I follow her out into the hall.

‘I’ll go and get it,’ she says. ‘But only so he’ll eat. Just sit with him and make sure he’s all right while I’m gone.’

‘But, Mum,’ I whisper. ‘He’s acting really weird.’

‘He’s just a bit confused after coming out of hospital,’ she says. ‘But I will phone Dad so he knows.’

She opens the front door and walks down the path.

I turn round and walk slowly towards the sitting room. I stop. Granddad’s chair is empty. All that’s left is his tray on the floor. I walk in to see if he’s peering through the curtains.

‘Has she gone?’

‘What, Granddad?’ I spin round and see Granddad sitting at the dining table. ‘Granddad,’ I say. ‘What are you doing?’

He opens up the chess set.

‘Come on, your mother has been driving me mad! I’ve been waiting for you to come over all day!’

‘But . . . I thought . . . Granddad, you’re supposed to be ill!’

‘I was . . .’ Granddad grins. ‘I mean, I am, but you’ve the finals tomorrow.’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Then take your blazer off and let’s play.’

Worms in My Belly

‘Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?’ Mum’s standing in the kitchen with a concerned look, like when Leo, my gerbil, died. ‘Because we’d like to,’ she continues. ‘Dad said he’s cleared the day.’

‘Has he? Have you?’ I say, surprised as Dad walks in. He’s not taken a day off since Christmas.

‘Yes, matey,’ he says. ‘The whole day.’

‘See, think yourself lucky,’ says Mum, smoothing down the lapels on my blazer, ‘he didn’t even do that for our tenth wedding anniversary.’

‘Well, I tried,’ Dad says sheepishly. ‘But Rovers were in the playoff finals at Wembley.’

‘Mmm.’ Mum gives him a look like she still hasn’t forgiven him. ‘Anyway.’ She stops smoothing my blazer to straighten my tie. ‘I think we should come.’

‘No, Mum,’ I say. ‘You really don’t have to. I’ll be fine and I know you’re both busy.’

‘Okay,’ she says, smiling. ‘But this time, win or lose, when you get back we are definitely celebrating in Nando’s.’

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I’ll do that . . . but, Mum, that’s too tight.’ I loosen my tie. Mum would normally tell me off for getting stroppy with her, but she just stands there smiling with her head tilted, like when she’s thinking of buying a dress in town.

I glance at Dad and see him smiling too.

‘What?’ I say. ‘What have I done now?’

‘Nothing,’ says Dad.

‘Then why are both acting weird?’

‘We’re not,’ says Mum, edging towards me. ‘We’re just very proud of you.’ She sniffs.

‘Aww, Muuuum,’ I say. ‘You’re not going to cry, are you?’