Stick around a bit longer, Granddad.
A vast, empty London flat with soaring ceilings, the half-tied curtains pinned up onto the windowsills, exposing peeling radiators and pipes, all reeked of dust. It felt as though someone had poured an entire bag of old hoover contents into the air and told the light not to move.
The keys had come from the neighbours downstairs, two doors to the right, or was it left? He wandered through the rooms, poked his head into the sprawling bathroomstunned by its size and dreadful statethen slipped into a yawning sitting room, unlatch the tiny balcony doors and sank into a battered old armchair that seemed to sigh beneath him.
Yes! The place really was magnificent. Even better than he’d hoped. How many rooms were there? But it was so rundown that living there seemed more an adventure for a bad documentary on Channel 5 than a reality.
He sat for a while, then drifted over to the window and peered into the drizzly street below. He wasnt quite sure In London, parking was a farce, and he might well have pinched someone’s hard-won spot with his aging Ford Focus. But for now, empty spaces yawned around his car, so hed risk it. All that mattered was fetching his bag.
Hed be here for over a month, while on leavestuck in this haunted grand dame of an apartment. Not even alone.
The notion of sprucing up in a couple of days evaporated under the sheer weight of dust. Grey, arched windows with brittle flowers in clay pots; heavy, frilled curtains drooping beneath generations of grime; a rust-stained tub and pipes gone orange; an ornate, cracked ceiling rose; a round, filthy crystal chandelier sagging a rag for cover. Even the floorboards whispered and groaned as if dehydrated by decades of neglect.
An obsolete cooker, a drum-shaped washer with hand-press rollers, and a yellowing, bulbous old Frigidaire: all memories of Britpop and Brown sauce, none of them cleaned since the dawn of Tony Blair. Sand and dust braided together, covering everything in their slow, silent nonsense.
He ventured into the study, unwelcoming as a headmasters officedark, heavy bookshelves climbing the walls. He flung open the dark blue velvet curtains to invite daylight. On the massive desk sat objects out of time: a stone pencil cup, a marble fountain pen, a desk calendar, the date fixed12th January 1995.
Here, it seemed, time had surrendered.
No comfort in the bedroom either. Clothes had spilled from a broken wardrobe, curtains yanked up, radiators bare and mottled. He slid open a chest drawer, discovered a filigree jewellery box, andimmediately stepped back.
Blimey! he muttered, entirely on instinct.
Inside, gold glinted: rings, signets, bracelets, chains, brooches, ear studs So much jewellery! Heavy rings, amber-tipped earrings. His first thoughtjust bung a bit in his pocket, surely? No one would miss a couple of rings
That notion evaporated in the stale air. If the neighbours hadnt helped themselves There might be an inventory, orGod forbida camera. He eyed the ceiling suspiciously. But here, even electricity seemed a myth.
He put the box back, shut the drawer, flicked the light switchnowt. He found the fuse box in the corridor, flicked the breaker: the ancient lights wheezed on.
Thank heavens for small mercies. He plugged his phone to charge, nipped down for his duffel, and soon enough, lay dead asleep on the creaking four-poster bed, in a bedroom that smelt faintly of mothballs, old roses, and missed trains.
*
Good evening, is this Matthew Georgeson? Have I the right number? A reedy old voice poked through the phone.
Yes. Speaking
Oh, Matthew! Im so very glad I found you. My names Sylvia Martha, I work as a carer here. My granddaughter helped me track you down or, heavens, Id never have managed Anyway, we have your grandfatherGeorgeson, Lionel Alfred. Young Matthew, dear Mind if I call you Matt? Im getting on, you know.
Call me whatever you like
Matt. You are his only grandchildhis only one, dear. He isnt much for conversation, quite ill nowadays, but hes been waiting for you. Truly waiting Would you?
Sorry, how do you?
Sylvia Martha.
Thank you for your concern, but I never really knew him. I think you mean my dads father. My parents split when I was four, I
I know, I know Your father passed ages ago, bless him. Your mum tooGod rest her soul. She visited us, you know.
