**The Unloved Grandson**
Granny never cared for little Walter, never truly accepted him.
«He’s not one of ours, not really,» old Annie muttered to the women at the village shop.
«Come off it, Annie,» one of them said. «Just look at himspitting image of your Frank, he is.»
«Dont care,» Annie snapped. «Mind knows hes Franks boy, but me heart wont take to him. Now, me daughters childrenthem I love. But a sons child? Cant bring meself to it. And he werent raised round us. Oh, he runs about, babbles Gran, Granbut I just *cant*.» She shook her head. «Takes after his mothers lot, not mine.»
«Aye, happens,» another woman sighed. «Me own mum, God rest her, doted on me Millies kids, but me brother Johns little ones? Couldnt be bothered. Johnd get right cross about it, but shed just say, Love, a daughters bairnsyou *know* theyre yours. A sons? Well never can be sure.»
«Oh, same here!»
«And mine too!»
«Christ, Im no better,» another admitted. «Me daughters lad? Proper little cherub, he is. Dimples, rosy cheeksgrandad and I cant get enough of him. But me sons boy? Just cant warm to him. Looks nowt like us, always filthy, nose running. I tell his mum to keep him clean, and she snaps back, Too busy scrubbing floors and cooking for *your* son! I say, Others managewomen who *work*! Back in my day, we were up at four for milking! Kneaded dough before dawn, left it risingstill made time!»
She paused, remembering. «Once, I left little Sarah to watch the bread, told grandad to help. But the moment I leftgut just *knew*I rushed back. And there she was, fast asleep, dough spilling off the table, hair stuck to her face sweet as an angel. And him? Whats to watch? he says. Bread dont run off! Then shuffles off in his vest!»
The talk shifted from sons children to daughters, but Annie slipped away, quiet and bitter. At least she wasnt aloneplenty of women felt the same.
Yet Walter *adored* his gran. If he got closer to her, maybe hed feel closer to Dad. His father had gone north years back, when Walter was small, to work the new rigs. Never returned. But Walter still waited, still loved him. Wrote lettersgave them to Gran Annie.
Mum said the old bat was the only one who knew where his good-for-nothing father was. But Walter knew Mum loved Dad. She was just mad he hadnt taken her north.
«*You* ruined my life,» shed scream sometimes. «Shouldve married John Spires! Had his kids! Lived easy!»
Once, Walter rolled cheese in butterlike Mum saidin the toy lorry Gran gave him for his birthday. Mum shrieked, tried to bin it. But Walter clung to it. Felt like Dad had sent it. Probably *had*lorries cost money. Dad mustve sent Gran cash for it.
«Whys she want that life?» Walter wondered, watching the greasy mess. What was so bad about *now*?
When Dad came back, theyd be happier than any Spires.
He visited Granfound his cousin Polly there. Spoilt little thing.
«Gran got *me* a doll,» she taunted, sticking out her tongue.
Walter didnt care.
«And shes making *me* pancakes!»
«*Everyones* getting pancakes,» Gran muttered. Still, shed stood up for him. That meant something.
He stayed for tea, asked if she needed help. Then left.
«Ugh, *finally*,» Pollys voice carried as he shut the door. Gran said nothing.
«Shut your mouth,» she snapped after. «Youre too big for that!»
Walters chest warmed. She *did* love him.
Inside, Gran scolded Polly. «What if he heard? Gossipll spreadIll tan your hide with nettles!»
«You wont!»
«Whys that?»
«You *love* me!» Polly climbed into her lap. «Im your pretty, clever girl!»
«Oh, you little imp,» Gran sighed, hugging her.
***
Dad never came.
Mum married Uncle Colin SpiresJohns cousin. Decent bloke. Never mistreated Walter. Didnt love him like his own two with Mum, but wasnt cruel. Gran Tessa, Colins mum, doted on Walter too.
Life was fine. He still visited Gran Annie. Stopped writing letters, though.
Before enlisting, Walter learned Dad had a new family up north. Gran visited him often.
«Whyd you never say?» Walter asked, gut twisting. «I *waited*.»
Gran waved him off. «Silly boy. Your letters are in the drawer. And your dad paid good child supportwhile your mum raised another mans kids!»
Walter got drunk that nightfirst and last time. Screamed at Mum, Gran, Dad.
Mum called him a drunk, a bastardtill Uncle Colin dragged him to the garage. There, Walter sobbed. Told him how kids jeered, called him «fatherless,» said Mum «dragged him home in her skirts.» How he fought to prove he *had* a dad. How hed visit Gran, knowing she didnt want himstill wrote letters she never sent.
Uncle Colin wiped his own tears.
«Listen, lad youre *my* son. Hear me? *Mine.* Blood dont matterten years Ive raised you.»
They sat, foreheads pressed, crying.
«Son.»
«Dad.»
Mum nearly stormed in, saw the open whiskythen stopped. Shut the door. Told the younger kids, «Your dad and brother are talking.»
***
Army life hardened Walter. Came home a manMum and «Dad» proud. Since that night in the garage, hed called Colin *Dad*. And Colin called him *son*.
Gran Tessa bragged about him too. «Handy lad, our Walter.»
But Gran Annie? Polly lived with her now. Told Walter not to come.
«Your dads got his own family,» she sneered. «Doubt hes even *yours*.»
Gran stayed silent. Walter leftfor good.
He married, worked hard. Parents helped buy a house in town. They moved there with Gran Tessa. Had two kids. Life was good.
Till his back gave out.
«Told you,» Dad scolded. «Lifting too much.»
Now Walter shuffled through the hospital, heard raised voices.
«Not *my* problem!» a woman shrilled. «Youre the doctors*you* fix her!»
«Miss, with proper care at home, shed recover»
«Oh, *right*! Im not wiping her backside! *You* deal with it!»
«If you refuse, well transfer her to a home»
«Shame on you, Polly!» another voice cut in. «After all Gran did for you!»
«Just *do* it,» Polly said coldly.
Walter stepped in.
«No need. *Ill* take her.»
«And you are?»
«Her grandson.»
Polly scoffed. «Ooh, *hero*! Smell the inheritance, do you? Too latehouse is *mine*.» She flounced out.
Walter brought Gran home. Mum shook her headremembering how hed once begged for her love.
Gran thrived. Walked again. Apologised often. Doted on his kids.
When her time came, Polly didnt even visit. Mum and Dad sent moneyPolly kept it.
«Well, well,» the village gossiped. «The unloved grandson took her in.»
The women who picked favourites paused.
What if *they* ended up like Annie?
«Extra sweets, Miss,» one said suddenly. «For me grandkids.»
***
So it goes. Doted on the granddaughter from her son, yet scorned the grandson. In the end? The «unloved» one cared for her. Buried her too.
Funny, life.
