Mum and Dad gasped and covered their mouths as Grandpa swung like an acrobat from the guttering to the pipe. For a moment all was still as he held on tight at the top. However, his weight must have been too much for the pipe. Suddenly it came loose from the wall and started rapidly bending downwards.
CREAK went the pipe.
Had Jack said the wrong thing? Was he now sending his beloved grandfather hurtling towards the ground?
“NOOOOOOO!” cried the boy.
6
A Runaway Bulldozer
To Jack’s relief, instead of snapping, the church drainpipe bent down slowly under the old man’s weight.
Eventually, it placed him safely on the ground.
As soon as his slippers touched the wet grass of the graveyard, Grandpa marched over to the assembled group and gave them a salute. “Fall out, men.”
Mum looked more than a little offended.
“Wing Commander?” said the boy. “Please let me escort you to your car. We’ll drive you back to your quarters shortly.”
“Jolly good show, old boy,” replied Grandpa.
Jack took him by the arm and led him to the family’s rusty old car. As he opened the door, the handle came clean off. He put his grandfather safely in the back seat and closed the door once more so the old man could get warm on this chilly winter night.
As he ran back across the graveyard, Jack heard Reverend Hogg saying to his parents, “That man isn’t all there! He needs to be locked up…”
“He is fine, thank you very much!” said Jack, jumping in on the conversation.
The vicar looked down at the boy and smiled, baring his teeth like a shark before it takes a bite. Jack watched as a thought seemed to cross the man’s mind. Suddenly the vicar’s tone of voice completely changed. “Mr and Mrs…?” he began again, now sounding kind and caring.
“Bunting,” replied Mum and Dad at the same time.
“Mr and Mrs Bunting, in my many years as vicar, I have brought a great deal of comfort to the old folk of this parish, and I would love to help your elderly relative.”
“Oh, would you?” said Mum, immediately charmed by this slippery fish.
“Yes, Mrs Bunting. In fact, I know an absolutely smashing place he could be sent to. It recently opened after the previous old folk’s home was ACCIDENTALLY demolished by a runaway bulldozer.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jack caught the gravediggers smirking at this. The boy couldn’t put his finger on it exactly, but he felt like something was very wrong here.
“Yes, we read about that in the local paper,” replied Dad. “A runaway bulldozer? Who would have thought it?”
“The good Lord moves in mysterious ways,” replied Reverend Hogg.
“You know what, Mr Vicar?” continued Mum. “I have been saying it to these two until I’ve gone blue in the face. And Jill at the cheese counter agrees.”
“So you work at a cheese counter?” enquired Reverend Hogg. “I thought I could smell Stilton.”
“Yes!” replied Mum. “One of our speciality cheeses. It’s such a beautiful aroma, isn’t it, Mr Vicar? Like perfume really.”
Dad rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, so Jill is of the same mind,” continued Mum again. “An old folk’s home would be the best place for him.”
Jack looked at his father and shook his head vigorously, but the man pretended not to notice his son.
“Is it a nice place?” asked Dad.
“Mr Bunting, I wouldn’t be recommending it if it wasn’t,” purred the vicar. “It’s better than nice. It’s like Disneyland for old people. The only problem is, it’s so popular…”
“Is it?” asked Dad, now also completely sucked in by the man’s patter.
“Yes, it’s very hard to get a place,” said Reverend Hogg.
“Well, that’s settled then,” said Jack. “He can’t go anyway.”
The vicar continued without pausing for breath. “Fortunately I know the matron who runs the place rather well. Lovely woman Miss Swine, and rather attractive I am sure you will agree when you meet her. If you wanted I could ask her if your dear old grandpa could jump the queue.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr Vicar,” said Mum.
“What’s this place called?” asked Dad.
“Twilight Towers,” replied Reverend Hogg. “It’s not far from here. Just on the edge of the moors. I could call Miss Swine now and ask one of my boys here to run him up there tonight, if you like…?” The vicar indicated his burly gang of gravediggers.
“That would save us the bother,” agreed Mum.
“NO!” protested Jack.
Dad tried to steer the family towards a middle ground. “Well, thank you so much, vicar, we’ll have a think about it.”
“No, we won’t!” protested Jack. “My grandpa’s never going into a home! NEVER!”
With that Dad started ushering his wife and son towards the car where Grandpa had been waiting patiently.
But as Jack was trailing behind, and just out of earshot of his parents, the vicar turned to him and hissed, “We’ll see about that, young man…”
7
Disneyland for Old People
It was nearly dawn by the time they were all home. Jack managed to convince his parents that it was for the best that Grandpa stayed with the family for the rest of the night, rather than return alone to his flat.
The boy put it in terms he thought his grandfather would understand. “Because of enemy reconnaissance missions in the area, the Air Chief Marshal has ordered you to move quarters.”
Before long, Grandpa was fast asleep on the bottom bunk in the boy’s bedroom, snoring for England.
ZZZzzz! ZZZZZZ!
Zzz! ZZZzz!
The ends of the old man’s moustache blew up and down with each breath.
Unable to sleep, and with his heart still pounding in his chest from the night’s adventure, the boy slid down silently from the top bunk. As was often the case he could hear muffled voices from downstairs and wanted to listen to what his parents were saying. Expertly he opened his bedroom door without making a sound. He sat on the carpet at the top of the stairs, one of his ears pushed between two bannisters.
“Mr Vicar was right,” said Mum. “A home is the best place for him.”
“I’m really not sure, Barbara,” protested Dad. “Grandpa wouldn’t like it.”
“Did you not listen to the nice man? What did Mr Vicar say about Twilight Towers?”
“He said it was like ‘Disneyland for old people’?”
“Exactly! Now I don’t imagine there are rollercoasters or log flumes or someone dressed