What? My mum? That cant be. You must have
No mistake, love. She died quite suddenly, maybe she never got a chance to tell you. Or maybe she didnt want to. Anyway, Julia visitedwe all liked her, she was gentle and kind Shame, really
Sorry, youre saying my mum?
Yes, dear. Julia, she came Matt
Forgive me, but are you asking me to visit? I live miles away, work and”
Yes, yes, naturally. Only well, its a matter of some importance. Lionel has a nice flat here in London. Large, apparently. Therere, lets say, people trying to persuade him to hand it to our residential homea senior managers pushed it, persistent chap, rather unpleasant. Im afraid
Well, let him. Hes a stranger to me. Its his business
Sylvia chattered on, ignoring the rebuff.
Lionel doesnt speak much. Legally, they cant force it, but theyll find a way. He wishes, you know, that his flat would pass to his grandchild. He reckons you dont need him. Mind, if you did, hed give you the flat. I understand why, you see. Otherwise, theyll take it. Homes are ever so dear these days. His only dream now is to go back to the flat for a bitto live there, finish out his days. Hes nearly immobile now, so many health troubles Thats why I started searching for you. Thoughtjust maybe Id get lucky. And I did She trailed off muddled.
Alright, Ill think about it. Is this your number?
Yes, dear.
Ill ring back
Like something out of a soap: surprise inheritance! But Matt didnt really buy it. And he had no intention of calling back.
Hed heard all about his grandfather from his mumhard man, apparently. When Dad died, his parents were long divorced. Even then, she only said, Lionel Alfred did his own son in.
So Matt doubted for a moment that Mum had ever visited Lionel. Maybe maybe if it was about the flat. Maybe she wanted him to get it?
If only youd move to London, love he remembered his mums earnest, fruitless wishes.
That, actually, might be reason enough. For him, his mum would have endured anything. Shed loved him fiercely.
A London flat! Blimey
Mum said Lionel had been a powerful Party man, and their flat was smack in town. The first time Dad took her to meet his folks, she got lost amid the rooms. That was itno more details, since married life went nowhere and she packed him up for Dorset. Thats where Matt grew up. His own memories of Dad barely flickered, and his fathers sidethose grandparentsmeant less than nothing.
Hed had proper grandparentsMums parents. Wonderful people.
They helped him get on the property ladder in Bournemouth (though hed made a whopper of a mistake, putting the place in his wifes name too). After a decade of scrambled, upturned life, his wife moved out, his daughter Emily lived mostly with her nan, and his ex hardly wanted to parent.
The flat was divvied up by the courts. In the end, Matt bought a modest bedsitmain room the size of an Aga, kitchenette barely enough for the dog and himself. At the time, it didnt matterhe needed a ledge to perch. Later, of course, it was clear he couldnt really live there. He started saving for something bettercounting every penny. Child support, council tax, groceries, petrol
His ex rang often, demanding more for Emily. Child support was apparently tuppence. He got on well with his girl, had her over for half-term, spoiled her rotten.
Dad, at this rate, youll still be here when Im fiftywith all these sweets!
Dont remind me
But London! The thought spun round and round
After a couple more hours shifting bathroom tiles on his current gig, Matt caved and called.
Sylvia Martha, its Matt. What exactly does Granddad want? Could you explain again?
Sylvia wasn’t surprised. She said Lionel was ill but obsessed with finishing his life at home, or at the very least, revisiting his flat. He dearly wanted to see his grandsonbut couldnt say it aloud. Sylvia could read between the lines.
*
So, simple self-interest carried Matt to London. Only self-interest; he was honest about it.
In the flat, staring at the walls, seeing solemn black-and-white photos of Granddad and some elegant woman, he met his ancestors for the first time. Lionel appeared bloated and formidable, downright unlikable. But Grandmashe looked rather kind. Oddly enough, Matt spotted traces of that same gentle face in his daughter.
And now this balloon-shaped stranger from the past would be coming tomorrow, transferred from a residential home to this neglected, crumbly sanctuary.
