Grandads Gone
Katie had barely shuffled through her front door after yet another work tripcoat still on, suitcase in towwhen the phone started buzzing. Mum.
Larissa Janes voice sounded flustered, but Katie didnt think much of it. She was too worn out to care.
Katie, darling, are you home yet?
Hi, Mum. Yes, Ive just come in. Id ask you to put the kettle on, but the only person here is my exhausted self. Has something happened?
Good. Thats good. Youre home.
Katie felt immediately that her mother had some news, but, in true British fashion, was going around the houses about iteither didnt know where to start, or just liked a dramatic pause.
Probably bred more gossip than Bake Off in a village hall, Katie thought, rolling her eyes. She was in no mood for neighbourhood updateshaving failed spectacularly to sleep on last nights train, courtesy of an enthusiastic quartet next door belting out songs and strumming the worlds most tuneless guitar until sunrise.
Theyd even picked a number about her, of all people:
Apple trees and pear trees were a-blooming,
Mist was drifting down the winding Thames.
There was Katie on the cliffs edge standing,
On the green bank midst the rising haze…
Had Katie been in a better mood, she mightve had a giggle. But really, all shed wanted was for the guitar to break. Spoiler: it didnt.
Mum, I just need a bit of a rest, put my feet up, have a shower. Ill call you in a bit, promise?
Im afraid you cant, love, Mum sighed.
Cant what? What are you on about? Katie suddenly noticed the oddness in her mothers voice.
Cant rest. Not this time.
Oh, come on! Ive just got back from a work tripIve earned it, surely. Im not expecting company, and Im certainly not going anywhere. Or am I missing something? Mum, youre not about to show up unannounced with a Victoria sponge, are you?
Katie, love, grandads gone…
Katie turned white as a sheet, clutching her phone and sinking onto the sofa. She hadnt expected that.
His neighbour, Mary Francis, rang this morning. Shed popped in with some milk, but there he wason the porch, clutching his chest. Mustve happened overnight. Anyway, well have to pop to the village to sort the funeral. Neighbours will help, but, Katie, are you listening?
She was. Well, sort of. Dazed, she managed a faint Yeah.
Mary Francis rang the relatives, but they flatly refused to come. Said, If wed inherited anything, wed think about it. Why bother otherwise? Not worth the train fare, is it? The old cottage isnt exactly Park Lane, as you know, Mum huffed, pausing before ploughing on.
Ive no wish to go either, honestly. Especially since your grandad told me never to set foot in his house again, even at the funeral. And, as you know, I promised I wouldnt. So… its down to you, darling. Can you go? Say goodbye to the old man?
Silence. Katie stared at the letter from Grandad on the coffee tablethe last one, the envelope postmarked a month before. Shed missed it, off on assignment, as usual.
Third trip in six monthsand likely not the last, by the sound of things, what with her company opening a new branch in Manchester. And who did they keep sending? Only her. Others had kids, migraines, “delicate situations”… Katie, apparently, was the only one both competent and unburdened by life.
Mums voice came through again, You know, your grandad could be a right stubborn so-and-so, but he was still your grandad, wasnt he? And you two got on, mostly. Shall I tell Mary youre coming?
Yes, Mum. Ill go. Only…
She picked up Grandads letter and put it back down again with care.
Mum, how did it even happen? He was fine at Christmas, wasnt he? He even joined in with the crackers.
Katie love, how would I know? Mum mumbled. He was getting on, love. Not many of ’em make it past seventy these days. He had a good innings. May he rest in peace.
Katie was, to put it lightly, shaken. Shed been the only one still in touch with him, really. The rest of the family kept their distanceher mum and Grandad had fallen out spectacularly after Dad died. Grandad always blamed her, said she worked Dad to the bone trying to fund house refurbs and buy the worlds ugliest conservatory. Dad, poor bloke, went from being a teacher to slogging on contract jobs and never caught a breakeven did it quietly, never said a word.
Grandad had howled at the funeral. The sort of cry that made the whole congregation go silent. Because, as everyone murmured over the tea and digestives, No parent should ever bury a child.
Afterward, hed washed his hands of Mum for good. Dont come back, he told her. And Mum sniffed, Well, I wont then, tidy as you like. Its not my fault. Blokes are meant to earn. How was I to know he was ill if he wouldnt say?
Apparently Grandad almost lobbed a log at her head then and there.
