The Challenge That is Tony

by Pedro

Grandad Sees a Ghost

Miss Rutherford has us doing some sample questions in class. I am steadily working through them, or at least I was until I feel I am being watched. I move my eyes to glance up from my work

towards the teacher's desk. Yes, I can see I am being scrutinised although I can't read the teacher's expression. I lift my head slightly to get a better look, but she sees the movement and diverts her attention elsewhere.

I return to the work but struggle as my concentration has gone. At least I had reached the last question. I think I have done all right on the others.

"Does she give you funny looks?" I ask Tony when we are in the corridor heading for our next class.

"Who?"

"Miss Rutherford." Duh! I would have thought it obvious since we have just come from her class!

"Only when she asks a question where I know the answer but I don't put my hand up! I don't want to be known as the class swot."

I'm thinking, 'Too late, mate. You've got the rep already.' I don't mention it, though.

"So, she was looking at you? Any idea why?" he queries.

"Not really. I only got a quick look at her expression before she looked away. It was a bit like that time before we got roped into chaperoning Mrs O'Reilly's niece, Sam. Except she looked more concerned, as though it affected me especially."

"You're probably reading too much into it. If there is anything, you'll find out soon enough."

Further discussion is precluded as we have reached our next classroom.

I have finished my homework and I am doing some reading on-line when I hear the house phone ring and Dad answering it.

Oops! I hadn't heard him come home. My reading is definitely nothing to do with school and he could have caught me at it!

It's nearly time for our evening meal so I close my browser, delete the history and shut my computer down.

By the time I have visited the bathroom, washed my hands and gone downstairs, Dad has finished his call. We find out what it was about when we are having our meal.

"That was my dad on the phone," he announces. "They are coming over for the weekend at the end of the month. Dad has a conference to attend near Cheltenham on the Thursday and Friday. Mum is going with him to have a few days away somewhere she's not been before. They're going to stop over here on Saturday on the way back, leaving after lunch on Sunday."

I quickly do the maths. "That Saturday is Halloween," I say. "Seems appropriate for Grandma."

I must have accidentally said that last bit out loud because Mum starts cackling. Dad gives me a look.

"That's my mother, you're talking about," he grumbles.

"Which makes her my mother-in-law!" Mum blurts out before continuing her cackles.

I have to suppress a laugh. I find it best to keep my head down and enjoy the show when the 'rents start to score points off each other!

Dad makes the next thrust. "It means we won't be able to visit your sister that weekend."

"That's all right. She can come here for Sunday lunch." Mum parries. "You'll have to fetch her and your parents can drop her off on their way home."

I think that makes the honours even. I grin because it's also a result. Dad and I get out of going to Aunt Doris' and doing chores for her. We also get assistance in dealing with Grandma! Aunt Doris seems to get on with her. Mum does too, really.

My grin must be too wide because the 'rents notice and do the parental telepathy thing. Mum is spokesperson.

"You can stop smirking. I'll do the Sunday lunch, but you can do the meal on Saturday night."

Oh, well. At least I get to choose the menu.

On the Thursday afternoon before Halloween, I get a message to call at the school office after my last class before I go home.

Curious.

I can't be in trouble. If it was disciplinary, the message would say to report to the Head. Otherwise about the only time I have to go to the office is to hand in a permission slip signed by my parents or some such. I can't think of anything I have forgotten to hand in.

Tony comes with me to the office. He tries to wind me up by saying it's for moral support. The truth is we are both going to my house to do our homework and he doesn't want to wait in the corridor in case a passing teacher volunteers him for a job. We've been caught like that before!

As we enter the office, I can see Mrs Parker, the school secretary, is sitting at one of the workstations beyond the counter that keeps us pupils at bay. She looks up at us. I approach the counter and introduce myself saying that I got a message to call. I suspect I needn't have bothered as she stands up, picks up an envelope from her desk and comes to the counter before I have finished my speech.

"Ah, yes. Thank you for coming in," she says. You're probably wondering why I sent for you?"

I nod my head in answer.

"A couple of weeks ago we had a letter asking if we had a contact address for someone that used to live in the town and possibly went to this school. I thought at first it might be for your father as the surname matched, but then the letter suggested the person being sought was older than him.

