Spike was woken early by his pillow vibrating.
It didn't usually do that so he fumbled blindly underneath for the off-switch before his hands closed over his cell phone. Remembering why he had switched it to vibrate and put it under his pillow in the first place, he quickly exited the bedroom, sneaking a glance at the still-sleeping Lynda before shutting the door behind him.
"Hello, Spike Thomson," he said in a low voice as he tip-toed down the stairs.
"Spike, it's Kenny."
"Kenny, hey!"
"Look, I just thought you should know, Marion's in a bit of a state."
"I expected as much," replied Spike. "Like mother, like daughter, am I right?"
"You could say that," said Kenny, casting an eye back into the living room where Marion still sat on the couch, looking pale and drawn. "Listen, are you sure about this?"
"Sure as I ever am," replied Spike. A noise upstairs implied Lynda was awake and on her way down. "Look, I gotta go, okay? Talk soon."
"If Marion doesn't put a hit out on you first," replied Kenny and hung up. Spike set about putting on the coffee.
Lynda came down the stairs, rumpling her hair.
"You're up early," she said by way of greeting. "Did you sleepwalk down here or something?"
"And good morning to you too, my beloved," replied Spike. "You're looking as radiant as ever."
"Give me a break, it's too early," yawned Lynda. "I haven't been caffienated yet."
"Whatever happened to 'Flirt Time With Spike'?" Spike asked, handing her a mug. "It used to be top of the page."
"I had to move it to every alternate Thursday at 3pm. Didn't you get my updated Outlook request?"
"Oh, that. Yes, you cleverly disguised it as 'Remedial Spelling and Punctuation', if I recall correctly."
"That's the one," said Lynda, pleased.
"Changing the subject," said Spike, sipping his own coffee, "I need to go and visit someone today."
"Who?"
"My grandmother."
Lynda regarded him shrewdly. "Is that your new euphemism for 'ex-girlfriend'? Whatever happened to 'aunt'?"
"I'm serious, actually," replied Spike. "My grandmother, Edith. My dad's mother. You don't have to come if you don't want to, but I'd kind of like you to meet her."
"Well, okay," replied Lynda. "That would be nice."
"I hope so," said Spike, softly to himself, as Lynda headed upstairs to shower and change.
An hour later, they were on the road in the black SUV and soon they were pulling into the car park of what appeared to be a large mansion.
"Wow!" said Lynda, impressed. "This reminds me of Cameron Campbell's place. Does she live here alone?" They got out of the car and began walking towards the building.
"Not entirely," said Spike, and pointed to a discreet sign on the gate that read "Holiday Villa East".
"Oh," nodded Lynda. "Like a retirement village."
"Not entirely," repeated Spike, sadly. They got closer to the sign and Lynda read underneath "Alzheimers Care Facility".
"I see," said Lynda quietly.
"I should warn you, she may not be entirely . . . lucid," said Spike. They entered the building and Lynda squeezed his hand in an uncharacteristic display of sympathy.
They walked along the corridor in silence. Other patients could be heard in other rooms, talking excitedly, sobbing or moaning.
"Ah, 27C. Here we are," said Spike, a little too heartily. He tapped gently on the door and walked in.
The room was decorated tastefully with small knick-knacks and framed photographs. Lynda noticed one of Spike as a young boy and also the most recent one of him as a young adult, his arm slung around his father. She had seen the same photo at Spike's Dad's house.
An elderly woman sat in a comfortable-looking armchair, staring out of the window. She looked frail but otherwise quite healthy. As they entered the room, she looked at them and smiled.
"James!" she said, happily. "How nice of you to come and see me."
Spike beamed at the recognition in her voice. "Hello, Gramma."
He walked over to her and hugged her gently.
"And you've brought Katherine!" she said, turning to Lynda. "It's lovely to see you again, dear. Have you changed your hair?"
Spike's face fell. "No, Gramma. This is Lynda."
"Hello," said Lynda awkwardly. "It's nice to meet you."
"But what happened to Katherine?" asked Edith, looking surprised. "Don't tell me you've split again, James. I tell you, it's not fair on poor Jimmy."
"It is Jimmy, Gramma. All grown-up now. Well, some might disagree," he added, casting a wry glance at Lynda. "But older, anyway."
"You're little Jimmy?" Edith asked, slowly. "But . . ."
"That's right," replied Spike. Edith looked as if she was trying to process the information.
"And this is - ?" she gestured at Lynda. "I'm sorry, I'm not as good with names as I used to be."
"That's okay," said Spike. "This is Lynda, my fiance. She's English too. Just like Mom."
Edith's face lit up. "You're getting married?"
Spike nodded. Edith clapped her hands delightedly.
"Oh, your father will be so pleased! Where is he? I haven't seen him for some time." She leaned towards Lynda and added in a conspiratorial whisper, "I think he's got himself another lady friend. He always did have an eye for the women. Poor Katherine."
Spike looked sad again. "Gramma, Dad died a year ago."
Edith looked stricken. "James died? Why didn't anyone tell me?"
Spike took her hands in his. "They did, Grammy. We went to the funeral with you."
"I think I'd remember my own son's funeral," said Edith, haughtily, snatching her hands away from Spike and then looking at him suspiciously. "What did you say your name was again?"
"It's Jimmy, Gramma. Your grandson."
"My grandson Jimmy is six years old," replied Edith. "I don't know who you are."
"Look, maybe I had better go . . ." Lynda started to say. Edith turned to her and smiled.
"Katherine, thank goodness you're here," she said. "Have you brought little Jimmy to see me?"
"I, err - " Lynda looked desperately at Spike. "No, it's just me and my friend here, this time. Passing through, you know."
"Oh," Edith looked disappointed for a second and then brightened. "Did you know Robert and Thelma had their baby?"
"Robert - oh, Eddie!" Lynda asked. "Err, what did they have?"
"A boy. Robert Charles. Randy, they call him. Such an adorable little thing." She picked up a photo frame from the table and held it out to Lynda who took it. The photo showed a much younger Thelma and Eddie, holding a tiny bundle and grinning at the camera. "Almost as adorable as little Jimmy when he was born. They're coming to visit me this afternoon."
Lynda handed back the photo frame and Edith replaced it with care.
"Well, I suppose we should be going," said Spike heavily.
"Oh, so soon?" Edith looked disappointed. "I was hoping you might stay until Robert and Thelma visited, to see the baby."
"I'd love to," said Lynda, "But I'm afraid we really have to be going."
"Well, it was nice to see you," Edith said, giving her arm a squeeze. "Take care now." She turned to Spike. "Nice to meet you too, er . . ."
"Bye, Grammy," said Spike, sadly.
They walked out of the room and had got a few paces down the hall, when Edith hurried out after them.
"Wait! Jimmy!"
They turned to see her holding the frame containing the photo of Spike and his dad.
"Jimmy, you've grown so much!"
Spike smiled.
"You're even handsomer than your father was," she said. "God rest his soul."
His eyes filling with tears, he hugged his grandmother again and kissed her gently on the cheek.
"Bye, Grammy," he said again.
"Bye, Jimmy," she said. "Come and visit me again soon."