But with Katie, it had always been different. Shed visited in the school hols, hung out every summer, and years later, when she moved away, they wrote proper letters. Not texts. Not emails. Real lettersbecause Grandad wouldnt touch a mobile phone if you glued it to his hand, and computers were, as he put it, just American trickery.
Naturally, the rest of the family thought him a bit odd. The village did, too. “Lost his marbles, poor chap,” the old girls on the bench whispered. Lost his wife, then his son. Who wouldnt crack?
Lately, they’d got it into their heads hed gone even furthertalking not to neighbours, nor even to imaginary friends, but to a cat. A cat which, crucially, no one but him had ever seen.
After hanging up, Katie just stared into space and sobbed. Shed meant to visit that summer, but kept pushing it backone work trip followed by another, with a boss whod have made Scrooge seem generous.
Miss Cartwright, hed smile, youre welcome to leave if you dont like it. But you wont get this salary anywhere else, now, will you?
He wasnt wrong. Katie had a decent wage, which probably explained her saint-like patience.
Eventually, she thought, the travel would stop, and she’d get back to her old lifeor whatever it was that counted as one. She just wished, sometimes, that work would see her as a person, not a machine. Everyones allowed a personal life, even if theirs is currently somewhere between non-existent and lost in the post.
***
At the little village cemetery, everything went with the usual English efficiency: a quick silence, the dull thud of the last brass tack into the coffin lid, the menfolk lowering it with ropes. The final fistfuls of earth, a few flowers, a wreath or two. And that was that. Or nearlythat traditional afters in the church hall, where the sherry would flow, cheap white sliced would get nibbled, and people would say nice-ish things about Grandad to whoever would listen.
For a while, in warm reminiscence and bad wine, Grandad would keep on livingif only in the memories (hazy or otherwise) of those left behind.
Once the sandwiches had been devoured and the locals headed home or to the off-licence, Katie found herself entirely alone. It felt strange and unfairshe hadnt even had a chance to say goodbye.
Looking for something, anything, to distract herself, she started tidyingairing the place out, scrubbing the boards, dusting like a woman possessed, polishing ancient furniture and wrangling with the zapsorry, spider webs. She found stuff to fridge, polished stubbornly, and at last, was able to breathe again.
Grandads cottage, despite having all the interior design flair of a 1970s sitcom, was quintessentially homely. Outside, the sun was dropping; Katie headed out to the step, relishing the air. She surveyed the garden: ordinary, but neatGrandad hadnt planted a thing yet this year, perhaps knowing he wouldnt have the chance. Yet the apple trees were full of blossom, currant and raspberry bushes thriving. He never let the ground go to waste.
Whos going to keep this up now? Katie sighed, perching on the old bench.
She rang her mum to let her know it was all done. Well done, Katie. No matter what, he was still a man, and he deserves as much.
He was normal, Mum. Just had too much sadness, thats all. Dont bear a grudge. He loved Dad more than anything. Thats all.
Dont worry, love, I dont. May he rest in peace. When are you back? Tomorrow? The place must be a bit spooky on your own.
Wont be tonight or tomorrow, Mum. Im taking a few days off. Might as well enjoy a bit of country calm after the city, and stay for the nine days. You could come down?
Me? All that way? Thats ages, love! Besides, Ive got the allotmentits pruning season.
Suit yourself. But you know Dads grave is here, too, and youve not visited once since the funeral.
I told your Grandad we should have buried him in town. But did he listen? Ohmy shows starting! Must dash, love. Ring me if you need me.
Katie had to laugh. Mum and her TVsome things never change.
She made herself some tea, using whatever herbal bits and bobs Grandad had hoarded, before heading to bed with Grandads letter. Shed read it on her first day back, but it had left her more confused than comforted.
Mostly, it was about a mysterious cat called Midnight, who, judging by his appetite for milk, might have been a small dairy business owner in a previous life. Grandad wrote of asking Mary Francis for extra milkhe said Midnight was nervous, always hiding, and hed only ever glimpsed a black blur now and then.
Nobody else had seen the catKatie had looked for days, nothing. No cat on the property, nothing indoors. But she had felt, every now and then, an odd prickle on her neck, as Grandad described. Maybe shed just ask Mary in the morning.
***
Come dawn, the village was in full concert: sparrows chirping, someones rooster shouting like it owned the place. Katie stood at the open window, listening. She remembered summers spent making birdhouses with Grandad, painting them wonky colours.
