Granddads Gone
Rebecca had just stepped into her London flat after another business trip. Her suitcase still untouched at the door, she fumbled for the light switch when her mobile rang. Mums name flashed up.
She answered, half-expecting a casual chat, her body weighed down by exhaustion more than concern. Hello, Mum. Ive just walked through the door. Everything alright?
There was a tremor in Lindas voice. Youre home, Becs? Thats good. Thats very good.
Rebecca sensed something was odd. Her mother sounded restless, holding back, as if trying to edge around a subject she dreaded. Probably just eager to gossip, she thought, not ready to hear about the latest drama from the estate.
All she wanted now was to faceplant into bed and finally sleep. The train up from Manchester had been a sleepless ordeal; four young men in the next carriage had spent the night singing at the top of their lungs. Their guitars had survived every wishful curse she had flung at them.
Mum, can we talk later? Id just like a quick wash and a nap. Then Ill call you?
Im afraid that isnt possible, darling, Linda sighed.
Rebecca paused, the soft click of her key on the table the only sound in the room. Why not? Whats happened? Suddenly she was fully alertthe tone in her mothers voice was not routine.
Linda hesitated, the air thickening. Resting wont be possible because your granddads gone.
Rebecca slumped, phone pressed so hard to her ear it hurt. The news swallowed her whole, leaving her reeling.
His neighbour, Mrs. Morrison, rang this morning. She found him by the doorstep, Rebeccamilk in her hand and concern in her eyes. He must have clutched his heartand he was gone. It looked as though hed lain there all night. I suppose we must go up to the village, see him off properly. The neighbours will help with arrangements. Are you listening, love?
Rebecca struggled for words but managed a faint, Yes.
Mrs. Morrison has tried to contact his other relatives, but they refused. Didnt want the bother because hed left them nothing. Said if thered been an inheritance, maybe theyd have come, but why waste money and time otherwise? The houseyou know yourself its a wreck.
Linda took a long breath and continued, the weight of history between them. Ill be blunt with you, Rebecca, I havent any desire to return to that village. Your granddad asked me never to set foot in his house againafter your dad died, you know. Swore at me, and I promised him, for all our sakes, Id keep my word. Thats why it falls to you now, love. Will you go? Will you let him go on his last journey?
Rebeccas eyes fell on the letterher granddads lastsat unopened on her side-table, postmarked and yellowing, never read because of her endless work travels; the third trip in as many months, always sent away by the firm because she was the one with the fewest personal complications.
Ill go, Mum. Of course, Ill go. But
Rebecca picked up the letter, turned it over in her hands, and gently set it back down.
I still dont understand he seemed well at Christmas when I saw him. He was in good health, or so he said.
Her mothers voice was weary and resigned. Darling, he was getting on. A lot of men dont make pension age these days, and he was well into his seventies. We shouldnt complain. May he rest in peace.
Rebeccas hand trembled, heart bruised with grief. She had loved her granddad deeplylikely the only one left who had. Her mother and he had been estranged for years, ever since Granddad Frank couldnt forgive Linda for the death of AndrewRebeccas father.
Frank always believed Linda had worked Andrew into the ground, driving him from one contract job to another to pay for home improvements, a car, a taste of nicer living. And Andrew, a teacher by training, had obliged, returning always with gifts and pay, but one day, never againthe strain on his heart proved too much.
At his funeral, Frank had wept for his son, openly and without shame, so much so that the whole church grieved for a father who, as they all muttered, should never have to bury his child. After that, hed cut Linda out, refusing even her presence in his home.
Shed said, Fine! Im not at fault! Men are supposed to provide, thats their job. If Andrew was ill he wouldve said! Frank had almost lost his temper, but from then on, only Rebecca received his letters, his affection.
Granddad Frank had refused to bow to modern lifeno mobile, no computer, not even a household phone. To everyones eyesvillage folk and cousins alikehe seemed an eccentric relic. Lost his marbles, poor old thing, theyd say on the green, especially after hed lost both wife and son.
