No going back - 36. Joe comes to stay

Monday afternoon, I was finding it difficult to concentrate; I was nervous at the prospect of having my teenage nephew in my space. Finally, I called it a day, planning to make up the hours when I was in a more productive mood. Instead, I started to go through my photos from the holiday, sorting and deleting. There were some nice ones of Colin, usually taken unawares. He'd not thank me, but there was one lovely one of him about to tuck into an ice cream sundae, a look of pleasurable anticipation on his face.

There were a few of the two of us, usually stiff affairs, posed for a random tourist who offered to take them, plus a set where we'd tried to take a joint selfie, both ending up laughing, and one picture was delightful. Not perfect, but just right. I sent it off to get a couple of decent-sized prints made, then upped the number to four, figuring Colin might agree to sending one to his Mum.

The doorbell went, fuck, Joe was early. But there, looking a bit sheepish, was Colin. I kissed him and asked him in.

"I know we said. But my four o'clock was cancelled and", he shrugged, "I figured that my hand in the kitchen might be a help", he gave me a naughty grin and waved a carrier bag at me.

"That's a great relief. I'd been planning on something out of the freezer but having it freshly cooked would be far better."

"It's only simple, pasta and such, but… Shit!"

We'd been walking through the lounge to take Colin's bag of groceries to the kitchen, and Colin spotted my laptop with the photo on it.

"I was sorting out photos from the holiday."

He gave me a sly smile, “Shouldn't you be working?"

"I couldn’t concentrate, too nervous."

"He's only your nephew."

I shrugged, "I'm not used to teenagers and you're the only overnight visitor I've ever had."

"OK. Let's get this stuff into the fridge. What are you doing with that picture?"

"I'm having a few printed."

"Why?"

"Because I like it. The two of us."

"Being silly."

"Being natural. The others all look stupid."

"I've never been much good at having my photo taken."

"There's one." I showed him the sundae one.

"Blimey. You're not having this printed are you?"

"Not without your say so."

"I look…"

"Relaxed? On holiday? About to have a treat? I love it."

"OK. Then…"

"OK. What?"

"You can print it and we'll put it on the wall. I'll find a suitably evil one of you."

By the time we'd put the fresh food away, dug out the pasta and got the garlic bread out of the freezer, the doorbell did go.

"Uncle Owain and Colin, great."

Joe was wearing a t-shirt and chinos, both of which looked suspiciously paint spattered. His only luggage was a backpack, clearly he believed in travelling light, either that or he planned to borrow things from me."

"Do you want something to eat or drink, there is cake."

"Cake sounds great, but can I have a shower first, please Uncle Owain. We were painting the sets all day and I think that I've reached what Mum calls the maliciously malodorous stage", he gave us a grin and dashed upstairs, two steps at a time.

I think he was singing in the shower, which was strange. He returned wearing another t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops, what became his standard gear around the house, day or night. The cake was welcomed and consumed, but he'd noticed the photo still on the laptop screen. Luckily, we'd gone back to the joint selfie.

"That's a great one of both of you. Where is it taken?"

We explained where it had been taken, though frankly you couldn't see much of the gardens, apart from the vivid blue sky, it could have been anywhere.

I learned that Joe was interested in everything. Our photos of our holiday, what Colin planned to do in the garden, my job, my old life in London. You name it, we talked about it. Despite Mhairi's warnings, he proved to be remarkably self-propelled in the house, or perhaps he was simply on good behaviour.

One of his first acts had been to produce a pair of fridge magnets and put up a sheet with his schedule on. He was tidy and never left the bathroom a mess. He couldn't cook but could follow instructions, so if I left a note then he could get a frozen meal ready.

I deliberately did not bother Mhairi, apart from texting her to say he had arrived OK and was settling in, but we ended up having a few text conversations. She was having a great time, despite the weather, getting plenty of reading and walking done and generally unwinding. She kept prompting me, so I finally described how Joe was fitting in and she'd said that it didn't sound like her son at all. I think she found it funny, thankfully, that he was being a model guest whereas at home he was a disaster area. I didn't say anything to her, but afterwards Colin and I agreed that simply having Mhairi around to sort him out was probably not the best way to learn self-reliance.

