Thank heavens! Ive lived to see this day! Grandma Letitias breath rasped in her chest, but her face shone with pure joy. Her dry hands gently caressed her grandson Henrys cheek before falling limply onto the coverlet.
Rest for a while, Gran, Henry pleaded. Weve got the whole day tomorrow plenty of time for a good chat.
No, Henry, she smiled softly, sadness lingering in her eyes. I begged the Lord for just one thing to see you again. Now I have, theres nothing more I want. Ive seen you, hugged you. Let me rest a moment, and then well talk. She closed her eyes, fatigued. Mrs. Whitby, please get the boy something to eat, hes travelled far.
Gran was fading. She knew her time was short. Henry was all she had in the world, just as she was for him. His parents had disappeared, lost to their battles with the bottle; first went their car, then the furniture, their belongings, the flat at last, even themselves. Gran managed to snatch her only grandson from the brink, kept him in school, insisted he get his driving licence for both cars and lorries, and saw him off into the army. Now, finally, shed welcomed him home although not in the way shed hoped.
While Mrs. Whitby, a long-time neighbour and Grans dearest friend, served Henry a hearty meal in the kitchen, Gran lay quietly, searching for words that would reach both his mind and his heart. But her memory was muddling. She stroked her tabby cat, old Molly, who hadnt left Grans side for the last few days, sensing trouble. At last, she called out, Henry, come here. When he sat by her, she spoke gently, Oh, Henry, I so wanted to spoil your children, but it seems Ill not get the chance. Youre on your own now, love. Its not easy, but dont let the good ones slip away. Choose wisely find a girl wholl stick with you through it all, not just the soft bits. Lifes never simple and thats how it always goes. Steer clear of idleness and empty jolliness, and beware, above all, the cursed drink! The bottle claims one, but ruins a family. Lifes full of paths, Henry. Choose the right one.
She paused, breath ragged, perhaps remembering Henrys parents. She pressed on, steadying herself. Ive left the flat in your name somewhere for a future wife. Ive put some money by for the funeral Mrs. Whitby will sort you out. The rest Ive put in your account, enough to get you started. And please, look after my Molly. Shes clever, shes got soul. But you know that; you brought her home as a kitten Well, thats enough for now. Off to bed with you. Ill get some sleep too Im so very tired.
Gran never woke up the next morning.
Henry found work as a broadband installer, thanks to some old mates. There were six of them in the crew pulling fibre cables through town, getting new customers connected. The days were tiring, but the pay wasnt bad, and there was real satisfaction in a job well done.
Waiting for Henry at home was Molly, the grey tabby hed rescued from the street eight years ago. Since Gran passed, Molly grew despondent, barely eating. All day, shed sit in Grans favourite armchair, staring at the open doorway as if expecting her mistress to return any minute. But Gran didnt come home.
Henry tried everything to cheer up Molly. Hed chat to her for hours, resting her on his knees, telling her about his day and tempting her with delicious treats. But only a month later did Molly show a glimmer of her old spirit.
The day Henry picked up his first pay packet, his mates insisted he don the rounds an unspoken rule not to be broken lightly. Henry took them out to a local pub, treating them and himself. He came home late, a little flushed. And there was Molly at the door. For some reason, Henry couldnt meet her wide, knowing green eyes. He avoided her gaze, but Molly wouldnt relent. Finally, understanding, she meowed a sorrowful, plaintive sound, then ducked beneath the sofa.
Molly, he mumbled, I couldnt turn them down Theyre the ones who got me the job, and theyre my friends. Or so I thought. Somehow, it felt like he was apologising not just to his cat, but to Gran.
The next evening, Molly was at the door again. Seeing her owner back to his normal self, she curled round his legs, wrapped her tail about him, and purred contentedly. Her appetite returned. All evening, she shadowed Henry from room to room, and at bedtime settled beside his pillow, pressing close.
