Raymond paid a visit again a few days later to see how Glen was settling in.
I’d invited him and his mother, as he’d mentioned that she was keen and I imagined, as a cat obsessive, she’d enjoy meeting Glen.
In any case, there were still plenty of biscuits left over from his previous visit, so it was not as though it was any trouble.
They arrived in a black cab, which Mrs. Gibbons was very pleased about.
“The driver was lovely, Eleanor, wasn’t he, Raymond?” she said.
Raymond nodded, and I thought I detected a hint, just a tiny one, of weariness,
as though it wasn’t the first time she’d gone over the topic during their short journey from the south to the west of the city.
Oh, he couldn’t have been nicer, helped me in—and out!—of the taxi, held the door open while I got my walking frame...
“That’s right, Mum,” he said, tucking her walking frame into the corner of the living room while she settled herself on the sofa.
Glen, ever the iconoclast, had immediately gone to bed—my bed—as soon as they arrived,
and there was nothing to see of her but a lightly snoring lump under the duvet.
Mrs. Gibbons was disappointed, but I left her to peruse some photos on my phone while I went to make tea.
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