Tea for two

When Adam arrived at his gran's, he gave her an embarrassed peck on the cheek, a sort of half-hug and a box of Maltesers that he'd got from the petrol station. He was hoping she wouldn't notice that they were just on their sell-by date.

His gran gave him her thanks and an appraising look.

"Hmm," she said at last. "You're looking skinnier than the last time I saw you. Good job you've come for a proper feed. I might just be in time to save you."

Adam grinned (or grimaced) sheepishly. As soon as he stepped through that front door, it seemed, part of him would always become a little kid again.

Gran waved him through to the kitchen, where the table was set. "Sit down," she said. "Late as ever. What are we going to do with you? Here's your soup."

When it came to meals, gran's philosophy was simple: serve it hot, eat it before it got cold, and clean your plate. He knew from experience that there was no point in even trying to make conversation until he'd finished eating - there were barely any pauses for breath, let alone gaps for conversation.

"Thanks, gran - that was lovely," he said, as his spoon rattled in the dish where the trifle had been.

She smiled, and asked if he wanted a second helping. Good form was usually two no thank yous followed by two go on, it'll only go to wastes before finally accepting another bowl. But this time, he stuck to his guns - he really was stuffed - and went for the third and final refusal.

Gran, who throughout had eaten nothing but a bowl of soup, grudgingly accepted this answer.

"Shall we go through and have a cup of tea, do you think?" she asked. She made it sound like a novel idea that had just popped into her head ... something she did every time she said it. Which was every time he came round.

And he knew that, as ever, tea would be served using gran's best china.



Story starts here.