Granny Was Awfully Lonely
The bus was trundling farther and farther away from the nearest town. Since the tarmac had petered out a good three turns ago, that grey, tepid little borough was now looking like a beacon of civilisation.
So, is this the gran with the legendary pickled onions? asked Emily, screwing up her nose in concentration. Sandra whats her?
Sandra Matthews, yes. Tom nodded with nostalgic conviction. Pickled onions were the centrepiece of my entire childhood. Every Christmasoof! he yelped as the bus rattled over a pothole with mountaineering ambition, every Christmas, a glass bowl of those onions right in the middle of the table. Like the Queens own feast!
Tom absent-mindedly poked at the frayed seat cover, making the split even bigger, as if testing how far British public transport infrastructure could go before complete collapse.
Of course, Gran used to send us other bits as well. Marrows. The odd butternut squash
They sat opposite each other on the weather-beaten seats, jouncing and juddering, inhaling petrol fumes deeper than any yoga breath. The world passing by the window consisted mostly of half-mown fields, yellowing copses, and cows gloomily munching in the dusky grassan endless parade straight out of a Constable painting done on a cloudy Monday, blurred through the drool-speckled glass.
Yet another pothole bounced them out of any introspective reverie.
Blimey! Tom winced. Youd think the drivers decided the bus has nothing left to lose
Emily snorted. With roads like this, Im more surprised the bus hasnt fallen apart.
There is that. Listen, Im sorry… He gave her hand a sheepish pat, as if apologising for all of Merseysides public transport. Thought the bus route might be a bit more, well, refined.
Its fine. Emily grinned through gritted teeth. I wasnt holding out for luxury.
The bridge creaked beneath them as they rumbled over. Tom gazed through a cracked smear of glass at the river slipping out of sight. His mind drifted back to another worldwhen Grandad used to take him fishing, and Gran spun tales at bedtime about brownies and pixies, friendly with the hedgerows and brewing up mysterious herbal tea.
We used to fish with Grandad there, at that river, he murmured.
Emily eyed him, trying to read his expression.
So, you said were off to your Gransto try, you know, persuading her to come to the city. Your Grandads is he? She let her hand rest gently over his, voice soft, not wanting to poke at old wounds.
Tom looked up at the ceiling and gave a short nod. Yeah. Well, sort of. He disappeared. They never found his body. Or the fishing rod. Toms sigh was so long and shivery it nearly fogged the window. Police said he swallowed, police said he drowned, but no one ever believed it. I used to swim with him, every time we went fishing.
Emily breathed out as if she didnt want to disturb the sadness hovering above them.
How longs it been since you came back here?
Since Grandads funeral, Tom muttered.
Emily opened her mouth and shut it again, turning to the window. But Tom kept going.
When I turned fourteen, my parents said I didnt have to come anymore. You can visit if you fancy it. So since then only came back that once.
You didnt want to?
I did! Tom blushed, bouncing off another pothole. I promised Gran and Grandad Id come next year. Got the train fare and everything, but there was always something. Revision, mates, then sixth-form disco, you know how it is. I called them, though. They saidDont worry, lad, make the most of being young!
He lapsed into silence, gazing out as the last bushes zipped by.
And then the last call was after graduation. There were exams, uni applications, a summer of stress. Didnt make it. Again. Then well.
He lowered his head, surreptitiously wiped his eyes on his jumper.
And then Grandad went missing. We all turned up, the lot. Funeral, service, the wake. I told myself, with Gran on her own now, Id visit every year. Believed it, toountil life got busy again He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting off fresh tears.
Emily slid in beside and gave him a sideways hug.
Its not your fault, she whispered into his shoulder.
***
First thing Gran did was bundle them to the tablean unassuming wooden thing, practically unchanged since Grandads wake, just a bit more worn on the side where she always sat. A basket of slightly battered greenish-yellow apples perched at the other end.
Sandra Matthews served up fried potatoes with wild mushrooms, poured ginger beer into chunky mugs, andof courseplonked a half-empty jar of pickled onions from the fridge right in the middle. Her movements looked steady, if slow, as though she was afraid of dropping something important on the floor.
Emily felt a sudden rush of sympathy and, to mask it, made a show of biting into an onion with grand ceremony.
Mmm, she murmured, eyes nearly closing.
Just like I remember! Tom agreed with enthusiasm.
What, tried them before, love? Gran queried.
Yes, Mrs Matthews, Tom let me try them once. Absolutely marvellous!
Eat up, petal. You too, Tommy. Gran finally sat down opposite, cradling her chin in one hand and watching them eat with a smile that was all pride and nostalgia.
For a few minutes, all that could be heard was the devoted munching of the visitors and the twitter of birds outside. Then Tom, with his mouth half-full, swallowed and began:
Gran. Sorry Ive been away so long. I just
Oh, hush with that, Gran interrupted, waving a hand. No use fretting. Anyway, youre here now. And with your lovely lady She beamed at Emily, who awkwardly returned the favour. Its wonderful, having you together. Youll help me, wont you? Water the onions, pop a bit of feed on? Well see each other more regular now, eh?
