In Loving Memory

He received the news of his grandfather’s death on Monday morning at the office. When he told his colleagues, one asked if they had been close. He was unable to answer, but the question stayed with him.
That evening, he strolled around his flat in his underwear thinking. He had known his grandfather his whole life, but never really knew him. What did that mean? Should he be grieving? The question seemed strange. It gave him a weird feeling, so he went for a run.

On the day of the funeral he took a train to Egham. The town’s name was like the food it brought to mind: egg and ham. There was nothing particular about it. It was unimaginative and unexciting.
As his uncle gave the eulogy, he heard sniffing down the aisle. His sister and cousins were crying. Should I be crying too, he asked himself, but then realised he wasn’t feeling any recognisable emotion so he couldn’t cry even if he wanted to.

Following a prompt from his dad a few days later, he visited his gran. She lived in a small newly built house near Egham station. It smelt of mothballs and her collection of thimbles rattled each time a train passed.
He told her to relax; he would make her lunch. She said there was some shepherd’s pie in fridge, but he only found a bottle of off milk and some butter. He checked the freezer. It was full of ready meals, one being shepherd’s pie.
He had to chip through a layer of ice to get it out. A maximum of two months it said the meal should be frozen, but it had to have been in there at least six.
Gran, he called, maybe we should go to the pub.
No answer came, so he popped his head around the door. She was staring into space.
Shall we go to the pub?
After a moment she turned to him, Oh no, dear. Not on a Sunday.
But it’s out of date.
She looked confused. Your grandfather only bought it the day before he passed.
He called his Dad, who said she had been eating like that years. If the rubbish she ate hadn’t killed her yet, it wouldn’t now.
She sat squeezed between the dinner table and sideboard, fumbling the steaming shepherd’s pie around her plate. He couldn’t watch, so he went to the loo.
It smelt of stale urine. Beneath his feet the pink carpet had patches of yellow stains.

When he got home, he paused when he saw the books on his coffee table. They reminded him of his gran’s large print books. He had asked her about them and she had spoken with some excitement, explaining the story she was reading. It was sad; for all her excitement the story seemed mundane and pointless.
Thinking this gave him a weird feeling that he didn’t like, so he went for a run.

At work the next day, his Dad called. His Gran had had a fall.
He left the office and got the first train to Egham, feeling what he later recognised as panic and anxiety. But it was alright because she was ok.

By Dominic Edwards