Granddads Gone
Friday, May 17th
I had barely stepped through my front door when the phone rang. I was still in my suit from a week commuting up and down to Manchester for workutterly exhausted, suitcase unopened in the hallwhen Mum called.
Her voice was tense. I probably should have paid it more attention, but I was shattered.
All right, love? Home now? Mum said with that worried tone she only gets when shes dying to share some news, usually stuff from the neighbours, or stories about Aunt Marjorie at her Womens Institute. To be honest, all I wanted was to collapse into bed; my train carriage had been a riot last night, lads singing football chants till the early hours. Theyd even worked my name into Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do instead of singing about anyone else. I wouldve rolled my eyes at another time, maybe even smiled, but last night? I was praying for a snapped guitar string.
Mum, let me wind down a bit, have a bath, and Ill call you back, all right?
Im not sure youll get the chance, Becca, she sighed.
I suddenly caught the catch in her voice. Whats the matter?
Granddads gone, love.
The words floored me. My legs gave way and I sank onto the sofa, phone pressed to my ear.
Mum explained quietly: His neighbour, Mrs. Edwards, found him this morning. She popped in with a pint of milk and there he was, in the hall just inside the front door clutching his chest. Hed been there all night, it seems. Well need to get up to the village and see to things. The neighbours will help, though. Are you listening, darling?
I managed a choked Yeah.
Mrs. Edwards rang his relatives, but none of them would come for the funeral. They said unless hed left money or the house in a will, they werent interested. The cottage needs a fortune spent on it, not worth anything to them. Id go, but you remember what your granddad saidhe never wanted to see me at that house again, not even at the funeral. I promised him Id stay away. The only one left is you, Becca. Can you go?
I sat in silence, eyes drawn to the side table where the last letter from Granddad still lay unopened. The postmark was from a month agoone of the weeks Id been up north for work, too busy to collect my post, let alone answer it.
Works been relentless lately; the company opened a new office and only I get sent to sort it all out, because my colleagues all have children, or health troubles, or caring duties. Only I am unattached. Makes it hard to say no, so I just dont.
Becca? Mum pressed, her voice a thread in the quiet. It wont do for the neighbours to think weve abandoned him. He was a stubborn old thing, but you got on all right, didnt you? Should I tell Mrs. Edwards youll go for the family?
I rubbed my eyes. Yes, Mum, Ill go. Of course.
I picked up Granddads letter and put it down again. I just how did it happen? He seemed fine when I saw him at Christmas. Cheerful, healthy.
Well, love, hes no spring chicken. He was well into his eighties, you know. Not many these days get that far. Best let him rest now.
I was gutted. I loved Granddad dearly, and I suppose I was the only one to keep in touch regularly. Mum and Granddad had fallen out years ago. Hed never forgiven her for my dads deathmy mums husbandsaying shed worked Dad into an early grave, pushing him for this and that, all for a better lifea nicer house, a bit more comfort. Dad was a teacher but picked up extra work, away for weeks, trying to provide. And one day, his heart simply gave out. At the funeral Granddad wept like no one Ive ever seen. After that, he blamed Mum for everything, told her never to set foot in his house again.
So, only letters passed between Granddad and me. He refused telephones, computers, any technology. Said pens and paper had served him all his years and would do him till the end. That kept us writingwed done so since I was a child, when Id spend summer holidays at his cottage making bird boxes together.
Now, all that was left was to arrange his funeral in that sleepy Gloucestershire village, with the neighbours supporting as best they could.
At the churchyard, after the service, the men lowered the coffin with careaged, varnished oak trimmed in maroon, the last nail tapped in. A handful of earth each, fresh flowers, wreaths. The grave still seemed impossibly final. Just like that, I thought. He was hereand now hes not.
Funeral tea followed, endless cups of tea, ham sandwiches, tales and memoriesso many stories Id heard before, a few new ones too. Thats how people live on, isnt it? Through the pieced-together stories and the warmth of those remembering.
Afterwards, the villagers drifted awaysome to the Spar, some back to their gardens. I was left alone, numb and lost.
I wandered round Granddads neat, drafty cottage: threw open the windows, scrubbed the floor, chased away cobwebs, aired out every inch. The place wasnt much to look at, but it felt safe. I drank in the heady, sweet country air, wondering anxiously who would tend the garden now. The apple trees were in blossom, the currant and raspberry bushes tangled but promising. The vegetable patch sat unplanted this year, just tilled soil.
I phoned Mum from the old kitchen. Hes buried now. I said goodbye, just me.
You did right, love. He was still your granddad, whatever else happened. Are you coming home tomorrow, then? Or staying longer?
Ive got some time off. Ill stay here a bit, maybe visit Dads grave as well. Why dont you come down?
Oh, Becca, I cant take the time, my allotments calling Remember, I told them we should have buried your father in town, not out here. But Granddad never listened. Anyway, love, my shows about to start. Ring me if you need anything.
I smiled, almost amusedMum always found an exit when she didnt want to talk feelings.
That night, I brewed myself a pot of tea with dried mint and blackcurrant leaves Granddad had stored away. After, I read Granddads last letter again, unable to stop myself; it left me only more puzzled.
Normally he rambled about the weather, or stories of his army days, but this time he wrote entirely about a black catShadow. Granddad said Shadow drank his milk and vanished every time he tried to look at him. He was convinced this cat had suffered at the hands of people and now shied away from everyone.
But in all my days here, Id never seen a hint of a cat. Not a pawprint, not a single mewl. Still, as I read it, the peculiar feeling that I was being watched crept up on me. I shrugged it off, but promised myself Id ask Mrs. Edwards next door.
The next morning dawned soft and gentle, sunlight timid at the windows. The garden sparkled with dew, the village coming aliverobin-songs, dogs barking, cockerels voicing their opinions. I let myself remember childhoodthose summer days and freedomand popped in to Mrs. Edwards, intent on asking about the mysterious Shadow.
What cat? Never seen a black cat here, pet, she said. Your granddads not been quite himself of late. Hed talk to something, called it ‘Shadow.’ Poor soul mustve felt so lonely, he made himself a friend nobody else could see.
I shrugged. Could be. But he was sharp enough, always was. Maybe were missing something.
I wandered back, set on a bit of spring cleaning. And as I swept the pantry, I thought about Granddads invisible companion.
Id nearly talked myself round into believing Shadow was just a comfort in Granddads last lonely weeksuntil, one late afternoon, as the house emptied after a small wake, and the shadows stretched long in the empty cottage, I actually saw him.
A flash of black slipping beneath the hedgejust for a second, yellow eyes catching mine. The next moment, he was gone.
Well, Shadow, I called softly. So you are real.
He kept his distance, of course, but didnt bolt. I offered scraps out on the step; they always disappeared overnight. Each morning, I saw muddy paw prints by the back door.
On my last day, as I packed up to leave, Shadow was there, perched on the step, watching. I knelt, holding out my hand. To my amazement, he crept forward, pressed his head against my fingers, and mewed.
Its up to you, lad, I whispered. Granddad would have wanted me to take care of you. But its your choice.
I packed up, closed the doors, and left the keys with Mrs. Edwards, who handed me a tin of homemade scones for the trip back.
That cat going with you? she raised an eyebrow.
Yes. He just needed some time, I said softly.
On the coach back to London, Shadow curled on my lap as the motorway rolled by. Out the window, the clouds shifted, and for a second, I swear, I saw Granddads familiar face smiling down at me.
Maybe it was just the play of the light. But it was enough.
I knowIll always knowGranddad is still here with me, somewhere. And Shadow, watching the clouds beside me, is proof that some promises from the people we love dont end, even when theyre gone.
