked and bit her lip. Freddie looked down, hiding a giggle against his hand while toying with the buttons on his Henley tee. Why had she thought it was a good idea to bring her friends along? At least Mark wouldn’t witness this embarrassment.

“Um, thanks?” Alex didn’t know how to respond. The conversation couldn’t move on fast enough. “What are you guys doing? I’ve never seen these photos before.”

Joan kept hold of Alex’s right hand, pulling her onto the couch. Lucy scooted over to the left, making space for her friend to sit down beside her gran. The ocean of soft blue cushions swallowed Alex, her bare feet dangled above the floor.

“Photos of me when I was your age. You were so wee the last time you were here. What seven-year-old sits still to flip through black and white photographs? You were more interested in playing with our old tabby cat. Him and that Furbie your dad bought you, remember? Oh, and you used to love watching Tinky-Winky—we’ve still got that Teletubbies DVD somewhere.”

Freddie snorted, shooting orange juice out his nose.

“Argh. Sorry!” he laughed.

Alex scrunched up her eyebrows. Great. More ammunition for her friends to tease her with later. Joan plunked another large dusty album onto her lap; its cover pressed forcefully onto Alex’s thighs.

“No wonder you love the theatre so much, Lex,” said Lucy.

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“Joan’s chorus girl past. She had a mean dance kick.” Lucy held a loose photo from a box of old pictures and keepsakes, and read a faint note written on the back. “Palace Theatre, 1955.” She stretched over Joan, handing it to Alex.

She stared at the grainy black and white photo of a young blonde dancing on stage in a sparkly dress. “You performed on stage?” She turned back to Joan. “I never knew that. You never told me.”

“It was a lifetime ago, love. It didn’t help that I only spoke to you here and there by phone when you were little. And only when your mum allowed it. Thank God, we’ve had Skype and FaceTime to stay in touch the last couple of years, eh? Your mother thought I was a bad influence. She never liked me. Granted, that feeling was mutual.”

“That I did know.”