Grandad Is Gone Now

Grandad is Gone

Emily has just returned from yet another business trip, barely having a chance to take off her coat or unpack her suitcase when her mother rings.

Margarets voice is anxious, but Emily doesnt pay it much heed. Maybe shes just too tired.

– Em, love, are you at home already?

– Hi Mum. Yes, Ive just got in. Only just stepped through the door. Is everything alright? Why are you calling?

– Its good youre home. Really good.

Emily immediately senses her mum wants to say something, but is desperately beating around the bush. Either she cant find the words, or theres something else.

Probably collected all the gossip from the neighbours and cant wait to share it with me thinks Emily. But right now, shes not in the mood to listen.

All she really wants is to collapse on her bed and get some proper sleep; the train journey back wasnt restful in the slightest.

A group of four lads next to her carriage spent the evening drinking, and after midnight decided to put on quite the showbelting out songs with a guitar.

They even sang one about her, or at least her namesake:

Apple trees and pear trees were blooming,
Mist was drifting over the river.
Emily went out onto the riverbank,
To the steep high riverbank

Had she been in a better mood, perhaps she would have smiled But all she wanted at that moment was for the guitar strings to snap. They didnt.

– Mum, I need to have a quick rest after the journey, freshen up. Ill ring you back and then we can have a proper chat, alright?

– Im afraid that wont do, sighs her mum.

– Sorry? What do you mean? Only now does Emily really notice how odd her mothers voice is.

– You wont have a chance to rest.

– Why not? I *have* just come back from a business trip, I think Im entitled. Not expecting visitors, not planning to go anywhere. Or is there something I dont know? Youre not about to turn up unannounced, are you?

– Em, love Grandads gone.

Emily turns pale. Clutching the phone tightly to her ear, she slowly sinks down on the sofa.

She never expected to hear those words.

– His neighbour, Mrs Harris, rang this morning. She popped over to bring him some milk and found him. Lying by the doorway, clutching his chest, not breathing. He must have been there all night. So we need to get to the village, for the funeral. The neighbours said theyll help. Em, do you hear me?

Emily is so stunned that she can barely speak. But somehow she manages a quiet Yeah.

– Mrs Harris has phoned his relatives, but they flat out refused to come to the funeral. Told her, if hed left them anything in the will, they might have thought about it, maybe even turned up. But why waste the train fare and time otherwise? And the housewell, you must understand, no ones wanted that for years Margaret pauses before carrying on.

– To be honest, Ive zero inclination to go over there either, especially since Grandad told me not to set foot in his house again. Not even for the funeral. And I promised him, remember? So, its down to you, love. Can you go, Em, and say goodbye to him for us?

Margaret falls silent. Emily says nothing either, staring at the table where a letter from her grandad lies.

The very last one, posted over a month ago judging by the stamp.

She never got to read it as shed been away with work.

Thats her third business trip in six months, possibly not the last. Her company has opened a new branch in another cityso shes been sent to get things up and running because the others always have some excusehealth issues, young children, family crises Shes the only one seemingly carefree.

– Em, her mums voice breaks the silence again. I just dont want the neighbours thinking weve abandoned the old man. He was a cantankerous sod, sure, but still a person. And I thought you two got on. So, shall I tell Mrs Harris youll be at the funeral?

– Yes, Mum. Of course, Ill go. Only

Emily gets up, walks to the table, picks up Grandads letter and sets it down again.

– Mum, I just dont get it. Grandad seemed fine. When I saw him at Christmas, he looked well, never complained about his health.

– Em, love, how would I know mumbles Margaret. He was getting on, after all. Lots of men these days dont make it to retirement, let alone their eighties. Cant complain, really. May he rest in peace.

Emily is reeling. She truly loved her grandad and was probably the only one who stayed in touch. Neither her mum nor Grandads relatives had spoken to him in ages.

With her mum its understandablethere was mutual dislike for years.

Grandad Fred had never forgiven her for the death of Andrew, blaming her for pushing his only son (Emilys father) until he collapsed from the strainending up exactly as Margaret herself described men these daysnot making it to retirement age.

In fairness, Margaret really had badgered Andrew to quit his last job and go off on worksites for the money: they needed to fix up the flat, buy a holiday home, live nicely.

So Andrew worked away, months at a time, always home with presents and more money, though trained as a teacher.

Until one day he never returned. His heart couldnt take it any longer.

Grandad Fred had cried his heart out at Andrews funeral. It was awful to witness.

But everyone understood. After all, Parents shouldnt have to bury their children.

It was after that Grandad stopped speaking to Margaret and told her never to set foot in his house again.

