‘Grandad?’ I said.
He grunted. We sat on a bench in front of the lake at the Old Farts’ Palace. There was a central fountain, but something was wrong with it and it gave off a halfhearted dribble, like a tired garden hose. ‘Reminds me of my bladder,’ Grandad mumbled. He was in a grumpy mood despite having beaten me twice at chess. I could tell by the way he threw pieces of bread at the ducks rather than for them. They didn’t appear to care. Mind you, Grandad the Grump wasn’t exactly news.
‘Thanks for sharing, Pop,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure I could’ve gone another day without an update on your bladder problems.’
‘Don’t mention it, young Rob …’
‘Tell me about Grandma,’ I said.
He stopped in mid-throw and gave me a fierce glare. Pop’s eyes are often bloodshot and today was no exception, so it was faintly scary. I smiled, but that made no difference. We sat for four, five beats, not breaking eye contact. I could see out of the corner of my eye a few ducks staring up at us, puzzled, presumably, by the sudden ceasefire. We were a frozen tableau. Apart from the fountain, which was still dribbling.
‘Why?’ said Grandad eventually. It was like he was squeezing the word out between reluctant lips.
‘Because I don’t know anything about her.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ Grandad finally returned his gaze to the lake. He broke off another chunk of bread and tossed it to a gaggle of ducks. They cringed instinctively as he raised his arm and then got into a group fight over the morsel.
‘I don’t know anything about your life, Grandad,’ I said. ‘Not really. I know you were married, but I don’t know who to. I have no idea whether she died or whether you divorced. Were you happy, were you miserable? What happened when it all ended …?’
‘Rob …’ Pop raised a hand in the stop sign, but I wasn’t in the mood to shut up. I’d spent most of my life shutting up when told to do so, and I was tired of it.
‘You’ve kept secrets from me, Grandad, and I hate it.’ I felt my eyes welling up. This was stupid. Why was I crying? I hadn’t felt emotional before. I hadn’t intended to bring this subject up. All I’d thought about doing was what we normally do – hanging out together, being mates, cracking jokes. But now I’d started, I couldn’t stop. ‘You fought in a war, but you never talk about it. I don’t even know which war it was. I asked Mum and she said you didn’t like discussing it, so I thought to myself, “Okay, I need to protect Grandad’s feelings. He doesn’t want to talk about something, so I should pretend it never happened. I should pretend my own grandmother never happened.”’ There was plenty more I wanted to say, but tears were running down my cheeks and my throat was clamped off.
Grandad put one gnarled hand over mine, but I couldn’t react. I couldn’t even make eye contact.
‘Rob, please,’ he said. ‘Please don’t cry. I hate it when you cry. Listen, mate. Sometimes a person needs to keep things to himself. You don’t tell me everything and that’s fine. We all need to keep some stuff locked away. If we didn’t, then we could end up getting hurt. You know that. Even at your age, you know that.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not asking for your secrets. I’m asking for mine. I have a grandmother and she’s a total stranger. I have a grandfather and I don’t know much more about him. I’m your grandchild and you owe me answers. Otherwise …’
‘Otherwise what?’
I sniffed and rubbed snot off my upper lip.
‘Otherwise when you die, all I’ll have is a cross stuck in the ground and question marks in my head.’
There was a pause. Then Grandad laughed. But it was a gentle laugh.
‘You’ve got me ahead of Agnes and Jim?’ he said. ‘Wow. I didn’t think I was looking that bad …’
‘This is not a joke, Grandad.’
He stood and picked up his cane from where it was leaning at the side of the bench. He tried not to show it, but even the act of standing gave him pain. Just a brief flash in the eyes and then it was gone.
‘Walk me back to my apartment, young Rob, and I’ll tell you some things from my rather dull life,’ he said. ‘I lived through it once and, even for me, it seems unremarkable. But … not my problem if you want to be bored.’
‘Bore me, Grandad,’ I said. ‘Bore me stupid.’
‘You asked for it,’ he said. ‘And don’t call me stupid.’
I smiled.
‘One other thing,’ he said. ‘No crosses.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t want a cross in the ground. Burn me please, Rob.’
‘Cremation?’
‘That’s it. Just make sure I’m dead first.’ Grandad headed up the winding path. Off to our right we could see Jim talking to the one duck not seduced by Grandad’s artillery fire. ‘If I was you I’d do it in a fire pit in the grounds here. It’d save a lot of money, but more importantly it’d annoy the blankety hell out of the mongrels who run this place.’
‘This isn’t a subject for joking.’
Grandad stopped. ‘Oh, young Rob,’ he said. ‘This is exactly a subject for joking. And anyway, I’m serious. Make a bonfire out of me in front of the fountain. Have a barbie. That way I could annoy from beyond the grave while serving up a snag and I can’t tell you how happy that would make me. Except I’d be dead, of course. Still …’
‘Grandad,’ I said. ‘Shut up.’
He did.
Trust me, that doesn’t happen often.