Granddad’s Gone
Thursday, July 6th
I got home this evening from yet another business trip, barely shrugging off my coat and plonking my suitcase in the hallway, when my phone buzzed. It was Mum.
Her voice was shaky, though I was too worn-out to pay it much mind at the time.
“Emily, darling, are you home yet?”
“Hi, Mum. Yes, just walked through the door. Whats up? Has something happened?”
“Thats good. Good that you’re home.”
I could tell right away Mum was holding something back, beating about the bush for some reason. Either she wasnt sure how to start, or she was dithering for another reason.
Probably the usual shed gathered some gossip from the street and couldnt wait to share. I wasnt in the mood to listen. More than anything, I just wanted to collapse in bed and catch up on proper sleep, as Id barely grabbed a wink last night on the train.
The compartment next to mine had four young blokes getting rowdy singing, strumming guitars late into the night. Not only did they not sleep themselves, but they made sure no one else could. They even sang that old folk tune with my name in it, only it was about some “Katy”:
“Apple and pear trees were blooming,
Mist floated over the stream,
Katyusha came out to the river,
To the tall and steep riverbank,” came booming through the wall.
Had I been in better spirits, I might have laughed at the coincidence. But honestly, in that moment, Id have given anything for their guitar strings to snap. No luck there.
“Mum, I need a bit of time to recover from the trip, freshen up. Ill ring you back later and well have a proper chat, alright?”
“Im afraid you wont get the chance,” Mum sighed.
“What do you mean… I won’t get the chance?” Now it struck me just how odd her tone was.
“You wont be able to rest.”
“And whys that? Ive just done a week of work away surely Ive earned it. Im not expecting company, not going anywhere. Or do you know something I dont? Youre not popping round unannounced, I hope?”
“Emily… Granddads gone.”
I felt the colour drain from my face as I gripped the phone. Slowly, I slid down onto the sofa. That was not what Id expected to hear.
“Mrs Turner who lives next door rang me this morning. She brought him some milk, went in, and… well, Jack was slumped in the doorway, clutching his chest. Not breathing. Mustve been there all night. We need to head to the village for the funeral. The neighbours will help, if anything. Did you hear me, Emily?”
I was so floored, I didnt know what to say. But I managed a feeble “Mm”.
“Mrs Turner called his relatives too, but they flat out refused to come. Said if hed left them an inheritance, maybe theyd consider it, otherwise, why waste the time? And that old cottage he lived in you know, no ones wanted it in decades,” Mum continued, pausing briefly, then carrying on, “Truth is, Ive no desire to go there myself – Jack told me outright never to set foot in his house again. Even the funeral. I promised him I wouldnt. So its up to you, love. Youll go, wont you, Emily? Say goodbye to the old man?”
Mum quietened. I was silent too, staring at the old wooden sideboard where Granddads letter laythe last one, judging by the postmark, sent over a month ago. I hadnt got it in time I was away for work.
It was my third business trip in six months; and knowing my boss, it wouldn’t be the last. Our company had opened a branch in another city, and apparently, only I could be sentothers had health issues, children, or family troubles. Only I was left, ever the “carefree one.”
“Emily,” Mums voice again crackled from the phone, “I just dont want the neighbours thinking weve abandoned him. He was a grouch, but he was still family. You got on with him, didnt you? What should I tell Mrs Turner? Are you going?”
“Yes, Mum. Ill go But”
I stood, picked up Granddads letter, weighed it in my hand, and set it back down.
“I still cant believe it. He seemed fine when I visited at Christmasfull of beans, no complaints.”
“Love, he was getting on. A lot of blokes dont even make it that far. Your granddad was into his eighties, you know. Best we can hope for is that hes at peace,” Mum murmured.
To be honest, I was stunned. Id always loved Granddad, probably the only one who kept in touch with him. None of Jacks other family, including Mum, spoke to him anymore.
Mum and Granddad had long held mutual grudges. He never forgave Mum for Dads death, blaming her for “working him to death”Dad never made it to retirement. And he had a point: Mum did push Dad into long-distance jobs for the moneyhouse renovations, a new garden plot, a nicer life. Hed go away for months teaching, came back with gifts and cash, until one day he didnt; his heart gave out.
Granddad sobbed like a wounded animal at Dads funeral. “Parents shouldnt have to bury their children,” everyone said. After that, he cut Mum offno more visits, nothing. Kept only Emily as his contact.
We wrote letters to each otherproper, old-fashioned ones. Granddad never trusted modern gadgets: phones, computers or even a tablet. Maybe thats why most relatives kept away. Who writes letters these days, after all?
