“Don’t come back, lad…”
“Right then, Grandad, I’m off! Been lovely here, just like when I was a boy! That bath—proper smashing! Feels like I’ve been born anew! Might pop round again next weekend, eh?”
“Best you don’t, son…” Granny wiped her hands on her apron and let out a quiet sigh.
“Granny, what’s all this?” Edward was taken aback. He’d always reckoned himself their beloved grandson, their own flesh and blood. Lived with them till he was twelve, called them Mum and Dad.
“No use in it,” Grandad cut in, glowering from under bushy brows. “See now why your wife left you. How you turned out like this, Heaven only knows…” He waved a hand, turned, and limped toward the shed, his bad leg dragging.
“Grand-a-ad!” The woman dashed out barefoot onto the porch, heedless of the blustery September drizzle. Birch leaves whipped against her face as leaden clouds raced overhead.
“Grand-a-ad! Edward called! He’s coming! Oh, what joy!” she cried, clasping her hands to her chest.
The old man straightened up, his back creaking, wiping sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his worn-out jacket.
“What’re you doing out here barefoot? Catch your death!” he scowled. “Get inside—I’ll be in directly.”
“But I—just had to tell you, my heart couldn’t keep it in…”
“Inside, I said!”
The old woman sniffled and shuffled back to the cottage. But inside, her heart churned. Edward—their little Eddie, the light of their lives. Raised him from nappies, his first steps, first word—”Granny.” Then his mother turned up. Took him. Just as she’d “got on her feet.” After twelve years. Like she’d only borrowed him, and now the debt was due. Grandad had raged, shamed her, chased her—all for naught. They’d left. Eddie wept, called often at first, then less… and less…
Silence settled in the house after that. A hollow ache. When he married, he never even told them. They heard it from others. Hurt, that did. Felt like a betrayal. And now—he’d called. He was coming. Warm hope flooded her heart.
For three days, Granny dashed about like it was Easter. Scrubbed the floors, baked pies. Didn’t sleep—wondered what he’d be like now, how he’d look, surely grown handsome…
At dusk, a sleek black car rolled into the yard. Windows dark as pitch. Gave you the shivers. Out stepped Edward—stocky, cropped hair, fancy jacket. Grinned. Said hello.
“Grandad, Granny! Got any grub? Starving, I am!”
“’Course, son. Come in…”
No one expected gifts—times were hard. But a little decency… Just something…
He stuffed himself, kicked his feet up on the table, lit a fag, and started bragging about how “sorted” he was. Grandad’s lip curled, his hands shook. He stood and stalked off to the woodshed.
Still talking, he was. About his wife—some councillor’s daughter. How she “didn’t appreciate him,” always whinging to Daddy. How they made him work—wasn’t why he’d married her, was it? Got sacked. No place to live. Now a chauffeur. Fancy car, black as coal, windows like midnight.
“Need money,” he said. “You’ve got some, Grandad. You’ve had your time—now it’s mine.”
Grandad said nothing, just split logs. Wanted to black his hands, but Granny stopped him. Led him away. Sat there, listening to this stranger, crossing herself in the quiet. Midnight passed—he’d nodded off, right at the table, empty glass in hand.
Morning came—bright as a button. Demanded a bath again. Ate his fill. Slouched on the porch and announced he was off.
“Right, then,” Grandad muttered, wrapping himself in his coat.
Granny looked at him and knew—he’d aged ten years in a night. Hunched, sunken.
“Eddie,” she said, pulling her shawl tight. “One last thing. The world don’t spin for you. You’re dust. As you treat folks, so they’ll treat you. And your soul… it’s like them windows in your car. Might as well be nowt. You can’t see through it.”
She crossed him and followed Grandad, hand pressed to her heart. In that heavy autumn air, it was clear—spring would never come for them again.
And don’t you come back.