In recent months, villagers whispered, Frank had taken to talking not to himself, but apparently to a catone no one had ever seen. It was Mrs. Morrison who relayed this, after finding him gone, bringing milk as shed done for years.
After the call, Rebecca wept quietly in her empty flat. Shed put off visitingbusy with work, always off to Birmingham or Edinburgh, forever promising herself shed go next month, next week, after the next project landed. Her boss only grinned at her protests: Rules are rules, Miss White. If you dont want the job, write a resignation. Where else will you find a salary like this?
It was a good wage, but it left Rebecca tired and empty. What was it all for, if she missed the last chance to see her grandfather?
**
The graveyard was cloaked in solemnity. After the vicars prayer and the last nail hammered into the burgundy-draped coffin, the men lowered Granddad Frank into the earth. A handful of soil tossed, memories spoken aloud, fading flowers atop his grave. Rebecca stood immobile, the unreality of his absence impossible to grasp. There was a Granddad. And now there isnt
Soon came the wake at the old village hallbottomless cups of tea, more than a few tumblers of whisky, the neighbours raising toasts and spinning memories so that, for the length of a story, Granddad Frank lived again.
When the food and drink ran out, the villagers offered their condolences, disappearing homeward in the chilly duskRebecca left in silence, the last one standing amid the aftershocks of grief.
She distracted herself with housework in Franks old cottage, airing musty rooms, scouring dust from the wooden floors, and tidying up until her head cleared. The house, for all its rustic sparseness, felt comforting, almost protective. In the garden, order and care lingered in every bed and blossom, though the beds lay bareFrank hadnt planted this year. Maybe hed known his time was nearly up.
She phoned her mum from under the apple tree, voice heavy with fatigue. Ive laid him to rest, Mum.
Youve done well, Rebecca. Regardless, he was family.
He was more than just family. Hed seen too much pain, thats all, Rebecca replied. Lets not hold on to old grudges anymore. He just loved Dad so much it split him.
Maybe youre right, Linda sighed, her mind half elsewhere, irritation surfacing. So, when are you home? You cant want to stay there alone, surely?
Not tonight or tomorrow. Ive taken a few days leave. I just need a break, Mum. Maybe for the nine daysthe old tradition. You could come up? Rebecca asked.
Thats a long old trip, and Ive got the allotment to mind. Dont forget its planting season. Besides, I told Frank we shouldve buried Andrew in London, not out in the sticks. He never listened to me. Anyway, my shows just started on the telly. Ring me if you need anything, Becs.
Rebecca smiled, knowing her mums avoidance tactics well.
Later, with a mug of strong mint and blackcurrant tea, Rebecca curled up on the old settee and took out her granddads last letter, re-reading the words that had left her so unsettled. It was almost entirely about a catSmoky, he called hima black cat she had never heard about before.
He loves milk, would you believe, Rebecca? Kept guzzling it like no tomorrow. Ill need to ask Mrs. Morrison to bring more. He keeps his distance, mind, never lets me get close. I hardly see more than a streak of black now and again. But I can always feel his eyes on me. Maybe youll have better luck of catching him when you visit.
But Rebecca had seen no sign of any cat in the house or garden, and shed been there several days already. Still, that constant feeling of eyes on herjust as Frank had describedclung to her.
Ill ask Mrs. Morrison about this Smoky tomorrow, she resolved.
**
At dawn, sunlight slipped in past the curtains, sparrows bickering outside; the peaceful ruckus of a real English village. Rebecca opened the window to the gardens cool, leafy smells, childhood summers surging backschool holidays spent with her granddad, hammering up birdhouses and picking fruit.
Later, she caught up with Mrs. Morrison over the fence. Did you ever see Granddads black cat? she asked.
Mrs. Morrison tapped her forehead thoughtfully. Only ever heard him talking to it. Never saw it, not once. Hed be coaxing it outCome on, Smoky, show your whiskers! But I looked time and again, and saw nothing but the wind. He kept up a daily conversation with his invisible friend, mind. Told him all about his life, about the Mrs., and Andrew, bless their souls. Called it Smoky every time. But, Rebecca, none of us saw hide nor hair of him. Made me fear Frank was losing his mind. If the cat was real, surely someone would have glimpsed him?