Thats fine by me! Margaret had snapped at the time. Im not at fault! A mans job is to provide. And how was I meant to know about his heart?

Grandad very nearly lost his temper then, clenching his fist on a lump of firewood.

After that, he spoke only to Emily. They were close.

When she was at school, shed spend holidays at his cottage. After graduation, even working, she kept in touch by letter.

Yes, they wrote each other real letters.

Grandad Fred had no use for modern techno phone, no mobile, no tablet, let alone a computer.

Partly why his relatives never bothered. Who writes letters in this day and age? Just ring or send a text, for heavens sake. Much quicker.

So, his relatives thought Grandad was a bit touched. So did some neighbours.

Lost his marbles the old ladies would mutter. Understandable: lost his wife, then his sonno wonder

In his last month, people grew surer that Grandad Fred was losing his mind. Even Mrs Harris, whod always defended him, began to wonder.

Because lately, hed started talkingoften, at length. Not with neighbours, nor himself, but with a cat.

Not that strange, perhaps, except no one had ever seen this cat.

How could you not wonder?

After speaking to her mum, Emily tosses her phone onto her bed, stares into space, and finally breaks down in tears.

Shed so wanted to visit Grandad this summer, but never made it. Shed tried to come in the spring, but work trips got in the wayone after another.

Her boss really had lost the plot, and whenever she voiced her complaints hed just smile:

By law, Emily Margaret, I can send you anywhere. If youre not happy, you can always resign. But where else will you find a salary like this?

And to be fair, the pay *was* very good, so she put up with it.

Eventually, the business trips would end, and she could get back to life.

But it stung to be used like thatshe was human, not a machine. She had a right to a private life, even if she didnt actually have one, and she *could* get worn out by all the travel.

*****

The funeral passes as funerals do: after a moments silence and a few words, the coffin, covered in burgundy cloth, is carefully lowered into the earth by a group of men, ropes in hand.

Just the sprinkling of soil left, then the men fill in the grave.

Fresh flowers, fresh wreaths, a raw new mound. Is this really it? Emily cant believe it. Grandad was here, and now hes gone.

Well, not quitetheres still the wake, with plenty of toasts, sharing memories, speaking well of the dead.

And because of those speechesat the wake, and in the days to comeGrandad Fred will continue to live, not in the ordinary sense, but in the memory of those who knew him.

After the food and drink are finished, the locals express their condolences to Emily and start drifting home.

She stands, suddenly quite alone. The loneliness and bitterness consume her.

I never made it Never managed to see him before he left for good Emily sighs.

To distract herself, she starts cleaning up.

She throws the windows wide, scrubs the old wooden floor, dusts every surface, sweeps away cobwebs, puts the remains of the meal in the fridge.

It feels a little easier to breathe.

Grandads house is a proper country home, unpretentious yet cosy.

Emily glances out of the windowalready evening. She heads outside onto the porch, taking in the heady country air.

She takes a look around the garden. Its nothing special.

Neat vegetable beds stretch in even rows, though left emptyGrandad hadnt planted anything this year. Maybe he knew his time was near, so why bother.

In the orchard the apple trees are in blossom, along with currant and raspberry bushes. Grandad never let the land lie idle. He tended the plot as well as he could.

I wonder wholl take care of it now? Emily sighs heavily.

She sits on a bench beneath an apple tree and phones her mother, telling her shes laid Grandad to rest.

– Well done, Em. Whatever else, he was a man, after all.

– He was fine really, Mum. Just hard lifetoo much sorrow, thats all. Dont bear a grudge. You know he loved Dad more than life, and the things he said to you were just grief talking.

– Oh, Ive let it go, love Margaret sighs. Let him rest in peace. When are you coming home, by the way? Tomorrow, or today? Bet its spooky staying out there alone?

– NoIm not coming back just yet. Ive taken a few days off. I want to stay here for a bit. Get away from the city noise for once. And its Grandads ninth day coming up. Maybe youll visit?

– Em, all the way down there? And when would I find the time? Dont forget its allotment season.

– Never mind. I was just reminding you, Dads grave is here too. And youve never once visited since the funeral.

– I told Fred he shouldve let Andrew be buried in the city, not the village. But he wouldnt listen. Oh, Em, my programmes about to startIll dash, alright? Give me a ring if you need anything.

Emily smiles.

Her mother, always the same: if she cant find the words, something urgent crops up.

Back in the house, Emily brews tea from the currant, mint and lemon balm leaves her grandad had hoarded, drinks it, and heads for bed.

Before sleeping, she takes Grandads letter from her bag and reads it againhaving already gone through it the day she got back.

But honestly, the letter leaves her with odd feelings.

Usually Grandad wrote about himself, but this time the entire letter is about some cat.

