The Great Escape.
I rub the back of my head for a while.
“I know Granddad, but you haven’t actually been incarcerated as such….”
“Yes well, whilst you’re here Mark would you mind opening the window for me?”
My name is not Mark.
“I’m thinking we’ll keep the window closed. I’ve just looked and it leads straight to a flat roof. I don’t want you getting any ideas.”
He doesn’t see the funny side, busy as he is trying to ‘open’ a full-length mirror that is screwed to the wall in the belief that it is in fact a doorway to a non-existent kitchen so he can make us a cup of tea.
“I really don’t know what I’m doing here. It was just a little fall – my ankle you know – out riding. This is all nonsense. These bloody doctors. Trying to make a name for themselves.”
My Grandfather is 94. He has not been horse-riding in at least fifty years.
For the first time he looks at me directly. For an instant – the most difficult thing – he is back.
“You live alone. Do you get lonely?”
“Well. Sometimes. I’m at work all day, it’s demanding stuff so I’m usually too tired to feel anything much when I get home. The weekends are tough I suppose.”
I’ve no idea what he means by this.
“Would you like a cup of tea? I can make you one.”
“No, it’s ok Granddad.”
You bastard, I think to myself. This had better be serious because you’ve took all the attention away from me and my ‘little’ scare. You’d better be dying at least.