Rebecca chewed her lip. He was all there, Mrs. Morrison. Im certain of it. Maybe were just missing something. Or Smoky was very shy. Ever have any black cats go missing?
Not since Ive lived here. And no one keeps a black cat, not round these parts. Superstitious lot.
Back in the garden, Rebecca raked the paths and pruned the bushes, her thoughts circling the mystery.
If the cat existed, where had it gone?
From a secret gap under the shed, a pair of green eyes watched her. Smoky, jet black and wary, was drawn to her in a way he couldnt explainsomething about her echoed Franks kindness. He remembered how Frank would speak to him softly, slide him scraps of bacon and sausage, never forcing him too close. Humans had mostly been cruel to Smoky. Hed never trusted them.
Now, alone, he watched Rebecca, heart torn between fear and hope.
The nine-day memorial came, the village filed in with baskets of homemade scones and stories, and all the while, Smoky stayed hidden. When the crowds departed, Rebecca lingered in the garden, her eyes scanning the hedges, determined. She caught a flash of black just once.
There you are, Smoky! she called, her voice bright and kind. So Granddad wasnt imagining you. Come on, then, come say hello!
But as she took a step toward him, Smoky vanished.
She crouched by the bushes, cooing softly. Dont be scared. I leave tomorrow, and Id hoped to meet you. Maybe next time
Mrs. Morrison arrived at the gate just then, carrying a tin of shortbread for Rebeccas journey home. She overheard the monologue, but saw only empty air.
By mid-afternoon, thick clouds blotted out the sun, thunder grumbling on the horizon as chickens squawked nervously in nearby yards.
Looks like well have a proper English storm, Rebecca muttered, gazing up at the blackening sky.
Rain began lashing down. Rebecca called for Smoky, hoping to coax him inside before the storm broke, but he kept out of sight. He cowered in his den under the shed, quaking as the thunder rolled, fear of storms deeper than even his fear of people.
Night fell, the rain hammering roof and glass. Lightning forked the sky, thunder cracked so loudly it rattled the old houses windows. Rebecca couldnt sleep, flicking between worry and restlessness.
Then, in a sudden blaze of lightning, two luminous eyes appeared just outside the window. Rebecca cried out, heart thumping, but it was only Smoky, desperate and drenched. He darted in as soon as she opened the window wide enough, streaked panicked and sodden, straight under her bed.
It took patient coaxing to draw him out, but at last he came, trembling in her arms as she dried him gently. Together they sheltered in the dark, storm battered world, both finding solace in warmth and company.
**
Rebecca woke to the snuffling sound of claws at the window. Morning sunlight streamed in. Smoky stood on the sill, his coat glossy, his manner hesitant but calmer.
Where do you think youre going, my friend? she laughed, blocking his retreat.
He looked at her, mortified at his display the night before.
A thin mew, insistent pawing at the window.
Not so fast. Breakfast first! she grinned. Then you can choosestay or come with me to London. I think Granddad would have liked you to go. I would too. Its your choice.
After feeding him, Rebecca let him out, finishing her packing for the coach. To her surprise, as she stepped onto the porch, Smoky was waiting, winding around her legs, decision made.
Together they walked through the village one last time. At Mrs. Morrisons, Rebecca handed over the keys, asking her to check in on the house. Well be back, me and Smoky. Whenever we can.
Is that Franks cat then? Mrs. Morrison was astonished.
Rebecca smiled. Thats the one. He was real all along; just afraid, thats all. But I think things will be alright now.
With a final wave, a bag of shortbread tucked under her arm and Smoky cradled safely in her jacket, Rebecca boarded the bus home. She looked out the window and, just for a moment, could have sworn a face, lined and tender, smiled down from the clouds.
Smoky pressed his nose to the glass, watching the sky.
Maybe it was all imagination, but it didnt matter. What mattered was this: Granddad hadnt vanished without a trace. He lived on, in the heart and mind of his granddaughter and the cat whod finally found his home.
