“I’ll get a cloth.”
Ian’s solicitousness sparks a warmth in Kate, but she watches Audrey with concern. She’s been unsteady on her feet recently. Kate can tell she’s truly struggling because she’s accepting—or grudgingly asking for—Kate’s help with basic tasks, and getting up and down the stairs. Audrey is unlikely to accept anyone’s help unless the need is dire. Her past is evidence enough.
Her story has been playing over and over in Kate’s mind like a film for the past several days. Vogt’s attack and Müller’s shocking duplicity. Her feelings for Ilse. Joining the resistance and rescuing the baby. As much as age may have diminished Audrey on the outside, the core of this woman is made of seriously tough shit. No wonder she reacted so negatively to Kate’s arrival—after holding it together for so long, she wasn’t prepared to admit she wasn’t coping on her own anymore. Kate’s respect for her has grown by the day.
“You’re sure you don’t mind me going out for the whole day tomorrow?” Kate asks her now as Ian disappears again to fetch the cloth.
Audrey waves her hand. “I shall be fine. If I need anything, I’ll call Sue. But I suspect being rid of the pair of you for twelve hours will do wonders for my health and sanity.”
The three of them pass another pleasant half hour in conversation before Audrey announces she’s heading to bed. Ian gives Audrey a peck, then moves toward Kate and loops his arm around her as he kisses her cheek. “I’ll be back at eight to pick you up,” he says.
She almost pulls him back, but lets him go, her face warm, the feel of his lips still lingering on her skin.
After Ian leaves, she turns to Audrey, who is watching her, a little grin playing around her mouth. “Do you want your peppermint tea?” Kate asks. Audrey has a cup every night for her digestion, and Kate has taken to preparing it for her.
“Yes, thank you. But I think I’ll take it upstairs tonight. I’m quite tired.”
When Kate returns with the tea a few minutes later, Audrey hasn’t moved from her chair, clearly waiting for help with the stairs.
“Thank you, Kate,” she says, standing slowly and reaching for the cup.
“No, I’ll carry it.”
“Oh, just give me the damn tea,” Audrey snaps. “I can manage perfectly well on my own.”
They exchange glares.
“It’s hot water, and you need to hold the handrail,” Kate says firmly. “I don’t want you scalded on my watch.”
“On your watch? I’m not your charge, you know. You’re not here to babysit.”
“No, but I am your roommate and I’m about sixty years younger than you, so I’ll carry the tea.”
Audrey scowls and heads up the stairs, gripping the railing tightly. “I don’t know what came over me, bringing a nag into my home. I didn’t marry all these years to retain my independence, and now I’ll be spending my final days under the dictatorial thumb of a bossy ginger know-it-all.”
Kate stops in her tracks. “Final days? What are you talking about?”
Audrey halts briefly, then flaps the comment away. “I don’t mean that literally. But I am ninety-one years old, and, you know… it’s a figure of speech. The point is, you’re an insufferable nag.”
Kate smirks. “Fine then, I’ll leave. Bye.”
“Oh, shut it.”
The train journey from Alnwick to Edinburgh wasn’t quite as idyllic as Audrey had described. Kate and Ian spent most of the trip squashed into a corner near the toilet. The train had oversold the tickets and the cars were stuffed with noisy families. Kate hadn’t even caught a glimpse of the North Sea as it sped past the window.
“I promise it’ll be worth it,” Ian had muttered as they were shunted aside by a large tourist carting three even larger hot pink suitcases and complaining loudly about the British rail system. “But still, I think we’ll just drive next time, yeah?”
They finally disembark onto the busy platform around eleven o’clock. A brilliantly lit Ferris wheel soars above them amid a sea of Christmas lights. Ian squeezes her hand, and they make their way through the throng to street level. Beyond the bridge and the rail lines, the market stretches on for ages, a dazzling holiday exhibition that winds up and down park paths lined with red carpets.
They weave through the horde on Princes Street, past the dozens of stalls offering everything from cuckoo clocks and mulled wine to giant pretzels and tree ornaments. Ian gives her a cursory tour of the New Town, never letting go of her hand. An hour later, they end up at an Indian place for lunch, ravenous. They didn’t eat much breakfast before their journey.
“This might be the best sag aloo I’ve ever had,” Kate says. It’s loaded with oil and countless calories, but she finds she doesn’t care as much as she would have before. The need to control her diet seems to have waned.
Ian nods fervently, mouth full of food.
Kate spears a chunk of potato, and a question comes to mind. “Do you know why Audrey doesn’t eat potatoes?”
“No. I hadn’t noticed.”
“She hates them, apparently. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who hates potatoes. There’s just so much to love,” Kate says, chuckling. “I should ask her.”
“She’s gotten more particular as she’s gotten older though,” Ian says, taking a long draught of his beer. “I guess a lot of people do. Why put up with anything you don’t like? I doubt I’ll eat broccoli for about the last decade of my life.”
“I could never get my ex to eat any vegetables aside from potatoes,” she says. “He was like a toddler that way.” The words are out before she has a chance to consider them. She chews her food, racking her brain for a change of subject.
He looks up. “Your ex?”
She hadn’t wanted to talk about Adam yet. There was no greater buzzkill for budding romance than to conjure the ghosts of relationships past.
“Yeah,” she says. “A while ago now.”
The last she’d heard from Adam, he was sorting out the divorce with a solicitor and would be in touch when it was ready to be finalized. Kate doesn’t want to have to explain what happened with Adam to Ian—she wishes she could tell him she’s already divorced—until she knows where this is headed. She likes the comfortable familiarity of Ian, hopes their connection will progress, but her guard is still up. He doesn’t need to know the ugly details yet.
Ian studies her face but doesn’t press for more. “I had the opposite problem. My ex was a vegetarian and was always trying to convert me.”
“What happened to her?”
Ian takes another drink. “I asked her to marry me, and she up and left for Manchester with another bloke.”