Tea finished, she popped next door.
Cat? Midnight? Not a clue, love, said Mary Francis, eyes wide. I mean, Ivanthat is, your Grandadstarted talking to one about a month ago. Kept telling him to show himself. Id peek over, but never saw a whisker. Eventually, he was talking to his invisible friend about all sortshis wife, your dad. Always Midnight this, Midnight that. Everyone in the village heard him, but not one of us saw a black cat. And weve none missing, Ill add. I reckon he was just a bit lonely, love.
Katie didnt think Grandad had lost his grip. Probably there was more to it, or maybe Midnight was simply too good at hide-and-seek. Still, curiosity had her peering under every bush for a few days.
Unbeknown to her, a pair of cautious green eyes watched her from the undergrowththe very Midnight Grandad had written about. Out of all the folks traipsing around lately, Katie seemed the one worth trusting; she reminded him of the old man.
Midnight wanted to be friendly but couldnt shake the memorieshed had a hard life dodging sticks, stones and squirt guns. Hed found Grandad in his wanderings and stuck close, enjoying the rare safety.
After Grandad was gone, Midnight waited at the door all night, then slinked away to hidebut kept a nervous eye on the human who now lived there. Grandad was rightsome cats are skittish for good reason.
One afternoon, as the nine-day mark rolled around, Katie finally spotted hima sleek, black shadow skulking amongst the potato bushes.
Aha! Midnight, is it? she called, delighted. You do exist! Come on, thenlets be friends! But as she approached, the cat scarpered, vanishing into nowhere.
Honestly, you daft thing, Katie said, laughing. Im not scary, you know. Itd be nice if you showed your face before I leave.
Mary Francis, overhearing this strange conversation as she brought over some pastries for the journey, hovered at the fence. She spied Katiebut, as ever, not a cat.
Oh lord above, Mary muttered as she scurried away, first Ivan jabbers to invisible cats, now the granddaughter does. Madness must be catching.
Grey-black clouds rolled in, thunder grumbled, and soon a proper British storm was hammering the slates. Katie called for Midnight, but no luck.
Midnight, meanwhile, was cowering beneath the garden shedabsolutely petrified of storms (possibly more than people).
***
The rain battered the roof with wild abandon. Katie lay in bed, struggling to sleep, when a crash of thunder shook the whole cottage.
A flash of lightning lit up the roomand there, huddled at the window, were two glowing green eyes.
Good grief! she yelped, clutching the duvet as a soggy black missile burst through the window, made a flying leap past her, banked off the wardrobe, and vanished under the bed.
Midnight, obviously.
After some coaxing with leftover sausage, Katie lured him out, toweled him dry, and let him curl up with her on the bed while the thunderstorm raged. With Katies warmth and her gentle voice, it turned out even the loudest storm wasnt quite so scary.
***
Katie woke up early to the gentle light of the morningand the racket of Midnight scrabbling at the window.
And where are you off to? she chuckled. The cat shot back a look that was part apology, part, Lets not speak of last night again. He pawed at the window, clearly ready for outdoor adventures again.
Alright, but not before breakfast! Katie laughed, laying out a proper meal. Then you decidestay with me, or make your own way. Id love to take you with me. Grandad wouldve liked that, and so would I. But its up to you, midnight paws.
After eating, Midnight disappeared outside. Katie packed her bag and, when she left the house, found him waiting on the doorstep, rubbing around her ankles. His mind was made upLondon, here he comes. She bent to scoop him up.
As she handed the cottage keys back to Mary Francis (You will keep an eye, wont you?), the neighbour gaped.
Thats him? The actual cat?
The very one. So perhaps you and the village can stop saying Grandad was bats. He just met a wary cat, thats all.
Well, blow me down. Of course Ill watch the house, Katie. Youll visit?
Well both visitme and Midnight. As often as we can.
Good. And you take these with you, Mary said, thrusting a bag of cheese and onion pasties into her hands.
On the bus out of the village, Katie looked up at the shifting clouds. For a second, she couldve sworn she saw Grandads facea twinkle, a wink.
Midnight, purring on her lap, pressed his nose to the window and seemed to see it too.
But even if they hadnt, it didnt matter. Katie knew he wasnt simply gone. Hed live onin memory, in hearts, and, now, in one black cats second chance at a happy ending.