One of Joe's biggest interests was my grandfather and the firm, and he was fascinated by my news, that Sandra was finding places to look for more information, and that there was going to be a display in the library.

"Do you think grandad fell out with his Dad because of the firm?"

"I've always assumed so. My Father might have been rigid in his beliefs, but he was firmly against war-mongering."

"War-mongering?"

I had to think, what had Dad said? I pulled a face, "I've blanked out so much of that time, it's hard to remember properly. I sort of remember a walk, him and I. I imagine your Mum was back home doing something useful with our Mother."

Joe rolled his eyes, "She's moaned a lot about that."

"Women's roles. I know. Anyway, there was a war on, I think it was the American invasion of Iraq during the second Gulf War", I tried to remember, "anyway, it doesn't really matter which. But Dad explained that you had to be prepared to stand up for your principles, but that deliberately seeking war or profiting from war was wrong. I think that there'd been article about how the USA would profit from the war whoever won, something to do with the oil in Iraq."

"So, you think he'd have been against what the firm did?"

"Well, by the time Dad was in his 20s the firm’s glory days were long gone, and the paper mill was about all that was left. But they'd made money from armaments, and I could see that being difficult."

"When did grandad get religious?"

"I think it was at University. He was undoubtedly clever and went to Manchester. The family had the money for him to be able to do that. I always understood that he came back 'imbued with the word of God', his words not mine." I shrugged, "But I was never very interested. Your Mum didn’t seem to know much, but she might remember more."

"Which one do you think was right?"

"Blimey, that's a bit of a black and white question. My Father had principle on his side, I'll grant him that. But the thing is, I'm not sure that my grandfather was a nice man, either."

"Why not?"

"There were lots of labour disputes in the 1950s, the firm wasn't doing so well, and grandfather's business methods were old-fashioned and positively bone-headed."

"He was inflexible?"

"To say the least. Just like his son. Can you imagine the two of them coming together, the immovable object and the unstoppable force."

"And my grandad never said anything?"

"About arguing with his Dad?" I pulled a face, "Certainly not to me, but by the time I was your age, when we might have had that sort of discussion, I already knew I had to keep my head down."

"And Mum?"

"Was a woman. I suspect that was the be all and end all. He might, however, have said something to your Dad."

"My Dad?"

"Yes. His son-in-law, his substitute son after he got rid of me, the new man of the house and a devoted church-goer."

"You think I should ask?"

"How are things with your Dad?"

Joe pulled a face. Despite his willingness to ask questions, he rarely produced information of his own. Asked how the course was going, he'd say great or let us know they'd been doing so and so sort of workshop, without really revealing very much. Asking about his Father seemed to bring about a similar seizing up. He went very quiet.

"You won't tell Mum?"

"No. It's between you and me."

"Well, it's not going well but I don't want her to get wound up again, and her having a go at him won't do any good."

"Because that's not a woman's place?"

"Something like that. He's got worse, I think. I don't remember him being as bad when I was younger, and he and Mum were doing OK."

"Your Mother was a bit dismissive of the new pastor."

"Yeah. He is a bit of a stickler and goes on about things, I think. And he and Dad are very pally, Dad spends a lot of time at Church. He wants me to go."

"And you won't."

"No. I've told him that I've had it. I enjoy some bits of it, and you know there are things that I believe, but Dad wants to push it down my throat and make me spend all my free time there."

He looked at me, checking how I was taking his comments, "I felt the same way. It's taken me a long time to get comfortable with religion again, but even after Mum and Dad kicked me out, I'd sometimes go to the Minster with Lily."

"Your old lady?"

"Yes. We went for the music, but part of me still enjoyed the religious bits, it was more laid back than at the Brethren."

"Laid back, I could go with that. But Dad won't hear of it. It's all or nothing. So, I pop to see him for short periods, so he can't spend too long interrogating me. We get on in small doses."

"Perhaps getting him to remember about your grandfather might give you something else to talk about, rather than argue?"

"Yeah. Maybe." But he didn't sound convinced.