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21 April 2014 @ 08:21 am
Fic: ‘She didn't say that.’  
Title: She didn't say that.
Fandom: Catherine Tate's Nan
Rating: (PG)
Time Period: After the 2013 'TV movie'.
Summary: She didn't say that, did she?

Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).

I just like Nan.

It's rated PG for one swear word. One, but it's considered 'big'.

All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of Derren Litten; I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.


She sits on the edge of the seat before she pushes down her skirt in its centre and rests her hands there. Her eyes don't budge from the red-haired teen sitting opposite. Under that gaze, she doesn't wilt. “Well?”

“What, Nan?” The girl brings out her book --- one of the Percy Jackson titles --- and she opens it, finds her page and lowers the book to her lap before looking at the old woman.

“Why're we here?” The woman's eyes don't move from the girl, who smiles.

“I thought it a lovely day,” she replies. “Don't you think so?”

The older woman sniffs (loudly) and squirms on the seat. “Wot's dis then?”

“A garden seat, Nan. This park is known for that one.”

“Wha' for? Summun die on it or what?”

The girl closes her book, one finger holding her place. “No,” she says. “It was donated to the park in memory of someone's wife.”

“Wot!?” The woman stands immediately, looks at the seat suspiciously. “You let me sit on dead woman's seat?”

“It was donated after she died, Nan.”

“Who by?”

“Her husband.”

“Her husband?” She looks down, at the seat, and her eyes narrow. “Couldn't wait to be rid of her, was he?”

Alice closes the book with a soft sigh; she'd looked forward to reading more of this book. “He loved her very much,” she explains while reaching for her schoolbag.

“'ere. Wot you doing?”

“Getting ready to go, Nan.”

“Wot for?” She peers at the girl.

“You don't seem to like the seat.”

“Did I say I didn't like the seat?”

“No, but ...”

“I didn't say I didn't like the seat.” The old woman looks at the girl, her eyes narrow. “Did I say I didn't like the seat?”

“No ...”

“There y'go then,” the old woman crows triumphantly. “We don't 'ave t'go.”

“But you don't like the seat!”

“I didn't say I didn't like the seat. You said so. You” she points at the now exasperated girl still sitting, her schoolbag nearby “said so!”


“We're stayin',” Nan pronounces, sitting once more on the seat. “That's wot.”

Alice suppresses a very audibly exasperated sigh. “You sure?”

“Very sure,” Nan announces and looks over at the path where two men were talking amongst themselves as they walked. “Reckon they're gay or wot?”

Alice looks at the two young men, looks to Nan and mutters, “Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat a fuckin' liberty!”

“Wot was that, dear?”

“I was just saying maybe they weren't gay, Nan.”

“You never know, Alice dear. You never know. Look at my grandson, Jamie. You wouldn't think he was but he is.”

Alice shakes her head and re-opens her book.