I loosened the knot of my tie and undid the top button of my shirt. It wasn’t hot, but I was slick with sweat.

I’ve read plenty of books, so I was familiar with the idea of moving as if in a dream, but this was the first time I’d done it. There was a drumming in my ears that made all other noise recede to a distant hum. I was intensely aware of being inside my body, looking out through the arch of my brows. Despite that, I was surprised when I glanced down towards the handle of our back door and saw my own right hand reaching out to turn it.

You see, I’d spent so much time convincing myself it was Grandad who’d sent the texts, that even now I couldn’t believe it wasn’t. What would I do if I opened the door and saw Pop standing on the lawn under the Hill’s Hoist? Would I scream? Or would I run and hug him? A drop of sweat ran into my eyes and the sting brought me back to myself. I turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Agnes stood in the centre of the lawn. She smiled, though it was a strange and twisted thing. She held up a mobile phone.

I didn’t smile. But I did walk and stand in front of her. The sky had turned gloomy, swollen clouds threatening rain, and the garden was dark and depressed.

‘I need to explain,’ said Agnes.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘This may take time. Do you want to go inside and sit down?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘You’re upset,’ said Agnes.

‘You think?’ I said.

‘I’m not sure how I should explain,’ said Agnes. ‘And you may not need to sit because you’re young, but I do because I’m old.’ She pointed to a rain-stained bench close to a shrivelled flower bed. I’d forgotten it was there. ‘Please, Rob?’

I have no idea how old Agnes is. Old. Grandad old. And I couldn’t let her stand. But I was not happy. In fact, inside I was a coil of hard resentment and I couldn’t even say why this was. So I shrugged and stalked off to the bench. She followed, but I didn’t give her the comfort of watching or pretending I cared. I vowed I would say nothing, that my silence would be the punishment she deserved.

Agnes put her handbag on the ground and was quiet for a while. I think she was catching her breath.

‘I can’t count the hours your grandfather and I spent talking about you, Rob,’ she said finally. I looked at the grass beneath my feet. She sighed. ‘This is so hard,’ she murmured, more to herself than to me. ‘When you get old, something strange happens to your world. Even though, in your time, you’ve been to exotic places, had experiences that are wonderful, fought wars, met people you’ll never forget – in short, had a marvellous and varied life, at the end everything narrows. For some people it becomes their home or, if they’re lucky enough, their partner. Sometimes, the memory of a love now gone, a person who shone brightly but faded all too quickly.’ She wiped at her eyes as if her own words had struck a nerve. ‘In Pat’s case, the world narrowed down to you, Rob. I’m not sure you need to know this. Maybe you don’t. But you were his centre, his sun, and he orbited you. He bathed in your warmth.’

I could feel tears prickling, but I couldn’t let them free. So I shut my eyes and bit my lip.

‘It was your grandfather’s idea to give you those challenges,’ she said. ‘This is very important, maybe not to you – I don’t know – but to me. You must understand that in this whole business, I was merely the finger on the phone.’ She laughed. ‘Pat was rubbish with technology. You know that. The only reason I texted you those messages was because your grandad couldn’t. I offered to teach him but he refused. When he asked me to do it, I agreed. But only because it was desperately important to him.’

‘Why would he ask you?’ I said. ‘Why didn’t he just talk to me? What have you got to do with anything, Agnes?’ My determination to say nothing hadn’t lasted long.

She gave a sharp intake of breath, but I didn’t care. That knot of resentment hadn’t loosened.

‘A good question,’ she said. ‘And you might not like the answer, Rob, but I’ll give it to you anyway. I loved your grandfather and he loved me. There was even talk of marriage for a while there, but you know, in the end, it wasn’t that important to either of us. He talked to me about you for hours and hours. I probably know more about you than I know about my own daughter and certainly more than I know about my grandchild. Why? Because he loved you and you were what he wanted to talk about. Why did I listen? Because he loved me, I loved him and whatever was important to him was important to me.’

I didn’t need to think about this right now. I shook my head.

‘Your grandfather always worried about you,’ she continued. ‘About the panic attacks, about your shyness. In particular, the problems with your identity. He saw how, over the last couple of months, your confidence improved. He loved that, Rob. You probably didn’t see many signs of it – Pat Fitzgerald never gave away many of his feelings – but he thought it was … miraculous. The challenges were his way of keeping you on the path towards self-respect. He saw your destination as happiness and wanted to guide you towards it. You probably think I’ve interfered and I wouldn’t blame you. Maybe you believe your grandfather interfered, but you must remember that all he wanted was your happiness. I can’t expect your forgiveness, but he deserves it.’

‘Problems with my identity,’ I said. It was hard to force the words through my lips. ‘He talked to you about that?’

Agnes glanced down at a spot between her feet. The grass had worn away there and the dirt was hard as truth.

‘I told you,’ she said. ‘We talked about everything.’

‘I don’t have problems with my identity,’ I said. ‘It’s other people who have that.’

Agnes held up both hands in surrender.

‘I believe you, Rob,’ she said. ‘And I know it doesn’t matter whether I believe it or not because it’s none of my business. But your grandfather … well, he struggled with the … situation. You know that’s true.’

‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘Let’s leave that alone. Because you’re right, Agnes. It really isn’t any of your business.’ I held up my phone. ‘But let’s talk about this, shall we? Dramatic? Hey, I’ll give you that. Let’s scare Rob. Play around with messages from beyond the grave, is that it? A final challenge? But in the end, this is just cruelty. You know that, don’t you?’

She rubbed her eyes. I looked at her directly for the first time and saw there were tracks of tears down her cheeks. I hadn’t heard her crying. Suddenly I felt tired. Tired and guilty. It wasn’t a good combination.

‘Your grandfather wanted to give you one more challenge,’ she said. ‘Not me, Rob. Your grandfather. I’m just the messenger, so please don’t shoot me.’

‘And what did he want me to do?’

‘You know.’ Agnes stood up. ‘You know, Rob. You talked about it, the two of you, and I know it was hard for him, that he had difficulty understanding. Your grandfather was from a generation that considered any display of feelings a weakness, particularly if you were male.’ She paused. ‘But he talked about it to you, because he loved you.’

She picked up her handbag and slipped it onto her shoulder.

‘The older I get, the less I understand,’ she said. ‘But this is the last message I’ve got to pass on and, frankly, I want to get it over with. Ignore it if you wish, or if you have to. Pat would never have wanted to make you do something you really couldn’t face.’

‘Tell me,’ I said.

‘“Stop hiding. Be proud of who you are.” That’s it. The end. The final challenge.’ She held out her hand for me to shake. ‘I’ve got nothing else to say, Rob. I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’m going home now to cry myself to sleep.’ She smiled as if to show she was joking. I looked at her hand and ignored it. We’d both loved him and that was a bond not easily broken.

I hugged Agnes and together we cried.