"The Head told me I should show the letter to Miss Rutherford as our longest serving member of staff. She recognised the name as your grandfather and said he was pupil at the old boys' school. Which explains why I couldn't trace him — all the records for the old girls and boys schools are held in the county archive if they haven't been destroyed."

While she is talking to us, Mrs Parker is holding the long, narrow envelope in one hand and gently tapping it against the other, as if she is thinking about what to do with it.

"Even if we had had your grandfather's contact details we wouldn't have given them out. So I asked the correspondent to write to him here, and we would endeavour to forward it." Mrs Parker puts the envelope on the counter but keeps one hand on it. "I'll send it on, if you give me his address, or, you could take it if you are seeing him soon. Miss Rutherford thought that you see your grandparents regularly."

It's an easy decision. "I'll take it, please. They are visiting this weekend."

Mrs Parker picks up the envelope again. "Very well. Just don't forget to give to him!" she says as she passes it to me. I look at it. It has Grandad's name on it and 'Private & Confidential' written in the corner.

I thank her for the letter but not for the vote of confidence. Then Tony and I make our escape.

"Have I got to think of something for you to entertain your grandparents with like I had to when they were here in June?" Tony asks as we are heading round to my house to do our homework.

Cheeky sod! However, I stop myself from calling him out when I see he is smiling. He's trying to wind me up so I refuse to take the bait.

"Nah, thanks. They are not coming until Saturday afternoon and leaving after lunch on Sunday, so I think we'll cope," I reply. Then I think of something else. "I've got to cook for them Saturday evening. You can help if you want. If you do, we might be able to blag a sleepover!" I waggle a suggestive eyebrow, but he's not looking. I can tell he is weighing his options.

He makes a decision. "As long as it's not curry! The last one you made nearly killed me."

Wimp!

I have to admit, though, it was a bit of a bum-burner.

"It'll be pasta," I tell him. "Grandma won't eat curry."

Tony mumbles his reply. "Wise woman."

"Tony says he'll help with the meal on Saturday," I report to the 'rents as we are having our evening meal.

Dad smiles. "That's good. You can shout at him instead of us," he says.

He has a point. I do tend to shout at anyone who pokes their nose in when I'm cooking.

"I suppose he wants a sleepover?" Mum posits before I can ask.

"Please?"

"I don't see why not. It's probably best he doesn't have to walk home on his own on Halloween. He can help entertain 'The Mummy'."

Mum winks at me and smirks. Dad grouches. They must still be trading mother-in-law jokes and insults. It will probably run on until after the grands have been.

Tony says he has permission for the sleepover when I catch up with him the next day.

"I've been thinking," he reports. Of course, I raise the eyebrow of sarcasm, which he ignores as he continues. "You know you said Miss Rutherford was giving you funny looks in class a few weeks ago? I bet that was the day she had been shown the letter asking about your grandad. You said she looked concerned as though it would affect you. Maybe that's why."

I think about that for a minute and piece it together with what Miss Rutherford knows about Grandad. I make a decision.

"It says 'private and confidential' on the envelope," I remind Tony. "I think I'll give it to him when he is alone. I might need your help…"

"To distract everyone else? Okay."

"Especially Grandma. You know how Grandad is always going on about her earwigging and nebbin' where she's not wanted."

Tony muses on that before commenting. "Have you told your parents about the letter? They might let the cat out of the bag by mentioning it in front of her."

"No, I haven't." Then I remember where I left it which gets me worried. "It's on my desk, though. Hopefully Mum won't go in my room and notice it."

As I expected, Tony makes a facetious remark. "The state your room is in, she'd never notice." And then he has to rub it in. "I bet you can't find it in the mess on your desk when you want to give it to your grandad!"

There are times when I could cheerfully smack him up the back of his head.

Raj catches me before the first class after lunch. He had been home to the family shop to give his mum a quick break as his dad has gone over to Brum on business.

"The wanton wrappers you asked for arrived this morning, so you can collect them whenever you want," Raj tells me.

"Oh, brill. Thanks." I stop to review the other ingredients I will need for the meal I have planned. "I've seen most of the other stuff I want in your shop, but do you have kiwis…and lime jelly?" I ask Raj.

"Of course!" Raj sounds almost offended that I felt the need to ask.

"Good, that'll save me a trip to the supermarket. I'll call in in the morning then."

