“Don’t come back, lad…”
“Right then, Grandad, I’m off! Been grand here, just like when I was a kid! That soak in the tub—proper lovely! Feels like I’ve been born anew! Might pop by again next weekend, yeah?”
“Best you don’t, son…” Nan wiped her hands on her apron and let out a heavy sigh.
“Nan, what’s all this about?” Jack was proper gobsmacked. He’d always reckoned his grandparents doted on him—raised him like their own since he was twelve, called ‘em Mum and Dad and all.
“Just ain’t worth it,” Grandad cut in, glowering from under his thick brows. “Reckon I see now why your missus left you. How’d you turn out like this, eh?” He waved a hand, turned on his heel, and limped off toward the shed, his bad leg dragging.
“Graaanndaaaad!” The woman bolted barefoot onto the porch, forgetting the biting September wind and the drizzle. Birch leaves fluttered blindly into her face as leaden clouds raced across the sky.
“Graaandad, Jack called! He’s comin’! Oh, what a blessing!” 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 jumper.
“What on earth are you doin’ out here barefoot? You’ll catch your death!” he scowled. “Get inside—I’ll be in shortly.”
“But I—just had to share, me heart couldn’t keep it in…”
“Inside, I said!”
The old woman sniffled and trudged back to the cottage. But inside, her heart was churning. Jack—their little Jackie, the light of their lives. Raised him from nappies, his first steps, first word—“Nan”… Then their daughter turned up out the blue. Took him. Just when she’d “got back on her feet.” Twelve years later. Like she’d borrowed him and the debt was due. Grandad had raged at the time, shamed her, but it came to nowt—off they went. Jack cried at first, called often, then less… and less…
Since then, the house had been silent. Their souls hollow. When he got wed—didn’t even tell ‘em. Found out from others. Hurt like hell. And now—he’d rung. He was comin’. Warm hope spread through her chest.
Three days, Nan worked herself to the bone like it were Easter. Scrubbed the floors, baked pies. Barely slept—wondering: What’s he like now? Proper handsome, I’ll bet…
By evening, a glossy black motor rolled into the yard. Tinted windows, proper sinister. Jack stepped out—stocky, close-cropped hair, flash jacket. Grinned. Said ‘ello.
“Grandad, Nan! Got any grub? Starvin’, I am!”
“Course, lad. Come in…”
No one expected gifts—times were hard. But a bit of common decency… Somethin’…
Stuffed his face, kicked his feet up on the table, lit a fag, and started braggin’ about how “sorted” he was. Grandad’s lip curled, his hands shook. He stood and stalked off to the woodshed.
Jack didn’t let up. Went on about his wife—some MP’s daughter. How she “didn’t appreciate him,” whingin’ to her daddy. How they made him work, but he didn’t marry for that. Got sacked. No place to live. Now he was a driver. Fancy motor, black as night.
“Need cash,” he said. “You’ve got savings, Grandad. You’ve had your time—now it’s mine.”
Grandad wordlessly split logs. Felt like dirtyin’ his hands, but Nan stopped him. Led him away. She just sat there, listenin’ to this stranger, crossing herself quiet-like. Past midnight, he conked out at the table, empty glass in hand.
Morning came—bright as a button. Demanded another soak. Ate his fill. Slouched onto the porch and announced he was off.
“Off you go, then,” Grandad muttered, wrapping his coat tight.
Nan watched him and knew—he’d aged ten years overnight. Hunched, shoulders sagging.
“Jackie,” she said, pulling her shawl close. “One last thing. The world don’t revolve round you. You’re dust. How you treat folks—that’s how they’ll treat you. And your soul… it’s like them tinted windows on your motor. There, but not a bleedin’ thing shines through.”
She crossed him and followed Grandad, hand pressed to her heart. In that heavy autumn air, it struck ‘em clear—spring wouldn’t come for ‘em again.
And don’t you come back.
