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“Grandad?”
He doesn’t look at me, so I have to wave a hand in front of his face.
“I can hear you, I’m not deaf,” he grumbles.
“Do you want more custard?”
He lifts his spoon to allow me to pour some over his apple crumble, made with dried apples I discovered in a crate in one of the rooms upstairs. It’s sad how big this house is when Grandad has lived here alone. There are four bedrooms upstairs and four receptions downstairs. The shop now takes three of the rooms, the two at the front and one at the back for stock storage. Grandad sleeps in the fourth which is next to the kitchen and they both overlook the garden. It’s how he and Doris keep an eye on the bushes at the back. And on Hal’s side of the garden.
Hal.
I can’t stop saying his name to myself. In one short week, he has transformed from a cold, hostile man to…to one who makes my knees weak. It’s not a cliché, it’s true. Whenever I catch sight of him from the front window, he smiles back at me which makes my legs wobble and my heart dance. Having to wait to speak to Grandad is almost like torture.
This morning I found a mug of steaming aromatic coffee on the kitchen window and beside it a paper bag with a couple of croissants. He doesn’t have an oven in that hut of his, so I know he walked to the village at sunrise to get those from the bakery.
But we haven’t even been on a single date. “Ask Hedge about my family,” he said again when we parted two days ago. “If after that you still want me, I’ll be here.”
I’ve tried asking, every day, but Grandad doesn’t answer. Either he’s tired and can’t focus, or he’s nodding off, or wants to ask about the shop and the honey. Now he’s busy eating.
“Grandad?” I try again.
This time he looks up and fixes me with his sharp stare. “Well, spit it out.”
“What do you know about our neighbour?”
“Which ones?”
“Low Catch.” I point to the east.
“We have our own house here without needin’ another.”
“I mean about the Hemingways. Someone told me you know a lot about them.”
He drops his spoon and rubs at his neck above the brace.
“Is it itching again?” I get up to find a clean towel, wet it under the cold tap and bring it to rub gently above his collar.
When I drop the towel into the sink, he says, “Help me to my room.”
And that is the end of talking.
Call me fanciful, but I think Grandad knows I want to ask him, and he doesn’t want to answer.
Okay, one last try. I wait till he’s in bed.
“Grandad?”
I unfold the extra blanket to drape over him. “You know our neighbour Hal Hemingway? He and I are friends. Will you be okay if I go round to see him?”
“Don’t put them tassels in my face, they keep me awake.” He pushes the blanket off.
I flip the blanket around so the fringing is to the side.
“Better?” I tuck it around his neck.
He grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “You’re a good girl, Elodie. It’s good havin’ you here.”
“I like being here too Grandad.” I lean down and kiss his forehead.