Tony is going to be at the golf club caddying for his dad again tomorrow morning, so it will give me something to do. Probably get done quicker without him distracting me, too.

"Wanton wrappers? Thought you were doing pasta?" Tony asks when Raj has moved away.

"They're a Chinese type of pasta — made from flour, eggs and water — but not as dry as commercial pasta so more workable before cooking." I suppose I could make my own — but it would be too much of a faff. I don't make puff or filo pastry either.

"Anyway. What are you cooking? You haven't said."

"You'll find out tomorrow. It's a surprise Halloween menu."

Before Tony can ask any more the teacher comes into the classroom and we all scramble for our seats.

The smell of burnt toast greets me as I leave my room to get breakfast. The 'rents are in the kitchen when I trundle downstairs.

"Put some more toast on for us please, lad," Dad requests when he sees me.

"Do you want some, too?" I ask Mum.

"Yes, please, dear." Mum sounds and looks subdued.

Judging by the atmosphere, I'd better make a full pot of tea as well. It always helps to smooth things over. I put the kettle on.

I fill and start the toaster, but the smell of burnt toast immediately gets stronger. As I eject the bread, I get a thought. I pull out the crumb tray underneath the toaster. It's that full, it pukes all over worktop. No wonder there was a smell of burning. I'm surprised there weren't flames everywhere.

I sweep up the mess and empty what's left in the tray into the bin. When I flip the bin lid, staring back at me are two bits of bread-shaped charcoal.

Judging by the look on Dad's face, he is satisfied he now has an explanation for the smell. It seems my efforts have cleared the air.

By the time we have all had a cuppa and our (unburnt) toast and marmalade, all seems to be back to normal.

"What time are we expecting Grandad and Grandma?" I ask.

"They said about five," Dad replies.

"So meal at our normal time?"

"I should think so," Mum replies.

I calculate back to when I think I should start preparation. Mum must see the cogs going round.

"As you're doing a big meal tonight, we'll only have a sandwich for lunch. What time do you want to take possession in the kitchen?"

Dad smiles. "Looks like he already has."

I think he scores a point.

I call at the butchers for some pork mince before I go round to see Raj at their corner shop. They don't sell fresh meat and, even if they did, they still wouldn't have pork.

The shop is full when I get there and Raj is busy serving customers. I have to wait for him to fetch my wonton wrappers from wherever he has put them aside. I find all the other stuff I want then idly survey the shelves while I am waiting for Raj to be free.

I spot something I had not noticed before. Waffle baskets. I pick up a packet to study. The illustration shows a basket filled with fruit and ice-cream. That gives me an idea. I'm doing individual tarts for afters which requires me to make the pastry cases and bake them off blind. It's a bit of a faff and mine don't always come out right. These will save me the effort and are something a bit different. I put the packet in my shopping basket.

When Raj brings me my wrappers I ask him if the waffle baskets are something new.

"Oh, yes, just in this week," he replies. "Mr Morgan, you know, our physics teacher, asked us to get some for him. He must be a keen cook. He asks for all sorts of things. He wanted wanton wrappers a couple of months back. That's how I knew we could get them for you."

"He's good, too," I comment. "If those lemon bars he brings to the drama group are anything to go by. They're wicked."

I take possession of the kitchen late that afternoon. I don't have to start as early as I had planned because I won't be pratting about baking pastry cases for the tarts. They first thing I do is give both the 'rents a cuppa. If I give them one now they won't be coming into the kitchen to make one and get in my way.

"I've had a thought," says Dad when I hand him his tea. I hear Mum snigger. (They're still at it!) Dad just rolls his eyes in response and continues with what he was telling me. "Don't be surprised if Mum and Dad are late. They're coming from Cheltenham and will be on the M5. It's notorious for accidents and other delays."

I can cope with that. I was planning on holding one dish in the oven before finishing anyway and the rest is cooked at the last-minute.

I go back into the kitchen to start work on the cold sweet.

Tony arrives soon after so I set him to work peeling and crushing a whole head of garlic.

"Make sure it's really crushed. I don't want Grandma to be able to identify any pieces because she'll complain she doesn't like garlic and won't eat it, but you just watch her wolf everything down if she doesn't know."

"Where are your grandparents?" he asks when he presents me with the finished product. "I thought they would be here by now."

"They said five o'clock, but Dad expects them to be late."