Tom shot Emily an optimistic glance but said nothing moreyet.
So, will you stay the night? asked Gran hopefully.
Tom flushed. Cant, Gran, weve got to get back toour dog. Biscuit. Needs his dinner, and a walk.
Gran sighed, staring determinedly away.
Always rushing about, you city lot, she muttered. Never a minutes peace.
She bustled to her battered two-ringed gas hob. Tom watched her, then turned a shade paler.
Ill get you a nice cup of tea with some proper herbs… Gran called over her shoulder.
Well be back next week, honestly! Emily put in, trying her best to sound reassuring.
Herbal, this onesoothes the nerves, bounces all that city racket right out of your system Gran didnt answer directly, already filling two mugs.
She returned with the tea; Tom worried she was hurt, but her face stayed soft as ever.
They sipped. The strange, smooth taste was refreshing but definitely not mint tea.
Mmm. Tasty. Whats in it? Tom asked.
Gran peered at the jar of tea and scratched her head. Oh, what did I put in last year thyme, strawberry leaves, a bit o apple peel You just drink, never mind whats in it. If it tastes nice, its nice!
They took another swallow.
Gran, you ever thought of moving to the city, living with us?
Without my onions? she barked suddenly, but her voice softened. Whod look after the garden, eh? I like it here. My apple trees and veg patch. The onions need me. And what would I do in your city?
Well, you could have a garden on the balcony! Emily piped up. We grow flowers. You could help with them, and walk Biscuit with us
Then youll just have to visit hereand bring that Biscuit, too! Plenty of space to run. No, Ill stay. Drink up, now, you two.
Tea was sipped, more attempts were made to persuade her, all to no avail. At last, Tom sighed and gave up.
Right, got any washing-up for me?
No need, love, Gran smiled. You lot visit, you cheer me upthats plenty. Ill manage the dishes. How about watering those onions instead?
Tom realised her movements were now far more confidentalmost spry.
She does look more lively, Emily whispered, echoing his thoughts. Do you think weve got time? Nearly four We’ll make the bus if we’re quick.” She turned to Gran. Where are the watering cans and feed?
Come on, Gran said, grabbing a tea towel, striding to the door. Fertiliser after, first comes the watering!
***
With full watering cans, Tom entered the greenhouse, pausing to sniff the green gloom and look for the plants. Emily slipped in behind, wrapping him in a spontaneous hug. Summer warmth and the scent of damp earth surrounded them.
The glass was mostly clean at eye levelyou could see the house and the apple trees clearlybut towards the ground, a khaki crust crept up the edges. The curved path, bordered by wonky slats, bent left after a few paces, with the onions and cucumbers lurching out on either side. Tendrils crept everywhereacross the floor, up the posts, winding round the door, threatening to trip the unsuspecting.
Each bush was drooping under a bounty of fruitfrom tiny, furry green babies to salad-ready monsters.
Tom nodded, impressed, and set about watering.
Hows it all so wild? Looks like its been growing in here for years, not months Emily marvelled.
Shut the door, Em, the warmthll escape.
She shut it with a thud. Latch it?
No need, Tom called back.
Round the bend, everything looked even more like the set for Day of the Triffids. Shovel and hoe were barely visible behind the tangle.
By the time Tom’s can was empty, Emily handed him hers. Venturing deeper, they found the beds downright jungle-like, as though Gran rarely braved these depths. When theyd finished the full square, they returnedempty cans in handonly to hesitate.
Hang on, Tom said doubtfully. Is this a different door?
Supposed to be the same one replied Emily, just as perplexed.
But this doornow thoroughly choked with tendrils, from lintel to latchlooked nothing like the one theyd come through.
Tom shoved it. Nothing budged.
Doesnt seem likelybut maybe there are two doors? he said, not believing his own words. “This place is identical, but…
Lets go back and check.
Retracing their steps with growing unease, they found what should have definitely been the entrance, now even more overgrown, even less like the door theyd come through. Tom shoved again, harder. No luck.
Oh, brilliant! Frustrated, he slammed one can down. Thats us missing the bus, then He checked his watch and yelped. Waitwhat? Were already late
Cant be! Emily stared at her phones screen.
Five past, next bus is in eight minutes Tom muttered.
Emily patted his shoulder. Its all right. Well just stay at Grans tonight, shell be pleased. Ill ring Mum, she can walk Biscuit.
How do you even get lost in a greenhouse? Tom moaned, still staring at the door. Its literally four walls! Thats not possible, right?
Its not. Even Emilys voice was uncertain. Must just be stuck?
Tom gave the door a couple of good shoulder barges but, honestly, its mind was made up.
The latch, maybe? Emily suggested.
He checked; the latch was as open as it was ever going to be. As for the restthe tendrils were pretty, a bit fidgety; one almost seemed to twitch. But nothing clearly holding the door shut.
Brilliant, came a dull voice from behind.
