guest.’
Grandad’s eyes widened and a smile appeared on his face for the first time since Nan’s bin bag dump-and-go visit. It felt good seeing that smile. I was saving my beloved Grandad Ray. No one threw away my Grandad Ray.
GRANDADS ARE FOR LIFE, NOT JUST CHRISTMAS.
‘Yes! I thought you’d never ask!’ replied Grandad eagerly. He smoothed back his coiffured hair with the silver comb he always carried in his back pocket. ‘I guess if you wanted, I could sing …’ he said, and produced a list of songs he had apparently made on the off-chance I ever invited him on to the show.
‘That would be amazing!’ I replied. Grandad would be our first live-music guest.
By now, Dad had come out to the shed and must’ve overheard my offer. I saw him give me a worried look, raise his eyebrows and sigh. I ignored him. ‘Come to the shed, our studio, after dinner and we will get you on air,’ I said to Grandad.
‘Right ho! I’ll bring my best stories.’
As it started to get dark outside, I went back down to the shed to get the studio ready for that night’s special guest show. I was testing my microphone when Artie and Holly came in.
‘Hey, guess what – you know my grandad has come to stay?’
‘The one with the big hair, and cowboy boots? Used to sing on cruise ships?’ asked Holly.
‘Yeah, that’s him – Grandad Ray.’ I doubt many other grandads fit that profile. ‘Anyway, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited him on the show today.’
‘Cool, that certainly should be fun,’ said Artie, unpacking his vinyl records for the music on the show.
I put us on air and the MIC LIVE sign glowed red, meaning we were broadcasting to the world. But mainly the kids at my school. Midway through our first live link, Grandad came flying in through the shed door, kicking it aside with one of his cowboy boots. It slammed against some paint pots and one fell off the shelf on to the floor.
‘HERE I AM!’ he shouted. The smell of his aftershave immediately made us start coughing. He had to duck through the shed door to make room for the hair that followed him. The cowboy boots made him taller, adding to the extra height of the hair. His quiff caught a cobweb, or did the cobweb catch a quiff?
‘Erm, this is my Grandad Ray, listeners,’ I explained.
‘Heyyyyyy, all you dudes out there, how you doing?’ Grandad Ray said in a deep fake American voice. Who was he trying to be, a Texan cowboy DJ?
I leaned into the mic. ‘He’s staying with us at the moment—’
‘Yeah, and I’ll tell you why I’m currently sleeping in my grandson’s bedroom. My wife doesn’t understand me and my talents and now she’s thrown me out … Diane, what have you done?’
Holly watched, her mouth wide open. She needed to be careful she didn’t catch one of our resident spiders in it. I don’t think she’d ever seen a grandad like mine. But he was only just getting started.
‘Only a woman can take your heart and then rip it out, RIP IT RIGHT OUT I tell you, and then stamp on it, STAMP ON IT! … And then make you eat it. I hope that evil bug-eyed wit—’
‘Grandad, that’s my nan!’ I interrupted. Sure, he was upset and angry, but no one wants to hear their grandad call their nan an ‘evil bug-eyed witch’. I mean, she didn’t even own a broom.
Grandad jumped to his feet. His massive hair collected another cobweb. Maybe his hairspray was attracting them like Velcro. He pulled the microphone close to his mouth and started to sing. It was some old song about having a broken heart. His eyes remained closed for the entire song. We watched in shock and awe.
‘Whaaaaat becoooooooooommmmeeeeesss of the broken-hearted …’ crooned Grandad. Everyone was getting the full Grandad Ray experience tonight.
When he finally finished the last verse of his moving performance we all burst into applause, which, in fairness, he had encouraged us to do by means of a cardboard sign he’d made with ‘APPLAUSE’ written on it in black marker pen.
I played a song.
When the MIC LIVE light went off, Artie spoke first. ‘You have a great voice, and what a great song choice, sir. I love Motown.’
‘You know Motown music, Arnie?’ asked Grandad.
‘It’s ArT-ie, and yes I love all the old classics,’ answered Artie.
‘Great to see the younger generation appreciating vinyl – you and me are going to get along like a shed on fire,’ said Grandad.
Immediately, he and Artie began an in-depth discussion of the label’s greatest hits. United in a love for Artie’s old vinyl collection. Bonding over music. I smiled, seeing Grandad so happy again.
Then we were back on air, not that the MIC LIVE flashing light made any difference to Grandad Ray’s volume control.
‘It’s the Secret Shed Show and Radio Boy here with the gang and our special guest, my Grandad Ray. Grandad, why don’t you tell everyone about what you used to do?’
‘Well, I was a professional singer. My stage name was Toni Fandango.’
Holly burst out laughing when she heard the name.
‘Something funny, girl?’ said Grandad, in a dangerous tone.
Oh no.
‘I wouldn’t be laughing if I had ginger hair like that,’ Grandad snapped back. Looking around the shed for laughter. He got none.
Uh-oh. One thing you don’t ever do is take the mickey out of Holly’s ginger hair.
‘Well, at least it’s not dyed with shoe polish,’ Holly fired back.
Grandad Ray looked horrified. Holly glared at him. Sherlock snarled.
‘Right, um, shall we move on?’ I said. ‘So, why the name Toni Fandango?’ I asked, in an effort to stop Holly and Grandad’s hair wars from escalating any further.
‘Well, it was either Toni Fandango or Bobby Gibbon,’ said Grandad.
That set Holly off again. I shot her a look.
‘I was a proper professional singer,’ said Grandad. ‘Played on all the biggest stages.’
‘Wow! That must’ve been so exciting, singing to massive crowds in big arenas,’ said Artie.
‘Yeah, it was. Sometimes it was standing room only in the Kon-Tiki bar on the Caribbean Queen cruise. They said when I sang I made grown men cry and women fall in love with me.’
Holly sighed and rolled her eyes.
‘What happened?’ I asked him.
‘Suddenly they didn’t want an old-timer like me. Showbiz will eat you, then spit you out. Showbiz is a dog that you think is your best friend, then one day it hits you in the face with a shovel and runs you over in your own car.’
‘But dogs can’t drive, Grandad,’ I pointed out.
‘Oh, you know what I mean. Then the only place I could get work was on car ferries. Portsmouth to Cherbourg. No way for a man like me to end up.’
Much to my surprise and Holly’s annoyance, the listeners loved Grandad Ray, aka Toni Fandango. The texts and messages poured in, saying how funny he was. It gave me another idea.
‘Well, I hope you enjoyed the show and thanks for all your messages. Grandad Ray, you were a great special guest. Who thinks Grandad should join the team every week while he’s staying with us?’
‘Yeah! Come on, join us,’ said Artie, Grandad’s new