She has no idea who this Midnight isGrandad never had a cat. He wasnt keen on animals at all.

Emily decides to read it once more, just quietly, to see if it makes sense.

It doesnt.

Whos this Midnight, and whered it come from?

You wouldnt believe it, Em, but Midnight likes milk! They say adult cats shouldnt have it, but yesterday he finished off half a bottle. Ill have to ask Mrs Harris to fetch some more tomorrow. Shell be surprisedI usually make a pint last a week, but will need more now. Good for her, I supposeI always pay for it. Midnights so hungry Im not sure what to give him. Theres nothing in the fridge really. Funny thinghe still hides from me, Ive barely seen him, just a shadow flitting behind the shed. Day or night, I cant spot him, but always feel those eyes watching, cats eyes, from somewhere. I hope you come soon, lovemaybe youll be able to catch him, or at least well try together. I think people treated him terribly, and thats why he shuns them.

Thats just a snippet of Grandads writing about this mysterious cat. The thing is

there *is* no such cat. Emily hasnt seen one while staying here. And shes been at the cottage several days now.

Surely shed have noticed a cat?

Although that sensation of being watched, the feeling described in Grandads letter, she has felt herself. More than once shes glanced over her shoulderbut saw nobody.

Ill have to ask Mrs Harris about this Midnight tomorrow

*****

She wakes at dawn.

The first rays of sunlight peep through the curtains, sparrows chirp merrily in the garden, and in nearby yards the cockerels crow, each trying to outdo the other.

A typical morning in the English countryside.

Emily rises, throws open the window, and closes her eyes, taking in the unfamiliar rural sounds.

She remembers childhood, spending the school holidays with Grandad. She remembers making bird boxes with him, and that shed promised herself to visit Mrs Harris for the cat talk

– What cat? Mrs Harris says, eyebrows raised.

– I honestly dont know Emily sighs. Midnight or something. When he wrote in April, there was nothing about a cat, but in the last letter its all he goes on about.

– Oh! Mrs Harris claps a hand to her forehead. Yes, I remember. About a month ago Fred started talking to a cat. I passed by and heard him coaxing it to show itself, but there was nothing there. Next day, the same again. Then he was almost always chatting to his invisible friend, telling it about his life, wife, sonGod rest them both. And yes, always called it Midnight. Others heard it too. But you know, Emily, the thing isno one ever saw such a cat on his land, not once. Not in the house either, and I visited often enough: brought milk, cakes, or just for a cuppa. I asked him straight out, but hed just laugh and say, When I catch him, Ill show you. I reckon Fred just lost his marbles, bless him. But honestly, if there was a cat, someone wouldve spotted itdont you think?

– True Emily says thoughtfully. But I dont think Grandad lost his mind. Im sure he was perfectly fine. Maybe theres something we dont know. Or maybe Midnight just hides well. Has anyone in the village lost a black cat lately?

– Thats just itno. In fact, I dont think anyone around here has a black cat.

After the chat, Emily heads back to tend the garden, hands busy but mind still on the cat Grandad described and which no one else has ever seen.

Very odd If there was a cat, where has it gone now?

All the while, in the shadows, a black cat quietly watches her.

He has already chosen her out from all the people whod been milling around for days. It is to her, especially, that he feels drawn. Theres something in her, something familiar

But what, hes not sure yet. Perhaps its that shes so like the old man who, in the last month, had fed him treats and milk.

Midnight tries not to let himself be seen, but observes everything from a safe distance.

And Grandad was right: he is afraid of people. Badly treated as a kitten, then pelted with sticks and stones as he grew. Human life meant nothing good, so he drifted from village to village, hoping for a home.

Thats how he met Grandad Fred, who seemed different from the rest.

Fred had gentle eyes. His voiceMidnight could listen for hours, which he didwhen Fred shared stories, sitting on the bench beneath the apple tree or pottering about the garden. Midnight pitied him.

But fear always kept him hidden.

Its a pity, now, Midnight thinksthat he never got close, and then one day, Grandad was gone.

He smelt death at once, rushed to the door, but it was locked. Tried every window, all shut. He never made it in. Instead, he spent the night huddled at the doorstep quietly crying.

Now, Midnight watches the girl from the city, sensing she has a kind heart.

As kind as Grandads. Not a hard soul.

He isnt ready to be seen quite yet.

His bitter experiences tell him that first impressions can mislead.

But one day, distracted watching Emily, he fails to notice her turn and catches her staring straight at him. This happens on the ninth day.

Perhaps its fate.

On that day, the yard is busy again, and Midnight is as quiet as a mouse.

But when everyone leaves, he relaxes and Emily spots him.

