LOVE IS IN DISGUISE: Verne Estate Series, Book 3

17. LORAINE

I hesitated for a moment as to whether I should accept Mark’s invitation at face value but ended up concluding that if it had been empty talk, he wouldn’t have specifically asked that I take my grandfather. And anyway, a little Sunday outing between grandfather and granddaughter won’t hurt us. So I told Grandpa of my imminent arrival. At his age, he doesn’t like surprises much anymore. And here I am on my way to the retirement home.

When I arrived, I came across one of Papi’s favourite caregivers: Laurence.

“Ah! Loraine, your grandfather will be delighted to see you. He hasn’t been himself these last few days.”

“I had long days, I didn’t have a lot of time to devote to him. But you’re right, I felt on the phone that things weren’t going well. Any idea what’s bothering him?”

“Well, I’m not sure, but I have the impression that he doesn’t remember things very well at times.”

Frankly, that worries me too. Not necessarily for the same reasons. It is true that his forgetfulness is more and more frequent. That’s one of the reasons he couldn’t live alone with me anymore. He was able to go out for a walk, come home and no longer know what he had done with the keys to open the door. He frequently forgot to take his medication, sometimes even to eat. And I wasn’t there all the time to remind him. I lived in constant worry that he would decide to cook something for himself and then forget about it, setting the house on fire. I’m not even talking about blowing it up with the gas improperly turned off.

I was worried for a while that he was suffering from a disease like Alzheimer’s. The doctor confirmed to me that this wasn’t the case, but I discovered that with age, many other diseases could induce memory loss. These prospects are equally frightening. First, because I know he notices it, and as Laurence has just confirmed to me, it gives him the blues. Second, for a much more selfish reason: I fear that one day he’ll no longer recognize me.

I go through the door to Papi Gus’ room. He’s seated on a chair, already dressed in his coat and wearing his cap. With the heat in here, he must be sweating a lot.

“Hello, grandpa!”

“Hello, you’re late,” he grumbles as I place two kisses on his cheeks. ”I thought you forgot about me.”

“How could I forget you?”

I extend my arm to him so that he could lean on it. But he prefers to grab his cane to help himself up. It’s because he has his pride, Papi Gus!

“Oh! I tell myself that one day a young man will make your head spin, and you have much better things to do than take care of your old grandfather.”

“That day isn’t about to arrive. And even so, you’ll always be the first in my heart.”

He emits a small clearing of his throat which means he doesn’t believe it.

A few minutes later, we sit down at the Café de la Place. The day is fine, so we decided to sit on the heated terrace, next to a brazier. Marie-Jo shows a rare kindness in helping my grandfather to settle down.

“This little bar is nice,” he said. “What’s it called?”

I’m surprised by his question because if there’s one place that he has been to many times, it’s this cafe. It’s a real institution in Locron. Papi already told me that he had always known it. Even the name hasn’t changed for almost a century.

“It’s the Café de la Place,” I answer.

I see in his eyes the moment the information hits him. He tries to get out of it with a turnaround.

“Yes, I knew that. I just wanted to check that you did too.”

I don’t point out to him that his excuse doesn’t hold water. Anyway, we’re interrupted by the arrival of Marie-Jo who gives us the daily specials with the enthusiasm of an undertaker.

Unsurprisingly, Papi orders a stew, and I decide to go with him. At least some things haven’t changed. Once served, we feast in comfortable silence. There’s certainly the noise of other customers’ cutlery, their laughter and their conversations, but that doesn’t prevent our little one-on-one from being pleasant. Our desserts swallowed up, Mark comes to greet us at our table.

“Hello Mr Basso, how are you? You ate well?”

Papi politely answers his questions. I then see that Mark is questioning me with his eyes. Since I don’t understand why he gently articulates to me:

“You told your grandfather about…”

Our house sharing, that’s what he wants to talk about. Indeed, I didn’t say anything to Papi Gus. I couldn’t see myself telling him that over the phone. But I would still have to let him know. 

“Grandpa, do you remember telling Father Boyle that you wish I weren’t alone anymore? Well, he suggested that I get a housemate.”

“Yes, he told me, I think it’s a great idea. I told my friend Alfred about it, and it turns out that his granddaughter is looking for…”

I interrupt him before he continues:

“I already found someone.”

