‘Oh, look at that pineapple!’ Nan sings, and I do. Her enthusiasm is warranted. It’s a stunning pineapple. ‘Oh, Livy.’
‘Nan, it’s too pretty to hack up and shove in a cake.’ I join her by the supermodel of pineapples. ‘And it’s fifteen quid!’ My palm slaps against my mouth, and Nan’s hand slaps my shoulder.
‘Will you shut up?’ she hisses. ‘I should’ve left you at home.’
‘Sorry, but fifteen pounds, Nan? Surely you’re not.’
‘Yes, I am.’ She straightens her shoulders and waves to get the attention of the server, her hand movements rivalling the Queen’s. ‘I would like a pineapple,’ she tells him, all posh and proper.
‘Yes, madam.’
I stare at her in disbelief. ‘Does being in Harrods Food Hall put a plum in your mouth?’
She flicks me a sideways glance. ‘Whatever are you talking about?’
I start laughing. ‘That. The voice. Come on, Nan!’
She leans in discreetly. ‘I do not have a plum in my mouth!’
I smile. ‘Yes you do. A huge, great big plum, and it’s making you sound like the Queen with respiratory problems.’
Nan’s beautiful pineapple is handed delicately over the counter and she takes it, gently placing it in the basket I’m holding.
‘Ooh, be gentle,’ I whisper, laughing to myself.
‘You’re not too old to lie over my knee,’ Nan threatens, increasing my laughter.
‘Would you like to do it here?’ I make my face serious. ‘You could polish my arse while you’re at it so I match your pretty pineapple.’ I snort on a suppressed laugh.
‘Shut up!’ she snaps. ‘And be careful with my pineapple!’
I’m at the point of doubling over as I watch Nan straighten her scowling face before turning back to the gentleman who served her. ‘Could you remind me where I might find the double cream?’
I start falling all over Harrods Food Hall in hysterics as I watch Nan’s hand movements and listen to her fake posh voice. Remind her? She’s never bought double cream from Harrods in her bloody life!
‘Certainly, madam.’ He directs us to the back of the hall where the fridges are stocked with posh dairy. Nan’s back straightens and she’s smiling and nodding politely at everyone we pass, while I titter, shake and hold my aching stomach from laughing too hard.
I’m still chuckling as I watch her read the back of every pot of cream on the shelf, humming to herself. She shouldn’t bother with the ingredients and should maybe pay more attention to the price. Deciding that I need to calm myself down before my nan swings at me, I start taking deep breaths as I wait for her to choose, but my shoulders won’t let up, and I can’t help my eyes from looking down at the perfect, shiny pineapple, reminding me of why I’m in stitches.
I jump when I feel hot breath in my ear and turn, still laughing until I see whose breath it is. ‘You look incredibly beautiful when you laugh,’ he says quietly.
I stop immediately and back up, but I should’ve stayed put because I’ve just bumped into Nan, causing her to huff some more and swing around. ‘What?’ she spits before she clocks my company. ‘Oh my . . .’
‘Hello.’ Miller closes the distance, getting way too close, and puts his hand out. ‘You must be Livy’s famous nan.’
I die on the spot. She’s going to lap this up good and proper. ‘Yes.’ She still sounds like she has a plum in her mouth. ‘And you’re Livy’s boss?’ she asks, placing her hand neatly in Miller’s, flicking me a questioning look.
‘I think you know that I’m not Olivia’s boss, Mrs . . .’
‘Taylor!’ she practically screeches, delighted that he’s confirmed her suspicions.
‘I’m Miller Hart. It’s a pleasure, Mrs Taylor.’ He kisses the back of her hand – he actually kisses the back of her bloody hand!
Nan giggles like a schoolgirl and now that my heart is over the shock, it starts a steady thump in my chest. He’s adorned in a three-piece grey suit, white shirt, and silver tie . . . in Harrods. ‘Shopping?’ I manage to breathe.
He regards me intently as he releases Nan’s wrinkled hand and holds up two suit bags. ‘I was just collecting some new suits and an enchanting laugh caught my attention.’
I ignore his compliment. ‘Because you don’t have enough suits?’ I ask, remembering the rows and rows of matching jackets, trousers and waistcoats lining the three walls of his wardrobe. I’ve never seen him in the same one twice.
‘You can never have enough suits, Livy.’