You understand everything, Henry whispered, stroking Molly. Dont worry, Im grown up now, Ill take responsibility for my actions. The only time adults cant be trusted is when the drinks got them. Im wary of it you know my family history Work, though might have to change. Its all a bit boozy in the crew; always an excuse: to warm up, after a hard graft, weekends, birthdays and even raising a glass to the Queens corgi! Fridays, without fail. I keep turning it down, but theyre starting to give me odd looks. Ill have to find something else. Always wanted to drive lorries since I was a lad, but I havent got the right licence, and whod trust me with an artic?
The next Friday, Henry joined his mates at the local. They all had their pints and jokes, marking the end of another week. Henry, as usual, sipped his lime and soda, quietly watching his mates get louder by the minute.
A young, cheerful waitress was serving them that night. Fuelled by drink, the lads started calling her over, eventually the foreman grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her over. Scared, she tried to break free, but he was strong and well past tipsy.
Let her go, Henry said firmly, standing up. The table fell silent speaking up to the foreman was unheard of. Surprised, the foreman loosened his grip, and the waitress pulled away, only to pause nearby, her eyes flickering anxiously to Henry.
Before things could properly kick off, the landlord a big burly man in a white chefs apron strode over, sleeves rolled up. The lads made a quick exit, casting dark looks at Henry.
Hang about, son, the landlord called as Henry tried to leave. Let them cool off in the fresh air might help their manners. Why are you bothering with that lot, anyway? Ive seen you you dont even drink.
Henry shrugged. Theyre my crew. Work together, go for a pint together
Forget it, the man grunted, introducing himself as Michael. Not much fun with friends like that. Julie, sweetheart put the kettle on for us, will you? He nodded to his daughter, who smiled and disappeared behind the bar. Youll have to find a new job now theyll never let you forget tonight, or theyll drag you down with them. Got any other skills?
Got my lorry and car licences did a year driving in the army. Always wanted to do long haul, but no onell take me on.
Not at first, no, Michael agreed. I know a few proper lorry drivers though. Until then, come work for me. Take the van deliveries some out-of-town runs, youll help me out, and well see about getting you your artic licence later.
Id love that, Henry grinned. Michael seemed just the sort big, decent and kind. And Julies dad, which put him in even better stead. Michael, noticing Henry watching Julie, told her, Off you go, love, thanks for your help. Henryll walk you home. He watched, smiling, as both youngsters turned red with delight.
***
Five years later, Henry steered his artic lorry through a snowy night.
Only thirty more miles to the city, where his wife Julie, their little daughter Martha, and Molly, the familys cherished old tabby, were waiting. At the roadside, he spotted a solitary figure a man in a thin, battered jacket, much too light for winter.
Hell freeze out here, thought Henry, stopping the lorry.
Foreman? he realised, once the man clambered into the cab.
The ex-foreman peered at Henry with the unfocused eyes of a man whod had too much. Oh, its you Yeah, I used to be the foreman, but thats all gone. New blokes in the job now, and only half of us left. One died in the cold, another drowned both drinkers. Another poisoned himself with meths. The rest are just scraping by, like me. Pulling a smelly bottle from inside his jacket, he took a swig and nodded. Ah well, Ill get through!
Henry let him out near the high street, watching the familiar stumble with a mix of regret and sadness, remembering those boastful days.
As Henry neared his block, he looked up at the windows. The kitchens light was still on Julie was waiting up. Maybe Mrs. Whitby had popped round to fuss over Martha, but most likely, Martha was fast asleep, tucked in beneath Grans photo. His little girl liked to whisper her own worries and stories to her great-grandmas picture, claiming Gran always listened, always smiled with understanding. And there, in the window, sat Molly, peering into the night. As soon as she saw him, she stood, tail proudly arched, and hurried to the door to welcome her owner home.
Im not alone, Gran, Henry murmured, smiling at the warm glow from his window. Were all here, all together even you.
And that, he realised, was the right path whatever life brings, family, kindness and honour are what matter most.
