Members of my family will recognise the couple involved, we all miss them.
The glasses lay beside their case on a small table - an open book alongside. My dad edged over and picked up the glasses, depositing them behind a card on the mantelpiece. I saw him from the corner or my eye, but at the time thought nothing of it. Meme bustled in from the kitchen, a flurry of tweed and twinset, lips pursed and silver hair in neat curls. She set the tea-tray on top of the open book on the little table and poured into clinking cups and saucers, the tea leaves collecting in the strainer. I stood to join her, carefully pouring drops of milk from the dainty floral jug. Grandpa bowled in behind us and sat in his special chair, "Ooohhh, I love to see all my wonderful family. God bless." His wrinkled face creased into a smile of joy as I bent to hug him, breathing in the scent of soap and grandpa cologne. Delicately drinking our tea, my sisters and I sprawled across the thick carpet, playing cards. We all loved this house and these wonderful people. Meme bustled out again with the tea tray and my sisters, game now complete, followed to help in the kitchen. Grandpa was regaling Mum and Dad with the latest news from friends in France. He had the letter in front of him, and effortlessly translated excerpts from the neat French script. Meme was back, grey eyes looking worriedly over the half moon glasses glinting on the end of her nose. "Are you alright Mum?" asked my own mum, halfway to her feet.
"Darling?" Grandpa looked up with a tender query.
"Has anybody seen my specs?" I couldn't help the laugh escaping,
"They're on your nose, Meme!" She looked up distractedly and then smiled sheepishly.
"Not those ones dear. My reading glasses. I need them for a recipe. I'm sure I was sitting in here reading earlier." My dad tried to hide a smile as he asked innocently,
"You haven't lost your glasses again? You're always losing your glasses." Her face immediately transformed from worried fretting to mock annoyance as she realised what had happened. She wagged her finger at my dad. This had been a standing joke and tradition for as long as I could remember. She was notorious for losing her specs and my dad made the most of it, hiding them whenever he spotted a pair.
"You," she scolded, "are my most wicked son-in-law. Which is probably why I love you."
Do you have fond memories of your grandparents?
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