Grandad Is Gone
Id only just returned from another work trip when Mum calledbefore Id even hung up my coat or bothered to unpack.
MumMargaretsounded flustered when she spoke, but I didnt really think much of it. Probably because I was so bone-tired.
Emily, love, are you home now?
Hi, Mum. Yeah, Im home at last. Just walked through the door. Why are you ringinghas something happened?
Thats good, darling. Good that youre safe and home.
Straight away, I could tell Mum wanted to say something, but was finding it hard to get it out. She does this, especially when she has a head full of gossip from the neighbours shes dying to unload on me. But I honestly couldnt face it tonight.
All I really wanted was to collapse onto the bed and finally catch up on some sleep. Id barely managed a wink last night on the train. Four boisterous lads in the next carriage had been drinking since sundown. By midnight, theyd launched into full-on singalongs, belting tunes with their battered guitar.
And wouldnt you know it, they even sang about me:
Oh, apples and pears in blossom fair,
Down where the river winds its way.
By the riverside waits little Em,
On the high and knobbly clay.
If I were in a better mood I might have smiled; as it was, I just wished their guitar strings would snap. No such luck.
Mum, Im going to rest for a bit, freshen up, and give you a ring back, okay?
Im afraid you wont get the chance, she sighed.
What do you mean I wont get the chance? It was then I noticed how strange her voice sounded.
You wont be able to rest, love.
And whys that? Ive only just got in from a business trip. Ive earned some downtime. Im not expecting company and Im not going out anywhere. Or is there something youre not telling me? Youre not about to turn up unannounced, are you?
Emily… Grandads gone. He passed away…
My knees buckled and I sank heavily onto the sofa, holding the phone so tightly I thought it might snap. I hadnt expected thisat all.
His neighbour, Mrs Harris, rang me this morning, Mum continued. Popped in to bring him some milk, and found George lying by the doorstep, holding his heart and not breathing. Must have been there all night. We need to go to the village, Em, to lay Grandad to rest. The neighbours will help. Are you listening, love?
I was so taken aback all I could manage was a faint Mm.
She rang his other relatives but they flat out refused to come. Said if hed left them something in the will, maybe theyd consider it, but whats the point wasting money and time otherwise? And the old cottageno ones wanted it for a hundred years, you know what its like.
Margaret paused briefly before pressing on. I dont much fancy going back to that village myself, especially after George told me never to set foot in his house again, not even for his funeral. And youll rememberI promised him I wouldnt. So, darling, youre our only hope. You can go, cant you Em? Youll see him off?
Mum fell silent. I said nothing either, just stared at Grandads last letter resting on the hall tablethe one with the month-old postmark. Id missed it while away for work.
That had been my third trip out of town in six months, and who knew if itd be my last. The company had just opened a new branch, so it always seemed to be my turnthey all had children or health issues, and apparently I was the only unencumbered one.
Em, Mum called softly. I only dont want the neighbours thinking weve forgotten him completely. He was a difficult old thing, but still You and he got on, after all. So what should I tell Mrs Harris? Will you go?
Yes, Mum, Ill go. Of course I got up from the sofa and took Grandads letter in my hands, tracing the words with my finger, then replaced it carefully.
Mum, how did it happen? He seemed fine. I saw him at Christmas and he looked well.
How should I know, love He was in his seventies, after all. These days, most men dont even make it to retirement age, and your grandad managed nearly eighty. We cant complain, really. May he rest in peace.
I was in shock. I loved Grandad so much, probably more than anyone else did, certainly more than any of the relatives whod dropped out of touch. Even Mum hadnt spoken to him in years. Thered always been an icy tension between themGrandad never forgave her for pushing Dad, his only son, so hard hed worked himself into an early grave. Dad had trained as a teacher, but Mum wanted holidays, a new car, a nicer flat. She had him on the road for work, chasing higher wages until the travel, the stress, and his heart problems finally caught up with him.
Grandad howled with grief at the funeral, inconsolable. No parent should have to bury their child, people whispered.
Afterwards, he stopped speaking to Mum, forbade her from his cottage. That was just how things stood. Our only link was the letters he and I wrote each other. No mobile phones, no emails for Grandadhe barely tolerated a wireless. My cousins thought he was half-mad, but I treasured that bond with him. When I was young, Id spend every summer in his garden, and later, as an adult, we kept up our old-fashioned correspondence.
Mum still held to her old lines: A mans job is to provide. He never said a word about his heart. But Grandad had never forgiven her, or himself.
In the end, though, it was just me and Grandad. He wouldnt have anything to do with technology, and the family found it ridiculous to keep up letter-writing in the 21st century. He lost his wits after his wife and son died, the old ladies on the green would say.