Matt wandered into the kitchen, twisted the gas tap. Gas hissed; the smell was sharp, unpleasant. Rightcall the British Gas lot in. This flat mustve gone unused for donkeys years. Since ’95? Hed forgotten to ask Sylvia how long Granddad had been away.
A timid knock. The neighbourthe same older woman with the keys.
I thought you know, nothing in here works yet. Fancy a cuppa?
They sat in her bright, cheerful kitchen.
I wasnt the one who took your granddads keys, love, my mother-in-law did that. We arrived later. They arent here anymoreher or my husband. Its just me and my daughters family now.
How longs he been out, in the home?
Oh, love, must be fifteen years or more now. Weve been here twelve. My mother-in-law used to pop in and water the plants for him, tidy round. We never didsorry. Thought there was no point. Hed never come back; this flatll be sold eventually. Im not well enough, and my daughterthe job, the grandkids; just getting through the week is enough.
So you never knew him? My granddad?
No, only what I heard from my mother-in-law. She respected him, I think, but seemed nervous. People from that generation He worked with the Ministry, you know, and were ordinary. The flather dad got it, sailor, captain. Some story there too, but Ive forgotten.
Dyou have British Gass number? Really ought to check
Ill find it in a minute. She paused in the doorway. Dyou really mean to bring him back? How old is he now?
I dont know Only just found out about him myself. Thought hed died long ago. Yes, Ill bring him for a bit. He wants to come. But only for a month or somy holidays not longer.
She eyed him askance.
Older folks sometimes more trouble than you bargain for. Still got his wits?
*
Matt waited in all afternoon; British Gas never came. Something about major repairs on another leak. He went for a wander, grabbed lunch at a café, loaded up on cleaning stuff and groceries.
Hed ring Sylvia in the morning, saying hed pick Granddad up. She fretted, insisted he neednt buy anythingtheyd pack Lionels bits and bobs.
Matt didnt understand what she was on about. Hed fetch Granddad, his underwear, and toothbrushwhat more could the old man need? Just the food issue to sort, but that could wait.
As dawn flickered in the east, Matt drove his clattering Focus down into the London outskirts. The residential home was a long, two-storey brick cutoutmodest, with neat grounds, a bored security guard, beds of daffodils, benches. Not bad, really.
More surprising, theyd been expecting him. Waiting at the door was a willowy woman with wispy hairSylvia Martha.
Matthew Georgeson? Thank heavens you came. Now, in a sec, youll see the director. Please dont mention I contacted youjust say your granddad called. He cant really talk, but say he asked you to come for him.
Sylvia, did he actually ask? Matt wasnt sure about any of this.
Of course, now hurry! She bustled him in. Did you bring your birth certificate?
The manager called in a doctor, who droned about Lionels poor health, hinting it wouldnt be easyneither physically nor mentally. All Matt could fixate on was the flatwere they trying to rob Granddad blind?
Im taking him. Well cope, said Matt, sounding like he was reciting his lines in a school play.
If youre sure. The head shrugged. Paperwork will be ready in an hour. Go and see him while you wait.
Matt nodded, pretended he knew where he was going. Sylvia crossed herself, made him wait in the corridor.
He gazed at family photos, faded wallpaper. Thenan odd rumbling: a wizened old man shot past in a motorised wheelchair at reckless speed. For a moment Matt was sure the thing was remote-controlled by the staff for amusement, but the wheelchair spun abruptly round, parked beside him.
Local speed demon, thought Matt. Was this Granddad?
The old mans right hand gripped the joystick tightly. The chair was far too large for his frame, and he leaned awkwardly to one side. He wore a black tracksuit, chunky woollen socks, a flat capthe face looked like shrivelled fruit, cheeks crusted with age, white stubble, red nose, small fierce eyes.
A nurse in trainers rushed up, wrestling with two bags.
Lionel, I told you to wait! She scolded, buckled him in, tucked him up under a tartan blanket.
He sat a bit straighter, ignored her completelyeyes locked on Matt.
