phone and now I feel I should’ve asked him about Mum.
‘Too busy spying to think about that, eh?’ Which is quite a nasty thing to say but the guilty feeling gets worse anyway. It also makes me think that Grandad was a lot crosser about the spying than he’d let on.
‘What did they say?’ My breath comes quick.
‘Well, do you remember that place I told you about? The place called intensive care?’
He’s talking to me like I’m a baby but I just nod.
‘Well, your mother is still there, so I’m afraid we can’t see her yet. But she is much better. Stable, in fact, that’s what the doctors said.’
‘Stable.’ I like the sound of that.
He puts down his hammer and comes and sits next to me. ‘Yes. We’ll be able to see her soon, dear. Very soon.’
This relaxes my body all over. It feels quite nice then, the two of us sitting there together even if we had a sort of argument over the spying and I think how I actually sometimesmiss having a nan and grandad, even if Dorothy’s not my real one. I notice his eyes are nearly the same blue as my mum’s.
‘Where do you come from? Are you Irish?’ I ask, because I want to carry on having a talk.
‘Me and Dorothy? We’ve lived in America, dear, that’s why you might think I speak so strange. I’m not particularly from anywhere. Did you think we were Irish? That’s funny.’ And he laughs. It’s the sort of laugh you see in a cartoon with an ‘oh, ho ho’ sound coming out of his mouth. ‘But my grandfather, he came here to this workhouse when he was a boy, he used to tell us stories about it. So I looked it up when I was down this way and imagine my good fortune when I saw that part of it was to rent. I thought – perfect. That’s just perfect.’ And he laughs again.
I don’t think any of this is funny and he stops laughing after a while.
I pluck up the courage to say this for a long time: ‘Where’s Dorothy, Grandad ?’ Saying that word makes me feel shy but he seems to like it and maybe he’s thinking it’s nice to have a granddaughter because he looks at me and grins.
‘Dorothy’s gone to town to buy you some surprises.’
‘Oh. What sort of surprises?’
‘Well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it? And then they wouldn’t be surprises any more.’
We sit there for a bit in the sun.
‘Carmel, it’s going to be simply wonderful getting to know you again. It’s a crying shame your mother argued with us,’ he says out of the blue.
I think: I’m not sure what my mother will have to say about that, but of course I don’t say it because I don’t want to upset him. I suddenly feel very tired about all thearguments and falling out and shouting and clothes coming out of windows that adults do right over your head, as if you’re just the mouse on the floor and don’t understand. ‘Just a little tiff me and your mum are having,’ they say, even when their voices didn’t sound like they were having a little tiff, they sounded like they were going to kill each other with knives. Or ‘nothing to worry about’ or ‘everything’s A-OK’. Even when it’s not A-OK: very far from it. So I do a big sigh and Grandad smiles at me again.
‘C’mon. Let’s go inside and see if there’s any cookies in the cookie jar.’
And I take his big hand and we go together back inside the house, with him whistling and swinging his hammer in his other hand that’s not holding mine. On the way back I see something I haven’t noticed before.
‘Look, Grandad.’ It’s a row of tiny houses, small enough for hobbits or elves, built into the side of the castle wall. Every single door has round holes cut into it. He just grunts like he’s thinking about something else and I want to stop and look but he’s got my hand so I have to follow.
Grandad leaves me in the kitchen with some crayons so he can get on with his jobs, and being on my own makes Mum come back to me. I see her lying on the hospital bed like a broken spider. I see her cut
‘Too busy spying to think about that, eh?’ Which is quite a nasty thing to say but the guilty feeling gets worse anyway. It also makes me think that Grandad was a lot crosser about the spying than he’d let on.
‘What did they say?’ My breath comes quick.
‘Well, do you remember that place I told you about? The place called intensive care?’
He’s talking to me like I’m a baby but I just nod.
‘Well, your mother is still there, so I’m afraid we can’t see her yet. But she is much better. Stable, in fact, that’s what the doctors said.’
‘Stable.’ I like the sound of that.
He puts down his hammer and comes and sits next to me. ‘Yes. We’ll be able to see her soon, dear. Very soon.’
This relaxes my body all over. It feels quite nice then, the two of us sitting there together even if we had a sort of argument over the spying and I think how I actually sometimesmiss having a nan and grandad, even if Dorothy’s not my real one. I notice his eyes are nearly the same blue as my mum’s.
‘Where do you come from? Are you Irish?’ I ask, because I want to carry on having a talk.
‘Me and Dorothy? We’ve lived in America, dear, that’s why you might think I speak so strange. I’m not particularly from anywhere. Did you think we were Irish? That’s funny.’ And he laughs. It’s the sort of laugh you see in a cartoon with an ‘oh, ho ho’ sound coming out of his mouth. ‘But my grandfather, he came here to this workhouse when he was a boy, he used to tell us stories about it. So I looked it up when I was down this way and imagine my good fortune when I saw that part of it was to rent. I thought – perfect. That’s just perfect.’ And he laughs again.
I don’t think any of this is funny and he stops laughing after a while.
I pluck up the courage to say this for a long time: ‘Where’s Dorothy, Grandad ?’ Saying that word makes me feel shy but he seems to like it and maybe he’s thinking it’s nice to have a granddaughter because he looks at me and grins.
‘Dorothy’s gone to town to buy you some surprises.’
‘Oh. What sort of surprises?’
‘Well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it? And then they wouldn’t be surprises any more.’
We sit there for a bit in the sun.
‘Carmel, it’s going to be simply wonderful getting to know you again. It’s a crying shame your mother argued with us,’ he says out of the blue.
I think: I’m not sure what my mother will have to say about that, but of course I don’t say it because I don’t want to upset him. I suddenly feel very tired about all thearguments and falling out and shouting and clothes coming out of windows that adults do right over your head, as if you’re just the mouse on the floor and don’t understand. ‘Just a little tiff me and your mum are having,’ they say, even when their voices didn’t sound like they were having a little tiff, they sounded like they were going to kill each other with knives. Or ‘nothing to worry about’ or ‘everything’s A-OK’. Even when it’s not A-OK: very far from it. So I do a big sigh and Grandad smiles at me again.
‘C’mon. Let’s go inside and see if there’s any cookies in the cookie jar.’
And I take his big hand and we go together back inside the house, with him whistling and swinging his hammer in his other hand that’s not holding mine. On the way back I see something I haven’t noticed before.
‘Look, Grandad.’ It’s a row of tiny houses, small enough for hobbits or elves, built into the side of the castle wall. Every single door has round holes cut into it. He just grunts like he’s thinking about something else and I want to stop and look but he’s got my hand so I have to follow.
Grandad leaves me in the kitchen with some crayons so he can get on with his jobs, and being on my own makes Mum come back to me. I see her lying on the hospital bed like a broken spider. I see her cut
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