In the last month, tales circulated in the village that Grandad had started talkingnot to neighbours, nor even himself, but to a cat. Except no one ever saw the animal; he was just a shadow, a presence, always vanishing. Even Mrs HarrisGrandads staunchest defenderwas starting to wonder.
After the call ended, I sat staring for a long time, the walls closing in, then the tears came. Id wanted so dearly to see Grandad this summer, but life kept interveningtrip after trip for work. My boss was a slave-driver, only ever smiling in reply to my protests: Youre free to go, Emily Anne, if youre not happy. But you wont find this salary anywhere else. And it was a good wage, so I stuck it out, telling myself the travel would end soon enough.
The funeral was a simple village affair. After a moments silence, the men let Grandad down into the earth, tossing clods of soil after him. The fresh grave, wreaths, and flowers looked so final to me: Is it really over? Grandads gone?
Of course, there was the wake, with rounds of whisky and reminiscenceshis memory lingered in those stories, and perhaps that was where hed continue to live now, not on earth but in the hearts of those whod known him.
When the neighbours left, I stood alone, aching at the thought I never got to say goodbye. Listless, I began cleaning the cottageswept floors, dusted, cleared away leftovers. The house, modest and tidy, somehow radiated warmth, even in Grandads absence.
By evening, the orchards apple trees were heavy with blossom, and the berry bushes were already out in flower. Grandad kept everything shipshapethe garden was immaculate, though nothing planted yet this spring. Perhaps he sensed his end coming.
I called Mum from beneath the apple tree, told her everything had gone peacefully.
You did well, Emily. For all his faults, he was still a man, and your grandad.
He was just dealt too much pain, Mum. He loved Dad more than anything. Dont hold it against him. Let him rest peacefully now.
I dont, Em. Alls forgotten. When are you coming back? Today, maybe tomorrow? It must be eerie, all alone out there
Not for a while, Mum. Ive taken some days off. I want a good rest from London. Besides, there are the nine days prayers Maybe youll come too?
Oh, darling, what could I do there? And Ive the allotment to manage, its the gardening season. Let me know when youre home, wont you?
I smiledMums always got a pressing programme when she doesnt want to talk. Back in the cottage, I made tea from dried mint and blackcurrant leaves I found among Grandads stores, drank it, and tried to sleep.
Before bed, I took out Grandads letter again. Id already read it when Id arrived, but it left me uneasy. This time, instead of the usual chat, almost all of it was about some mysterious cat.
Ive discovered, darling Em, that Midnight likes milkhalf a bottle gone yesterday, though folks say adult cats shouldnt have it. Poor Midnight is so hungry Im not sure what to feed him now, with the fridge nearly bare. He keeps out of sight thoughall I glimpse is something black darting for the shed, always watching me. Maybe, if you visit, you can coax him out. I think hes been badly treated by people.
That was just a snippet. I found no sign of any catinside or outdespite days at the cottage. But sometimes I, too, felt that unseen gaze on my back, just as Grandad had written.
Tomorrow, Id have to ask Mrs Harris about this mysterious Midnight.
***
I woke at dawn, sunlight creeping in behind the curtains, sparrows chirping, and cockerels warbling across the neighbours yardsgood, honest village sounds.
Memory swept me back to childhood, when Id spend summers here. I remembered helping Grandad build birdhouses, and then I remembered Mrs HarrisI needed to ask after the cat.
What cat, love? she frowned, when I went around.
Thats just itI dont know. Midnight? He didnt mention him at Easterjust in his last letter.
Oh! Mrs Harris slapped her forehead. A few weeks back, George started talking to some cat. I heard him coaxing it, but when I looked over the fence, there was nothing there. Some days hed be talking away, calling it Midnightothers heard it too, but no one saw this cat. I tell you, Emily, no one. I was in and out all the time, and hed just jokeYoull meet him when I catch him, Mrs Harris! Honestly, I reckon he lost his marbles near the end. Surely, if there was a cat, someone would have seen it, right?
I suppose so I conceded, but I couldnt believe Grandads mind had gone. Maybe Midnight was just shy, or perhaps there was more to the story. No one round here lost a black cat, did they?
Not that I know of. And I cant remember anyone in the village even owning a black cat.
I returned to my clearing and gardening, thoughts mulling over this Midnight. If there had been a cat, wouldnt someone have found some trace?
Unbeknownst to me, two yellow eyes watched from under the hedgea black cat, cautious and silent, drawn to me in some way. Most people on the funeral day hed ignored, but something about me felt safe.
