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HAVING NOTHING BETTER TO USE THAN HOT WATER AS A SUBSTITUTE FOR TEA, Robin Winifred backed through the door to her grandfather's bedroom with a tray occupying her hands. She cooed, "Hello there, Grandpa. You seemed a little woozy when we spoke last night, so I brought you up some puzzles and some piping hot tea. I can do them with you, if you like — they always make me feel better when I'm a little under the weather."
He'd had a bee in his bonnet ever since he'd caught Robin macking on Jim the very night before. Lying aside one another in her bed! Of all places! — her grandfather had it up to here with her, as much as he wouldn't care to admit it; as the only grandchild so close to home, she was the centre of attention in the Hubbard family, especially for old Amos, whom expected the world of her, as she was his pride and joy.
"I think walking in on you and your blinking Yank boyfriend doing something so indignant was what tipped me over the edge," he scoffed, shuffling beneath his sheets. He'd propped himself up against the headboard with his pillow to keep him comfortable. When Robin placed the tray on his lap, the cutlery tinkered and he harrumphed, "I think it's more than a little under the weather, Winnie. I feel like I'm dying ... nevertheless, you have a job to be scurrying off to, do you not? I'll see you later."
She pursed her lips thoughtfully, lacing her fingers together and placing them on her stomach. "Are you sure that you'll be quite alright on your own, grandpa, would you like me to stay? I can always take the day off, I'm sure Mr Hamilton will understand."
If she wanted to be the best nurse that she could be, it was best she crammed in practice whenever she could, even if that meant caring for her grandfather when he was hardly prewar. Although, she didn't want to know how it felt to be clustered into a hospital, full of bodies on stretchers — the mere thought of the stench of rotting flesh made her nostril itch. Not just men, but boys. Soldiers her own age in bits and pieces. Blood, tears, iodine.
He watched her get lost in her own head, and cleared his throat to bring her right back. "I'll be fine, Winnie, I promise," he waved his hand in dismissal, "Don't you start worrying too much about me, it's safe to say that I can look after myself just fine. I'm sure the Jerry won't have much to do with an old geezer such as myself."
"Okay," she answered.
As she went to leave, her grandfather sighed audibly enough to draw her diverted attention back to himself. Gruffly, the old man shook his head. "You can't marry that man, Robin, that American man. I know, in your heart, you think that you will, but you have to believe me. He's not the right person for you."
"You were the one who was egging me on in the first place, to try and help me forget all those years of hell I had to endure over in Ipswich and in Yorkshire. If in the end it's anyone's mistake, it's yours. Besides, you're wrong about him, Grandpa. You think you know what's best for me, but you don't. The person who knows what's best for me, is me. He's more than just a man with a cigarette."
