Flabberwocky

1 - Goodbye Grandad

"Do your shoes up," whispered Mum. Lawrence looked down at his shoe laces, like two liquorice worms hiding in the wet grass. He knelt in the mud and quickly tied a double knot before tucking the wet ends down the side of his sock. Clutching his Mum's hand tightly he looked around for his sister. Molly was leaning against Dad, hiding her tears amongst the folds in his sleeve. Lawrence couldn't understand what all the fuss was about, "what's the point of crying?" he asked Mum, "it's not like we need tears to wash our cheeks, not when there are wet wipes." Disappointed by her lack of response he continued, "Dougie Norris at school says tears taste like whatever you last had to drink, so Molly's must taste like Nan's tea, or orangeade." Lawrence looked up at his Mum, he had been so busy talking he hadn't noticed she was crying too. This was Lawrence's first funeral, and he was pretty sure he never wanted to go to another one. The bit in the church was boring, and the standing in the mud in the rain bit was even more boring. He was sure that if Grandad was here to see it, he'd have been just as bored as he was.

    Molly hated people looking at her. She didn't want to cry, but she just couldn't stop. Every time she tried, she remembered the empty chair they'd left at Nan's house and the lump in her throat got bigger and bigger until it erupted into sobs. The harder she tried to gulp the sobs back down, the harder they fought to get out. She wrapped her arms around Dad and he stroked her hair with his ice cold hand. She knew he was trying to comfort her, but every time his fingers brushed her neck it made her teeth chatter. Molly thought she was going to miss Grandad more than anyone else.

If there was a tournament for using a TV remote control, then Grandad would have been the champion of the world. It didn't matter how much you were enjoying the show you were watching, at precisely one minute before the program he wanted to watch started, the channel would switch over as if by magic. The more inquisitive visitor would carefully note when the next antique or travel show was about to start, then glance in Grandad's direction a minute before it started. Blink and you'd miss his quick fumble into the knitted armchair pocket, the pistol like point and shoot, the accuracy of his button pressing. Controller returned to its fluffy home, seasoned observers would be well aware his performance was not quite complete. Wait for it, as the titles start, the controller felt for again, and yes, volume increased to eye wincing levels in mere milliseconds.

There was no denying that Grandad was a quiet man for most of the year. If he wasn't sleeping or watching telly in his worn out arm chair, then he was in his shed at the bottom of the garden, banging things together and shouting out for cups of tea. Molly remembered Mum telling her that Grandad used to be in the Navy, but she never got to hear any of the old stories she'd always hoped for. She usually had to settle for a snuggle instead. In fact, it was the snuggles that she'd miss the most. When she was little she had often fallen asleep in seconds curled up in his lap, his bushy white beard tickling her forehead, and the odd but strangely comforting smells of pipe tobacco and creosote on his jacket.

That's not to say Grandad was always quiet, every Christmas, he changed. Not just a little bit, but a lot. Nan always said he only got his twinkle at Christmas, and while Molly and Lawrence couldn't exactly be sure what a twinkle was, they certainly wished they could find one. Often Grandad made his own Christmas presents, last year Lawrence was given a hand carved cricket bat, though he had no idea what cricket was. Molly got a wooden clockwork mouse, and even though it didn't work, she promised to love it always. When they were little they assumed that Grandad must be Father Christmas, he had the beard, he had the presents, but they never could find his sleigh. More recently, after learning about addictions at school, Molly thought Grandad was an alcoholic, and refused to let him have any brandy sauce on his Christmas pudding. The truth was though, that Grandad just loved Christmas, and did all he could to make sure everyone else loved Christmas too.