Page 67 of The Best of Times

“Where did these new helpers come from?” he asked.

“Typical that they arrive when everything is pretty much done,” Aron replied.

Paul squinted over. “Has your mother had a haircut?”

Aron giggled. “Yes. Her hairdresser evidently hates her.”

Guilt instantly stabbed into him. So far, she had been making a huge effort. Surely it wouldn’t hurt him to at least meet her halfway. Bitching about her with his sometimes lover wasn’t a good way to achieve that.

“I suppose I should go and say hello.”

“I’ll come with you,” Paul said.

They wandered over to where Granny held court.

“Hey, Aron,” his father said. “Granny tells me you’ve saved the day. Well done, son. I’m proud of you.”

“Yes. Very quick thinking on your part,” his mother added.

Aron found himself choked up. He caught Granny’s eye. She winked.

“Thanks,” he managed.

Paul glanced at him. Gently, he moved to the side so that their bodies were touching. No one else would have noticed, yet it made a world of difference for Aron. This gentle support was something he never knew he needed. He’d become so used to travelling through life solo.

Whether he believed it would last, at that moment he had Paul on his side. No matter what.

“What brings you over here?” Paul asked. “You must be hectic at your place too.”

“We’re going out for Christmas lunch tomorrow,” Aron’s mother said. “So we thought we’d come over and offer our services. It seems we’re not required.”

Did he detect a tone there? Or was he on the hunt for things that didn’t exist? It was so hard to know for sure.

“Philip and I are going to find some old photographs this afternoon,” Granny said. “It might be fun to have them dotted around the Nickleby. You’re very welcome to join us.”

“Aron?” his father said. “Are you part of this?”

Before he had a chance to reply, Paul stepped forward. “’Fraid not,” he said. “I bet Aron lunch that we wouldn’t get finished before one and it’s only half twelve. I believe I’ve lost.”

Granny stared hard at Aron.

“I’d say you have,” she said. “I hope you’ve got somewhere lovely planned. Mind you, on Christmas Eve you will struggle without a reservation.”

“Don’t worry,” Paul replied. “You don’t need one at McDonalds.”

She shook her head. “Lucky Aron. I think we can do better than that, folks. How about we do an hour with the photographs then head to The Bluebird for a late lunch?”

They all nodded their approval.

“It’s a shame you can’t make it, Aron,” his mother said. “It’s been a while since we saw you over the Christmas period.”

Aron wanted to scream that was hardly his fault. He felt uneasy at this eradication of history. She had rejected him time and time again.

“I’ll see you on Boxing Day,” he managed.

She nodded.

The tent became very claustrophobic.