Peter May - Runaway

‘Nothing, fortunately.’ Jack sighed and sat down in one of the armchairs. ‘Seriously, Rick. You can’t go on like this. Sitting playing computer games in the dark. You said it yourself. You’re not daft. You’ve got an honours degree in maths and computing, for heaven’s sake. You need to get out and get a job.’

Ricky blew contemptuous air through his teeth, and Jack started to get angry.

‘So you’re just going to be a burden on society for the rest of your life?’

He saw Ricky’s hackles rise.

‘I’m not one of those benefits scroungers. I’ve never claimed a penny in my life.’

‘Aye, only because your folks indulge you. Most people on benefits don’t have a choice in the matter. They don’t have honours degrees in anything.’

‘No, they’re just work-shy scroungers and layabouts. Picking up cheques from the government and going and getting their free shopping from the food bank.’

Jack shook his head in disgust. ‘Where’d you hear that? Your father?’

Ricky pressed his lips together and declined to reply, which in itself answered his grandfather’s question.

‘You know nothing, son. Sitting here in my house, with your big TV screen and your computer games, spoiled rotten by pampering parents who fill your head full of nonsense. I’m ashamed of my own daughter. My father, and his before him, must be turning in their graves.’

Ricky’s plump face glowed beetroot red beneath his black curls. ‘And what would you know about anything? Failed at everything you ever did, my dad says. Failed student, failed musician, and forty years behind the counter at a bank. I suppose you must have learned a lot about the world from the other side of a glass screen.’

Sometimes words said in anger carry hurt beyond real intention, and Ricky was just being defensive, Jack knew. But words meant to cause pain very often do so because they express a truth that the conventions of politeness avoid. Jack had spent a lifetime avoiding what he knew only too well. But, still, it was almost painful beyond hurt to have it thrown in his face by his own grandson.

If Ricky had any remorse he wasn’t showing it. He turned surly instead. Perhaps as a way of concealing his regret.

‘And why do you keep calling me Rick ? It’s Ricky !’

Jack had always called his grandson Rick. It seemed fonder, somehow.

‘Anyway, what are you doing here? You know my folks are out all day.’

Jack took a few moments to calm himself. ‘I didn’t come to see your parents.’

The hint of a frown gathered faintly around Ricky’s brows. He glanced at his grandfather, but was reluctant now to meet his eye.

Jack said, ‘Maybe you heard about the time I ran away when I was a kid? Me and the rest of the boys in my group.’

Ricky sighed. ‘Once or twice.’ He lifted his games controller from the seat beside him and pretended to be fiddling with it. ‘Probably the only interesting thing you ever did in your life.’

‘Aye, well, I was five years younger than you when I did it. And you still haven’t done anything interesting.’

Time to hurt back. And the jibe didn’t miss its mark. He saw Ricky’s lips pale as he drew them in. But the boy said nothing. Jack let a silence hang between them for a while, like the motes of dust suspended in the sunlight falling through the window.

Finally he said, ‘So, anyway, we’re doing it again.’

Ricky flicked sullen eyes in his direction. ‘Doing what?’

‘Running away to London. Those of us who are left, that is.’

Ricky forgot his sulk and his eyes opened wider. ‘Running away? At your age? Why would you do that?’

Jack shrugged. ‘Unfinished business, son.’ Then he hesitated. ‘Only thing is... we’ve no transport.’

Suddenly Ricky realized why his grandfather was there. He breathed his annoyance. ‘No!’ he said firmly. ‘You’re not borrowing my car.’

And the way he was so possessive about ownership of it made Jack wonder if he realized just how lucky he was to have parents who not only tolerated his lethargy, but who spoiled him by buying him his own wheels. Not a new car, admittedly. A second-hand Nissan Micra. But wheels nonetheless.

‘I don’t want to borrow it.’

Which momentarily took the wind out of the boy’s sails.

‘I want to borrow you to drive it for us.’

Ricky’s eyes opened wider. ‘You’re having a laugh, right?’

‘No, I’m serious. Just for a few days. A week at the most. We’ll pay you for the petrol.’

‘No. Way.’ A long pause. ‘And anyway, my folks would never let me.’

‘You’re twenty-two years old, Ricky.’

‘You don’t know my dad.’

‘Oh, I think I do.’

‘He’d never let me in a million years. Particularly if it was a favour to you.’

Jack pursed his lips, containing his anger.

‘So there’s no point in even asking. He wouldn’t hear of it.’

Which was Ricky’s way of deflecting personal responsibility.

Jack sighed. He hadn’t wanted to do this. ‘I think he would be even less pleased to hear about those websites you visit when they’re both asleep.’

Ricky blushed to the roots of his hair. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Jack shook his head. ‘Look, son, I might be old, but I’m not daft. I was working with computers before you were born. And you don’t spend nearly two years sharing the same house with someone without knowing the kind of websites they frequent. You were careful enough around your folks. But I was just some stupid old man. Invisible. What would I know?’ Jack let that sink in. ‘All those videos of naked women with... well, how can I put it delicately? A little something extra?’

If it was possible, Ricky’s colour deepened. ‘I was just surfing, that’s all!’ he said, but his voice was trembling with embarrassment and uncertainty, and he added lamely, ‘I was curious.’

Jack spread his hands in front of him, and made a face of resignation. ‘I know that, Rick. Young men... well, they have to explore a little before they know what it is that suits them. And I’m not saying that’s what suits you. In fact, I’m not here to judge you at all. All I’m saying is, I’m not sure your dad would be so understanding.’ He waited a beat before turning the knife. ‘Or your mother.’

Ricky closed his eyes. ‘I’m not! I mean... I’m not like that.’

‘Of course you’re not.’

Jack almost felt sorry for him. The boy was clinically obese. He never set foot over the door, except for his Friday afternoon visits to his grampa. When was he ever going to get a girl who wasn’t made of pixels, whether she had something extra or not? He saw the slump of his grandson’s shoulders.

‘When?’

‘Tonight.’

Ricky took a deep breath. ‘We’re not telling my dad. Or my mum. Alright? They’d only stop me from doing it. We’ll just go.’

Jack nodded. ‘We can leave them a note on your pillow, son. And don’t worry about it, they’ll blame me. Everyone always does.’

When he got back from the medical supplies store in Shawlands, Jack put a holdall on his bed and began filling it with enough socks and underwear to last him a week. He figured a couple of days to get there, a couple of days to get back, and three days in London to do whatever it was Maurie had to do.

And yet he couldn’t shake off the feeling that somehow he was packing for the last time, and that it didn’t really matter what he put in the holdall, he was never going to need it. All in stark contrast to the thoughtless optimism with which he had packed his bag fifty years ago, almost to the day. Then, the future had stretched ahead into unforeseeable distance, full of optimism and possibility. The notion of running out of socks had never even occurred to him.