“Ah! Alfred is going to be disappointed, but my gosh… if you already have someone.”

“To be honest grandpa, this someone has already moved in, it’s Mark.”

My grandfather frowns and asks:

“Who’s Mark?”

Knowing that the Mark in question is about 50 cm from his chair, the question is rather strange. It was then that I understood something: Papi didn’t recognize him. He saw a man arrive in a chef’s uniform, who asked him questions about his meal, but he didn’t realise that it was Mark Tuffin, whom he has certainly known since his birth and who has served him more than once in this place.

Papi Gus turns his head in his direction. I see his eyes scanning Mark up and down, and if I believe the little grimace on his face, something is upsetting him.

Mark straightens up, surely sensing that he’s taking some sort of exam.

“Where did you find this freak?”

“Grandpa!”

Mark remains impassive, yet, of course, he wouldn’t have liked the comment.

“His arms are all sketched,” comments Papi.

“It’s called tattoos, and as far as I know, it’s not f*******n to have them.”

“In prison, certainly not.”

I scowl at him. It’s one thing to disapprove of my choice, but for him to do so in public and in front of the person concerned, it’s a lack of politeness that he would not have allowed me when I was younger. And the worst part is that he continues:

“Have you been in prison, young man? Do you know my granddaughter is in the police force?”

“Not in the strict sense of the word. And it’s precisely thanks to a stay at Loraine’s workplace that we were able to forge links that led us to become housemates.”

No, but what is this answer?

Papi hiccups lightly. I wonder how I’m going to get out of this. With a glance, I try to give Mark the order to be silent, but a few days of shared accommodation aren’t enough to have made us masters in the art of transmitting thoughts.

“And what do you do for a living, young man?”

“Grandpa, you can see he’s a chef. He just asked you if you had eaten well. He’s the one who prepared our meal.”

The expression on my grandfather’s face clouded over, and I was shocked. So was he. He has one of those moments when he realises his mind is confused. He stretches out his hand to grab his glass of water, surely to give himself some composure. I see his hand is shaking slightly. Mark gives me a discreet sign and goes back to the kitchen. I’m grateful to him. It’s not easy for Papi, and even worse with an audience. I blame myself too, I could have been more delicate.

“I don’t think this young man is good enough for you, Loraine,” he declares, once Mark has moved away.

“Grandpa, he lives with me, like a housemate. We’re not together.”

Sadly.

“I don’t really like you living with a man.”

I sigh.

“We don’t live together in the way you want to see it. Rather, we live in the same place.”

“You play a little on words, there.”

“Yes, but Papi, Mark’s a good person. He’s in a bad spot right now and I’m happy to give him a hand. In addition, he pays me rent, which also helps me at the end of the month.”

“If you need money, you can ask me!”

I smile tenderly at him. There’s no way I’ll update him on the reality of his financial situation. But I’m moved to think that if he had the chance, he would do anything for me.

“I know I know. I don’t need the money. Let’s say it puts butter on the spinach. It helps me with the chores around the house.”

He scratches his white beard.

“All the same, I’m not very happy that you live with this zazou.”

Under other circumstances, this term from another age would have made me laugh.

I’m still entitled to a good ten minutes during which Papi explains to me that he doesn’t appreciate that Mark and I live together. Fortunately, the more time passes, the more his arguments are fanciful and even end up making me laugh, and so does he.

After our lunch, we take a stroll through the streets of the village. Then, with the clock ticking and his energy fading, I reluctantly resolved to bring him back to the nursing home.

I dine alone since Mark works. I don’t even know if he passed by the house in the afternoon. Then I watch an action movie while looking back on the past 24 hours. I try to call Elena, but she doesn’t answer. I guess she needs a little time, so I won’t push it. Lost in my thoughts, I’m surprised to hear the front door open.

“Good evening, I didn’t wake you up, I hope?” Mark asks, hanging his jacket on the hook.

“Not at all. I was watching TV.”

I sit up on the sofa. My slumped position might indeed make you think I was taking a nap.

“How was it tonight at the restaurant?” I ask.

“Quiet. A little too much, even for a Sunday evening.”

“It was pretty good at noon, right?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“Did your grandfather get home okay?”

“Yes. Thanks again, we had a blast.”

“You’re my guests whenever you want.”