Tom turned. Emily, bent double, was wrestling with her trainers.
Problem?
My shoes tangled in this green web.
Crouching beside her, Tom saw the truth: her trainer laces utterly bound in a nest of cucumber tendrils. He tried snapping them, but the vines were weirdly strong. He huffed, tugged, the affected shoe refusing to budge. Emily balanced a hand on his shoulder.
Shall we call Gran? Emily muttered.
Whats she going to do? Break the door down and untie your shoe laces with her magic pruning skills?
Emily shrugged; Tom kept wrestling with the tendrils, which only seemed to grip harder. He finally gave up and sprang to his feet.
How did you even manage this? he snapped, cheeks red.
I dont know! I swear I wasnt even moving! she huffed, glowering. After a bit of mutual sulking, Emily suggested, Go find a hoe, will you? I definitely saw one back there. If it wont untangle, maybe chop it?
Tom sighed, and, reaching over, kissed her on the forehead. Sorry. Doesnt matter. Im just wound upthe ruddy door, the missed bus, now your shoe
He stalked back along the path, checking the beds right and left, but no tools where he remembered them. By the time he rounded the far end, hed found nothing but mounting anxiety; until, resting against the last wall, he spotteda fishing rod.
He froze, confused.
A sudden sharp yelp from Emily brought him racing back. She was on the floor, clutching her head.
Stupid tentacles I fell, she muttered, stifling another groan, hit my head, too.
Poor thing, Toms face melted in sympathy. Wheres an ice pack when you need it?
The grounds cold enough, she tried to joke. He smiled tentatively. Did you find the hoe?
No, butwell, actuallyI found a fishing rod! Just like
Were not fishing our way out of here, Tom.
“Sorry, you’re right. I’ll keep looking. Are you ok lying there?”
“Not especially. Help me up, will you?”
He circled round to haul her upshe winced.
“Ouch, theres something pulling my leg!”
***
Tom knelt and examined her jeans; two cucumber vines snaked tightly around her thigh, their ends wriggling.
“Crikey, that’s new…”
“What now?”
“More of those blasted tendrils,” he muttered, struggling to snap them again, to no avail. So, desperate, he leaned in and tried to bite through.
“Will you stop!” Emily squawked, pushing his head away.
“Im trying to chew you free!” he retorted between gnawing. “There!”
Triumphant, he held up a severed length of vine for her inspection.
“A trophy!” Emily grinned, still clutching her bruised head.
No sooner had he freed one leg than the other was tangled tight. Toms brow furrowed. This isnt working. You need something sharplet me really go fetch some tools.
Butwhat ifhow can I just leave you?
“Go and get the damn tools, Tommy!” she yelled, shoving him backwards into a bed of parsley. “I’ll survive another two minutes lying here!”
The living vines crept higher, gentle but obdurate. Tom looked at her miserably.
“Go! I’m not going anywhere,” she managed, slightly calming.
He gave her hand a quick squeeze, and, as the air in the greenhouse shifted, noticed it was suddenly growing dark.
“What’s going on?” Tom fumbled for the sky.
“Clouds?” Emily guessed, voice uncertain. “What time is it?”
He squinted at his wristwatch; but the hands were spinning, ticking off minutes in seconds.
“Quarter past sixteen seventeen past This is mental.”
He bit his wrist in exasperation. It hurtbrilliant. But the minute hand kept whirring.
“Bonkers, that’s what it is. We’ll figure it out when we’re out. Now seriously: bring back something sharp!” Emily gasped.
He navigated the overgrown beds, now barely visible, stepping more gingerly than any old tabby cat.
Suddenly, from the gloom, Emilys ragged voice: “Ugh! Hurry up, Tom!”
He finally spotted the tools, half-buried. Grabbing the spade, he legged it back, rounding the corner to see Emily on the floor, clutching her throat, kicking helplessly. He dashed towards her, spade raised.
But his own foot snagged on a tangle, pitching him flat on his face. The spade flew off. He was metres from her, but couldn’t quite reach as she clawed desperately at her own face, mouth and nose smothered in green vines, unable to cry out. He strained, fingers brushing her fringe.
“Emily!”
She thudded her foot on the ground; another weakening kick, then her head lolled sideways, hand falling across her cheek.
“EMILY!” Tom tried in vain to wriggle closer, hopelessly trapped himself.
The vines crept up his leg, compressing tighter. In a last, wild effort, he tried to leap awaysucceeded only in falling sideways and smashing through a pane of glass. He lay on his back, staring up at the blue morning sky, shards sticking in his back. The sun rolled quickly into the sky; sparrows zipped by and vanished beyond the apple trees.
Gran came bustling out of the house, whizzed across the garden with the energy of a much younger woman, then stopped by Tom and gazed down at him with an oddly sweet smile.
There, there now, dears. Its much better like this. No more dashing off to the city. Well be together now. Always.
She stroked his forehead, kissed him, then hurried awaythe garden, the sky, the sun blurring around her.
Tom felt the vines closing over his face as everything faded into quiet green.