Grandads letters were right: Midnight did fear people, and with good reason. Shunned and chased from farm to farm, hed longed for a home, until Grandads gentle voice and kind eyes won him closernever close enough to touch, but close enough to listen.
Hed have liked to come fully out of hiding, but thensuddenlyGrandad was gone. The smell of death, the locked doors and windows, and his silent vigil on the step, hoping in vain, whimpering to himself under the night sky.
Now he watched me, still uncertainit takes time, after all, for trust to grow again. None the less, as I worked, I often felt a strange prickle between my shoulder blades, as though a pair of eyes were watching me closely.
On the ninth day, with neighbours gathered for prayers, I let my guard down for a momentand, just as I turned, I saw him at last: a sleek flash of black fur vanishing under the bushes.
Aha! So you are real, Midnight! I called softly, delighted. Grandad wasnt imagining things after all. Come on, lets get to know each other.
But no sooner had I moved towards him than he disappeared again.
Oh Midnight, you really are a scaredy-cat, arent you? I smiled into the foliage. Im leaving for London tomorrow and wanted to meet you. Dont be afraidI wont bite.
Mrs Harris, bringing over a batch of cabbage pasties for my journey, heard me chatting to someone and peered over the fence. She saw me but not the cat.
Well, she thought, shaken, first the old man, now Emily, both talking to some invisible catperhaps it runs in the family!
By mid-afternoon, bruise-black clouds rolled over the village, the hens clucking in alarm and the thunder rumbling in the distance.
Looks like were in for a storm, I muttered warily, glancing at the sky. A real one, by the sound of it.
And sure enough, moments later the skies opened, rain hammering down and wind howling through the trees. I called Midnight inside, but he wouldnt come, and I just hoped hed found shelter.
He, for his part, cowered in his usual nook outside, frozen with terrorhe feared storms even more than people.
***
The rain battered the roof with a relentless roar, sometimes easing, sometimes raging anew. Even with the curtains drawn, flashes of lightning lit the cottage like midday. I lay in bed, restless, sleep impossible.
Suddenly, a blinding crack rent the night; I jolted upright, heart pounding, in time to see two glowing eyes hovering at the open window.
Mum! I yelped, scuttling to the head of the bed.
Without warning, something black and soaked flew into the room, darted past my feet, around the wardrobe, and came to a trembling halt under my bed.
It was MidnightI knew it at once.
It took all my patience to coax him out, but eventually he let me dry him with a towel and climb up beside me. So there we were: girl and cat, comforting each other as the storm raged and rattled the windows.
All of a sudden, the thunder and lightning didnt seem so dreadful.
***
I woke to the sound of soft scratchingMidnight, obviously, eager to get out into the fresh morning.
Sunlight streamed in, the storm long gone.
And where do you think youre going, Midnight? I asked him as he perched, tail flicking, on the windowsill.
He paused, peering back at me, as if embarrassed by his sudden need for comfort the previous night.
Mrow, he mewed, pawing at the glass, asking to be let out.
Not before breakfast, you arent. And after thatits up to you. You can stay here or come with me to London. Im sure Grandad would have liked you to come with me. Id like that too. But its your choice.
After feeding him, I opened the door and let him slip outside while I finished my packing. I still had hours before the last bus.
When I finally stepped outside, bag in hand, Midnight was already on the step, tail curled neatly around his paws. He looked up, brushed against my legs, and made it clear: he was coming with me.
Thats it, then, I smiled. I knew youd choose right, in the end.
When Mrs Harris saw me with the cat cradled in my arms, she gaped, astonished.
That cant beMidnight, is it? The mysterious one?
Thats the one, I nodded. Grandad was telling the truth, just as I thought. Bit skittish, thats all. But as it turns out, thunderstorms worry him even more than people. Hes safe now.
Well, what do you knowId have never believed it. I thought George had lost his mind. Youll be back out to see the cottage, wont you?
Of course, I replied. Midnight and I will come again. Not sure exactly when, but we will.
Thats good. Take these for the journey. She pressed a bag of pasties into my hand.
Thank you, Mrs Harris. For everything.
On the bus, with Midnight settled quietly on my lap, I glanced one last time out the window. Up among the clouds, for just a second, I thought I saw Grandads kindly face looking down, smiling andmaybewinking.
Even Midnight seemed to sense something and pressed his nose to the glass to watch the sky.
The cloud drifted past, vanishing from viewbut it didnt matter if wed seen anything or not. I knew one thing for certain: Grandad lived on, deep in our hearts and memories, wherever he might now be. And somehow, I knew he was glad that his granddaughter and his mysterious, faithful cat had finally found each other.