– So thats you, Midnight! she exclaims with delight. Grandad wasnt making you up then. Come here, lets be friends.

But as soon as Emily moves towards the cat, he vanishes.

– Dont be shy, Midnight, she laughs, poking about the bushes. I have to head back to the city tomorrow, and youre still hiding. Dont worry, I dont bite! Id really love to meet you.

Mrs Harris, carrying a bag of cabbage pasties for Emilys journey, overhears her chatting to someone.

Looking over the fence, she sees Emilybut not the cat.

Oh dear Mrs Harris hurries home, pies forgotten. First Fred, now his granddaughter talking to an imaginary cat. Is it catching now, like the common cold?!

After lunch, thick navy clouds cover the sun, which only minutes ago warmed the garden.

A hush, dark and uneasy, settles. The only sound is the panicked clucking of hens at Mrs Harriss and the distant peal of thunder, still low and rumbling, like an omen.

– Weathers turning, Emily mutters, glancing at the sky. Looks like a storms brewing.

Shes right. Not just a storman absolute tempest. Itll be a matter of minutes before the wind howls and the rain lashes down in sheets. As soon as she thinks it, the first heavy drops strike her head.

She calls for the cat, inviting him inside, but he doesnt appear.

At that moment, Midnight is trembling in his hiding place, ears low, heart pounding at the noise abovea storm even more terrifying than people themselves.

*****

The rain drums endlessly against the roof, sometimes easing, sometimes beating harder. Night has fallen, and Emily tosses and turns, unable to sleep.

Suddenlya massive crash!

She sits bolt upright, peering at the window. Never before has thunder boomed like this. And if only it was just thunder

Flashes of lightning light up the room in blinding white, the curtains flap madly in the open windows.

No sooner does Emily think she ought to close them than another blinding bolt flashes, and she sees two glowing eyes at the window.

– Oh, heavens! she cries, darting from the centre of the bed to the headboard.

A second later, something black and sodden darts into the room, races past her feet, turns back and hides under the bed.

Its Midnight! Emily realises.

Sure enough, when she peers underneath, there sits the black, shivering cat.

It takes all her patience to coax him out, but in the end she manages.

She dries him off with a towel and brings him onto the bed. Together, as the storm rages outside the now-shut window, the girl and the cat find warmth and comfort in each other.

The storm and thunder dont seem half as frightening as they did at first.

*****

Emily wakes to insistent scratching at the window.

Of courseits Midnight.

Morning sunlight pushes through the curtains, and Emily realises the storm has passed.

– And wherere you off to, mate? she smiles to the black cat on the sill.

Midnight freezes.

Then looks back, eyes full of apology for his moment of weakness the night before.

– Meow he pleads, pawing at the frame. Hes asking to go out.

– No chance, Midnight. Not before breakfast. Later its your choice. Stay or come with me to the city. I reckon Grandadd want me to take you. Id like that too. But its your call. I hope youll make the right choice.

Once hes eaten, Emily lets him out and goes to pack. She has a few hours before the coach leaves.

But when she steps out, suitcase in hand, Midnight is already waiting on the front step.

He stands up, looks her in the eye, and rubs against her legs.

Hes made his choiceto come to the city. Because she really doesnt bite, and because, with her, he feels safe. Thanks to her, hes finally beaten his terrorof storms, and of people

And hes tired of hiding. He wants to be an ordinary family cat.

– Thats it, then Emily grins. I knew youd do the right thing.

When Mrs Harris spots Emily holding Midnight in her arms (Emily has come to leave her the house keys, someone needs to keep an eye on things), she is astonished.

– Is thatthats the cat?

– The very same, Emily nods. So you see, there was nothing wrong with Grandad after all. The cat was just nervous, scared of people. Turns out storms frighten him even more. But things will be better now.

– Oh, goodness And there was me thinking old Fred was losing it Well, no matter. Dont you worry, Em, love, Ill look after the house. Youll be coming back, wont you?

– Of course. Well both come for visits, Midnight and I. Dont know how often, but we will.

– Thats good. And here, take these for the journey, she presses a bag of pasties into Emilys hand.

– Thank you, Mrs Harris. For everything.

On the coach, Emily gazes up at the sky. For a second, she fancies she sees Grandads face in the clouds.

Even Midnight, curled in her lap, presses to the window, peering upwards.

That face looks down at them kindly, with a grandfatherly smilealmost a wink.

Then the coach pulls away and the cloud fades from view. Even if they only imagined it, it doesnt matter.

What matters is that they know Grandad hasnt vanished without trace. He lives on in their memories and in their hearts. And wherever he is now, Fred is surely glad that his granddaughter and his mysterious, fluffy friend found each other.