‘It was bad enough being saddled with me when the only diagnosis was being a chronically grumpy old fart. Now, though. Now…’ He broke off, voice cracking.
I waited until he could speak again.
‘He should be free to make his own choices, get on with his life.’
‘He is,’ I said, gently. ‘He chose to take care of you.’
Gramps shook his head in frustration. ‘I liked Tanya well enough. Even if she is an old battleaxe. But he works all day, comes home to me night after night. I’ve told him. It’s not right. And it’s not like I’m getting any better,’ he added, as an aside.
‘So why the night-time wanderings? Why make it harder for him?’
‘So hard he has to make the right choice. Either that or I freeze quietly to death in a doorway, spare the both of us any more misery.’
‘Is that really something you want?’ My voice was little more than a whisper. I knew what it felt like to fall asleep not particularly caring whether you woke up.
He sighed. ‘No. I want to be somewhere where the sorry folk stuck with changing my dressings get to go home at the end of the day to their own families. Where they get paid, so I don’t feel terrible every time they chop up my meat as if I’m a toddler. Trained professionals, so I don’t shrivel in shame when I make a mess of myself. Somewhere with other people I can moan at and gripe about, or thrash at Countdown. I like having lunch with other people my own age. Who talk sense. I might even want to try a hobby, or an old geezers’ trip to the seaside.’
‘You want to go in a care home?’
‘I want my grandson’s face to light up when he sees me. For us to hug when he says goodbye like when he’d head back to university. For us to have something to talk about. News to share. Our time together should be precious, not a prison sentence.’ Gramps finally looked at me, his eyes swimming with tears. ‘I want him to miss me when I’m gone, not feel relieved.’
‘Oh, Gramps.’
‘I might even find myself a lady friend.’
‘Why haven’t you told him?’
‘I tried!’ he said, voice switching to irritation. ‘He keeps going on about how he made a promise, he’s never putting me in a home. Won’t listen when I tell him that’s what I want.’
‘So you decided to make it so hard, Beckett would have to break his promise?’ I tugged on his hand. ‘Did you forget in your old age that he’s just as stubborn as his grandfather? He’d run himself into the ground before going back on a promise.’
‘It was all going to plan until you turned up,’ he snapped, but there was affection behind the grumble. ‘Offering to babysit me, make it easier.’
‘Well, if you’d told me all this earlier, I could have helped!’ I retorted, smiling. ‘Saved you a broken ankle and some nasty bruises.’
‘Humph.’
‘Have you told him now?’
Gramps shook his head. ‘They keep talking about what to do with me when they think I’m asleep, like I’m a child. I’m not so doolally I can’t make my own decisions.’
‘I’ll talk to him. Help him understand.’
He managed a feeble nod before slipping into sleep.
I stayed for another hour or so, hoping Beckett would turn up, while at the same time scared about what would happen if he did. At one point, a nurse with tinsel in her hair bustled over and informed me that children under five were only allowed on the ward under special circumstances. Then Bob gave her the biggest of baby smiles, and her sternness melted.
‘Ah well, so,’ she cooed in a strong Belfast accent. ‘It’s Christmas. It doesn’t get much more special than that, I suppose. We’ll let you visit Great-Grandaddy, as long as you keep it down. Don’t disturb the other patients. Deal?’
Then she shook Bob’s tiny fist, discreetly drew the curtain far enough to hide us both, and left us to it.
‘Hey.’
I’d almost dozed off myself, when the familiar voice jolted me upright in the chair.
I twisted around. Bob was back snoozing in his seat, and suddenly I had no idea what to do with my arms. ‘Hi.’
Beckett looked like a total wreck. His hair was an unruly mop. His bloodshot eyes were ringed with dark shadows, the rest of his face wan. He had a splodge of something – barbecue sauce? – on his bobbly jumper.
