Granny never cared much for young Walternever truly accepted him.
«Hes not one of ours, not really,» Agatha Fletcher would mutter to the other women at the corner shop.
«But Aggie, how can you say that? Look at himspitting image of your Jack when he was little!»
«I just cant, love. In me head, I know hes Jacks boy, but me heart wont have it. Now, the ones from me daughterproper grandkids, those. But from me son? Cant bring meself to care. Barely even raised round here. Oh, he runs about, babbles granny this, granny thatbut no. Thats a proper Sutcliffe lad, not mine, not blood.»
«Honestly, its the same with mine,» another woman sighed. «Me mum, God rest her, used to dote on my Milliekisses, treats, the lot. But Johnnys little ones? Nah. Just grandkids, innit? Used to get right cross, Johnny did. And shed say, Dont take on, son. With a daughters bairns, you know theyre yours. With a lads well, bless you, but whos to say?»
«Same here!»
«Aye, and us!»
«Oh, listen to usIm no better. Me daughters lad? Proper little cherub, rosy cheeks, dimples, the lot. Cant get enough of him. But the one from me sons missus? Cant stand the sight. Know its harsh, but there it is. Not just the looksalways snivelling, filthy. Tell her to keep him clean, and what do I get? Havent got time, what with cooking and scrubbing for *your* lad. Oh, but others manage, dont they? Others work! Back in my day, up at four for milking, dough set by dawn, bread ready for the oventhen off to the cows. One time, left young Annie to mind it, told Granddad to keep an eye. Poor old sod could barely move, but I thought, Hell help her slide the loaves in.
«Something told me to hurry back. Asked Dottie to cover, dashed homeand theres my girl, fast asleep, dough spilling off the table, hair stuck in it, head on her arm like a little angel. And Granddad? Whats the fuss? he says. Bread wont run off, will it? Then shuffles off in his long johns, daft old bugger»
The chatter shifted, as it does, from grandchildren to grievances. Agatha slipped away quiet-like, realising she wasnt the only one who felt this waymany women did, when it came to sons wives and their children.
Yet Walter clung to Granny. Felt closer to Dad that way. Dad had gone north years back, when Walter was small, chasing work in the icy docks. Never returned. But Walter waited, wrote letters, brought them to Granny Aggie.
Mum said the old bat was the only one who knew where that good-for-nought was hiding. But Walter knew Mum loved Dad. She was just sore he hadnt taken her north. Whered she fit, though? With Walter in tow? She ought to understand.
Sometimes shed scream that he and his dad ruined her life. Said she shouldve married John Spires, had his brood, lived like a queen.
Walter once rolled cheese in butter with his toy lorryGrannys birthday gift to himand oh, the row! Mum nearly binned it. But Walter clung tight. Felt like Dad had sent it. Likely hadlorry wasnt cheap, mustve sent Granny money for it. Mum screeched, Chuck it! But why? What was so grand about cheese in butter?
When Dad came home, theyd live proper, better than any Spires lot. Mumd stop pining for that John.
Visiting Granny one day, Walter found cousin Gladys therespoilt little madam, but she was young, so it stuck.
«Granny got me a dolly! Nyah!» She stuck out her tongue. Like Walter cared for dolls.
«And Grannys making pancakes with cream!» she crowed.
«For *everyone*,» Granny snapped. See? She did careput the brat in her place.
Walter sat polite, had tea and pancakes. Asked if Granny needed help, then left.
«Ugh, finally,» Gladys voice floated out as he shut the door. Granny sat silent as stone.
«Shut your gob, you little cow!»
Granny defended him. Warmth bloomed in Walters chest. She *did* love him.
Inside, Granny scolded Gladys: «Whats wrong with you? Hes not even down the path! Whole villagell hear, and Ill tan your hide with nettles»
«You wont!»
«Oh? Whys that?»
«Cos you love me! Im your precious, perfect granddaughter!» She clambered into Grannys lap.
