Late Bloom

Rubber soles meet the harsh, endless pavement of the city in a steady rhythm as I follow my Gran, her suitcase’s wheels ploughing overtop pedestrian’s toes, forcing them to give way to her, glaring at her raised head as she struts along. I try to keep the peace, smiling apologetically to those that I pass who’ve been accosted by that dreaded suitcase. I’m well practiced by now, this being the third year I have spent trailing behind my willowy grandmother who stops for no one.

This, however, is a small grievance, as this trip has quickly become my favourite part of the holidays. A week, this time a week and a half, before the new term begins, Gran and I abandon our cottage in the hills and head for London. I’m in love with the city, and all the little nooks and crannies it contains. There’s always so much to do and see. Gran feels the same way.

Despite her muggle status, she is entirely magical in her own right. Nearing on 70, Gran is tall and slim and almost painfully beautiful, like aged wine. She has long, full hair, dappled with strands of silver, but no less appealing. My mum looked just like her, dark blonde with pale green eyes and high cheekbones. I, on the other hand, could have been adopted. I have a different hair colour, barely make 5 foot and I’m still plagued with what Gran insists is baby fat.

This baby fat is fast becoming a serious issue for me. Clothes that I want to wear wouldn’t “suit my body” as my friend Kirstie puts it, and this year everyone will be getting boyfriends and boobs and I’ll still be the same 11 year old kid who first came to Hogwarts.

“Lyra, darling, hurry along, we’ve got to be in the city centre by 2,” Gran glances over her shoulder to make sure I’m not lost to the crowd. I give her a weak smile and quicken my pace to keep up. The worst part of our trip is, without doubt, Gran’s get together with her old work friends. She lived in London for upwards of three decades at a law firm as a clerk, and after she moved away to raise a family, she made sure to keep in touch, even to this day. They sit in a café for lunch, before moving on to check out the latest fashions and Gran will by herself something expensive before she parts ways and humours me for pretending to care about the type of leather her friend’s handbag is.

Gran, after her first husband passed away, married a wealthy investment banker, whom she also outlived long enough to have access to his money and what she called his “assets”. To put it simply, she’s stinking rich, although she remains terribly modest, what with our little cottage and meagre means of travel. Clothes and makeup are her weakness, and unfortunately for me, she insists I remain in the loop of every current trend the teenagers are all over. I hardly count as a teenager, though.

We reach the towering glass doors of Gran’s favourite hotel, where the doorman places our cases on a trolley. I can tell he’s trying not to huff as he hauls my oversized trunk onto it, struggling out a smile for us. Gran glides over to the front desk, looking back to me, “Darling, go up to our room with the gentleman, you know which one. Oh, and, in my suitcase, at the top is your dress for this afternoon.”

“Okay, Gran,” I try not sound too put out. As lovely as my gran is, she has very little understanding for a disinterest in fashion. Soon enough, Gran is shooing me out the door again, and hailing a cab for us. She has a small smirk on her face, one that’s usually accompanied by scheming and it makes me nervous. “You look lovely in that dress, darling, so grown up,” She noted as we’re being driven through the maze of streets and I’m inclined to roll my eyes, instead, I sigh and look over at her. Apparently, whatever my face was doing communicated my thoughts to her, because she also sighs. “Darling, I’ve told you, it’s baby fat, when you grow a little more you’ll even out perfectly.”

“Gran, I’m turning 14 in 5 days, my robes are too tight now and everyone at Hog- at school will notice,” My throat gets thicker as I force what’s on my mind out. Gran isn’t the most understanding of people but she truly cares, and tries to be relatable. Her hand reaches out and rubs my knee and I fight back tears as strongly as I can.

“Lyra, we’re getting you new robes, even if they did still fit I wouldn’t dare let you go back to school with scuffs and rips after that dreadful trip you took into those tunnels. You genuinely are beautiful. You have your mother’s eyes, and her spectacular teeth -“
“Perfectly symmetrical,” I finish for her, offering up a watery smile and in return she beams back.

“That’s my girl, now, I have a surprise for you, darling,” she says, climbing out of the cab before it even halts completely. I clamber out after her, trying not to fall on my face. She takes my hand and places a black clutch with a chain attached to it in it, wrapping my fingers around it. “As much as you try, which I absolutely adore, I know how much you dread my catch ups. Us old women do go on, I know. As you said before, you’re 14 in a few days, so I’m going to leave you here.”

I gasp, my heart lifting as I take in her words, and hug her slim frame. Gran laughs, rubbing my back. She pushes me away gently, but keeps a grip on my shoulders. “Let’s go over some rules, okay? No talking to strangers, no leaving the mall and if you see something you like, don’t hesitate to buy it. I want you back at this spot by 4, deal?”

“Deal,” I grin up at her, utter relief washing through my veins.