Swallowing Grandma by Kate Long Read Free Book Online Page B

school and I realized she was only ten years older than me. It’s true her skin was unlined and her permed hair was brown, not grey. But she was enormous. Biceps like giant hams, hips that barely made it through the door frame. The sort of fat that makes strangers stop and stare in the street; morbid obesity. I should have felt some kind of solidarity with her, fatties united, but I just found her repulsive. That’s the way you’re heading, a voice in my head warned whenever any of Ally’s flesh was on display.
    ‘My Cuddly Carer,’ said Cissie. ‘We’ll have two teas and a Penguin each. Forget your figures, eh?’
    Ally winked roguishly. ‘Coming right up.’
    Everybody loved Ally.
    ‘No sugar in mine,’ I shouted after her massive back.
    Ally handed out rations, beaming, and lumbered out of the room. Cissie checked over each shoulder, careless talk costs lives, and lowered her voice. ‘So how’s your secret boyfriend?’
    A tricky one, this. ‘Give us your biscuit here, I’ll do it.’ I tore open the plastic and my stomach rumbled as I caught the scent of chocolate. (Imagine that, went my head, imagine that in your mouth right now.) I handed it back.
    ‘We’ve had a row,’ I said decisively.
    ‘Aw, love. What a shame. What happened?’
    ‘He was too possessive. I needed my independence.’ I thought of Donna silhouetted in the tall window and felt a stab of physical pain in my chest. ‘And he didn’t respect me enough. He wasn’t as nice as I thought he was.’
    Cissie tutted and looked sad. ‘I tek it Poll still doesn’t know? Very wise.’ She bit her biscuit and chewed thoughtfully. ‘A fall-out, eh. And can you not make it up?’
    ‘No. I need my own space for a while. I’ve got my exams . . . ’
    ‘Aye, well, you’ve got to concentrate on your exams, that’s true. Are you not having your Penguin?’
    ‘I had a huge breakfast.’ (Weeny tub of diet yoghurt. Took me about thirty seconds to eat.) ‘I’ll save it for later, smashing. Cissie, I was wondering, is Poll really poor? I don’t mean starving or anything; obviously she gets by day to day. I mean, has she any savings that you know about? Or antiques to sell, that sort of thing? Long-term nest eggs?’
    Cissie wiped the chocolate off her mouth with a tissue. ‘It’s not really any of my business, love. I don’t think she has, she’s never mentioned anything.’ She screwed up the tissue in her fingers. ‘You know I’ve nowt to leave. I’ve already given her that mantel clock of Florence’s, not that I had much choice in the matter. I’ve a tiny bit in the Abbey National, that’s all, and that’s coming to you, with my mother’s rings—’
    ‘Oh,’ I said, embarrassed, ‘I wasn’t thinking of that. Anyway, you’re not going anywhere for a good while, are you?’
    ‘I should hope not.’ She laughed, but what she said next was drowned out.
    ‘Hel lo , playmates.’ It was shiny-head Mr Poole, ex-Bank Top butcher. ‘And how are we today? Excuse me while I park here a mo.’ He steadied his Zimmer frame against the door jamb. ‘Mind my bike! I’m en route for reception, but I needed a breather. So I thought, why not drop in on the lovely Mrs S?’
    Cissie was all smiles. ‘It’s that man again.’
    ‘Testing, testing.’ Mr Poole tapped his hearing aid. ‘Can y’ hear me, Mother?’
    ‘Can I do you now, sir?’
    ‘I don’t meynd if I do.’
    They’re worse than kids when they get going.
    ‘An’ how’s your Poll?’ Mr Poole said to me when he’d got his breath back. ‘Still a rum ’un?’
    I saw Cissie nodding out of the corner of my eye.
    ‘Pollyanna Millar, terror of the playground sixty year ago. Our John’s still got t’ scar wheer she kicked him to mek him join th’ Ovaltineys. After a gold badge, she reckoned. She all but crippled ’im for months.’
    ‘She got one in t’ finish,’ said Cissie. ‘Wore it to school every day, I remember Florence pinning it on. But there were a lot of