David Walliams - Grandpa’s Great Escape

“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…”

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 up as a giant mouse, but it sounds wonderful.”

“But—”

“The vicar is a man of the church! He would never lie!” snapped Mum.

“Maybe it is like he said. But Grandpa’s always been such a free spirit.”

“Yes!” Mum replied with a note of triumph in her voice. “Such a free spirit that we find him up on the church roof in the middle of the night!”

There was silence for a moment. Dad did not have an answer for this.

“Listen, Barry, what else can we do?” continued Mum. “The old man’s becoming a danger to himself. He very nearly fell off that roof and died!”

“I know, I know…” Dad muttered.

“Well?”

“Maybe it is for the best.”

“That’s settled once and for all then. We can drop him off at Twilight Towers tomorrow.”

As Jack listened at the top of the stairs a tear welled in his eye, and rolled very slowly down his cheek.

True to form at breakfast the next morning Grandpa was acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As he sat happily tucking into his fried eggs and bacon in the kitchen of the family home, it was clear that the old man had no memory whatsoever of the past night’s dramatic events.

“More bread! Quickly, please, Charlady, chop chop!” he ordered.

Mum did not appreciate being treated like some kind of servant. ‘Charlady’ was what posh people called their cleaners in the olden days. She looked to her husband to do something, but Dad pretended to read the paper.

Two slices of white bread were slammed down on the table and within a moment Grandpa began mopping up all the grease on his plate.

As he devoured the bread, he announced, “I’ll have the bread fried next time, please, Charlady!”

“Oh, will you now?!” replied Mum sarcastically.

Jack couldn’t help but smile, though he tried to hide it.

The old man slurped his tea, followed by a, “Down the hatch!” Grandpa said that whenever he drank anything.

“Mum, Dad, I’ve been thinking,” announced the boy. “As I was up so late, I think it’s best I don’t go to school today.”

“What?” replied Mum.

“Yes. I can stay here and look after Grandpa. In fact, I should probably take the whole week off!”