Grandpa gay story

It’s a lot of rain, blowing straight into my face. Her eyes are fixed on the slightly tipped pint-glass, held just below the nozzle the Guinness issues from. You know, Daisy the cow?”

Grandad frowns and puts down his drink.

“I see the cow thing but daisies aren’t weeds, even when they grow in places where people don’t want them to be.

He comes here to watch Souixies’ breasts?

I want to turn and give him a questioning look but Siouxsie is pouring the second pint and I can’t look away.

“This is one of the last pubs that still has manual pumps,” grandad explains. Tonight I need to talk with Daisy, not play word games.

“Is Daisy a vegetarian, dear?” Gran asks me.

Though it was usually for grandmothers, it could be used for grandfathers. we lived in the West. and turns her head to look at me.

“How long have you been watching me?” she asks.

Mostly, my words fail me, tripping over themselves like too-long limbs, but this time, as they shape in my mind, I know that they are right because they are the simple truth.

“Not long enough,” I say.

What were her parents thinking?”

Gran takes in my frown and adds,”I wonder if it would help her to know that the daisy is given as a sign of true love because it’s really two flowers in one?”

I stop frowning and file that information away for possible use tonight. It is a little shocking to think of them doing things apart.

Maybe, if I tell him that I get the point, he’ll let me go back and get dry and be truly appreciative when Gran makes tea.

Then grandad says, “We’re here.”

Well, of course “we’re here”. Because nothing can fix this. I look down at the Guinness, still roiling inside the glass, struggling to separate out into their final black and cream form and brace myself to ask grandad what exactly he gets up to in his Shed

“Grandad…”, I begin.

“I’m going to be the one asking the questions,” grandad says, lifting his now settled pint and admiring its new colours.

Dad will even buy me a glass of  Chardonnay to go with my beer-battered Haddock, mushy peas and hand-cut, double-cooked chips. But I hadn’t thought about what it meant for us.”

“What did Daisy think it meant for you?” grandad asks, quietly but with genuine curiosity.

“She said that it wasn’t about being careful in some guilty, negative way, It was about taking care of each other.”

Grandad grunts, sounding surprised.

“Is Daisy older than you?”

“No.