Gossiping pensioners muttered that hed gone round the bend”First he lost his wife, then his son, how could he not lose his mind?”
In his last weeks, villagers were sure he was talking to himselfor to his cat. Nothing strange, except nobody had ever seen this cat. “How odd,” even Mrs Turner had worried, though shed always stood up for him.
After Mum rang off, I dropped my phone on the bed, stared at nothing, and finally wept. Id desperately wanted to see Granddad this summer, but work kept getting in the way. Another trip, then another. My boss just grinned whenever I objected: “Legally, Emily, Im well within my rights. Dont like it, you dont have to stay. Where else will you get this salary, eh?”
Well, the money was very good. So I put up with it, hoping the trips would one day end, and I could return to a normal life. Still, under it all, I chafed at being used like a packhorse with no life of my own.
***
The funeral rolled on as these things do: a moments silence, a thump as the final nail went into the deep burgundy coffin lid, and the men on ropes gently lowered Jack to rest. Just a handful of people. All that was left was to toss in a clod of earth, cover the grave, and move onto the wakefor stories, for toasts, for memories of the deceased. And in that, I knew, Granddad would “live” on for a little while longer, in memories and tales, not in the flesh.
Once the sandwiches and whisky ran dry, the villagers offered quick condolences and drifted away, some home, some to the village shop. Soon I was left aloneutterly, bitterly alone.
“I never made it in time I never got to see Granddad one last time” I sighed.
Hoping to clear my head, I cleaned: threw open the windows, scrubbed the old wooden floor, dusted every surface, swept cobwebs from the corners, and packed the wake leftovers into the fridge. Breathing got easier.
The house, though simple and rather spartan, felt homey in that country sort of way. Peering out the kitchen window, I saw dusk settling across the empty vegetable plotJack hadnt managed to plant anything, maybe knowing he wouldn’t see autumn through.
The orchard was in full bloomapples, blackcurrants, raspberries. Granddad never let the earth go idle, did his best to keep things up.
“Wholl tend it all now?” I wondered with a heavy heart.
I sat on the garden bench beneath the apple tree and rang Mum to tell her Granddads send-off was done.
“You did well, Em. However gruff he was, he was still human,” Mum said.
“No, Mum. He was alright. Just hurt by all the loss in his life. Dont be angry with him. He loved Dad more than anything, and lashed out at you out of pain.”
“Oh, Emily, Im not angry. Let him rest. So, when are you heading back? Tomorrow? Today? I bet the cottage gets spooky on your own.”
“No, Im staying a few more days. Ive booked time off to recovermight as well enjoy a bit of country quiet. And its only been nine days, after all. Maybe youll come too?”
“Oh, no, too far for me! And its gardening season at home. Sorry love, but I need to dashmy favourite shows back on. Ring if you need anything.”
I couldnt help but smile. Mum was no different as everwhen at a loss for words, shed suddenly “remember” busy plans. Back inside, I brewed a cup of blackcurrant and mint tea from Granddads stash and headed off to bed.
Before I slept, I dug out Granddads last letter. Id already read it after my trip, but it left me with unsettled feelings.
Usually the letters were about life and the house, but this time, it was all about a cat.
He wrote pages about a black strayMidnight, he called himdetailing how much he loved milk, how much he worried about feeding him, how the cat hid from sight, and how maybe, when I came, he hoped I might coax him into the open.
The odd thing was, no such cat existed. At least, I hadnt found any trace of a catcertainly not in the empty house or the yard.
Still, that eerily familiar sensationa watchful pair of eyeswas unmistakable. Id caught myself looking over my shoulder more than once today, with no one there.
“Ill have to ask Mrs Turner tomorrow about this Midnight…”
***
Dawn came early. Sunbeams crept through the curtains, sparrows chattered, hens clucked down the lanegood old typical English countryside morning.
I flung open the window, closed my eyes, and listened to the sounds unfamiliar to city ears. Childhood memories flooded insummer holidays spent here, building birdhouses with Granddad, climbing trees. And, remembering some cat or other, I dropped by next door.
“Cat? What cat?” Mrs Turner was baffled.
“I dont really know This Midnight Granddad wrote about. Never mentioned until his last letter.”
“Oh! Now I remember, she said, giving her forehead a gentle smack. About a month ago, Jack started talking to someonea cat, I thought. Id hear him persuading something to come out and show itself, peered over the fence, but never saw a soul! Day after day, chatting to his invisible friend. Telling it about his life, late wife, sonGod rest them. Always called it Midnight. Others heard it too, passing by. But no one ever saw a cat. I visited often, but never glimpsed so much as a whisker. Honestly, Emily, I think Jack lost his marbles a bit in the end. If there was a cat, surely someone would have seen it?”
