Writing for Fun
September 2016
Granddad - Gerry Miller
Fred knew he was a grandparent, but he felt youthful and was certainly not bald or crotchety yet. Mind you that new lodger of his was certainly doing his best to age him. Fred had only taken him in as a favour to his granddaughter Penny, she had begged and pleaded saying Joe wanted somewhere quiet to stay, so he could catch up on his art projects and the old shepherd’s cottage was ideal. Finally weakening on a bright May day Joe moved in. Easels, paint, canvases, rags and a sleeping bag with a garden chair soon filled the small space. Fred supplied a small camping stove and bucket so the outside loo could be flushed with water.
Joe was an arrogant so called mature student and what Penny saw in him Fred had no idea, never mind the age difference, he appeared totally idle. Fred watched him going out early and coming back late. Fred asked him to keep to the tracks but could see new tracks across the fields. Did Joe think he was blind? Fred was becoming angrier and decided he might have to speak to Penny about him but first he would have to do some checking, something felt wrong. The next morning bright and early he scoured the hillsides, he could see where Joe had lain in various places spying on Fred around the farm. The next day Fred placing a small bottle in his coat pocket, a gun in his under arm holster was out over the hills before Joe even stirred. Taking the backroads into a small town he left the Landrover in the multi storey.
Ten minutes later he had walked through the town out on the ring road and hitched a ride to Birmingham. Dropped on the outskirts he thanked the lorry driver and finding the nearest phone box, rang an old number that came to him instantly. The first call relied on favours, but the Ulstermen owed him big time, shortly an incoming call gave him another number. This next call consisted of only three words ‘Doppelganger’ and ‘Black Bull’. The phone went dead and Fred meandered into the city, sat in the Black Bull and relished his pint of Guinness gazing out of the window. He looked round as someone sat on the chair opposite; a glass of coke was placed on the table. Looking up Fred heaved a deep sigh, his contact looked about twelve. ‘Must be like policemen,’ he thought ‘The older you get the younger they look.’
Fred spoke quietly and quickly and all he knew about Joe was passed over, the young man stood said ‘Three thirty’ and left. Fred followed skilfully trailing the Cokeman, he watched as he checked to see if he was being followed. Fred tutted, ‘Sloppy Work’ knowing full well he wasn’t spotted. Above the large chemists in the main street was a modern office block and Fred watched him enter. A man came out and returned shortly with a car. Cokeman and a colleague were driven off. Fred crossed over and read the list of occupiers. ‘Good grief,’ Fred muttered, how pathetic they had all become, he clearly wanted the top floor, the company trading there was called ‘Republican
Transit!’ The lift moved silently as Fred was whisked up to the sixth floor, the doors opened and he faced an empty reception desk. To the left was a door marked Brendan O’Shea Director. Deciding to give a brief knock an old familiar voice called out ‘Enter’. Fred knew his answer the minute his twin brother looked up shock and fear spreading across his face. Fred started to shout, ‘You could not leave me alone could you? I’ve not been a bother, I suppose this is your idea of clearing up so called lose ends. Why have you sought me out? I thought this matter was over.’ Fred’s ulster accent was returning as he watched Brendan.
His brother stammered, ‘Paddy how did you find me?’ Fred was shaken, it was such a long time since he had heard his birth name, a history buried for almost a lifetime.
‘That was the easy part, what I choose to do now is the hard bit,’ he replied.
Paddy watched as his alter ego squirmed, why they had to come after him that he failed to understand. As he prowled the office he just barked, ‘Talk.’ He listened quietly as his wonderful brother spoke about updates in DNA testing and how it had identified his involvement in the Northern Ireland Troubles. Paddy was flabbergasted watching as his very own brother tried to save his neck, he was fidgeting with the small bottle in his pocket.
Paddy felt his neck veins bulging as his brother spoke such garbage. ‘We both know it was you and that’s why I left and gave up our whole family. Why do you think I was at none of the funerals, why do you think I did not visit Da in hospital? You were always scum, the lowest of the low but our mum loved you her most favourite twin.’ Paddy was now menacingly calm. ‘I knew she would lie to save you.’ His speech sounding so harsh caused Brendan to whiten.
Paddy stood up again pacing to and fro, his twin was starting to relax, after all they were brothers! Paddy moved across from Brendan and sitting down again threw the small bottle across the table. It rolled to a standstill and Brendan picked it up and stared. He looked at Paddy and then finally noticed his brother was pointing a gun at him. Paddy finally spoke, he had just been staring quietly and said, ‘Well the hard way or the easy way and it’s certainly more than the chance you would have given me?’ All bluster and resistance was gone from Brendan and quietly he reached for the water glass. Opening the bottle he poured the tablets into his mouth and gulped the water down.
Paddy sank back in the chair watching said to Brendan, ‘Ten minutes.’ His brother nodded and slowly his eyes started to roll, his mouth started to froth and his breathing shortened. Paddy reflected back on their childhood watching and waiting with his brother until he died. Finally his brother’s eyes rolled backwards and his breathing stopped. Standing up he slowly walked back round the desk. Reaching over he kissed Brendan gently on the head. In Brendan’s hand he wrote a short note saying he couldn’t cope with the stress knowing the police were but a short time away. Then for sure the IRA would send in the execution squad, they would not risk him talking.
Paddy peered carefully into the corridor and was gone in a flash, down the stairs and back out to his own life. It took some time to get to the ring road and hitch a return lift. But finally he drove from the car park, Fred was back and Paddy was gone, returning home cross country the wind blew gently and in a soft Irish lilt Danny Boy echoed out across the hills.
Later that night Fred went down to see Joe, such an obnoxious Napoleonic twerp with all the hall marks of an undercover worker. It took such a short while to hear everything from Joe confirming he had used Penny to get close enough to spy on Fred. Sighing loudly he told Joe that was unforgiveable and so it was inevitable Joe could not to be forgiven. The pigs ate a hearty meal that night and by morning Joe was gone. His belongings, including the bike, were loaded into the Landrover and sent with the gun to the bottom of the water filled quarry.
Over the next week Penny’s calls became more and more frantic but all Fred could say was that he had not seen Joe. Whilst he stayed in the shepherd’s hut Fred told her he had been out every day and displayed no intention of working. Finally Penny came out to the farm and they both went down to the hut. Fred’s conscience had a slight twinge as Penny broke into floods of tears realising Joe had cleared out and left her. All that remained was the tin bucket and the small camping stove.
Fred comforted her all he could, but with a certainty that short belligerent twerp would have been no good for her. But for Penny he would be a hole in her heart for a little while yet.