Suddenly, Matt realised the truth: this gnome was Granddad. But in the old photoshed expected a heavyweight, formidable, suited figure. This It didnt make sense. Granddads hands were brown with age, carved with spots, oddly sculptedlike old yew wood.
Hello, Matt nodded.
Granddad stared him down, silent.
Sylvias just finishing off some paperwork. The continence stuffs included but he doesnt like them. Weve tried everything. Please dont let him zoom up and down in the corridoruntil youve signed for him, hes our responsibility. Have a walk while you wait, the nurse said, as if Lionel was invisible.
Matt was at a loss. Granddads head was bowed, still staring at nothing. Matt gripped the wheelchair, spun it about, and headed for the exit.
He didnt know if Granddad had even noticed him. After 200 yards, Matt turned the chair to face him, sat on a bench.
Well, Granddad. Here I am. Sylvia found me. Matt watched him. Lionel stared at his hand on the joystick, no response. Matt felt certain he heard though. Granddad, do you really want to go? Its nice enough here, really. Fancy leaving?
Nothing.
Can you even hear me? Matt asked, a bit louder. Still, no reply. Matt sighed. Deaf, eh? Brilliant.
Granddad remained slumped, but the edge of his mouth twitcheda suppressed smirk.
Alright then. Matt stepped away, out of sight, then bellowed, Reverse!
The chair roared backwards, nearly mowing him down.
Stop! The chair froze. Alright, over to the swings! Matt gestured towards the playground.
Granddad hesitated, then suddenly accelerated off down the drive away from him. The path bentMatt ran through the daffodils, caught the handles and pulled the chair up short.
Whoa there! Steady, you nutter, Matt gasped. One thing was clear: he wouldnt be bored with this old man.
As he pushed Lionel around, Matt thought hard. Only now was he sensing the weight of what hed taken on. What did he know about caring for a half-mad, half-broken relative? Nothing. And soon theyd hand him a pile of paperworkhis responsibility.
Should he go straight back and say hed made a mistake, wasnt up for it? He definitely wanted to. But if he bailed now, the London flat would slip away forever. No, hed manage. For a month, he could cope. Unless, of course, he was already too late. Was there a will? Where were the deeds? Who had the documents
A nurse relieved him, parked Lionel in her care.
Are you taking all his papers? Youre not keeping him forever, are you?
I am.
He signed for every scrappassport, NHS card, national insurance, bank book, property deeds, another certificate all stuffed in one folder.
Whats this?
Lionel Georgesons documentsgarages, the house, the flat. You must keep them in perfect order and return them with him. We do everything by the book here. Remember, five years ago he was officially declared incapacitated. You cant legally act on his behalf. Anyway, someone from Adult Social Care will visit to check up. We must notify them
No will in the folder. Four bags in total, plus the wheelchair barely inside the boot; they manhandled Lionel into the front seat. He was as limp as a wet newspaper.
Dont bother that man with the incontinence stuff, he gets cross, Sylvia warned. He hates porridge, everything needs blitzing in a blender, not too much meatsee the diet note. He managed with the toilet on his own here, but with you, who knows. Help him, if you darehell bite your head off! Hates injections, but therere sedatives Doctors written it down. I did them at night, forcibly. Makes him angrylash out a bit, but I get out the way! Poor soul. Is there anything he doesnt get angry about? She wiped her eyes.
I feel for him. Hes alright really. Drove everyone mad here but I handled him. No idea if were doing right. Ring me, any timeday or night I think of him as family now.
The gates closed. Sylvia stood crying on the other side; Matt breathed out for the first time in hours.
One thought haunted him: what did the director mean, incapacitated? Legalities werent his strong suit. Hed have to ask. But the flathe couldnt let that go.
Granddad looked a thousand, sick as a hospital at midnight. Why did he want all this still?
Matt glanced over. Granddad leant against the window, watching the road as it unravelled through patches of English woodland.
No worries. Maybe without the carers well manage fine, Matt thought, and pressed his foot down gently on the accelerator.
