Page 36 of The Best of Times

What the fuck had almost happened there? The plan that Aron had perfected ever since he’d known he would be returning to London had almost dissolved in front of his very eyes.

I can pull this off. Can’t I?

CHAPTER NINE

Aron’s father had gone one better than booking Granny’s booth. He had hired a private dining room at The Dorchester for their tentative reunion.

“I can’t wait to see Victoria and Andrew,” Aron said. “I feel bad I’ve not had a chance before now.”

Granny squeezed his arm as they marched through the lobby of the hotel.

“That’s entirely my fault. I will tell them how hard I’m working you. They’re probably relieved I don’t have any jobs for them.”

“I feel honoured and cursed, Grandmother.”

Her laughter echoed around the room.

“Mrs Wimpole.”

“Albert.”

A short squat man embraced his grandmother.

“Come this way.”

They dutifully followed him. He glanced down to see Granny basking in the stares from everyone thinking she must be a star.

“Do you know everyone in London?”

“Only the ones worth knowing.”

They reached the doors which Albert opened with panache. The room was decent sized with a huge mural of green splashes of paint dominating one wall. There was no natural light. Probably best in case it descended into a slanging match.

“If you’d care to step this way, Mrs Wimpole,” Albert said.

“Thank you, dear. I do hope your wife and little one are thriving.”

“They are,” he replied, flushing. “Thank you, Mrs Wimpole.”

Granny floated past him. She looked radiant in a lavender suit with spotted blouse. Aron had put on a suit. He would not be accused of being scruffy.

He followed in her slipstream. His heart dropped when he saw his mother standing by the table. She looked older. It had been four years since they’d last seen each other so it stood to reason. Even so, it startled him. His father hadn’t changed as much. That was for sure.

Her new painfully short haircut didn’t help matters. She’d chosen a bright red dress that hung off her slight frame.

If there was ever a woman who should be glad they’ve got a gay son.

He came to earth with a bump as his siblings crashing into him on either side. Victoria was thirty-three and lived in London. Andrew was twenty-nine and currently resided in Hanoi.

“Hey, you two,” Aron said.

They’d both visited him on more than one occasion in New York. He’d loved showing them round. More than a few hangovers were created on their trips.

“What about your grandmother?” Granny said. “Don’t I get a hug, too?”

The two fell on the slight woman, who giggled.

“That’s more like it. Now why don’t we three go and find Albert and tell him we’re famished? Afternoon teas all round, I say. William, have you got this?”