They are late.

As everyone is hungry, Tony and I press on with finishing the meal quickly so I don't get the chance to talk to Grandad beforehand.

When everyone is ready to eat I bring the pasta dishes to table. I point to each as I explain what they are:

"Tonight is Halloween, so I have I have made spinach and cheese filled ghosts…" (using the wanton wrappers) "…in a saffron cream sauce and the eyeballs in the baking dish are on a tomato and sweet pepper sauce." The eyeballs are homemade meatballs that I got Tony to decorate with rounds of mozzarella and slices of pitted black olives before putting the dish back in the oven to melt the cheese. I have done a big bowl of spaghetti to go with the meatballs. There is also a bowl of salad.

"This looks and smells grand," says Grandad as he looks over the spread. "Have you done it all yoursen?"

"Mostly. Tony helped, and I left him to do the rabbit food." I point towards the salad.

"You didn't put any garlic in it, did you?" Grandma asks.

"No, I didn't." I put a slight emphasis on the pronoun. Grandad obviously picks up on it because I see him smile. Tony is manfully struggling to keep a straight face. I made him actually add the garlic so I could have plausible deniability.

There are compliments flowing as everyone eats. As there is nothing left I guess they are genuine.

When we have all finished eating I gather up the empty plates.

"I'll take these out to the kitchen. Grandad, will you help Tony bring the serving dishes please?" I had noticed that the empty dishes had, helpfully, ended up nearest to Grandad.

They follow me into the kitchen and I signal to Tony that he should push the door to.

"Grandad. A letter came to the school for you. I didn't want to say anything in front of Grandma as it is marked 'Private and Confidential'."

"Probably wise. Any idea what it's about?"

I shake my head.

"Where is it?"

"Upstairs, in my room."

Of course Tony has to comment. "If he can find it!"

Grandad just smiles. "Right, I'd better get back out there. Before she comes to see if she is missing owt."

Tony and I put the plates and dishes by the sink. We, mostly Tony, have washed up all the cooking pots and mixing bowls as we went along but there will still be plenty to do after the meal.

When Tony and I go back out to join the others, I carry the tray with the afters on it.

"Kiwi Slime Pie," I say as I hand them round.

"Not 'Key Lime Pie' then," Dad remarks as he looks at the plate in front of him.

"Not a pie either," I reply. "Since I have used these waffle baskets instead of pastry cases."

"What's the filling?" Grandma asks.

"Custard stiffened with lime jelly and a slice of kiwi on top. The glaze is more lime jelly."

"That was all very nice, dear," says Grandma when we have all finished. "You'll have to give me your recipes. Especially the meatballs in sauce."

Grandad and Dad both look at me as if to say 'Don't bother. It'd be a disaster." Is it that bad that Dad remembers from when he lived with his parents?

Grandad gets in first before I can answer.

"These lads must have worked hard in t' kitchen. Lass, how about you help with the washing up and make some coffee? While I get our cases out of the car and upstairs."

Mum and Grandma take the hint, clear the table and disappear into the kitchen. Grandad turns to Dad.

"Lad, here's my keys." He hands Dad his car keys. "Can you get the cases, please? I've got some business upstairs with these two." Dad is about to turn for the door when Grandad stops him. "And don't say anything to them in there!" He hooks his thumb towards the kitchen. "If they finish before we come down, get'em gossipin' or watching telly or summat."

Grandad ushers Tony and me to the stairs and follows us into my room. He shuts the door.

"Before we start," he says. "That sauce on t'meatballs was wick wi' garlic. Just how much did you put in?"

"I didn't put any in! But Tony put in nearly a full head."

"On your instructions," Tony protests.

"And he put the rest in the meatballs and the saffron sauce." I add in full confession.

"Right," Grandad says after he has absorbed that information. "What's this about a letter?"

I find it on my desk and hand it to him. I also pass him a pair of scissors to help slit it open.

Grandad carefully studies the envelope — both sides — as if searching for clues about the contents or the sender. Satisfied there is nothing more to be learnt, he inserts one blade of the scissors under the corner of the flap and uses it to split open the top edge. Before pulling out the contents he hands the scissors back to me.

Grandad checks the inside top edges of the envelope in case there is anything written there before he finally pulls out the letter. He unfolds the top third of the sheet and starts reading.

