Page 29 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
It was such a ridiculous idea.
That stupid uncomfortable itch starts to crawl over my scalp.
OK, chill out, Jess. Keep it casual, keep it light. Get her to like you, get her to lend you some of her megabucks, go to Jamaica. Ooh, or maybe New Zealand. Send her a nice postcard, pay her back, ring her at Christmas, blah blah, fly to Peru or St Lucia, live happily ever after, amen, etc. All good in the hood.
‘Er, hello. I’m Jessica. Jess,’ I say, awkwardly trying to shove my hands into the pockets of my skinny jeans before realizing that they’re those trendy fake pockets and I’m essentially just rubbing myself up. ‘I’m Rose’s daughter. Your granddaughter, actually. Sorry to turn up out of the blue uninvited, but … I couldn’t stay away. Er … I couldn’t fight it.’
Did I just quote an Adele song? Why am I acting weird?
‘I’ll leave y’all to it,’ Peach murmurs so gently that I barely hear her, then she lumbers, shoulders hunched, back out of the room.
Grandma squints at me and places her book onto the mahogany side table before standing up from the chair more fluidly than I thought she would, considering the whole being a gazillion years old thing. She’s wearing a stiff-looking pink wool skirt and a long-sleeved white silk blouse. One of the buttons on the blouse has a frayed piece of cotton trailing from it.
‘J-Jessica? Baby Jessica? Is it … is it really you?’ she exclaims in the most ridiculously posh accent. She presses a wrinkly hand to her chest, gigantic eyes blinking rapidly. ‘Oh my goodness me, you’re here!’
At fucking last! Someone on this earth is pleased to see me.
‘Yes!’ I say grandly, with a beatific smile. ‘I am here … Here I am.’
‘Oh, Jessica,’ she wails, a bit dramatically if we’re being honest. She looks up towards her intricately corniced ceiling and, shaking her head, says, ‘Thank you, God! Thank you for bringing her to me.’
Wow. OK. This woman is dead happy to see me. Why was I even worried about coming here for help? I can already taste the Sex on the Beach, feel the sun-warmed sand between my toes, the hands of a well-hung Australian hottie rubbing factor fifteen on my back. Summer can do one. She doesn’t need me any more? Well, I don’t need her. I’ve got agrandmanow.
‘Yeah, it’s top, isn’t it?’ I grin. ‘I don’t know why we left it so long. To be completely truthful, I didn’t really think about you at all until this morning. Mum never really talked about … ’
I trail off as I notice Grandma is on the move. She’s inching towards me with her arms outstretched. Is she … is she coming in for a hug? She must be. On the telly, grandmas are always hugging people. Hugging and pinching cheeks and kissing you on the mouth.
Oh no.
As she gets closer, I notice her gigantic eyes are full of tears. Huge old-lady tears. My most prominent instinct is to back away, protect my cheeks from her bony, pinching hands, my lips from her lips. I am living my nightmare. I want to shout ‘Stay right where you are!’, but I know I mustn’t. It would be really mean to reject her emotional advance.
I’m just going to have to style it out.
Grandma moves with surprising speed and before I know it she is here, right in front of me. She grabs my face. Her hands are cold. As cold as ice.
‘Poor, orphaned, homeless Jessica. I’ve waited years for you. What a terrible time you’ve been through.’ She examines me with an expression of pure pity. ‘Lookat you, you poor, impoverished creature.’
Huh? How on earth does she know I’m homeless and impoverished? And what is she on about − ‘waited years’? I’m all over the bloody Internet. If it meant that much then surely she could have tracked me down by now? It took me less than five minutes to find her.
Before I get the chance to ask what the fuck is occurring, her long thin arms close around me.
Grandma is a dementor.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hold my breath as she pulls me close and—
‘ -REEEEAAAOOWWW!’
‘Good heavens!’
‘Shiiiit!’
Mr Belding leaps out of my leather jacket.
Cockwaffle. I’d completely forgotten he was there! He darts up into the air, hissing, quite understandably, at the fact that he’s just been almost squished to death in a me-and-Grandma sandwich. Then he lands on my shoulder, claws piercing my décolletage in what I suspect is one of the most physically painful events of my life so far.
‘ARGH, MR BELDING, YOU SHITHEAD!’
My swear bounces off the walls of the huge room and echoes back at me. Grandma waddles quickly backwards in surprise, her nostrils flaring. Her lips wobble again. She’s got wobbly lips. Her face is now full on Cullen white.