“Yes Maybe. But I dont think Granddad was mad. Maybe were missing something. Or maybe the cat really did hide that well. Did anyone report a black cat missing around here?”
“That’s the odd thingnot one lost, and no one in the village has a black cat as far as I know.”
Back at the house, I spent the morning tidying up, but my head kept returning to the cat Granddad wrote abouta cat no one else had seen.
How peculiar, I thought. If he existed, where is he now?
Meanwhile, a pair of yellow eyes peered from deep within a hedgerowthe black cat himself. He watched, drawn to me among all the strangers whod come and gone these last few days. Something about me was familiar. Maybe he sensed Granddad in me, the kindly old man whod fed him milk and leftovers, becoming, over those last lonely days, his only friend.
Midnight shied away from humanspast cruelties had taught him to keep out of sight. Hed been chased, pelted with stones, driven off countless times. Yet something in Granddads voice, his gentle eyes, made him stay. He listened as Jack poured out his soul, perched on the garden bench beneath the apple tree.
Now, with Jack gone, Midnight missed him terribly. The day Jack died, the cat scented something terrible in the air. He raced to the doorlocked. Tried the windowsshut. Hed sat on the step, heartbroken, through the long hours of the night.
Now, with only me left in the house, Midnight stayed hidden, but ventured nearer. Still, old habits die hard. He wasnt about to trust just yet.
Just once, during the nine-day memorial, I caught a swift flash of movement from the corner of my eyethe black cat himself. By the time I turned, he was gone, vanished. “Ah, so youre real, Midnight,” I whispered. “Granddad was rightyou do exist Dont be afraid, I wont hurt you. Ive got to leave tomorrow, you know. It would mean a lot if you showed yourself again.”
Mrs Turner happened by, bringing cabbage pasties for my journey home. She heard me, peered over the fence, saw me talking but not the animal. “Oh, lord, its catchingfirst Jack, now his granddaughters talking to thin air,” she muttered, hurrying away.
After lunch, black clouds rolled in fast. The air hung heavy. Chickens next door clucked in panic; thunder grumbled in the distance. “Looks like a storm’s coming,” I noted to myself.
Within minutes, gales and rain lashed the house. I called for Midnight, inviting him inside, but he didnt appear. Somewhere, tucked away, he cowered, terrified. I knew the feelingthis storm felt personal, angry.
Lightning and thunder battered the cottage through the night. I tossed and turned, sleep impossible. Suddenly, a fierce flash of lightningand a pair of glowing eyes appeared in the window. I leapt from the bed as something black and soaked flew through the open window, dashed past my feet, and hid beneath the bed.
It was him. Midnight. Shaking, drenched, terrified, but here. With patience, I coaxed him out, towelled him dry, then cuddled him under the covers while the storm howled outside. For the first time, neither of us felt so alone.
***
At first light, I woke to find Midnight fussing at the window.
“Off somewhere, are you, mate?” I smiled, watching him pause, tail flicking, almost embarrassed at having needed me the night before.
Miaow, he replied, pawing at the latch. Please, can I go out?
“Not before breakfast, youre not! And then well, its up to you, isnt it? You could stay or come to London with memaybe thats what Granddad would have wanted. I know I would, but you must decide. I just hope youll make the right choice.”
After feeding him, I let him out and began to pack for my trip home. As I stepped onto the porch, bag in hand, there was Midnight, waiting, winding himself round my ankles.
“Decided, have you?” I grinned. “I had a feeling youd choose this.”
When I stopped at Mrs Turners to return the house key, she couldnt hide her shock: “That thats the cat? Jacks cat?”
“Thats him,” I nodded. “So maybe all those stories about Granddad losing his mind werent true at allhe just befriended a very shy cat!”
“Well, I never I suppose youll visit again, Em?”
“Of course! Well be backme and Midnight. Maybe not often, but well always return.”
She handed me a bag of pasties for the journey. “Take care, Emily. Youve done us all proud.”
On the coach to London, as the countryside slipped away, I looked up and thought, for just a heartbeat, that I saw Granddads face smiling gently from a passing cloud. Midnight, curled in my lap, pressed a paw to the glass, eyes wide.
Whether we really saw his face or only longed to, it didnt matter. What mattered was knowing Granddad wasnt entirely gonehe lived on in both our hearts.
It struck me then, through all the bustle and pressure of life, that love outlasts everything. Its found in the most unexpected placeseven in a nervous black cat, hiding just out of sight, waiting for someone willing to wait back. And in loss, sometimes, you find family where you least expect it.
Goodbye, Granddad. I wont forget.