We can't see what it says, as Tony and I are leaning our bums on the edge of my desk and Grandad is facing us. Something makes him frown. But then he reaches in and pulls something up from between the fold of the lower part of the letter. We can't see what though, as it is hidden by the letter.

I look up at Grandad's face to see his reaction. He's gone pale.

"Grandad? Do you want to sit down?" I ask as I push my typist chair towards him. He sinks onto it with his hand holding the letter close against his chest. He doesn't say anything. That has me worried. I reach down to take the letter from his hand but his grip is too tight. Yet his hand feels cold to the touch. Looking into his face I see his eyes are watering as though he is about to cry.

"Grandad, are you alright?" He stares back at me as though he doesn't believe what he is seeing. "You look as though you have seen a ghost."

He sobs then I finally get an answer from him. "I think, maybe I have," he says before sobbing again.

"Shall I go and fetch your dad?" Tony asks me quietly.

"Yes, please." I reply then think of something else. "You'd better ask him to bring the whisky and a glass as well."

"Make that four glasses." Grandad mumbles. "He'll need a drink when he sees that letter and so will you two."

Tony leaves the room to go find Dad.

"I'll be alright in a minute," Grandad says. "But come closer and let me give you a hug. I need to know that you are real."

In spite of his strange turn of phrase, I do as requested and we embrace each other for a few moments.

"Grief is a funny thing," he remarks. "It sneaks up and washes over you when you're not expecting it. Even years after the event."

"So what prompted it?"

"I'll explain when Tony and your dad get back." He straightens and holds up the letter where he can see it. "In the meantime I'd better finish reading this."

Dad and Tony come into the room with a bottle and four glasses.

"Before you ask," Dad says. "They're ensconced in front of the telly, engrossed in some thriller. They didn't even notice me get the bottle out of the cupboard.

"Now what's up with you, Dad? Tony says you looked like you'd seen a ghost."

"In a way, I have. 'Ere, read this." Grandad hands the letter and its enclosure to Dad before signing to Tony to pass the bottle and a glass. He pours himself a decent measure then takes a swig. He coughs on the spirit but it brings colour back into his face.

Meanwhile Dad has unfolded the letter and looks at the enclosure which I now can see is a photograph. It is Dad's turn to look shocked.

"That's Cousin John," he murmurs.

"Exactly! Now do you understand what I meant about seeing a ghost?" Dad nods his agreement. "You look like you could do with some of this," says Grandad, as he holds the whisky bottle out to Dad. "Get some then finish reading the letter."

"Who's Cousin John?" Tony asks me, while Dad does as he's been told.

"Dad's cousin who was killed for being gay. I told you about him after Dad and I had found a photo of him in their wedding album in the loft. It was the same time we found that joke book he kept when he was at school."

After reading the letter, Dad wipes his eye and blows his nose.

"Best let the lads read it too," Grandad remarks when he sees Dad has finished.

Dad passes the letter to me, then pours himself another whisky. He also pours a small measure into the two remaining glasses and adds a splash of water to each from the jug I always have on my night stand.

"You'll probably need this," he says as he hands us each a glass. "Strictly for medicinal purposes. Treat it with respect. You've not had spirits before."

Clutching our glasses, Tony and I sit on my bed so that we can read the letter together.

There are the usual addresses for sender and recipient, and date. The sender then introduces himself before continuing:

'… We have never met so you have no reason to remember me; however I feel that you will remember my partner for the last twelve years: Chris Royds. I regret that I have to inform you that Chris passed away suddenly in August. It has been a shock to all who knew him.

"Chris always spoke of you with great respect, and was forever grateful for your help and support after his former partner, John, was killed. He said it represented love in the truest sense of the word. He told me that John's parents were supportive while John was alive. However after he was killed, they would have no contact. You would be the one to help Chris understand that in their grief John's parents blamed their relationship for his death even though they acknowledged Chris was not personally responsible.'

That hurts.

I take a sip of the whisky. It burns as it goes down but brings me round enough to continue reading. Next to me, I feel Tony shudder and glimpse him lower his glass. The letter is affecting him as well.

'Chris also told me that John was close to his cousin, but at the time your son was pre-occupied with his wife and new baby." That must mean me. "You understood and stepped into the breach. May I thank you one last time on Chris' behalf?'