“Be careful, I risk taking you at face value, and run you to ruin!”

He laughs softly. As he’s sat in the chair in front of me, I allow myself to observe him. I’m too tired to stealthily spy on him. I think once again to myself that I must be dreaming. Mark Tuffin in my living room. Manhood embodied at your fingertips. Six-foot-one of handsome in front of me. Have you ever found yourself as a child in front of a toy store with an extremely attractive window, with no way in? This is exactly the feeling I have now. We touch with our eyes! And even…

I bet he kisses well. When we have such a physique, we necessarily kiss like a god. In any case, this is what is said in certain novels that I’ve read. It would start with a sudden hug, then his lips would grip mine in a passionate kiss. After a few seconds, I would be just a wobbly little thing (not quite true, but you get the idea) and completely lost to other men (which would suit me very well).

“What do you want?” he asks.

What do I want? I have two or three ideas: that you marry me, that you give me three children and that we adopt a cocker spaniel. For the brand of the car, I’ll let you choose.

“Apple Cinnamon? Or lemon-verbena?”

“Eh? Sorry?”

“The herbal tea, what kind do you want?”

Ah, that’s what he was talking about... Too busy watching him, I missed the moment when he offered me herbal tea. I’m not an expert in erotic arts, but something tells me that a proposition of a s****l nature is rarely preceded by that of an infusion.

I choose the lemon and console myself by the fact that at least, while he’s busy in the kitchen, I have plenty of time to observe his backside, which is far from unpleasant. And he’s much less likely to notice my little merry-go-round.

“Can I ask you a question, Loraine?”

“Sure!”

“I wouldn’t want to get involved in anything that doesn’t concern me, but your grandfather at noon, didn’t recognize me, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” I sigh. “Sometimes he has memory loss.”

“I see,” he said, putting the two steaming cups on the coffee table.

“I’m sorry by the way, he wasn’t very nice to you. Don’t take it the wrong way, he didn’t mean everything he said.”

“Don’t worry. I’m used to it.”

“The behaviour?”

“Yes, people judge me on my looks or my past. Look at your boss, he doesn’t like me very much. All this for old teenage nonsense. Others see my tattoos and think I’m bound to be in a g**g or something. Some meet me when I’m dressed as a chef, and suddenly think they are superior to me because they believe that they have been more successful in life. The truth is, you’ll always find people to judge you. But luckily I understood that there are two possibilities: either you believe them and it consumes your life, or you let them talk and you’ll be much happier. I chose the second solution.”

“I would like to have your confidence. I don’t think I can completely care less what other people think of me.”

“It works. But to get there, you must already believe in yourself.”

“And do you ever hear someone criticise you, or have a little strange look that makes you feel bad about yourself?”

“Rarely.”

“Yet you told me no later than this morning that Jenny hurt you by criticising you. Why does her opinion matter?”

He stirs his herbal tea and looks at it as if it holds the key to the origin of the universe. Finally, he replies in a deep voice full of sadness:

“Because she’s the person I love and who was supposed to love me more than anyone else.”

“I imagine you’re right.”

The use of the present tense when describing his feelings for Jenny makes a little pang in my heart. But at the same time, what was I expecting? That he has already forgotten her?

“Getting back to your grandfather, I’m not even sure he completely meant what he was saying. It was more the reaction of a grandpa wanting to protect his beloved granddaughter than anything else.”

“You’re certainly right. But I apologise again.”

“You two are very close.”

“Oh yes. I don’t know what would have become of me without him. I owe him everything. I wouldn’t have had the same life if he hadn’t taken me in. Who knows? Perhaps I would have spent my whole childhood from one foster family to another. I don’t know if anyone would have been able to love me half as much as him.”

Mark stares at me with a tender glow in the back of his eyes. I don’t add a word, because I feel the emotion come over me and this isn’t the moment that I turn into a little thing that starts to cry. Besides, I stop looking at him, otherwise, I feel that I’m going to c***k. My eyes fall on the post-it note on the fridge.

“I think I should add something to the list.”

“What?”

“I want a man who gets along well with my grandfather.”

“That’s an excellent idea. You should write it right away, but I suggest you add something more to this sentence.”

“Oh yes? What?”

“I want a man who gets along well with my grandfather and who loves me as much as he does, if not more.”