Page 7 of The Best of Times

He went to get his case, which the driver had left on the pavement. The poor man was probably still being berated by Madeline over where to place her luggage. He didn’t need to worry about Aron’s abandoned bag on top of that.

“Hey, Aron.”

He turned to find Mercury beaming away at him.

“You’re looking good. I can get you in my gym as a visitor. In case you get withdrawals.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

Aron grabbed his case and set off up the cobbled street. The winter had robbed the trees of any colour. Even so, the gardens that the crescent of houses curved around were immaculate. Another of his grandmother’s pet projects.

As a child, he’d played on there in the summer. Sometimes with Mercury and Alexander as well as his own siblings. They’d seen it as their own personal recreational area. Granny had even let them camp there once. Not that he’d lasted the night. After the obligatory round of ghost stories, Aron had fled to the safety of Granny’s house.

A flash of anticipation gripped him. It had been a year since she’d visited him in Manhattan. What a trip that had been. She’d insisted they visited as many art galleries as possible. She’d bought a few pieces too. He’d been exhausted by the time she’d flown back to London.

The door opened before he had a chance to get anywhere near.

“Granny.”

Parkin leapt off the top step toward him like a missile. Aron dropped his bags and scooped up the little terrier, who proceeded to try to suffocate him with licks.

“Aron,” Mrs Wimpole exclaimed. “Parkin has been so excited. We both have.”

With the dog still in his arms, Aron cleared the steps up to the house and into his grandmother’s embrace.

She might be in her late seventies and slight of frame but she hugged him tightly.

When she stood away, he found tears in her eyes.

“Hey. What is it?”

“Oh, ignore me,” she said. “I’m so happy that you’re going to be staying with me. It will make this time very special.”

He kissed her on the cheek. “Where else would I be? Besides, I have to make sure you don’t run away with the milkman.”

She cackled.

“Go and get your bags,” she said. “I’ll be in the drawing room.”

Aron released a more subdued Parkin and ran back onto the street to get the luggage he’d abandoned. As he went inside the house, movement in one of the Professor’s upstairs windows caught his eye.

He allowed himself a grin of victory.

So we’re off already, are we?

Closing the door behind him, he revelled in being back in Granny’s house. As usual fabulous artwork and sculpture surrounded him immediately. Granny displayed these on a rotational basis. The rest of her collection she kept in storage.

Only his grandmother would think of that.

He bounded up to the first-floor drawing room and found Granny perched on the sofa. She seemed smaller than the last time he’d seen her. Plus her arm was in a plaster cast. Regardless, her eyes were twinkling as usual.

She’d obviously made an effort with her outfit. She had on red trousers and a cream jumper. The Christmas decorations in the room matched her perfectly. A real tree sat pride of place in the corner, surrounded by gifts. Most of the decorations were decades old. He recognised them all like old friends.

“What happened?” he asked, nodding to her injury.

“I had a fall,” she replied.

He frowned. That was unlike her. “In the house?”