«Oh, you little terror, youre my sweetheart»
***
Dad never came. Mum married Uncle Nick SpiresJohns cousin. Decent bloke. Never coddled Walter like his own two, but never mistreated him either. Granny Tess, Nicks mum, doted on Walter too.
Life was good. Still visited Granny Aggie. Stopped writing letters, though.
Before joining up, Walter learned Dad had a new family up north. Never visitedbut Granny Aggie went there often.
Hurt, Walter asked why shed never said. Hed *waited*, written
«Dont be daft,» she scoffed. «Your letters are in the drawer. And your dad sent good money. Your mum used it to raise another mans kids.»
Walter got blind drunk that nightfirst and last time. Raged at Mum, Granny, Dad.
Mum started shrieking»lush,» «waste of space»but Uncle Nick dragged him to the garage. There, Walter sobbed. Never cried as a lad, but nowfloodgates opened. Told Nick how schoolboys jeered, called him a bastard, said Mum dragged him home in her apron.
Thats why Walter learned to fight. And why hed visited Granny Aggieto prove he had family too, even if they didnt want him. Didnt know what a dad was liketill Uncle Nick showed him. Not love, maybe, but close enough.
Nick wiped his own tears rough-like.
«Listen, ladyoure like a son to me. Hell, you *are* my son, understand? Mine. Ten years Ive been with your mum, with you. So»
They sat forehead to forehead, gripping each others necks, weeping.
«Son.»
«Dad.»
«My boy.»
«Dad»
Mum nearly stormed in, saw the whiskythen shut the door soft. Told the younger ones, «Leave emmens talk.»
Before enlisting, Walter went to Granny. Lips pursed, she blessed him, wished him safe service. Gladys sneered, «Thank Christno more upkeep for strays.» Granny said nothing.
***
Service flew by. Walter came home broad-shoulderedMum and «Dad» Nick bursting with pride. Since that night in the garage, thats what he called Nick. And Nick called him «son.» Like it was always so.
Granny Tess bragged about her handy grandson. Fixed her fence first thing back.
Gladys lived with Granny Aggie now, barred Walter. «Dads got his own family. Might not even be yourswhos he been paying for?»
Granny kept silent. Walter never went back.
Married now, working. Parents helped buy a house in townmoved Granny Tess in too. Car, two kids. Good life.
Then his back went. Nick always warned he lifted too heavy. Now here he was, shuffling like an old man down hospital halls, when shrill voices stopped him.
«Not my problem! Youre the doctorsfix her!»
«Miss, with proper home care, your grandmother could recover»
«Oh, sure! Me, wiping bums? Do your job!»
«No grounds to keep her. If you refuse, its the care home»
«Shame on you, Gladys!» Another voice cut in. «She raised you, spoilt you rotten»
«Just sign the papers,» came Gladys bored reply.
Walter stepped in.
«No need. Ill take her.»
«And you are?»
«Her grandson.»
«Proof?»
Walter smirked. «Oh aye.»
Gladys sneered. «Ooh, look whos back. Smell the will, did you? Toughhouse is mine. She signed it over»
She flounced out.
Took Granny home. Mum shook her head, remembering how Walter once believed Granny loved himwhen all along, shed griped about tolerating him.
But Granny thrived. Walked again. Begged forgiveness, doted on his kids.
When her time came, Gladys didnt even visit. Mum and Nick sent moneywhich Gladys kept. Oh well.
«Imaginethe unwanted grandson,» the shop gossips clucked, hearing Agatha died in Walters home.
Those who picked favourite grandkids paused. What if they ended up like Agatha?
«Extra sweets, Kathfor mine.»
***
So it goes. The granddaughter, her darling, got all her love. The grandson? Nothing. Couldnt see past her sons face in his, yet couldnt love him.
Still, it was the unwanted grandson who took her in.
And who buried her in the end.