I think it shows something that the author felt he wanted to write to Grandad. I take another sip of whisky before I press on.

'You will appreciate that I have to dispose of Chris' personal effects. I felt that you might like to have the enclosed photograph. It is probably the last picture of John and was taken by Chris a couple of months before John died.

'When Chris moved in with me, I found it as we were clearing his old place. At first he wanted to destroy it as he was starting a new chapter in his life, but I persuaded him to keep it as John was still a part of who Chris was even though he was no longer with us.'

There is a paragraph describing how the writer met Chris and another including good wishes to Grandad and his family before he signs off.

"What a nice letter. Sad, though," I remark after a moments reflection — and another swig of my drink.

Tony agrees before asking to see the photo. Dad passes it to him.

He takes one look then turns to me. "He looks just like you," he remarks

"Exactly!" Grandad exclaims. "And you, Tony, are a dead ringer for how I remember Chris. Is it any wonder I thought I was seeing ghosts?"

"I didn't meet him very often, but you're right, Dad. Tony does look a lot like Chris." I can tell Dad is still affected by the letter and his father's comments.

"How old would Cousin John be in this photo? I ask because he doesn't look any older than he did in your wedding album."

"I guess about four or five years older than you," Dad replies. "He never seemed to look more than fifteen."

Grandad picks up on my comment. "Have you still got your wedding album?" he asks Dad.

"It's in the loft."

Grandad wants to see the pictures of John so I get sent to find it. Good job I can remember which case it is in.

When I get back to my room, we all sit on my bed, with Tony and me between Dad and Grandad as we flick through the album. Grandad gives me the occasional hug and I can tell Dad is doing the same to Tony.

There are some group photos. Grandad points to some figures in the back row of one.

"There," he says. "That's John and the lad next to him is Chris."

"I had forgotten that Chris had come with John to the wedding," Dad remarks.

I have a closer look at the picture. Yes, Chris does look uncannily like Tony.

We turn a few more pages before Grandad asks if it would be possible for him to have copies of the ones with John and Chris.

"Scan them and email 'em, please. That way there's no chance of her downstairs seeing 'em."

We flick through to the end of the album.

"If you've finished," says Dad. "We'd better get downstairs before the women come looking for us. Their programme should be finishing soon. I don't want to have to explain any of this to them." He waves a hand around indicating the letter, photo and wedding album.

"Good thinking, lad. We'll reconvene in kitchen." Grandad picks up the whisky bottle. "Best not forget this," he adds.

We are just in time. Mum and Grandma come into the kitchen almost as soon as we have got settled.

Grandma sniffs the air and glares at the whisky glass in Grandad's hand.

"If you've been on the whisky, I suppose you'll be snoring your head off all night!"

Grandad mutters his reply. "No worse than you, lass. No worse than you."

Grandma is last down to breakfast in the morning.

She gives me and Tony a funny look. What's that about? Surely not because Grandad had a whisky or two last night? Mind you she was right. You could hear him snoring all through the house.

She keeps giving us the eye until Tony goes with Dad to fetch Aunt Doris. Dad will drop him home on the way.

Even then I feel I am in her bad books for some reason. Has she realised about the garlic in the meal last night?

I find out the reason, when I overhear her talking to Aunt Doris while I am laying the table for lunch.

"…as I was going to the bathroom this morning, the door was open and I could see into his room. I could tell those two boys must have slept together. It's not right!"

"Oh! Don't be such a prude, Enid! Live and let live!" Aunt Doris' tone is totally dismissive. The old girl isn't so bad after all! And I thought she was the one who might object to me having a boyfriend.

Grandad weighs in.

"Get over it, woman! Anyways, you shouldn't have been nebbin'. I were last down before you. That door was shut when I went past and you know it!" He sounds really pissed off with Grandma. She must have been twittering at him all morning.

The atmosphere in the house gets back to normal when, after lunch, the grands leave for Sheffield taking Aunt Doris home on their way.

The three of us are in the room together, relaxing and having a cup of tea.

"Your mother was being difficult this weekend," Mum remarks to Dad.

"She was being a bit 'Jekyll and Hyde'," Dad concedes. "She has always been a bit like that."

"So nothing to do with it being Halloween then?" I say.

When I hear Dad grump and Mum snigger, I know I have won the points.

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