Head Over Heels

THE stone cottage lay at the end of the village. Wallflowers and busy lizzies were planted in the beds along the front path and baskets of geraniums and lobelia hung over the door.

- Alyson Hilbourne

It was very beautiful, and people passing by often stopped to look at or photograph it.

A little old lady with white hair and a charming smile, like a fairy godmother in a child’s fable, was often seen working in the front garden, completing the serene picture.

But the old lady wasn’t quite as snowy white as she appeared. She could be quite conniving – and I can say this because she’s my grandmother and I love her to bits.

When I was growing up my parents worked overseas and I lived with them until I was eighteen. I only saw Gran in the summer for a couple of weeks when Dad had leave, but when I moved back to England I got a job in the city not far from where she lived.

At first I had to catch the bus over to see her, but after a few months I passed my driving test and bought a car.

Gran was delighted to see me and encouraged me to come as often as I could.

She pampered me as if trying to make up for my parents being away. She could always tell how I was feeling when I arrived.

“What’s wrong? Is it Sam?” She knew when something was up and could wheedle information out of me.

I took a deep breath. “We split up. He was two-timing me.”

She nodded and went to make some tea and get out some fruitcake.

Her answer to my man-free status was to try to fix me up with someone.

If Gran could have whizzed me up a pumpkin carriage and a ball to go to I’m sure she would have done, but as it was she had to rely on people she knew.

“The tree surgeon is here, Chloe,” she said the next weekend. “Can you take him out a cup of tea? My back isn’t so good today.”

I knew what she was doing. The tree man could have come any day; she only wanted a couple of branches lopped off and had probably had to pay extra to get him to come on a Saturday.