Grandma Estelle

The role of grandparent comes with many privileges and high expectations. No one takes their role in this capacity more seriously than Max’s grandmother, Estelle. She has risen to the challenge in a charming way, sharing with Max her patience, humour and wisdom. The attention and understanding she gives so generously has deep importance far beyond the blood bond. M
ax is a fourteen-year-old, hormonal teenager; he also has Down’s syndrome. The two of them cut a cute, endearing picture, appearing like an old married couple, rather than grandmother and grandson with sixty years between them.


Their similar height is not the only characteristic they share. Both personalities are drawn to theatre, be it singing, dancing, high dramas on or off the stage. They embark on their regular outings together with almost identical exuberance and delight. Grandma Estelle invariably picks up Max from home, arriving in her immaculate burgundy Nissan Micra. Max will be fluttering up and down the depth and breadth of the lounge window, eagerly awaiting her arrival and his cheers of excitement,
“Grandma Estelle’s here, she’s here!”
Can be heard a good five minutes before the door bell goes. It takes her that long to park.

Grandma Estelle is a neat, trim lady who arrives equipped for all uncertainties of weather. Their mutual adoration is self-evident and Max suffers no dilly-dallying as he loads his carefully packed baskets full of “show stuff” into her car, now neatly resting in our driveway. He attempts to take everything but the kitchen sink.
“Oh Max! There’ll be no room for us”, giggles his grandma.
Videos of himself at his own precious birthday parties, costume outfits and props for his “shows”, large pool cue, substituting for Caracticus Potts’s stick in “Old Bamboo” from that Chitty Chitty Bang Bang favourite, biker leather jacket, and Danny Zuko sunglasses. Once the car has been loaded Max is keen to get going, ordering us out of the way.

Their first stop is usually the cinema, preceded by a visit to a Pizza restaurant nearby where Max shamelessly fleeces his Grandmother for as much ice cream as he can manage. But before they set off there is the delicate matter of manoeuvring out of the driveway. This is a joy to watch. Appearing like Mr and Mrs “We expect the world to stop still, before we attempt to cross the road”. They both take time to settle in, double checking and rechecking each other is locked and loaded. Once the engine ignites things really start to kick off as the car slowly inches forward out from the driveway and stops. Repeated nervous glances from them both examine the passing traffic on the perilous road before them. Doubt is in the air.

They pause, reflecting on the danger, and exchange a moment of disbelief and hesitancy. Steeling courage the Nissan Micra edges forward once again only to be rocked in a gale of turbulence as a car speeds past. Momentarily aghast, the pair are thwarted and paralyzed with panic. Time is a great healer and soon, once again they bravely attempt to swing out from the driveway. With a little prayer and perhaps a small shove from on high, they finally make it. We wave goodbye, relief on our faces as we peek out from behind the open front door where we have all been hidden. The car slowly chugs off down the road, and a considerable time later manages to disappear from sight.

After their lunch and a film it’s back to Grandma Estelle’s house for the big “show” and egg mayonnaise sandwiches. The drive will be so slow it’s a wonder they arrive before nightfall. Both would prefer to be the only vehicle on the road, but they bravely make the best of it, suffering the North London traffic. Max loves routine, Grandma Estelle loves routine, their love is a match made in heaven.

Max is never amused when I arrive to pick him up, often throwing himself headfirst onto the sofa, bottom protruding high into the air, heeding no suggestion that he might be behaving like an utter plonker. He delays departure expertly, putting socks and shoes on at a snail’s pace, as well as blatantly refusing to budge. They both look exhausted, Max, because he will have put his life and soul into each and every one of his performances he’s gleefully perfected just for Grandma Estelle. And Grandma Estelle, because she will have watched and listened to every performance with daisy-fresh enthusiasm.

Max will have dragged her from the cinema, chatted incessantly throughout the drive home, forced her to watch his “shows”, bossed her into providing his favourite tea, and Grandma Estelle, loving and cherishing him, will have willingly suffered in good grace, with the delicious incentive of a small dry sherry with her name on it.