‘I know,’ says Granddad. ‘I know. And now you know everything. Why I kept it secret for so long, why I keep the curtains closed, why I could not play chess for sixty years. Not until now . . . with you.’

‘So why did you suddenly want to teach me?’ I ask. ‘After all this time?’

‘Because I realized something . . . something your grandma said before she died. I realized what she meant.’ He nods at the picture of Grandma on the mantelpiece.

‘What did she say, Granddad?’

‘That we should always share our loves with the people we love.’

Granddad moves his fingers to the middle of the picture of the commander and slowly tears it in half, then tears it again, and again. I don’t know what to say. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for him to have been locked away from his friends, never allowed out. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to run away and never see your dad again.

I want to tell him I’m sorry about what he had to do; I want to tell him I’m sorry for thinking he was the commander. How could I have thought such a terrible thing?

I open my mouth.

‘Granddad, I . . . I’m . . .’ I only have to say two words, but my throat is so tight that the second one won’t come out.

Granddad wraps his arms around my shoulders.

‘It is okay,’ he says, hugging me. ‘Sometimes it is okay to say nothing.’

‘I know, Granddad, but I just want to say sorry.’

Granddad rests his head against mine. ‘You don’t have to say sorry,’ he says. ‘You have made me happy for the first time in a very long time. I have loved playing chess with you, but most importantly I have loved having you here with me.’

‘I’ve loved it too, Granddad.’

‘What, even me picking you up in Grandma’s pink car?’ He lets go of me. ‘It’s okay – maybe I will park further away from now on.’

I laugh as I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. ‘Maybe,’ I say.

Granddad closes the box slowly, then picks up my trophy. The silver flashes against his face as he turns it round. ‘It’s a splendid thing,’ he says. It’s like closing the box means it’s the end of the story, that he doesn’t want to talk about it any more.

Granddad turns the trophy round and reads the engraving. ‘Felix Schopp. National Schools Chess Champion. Yes, that is you,’ he says, smiling. ‘You definitely won.’

‘No, Granddad,’ I say. ‘We both won.’

‘Yes.’ Granddad smiles again. ‘In a funny way, I think we both did.’ I wait for him to say more, but from his huge sigh I think he’s exhausted after telling me his lifetime in one day.

I look up at him.

‘Thanks, Granddad,’ I say.