Granddad winces as he pushes the gearstick again.

‘Should have bought an automatic!’ he says. He seems to be getting louder and madder the closer we get to home. I think maybe he’s had a bad day with his diabetes. When his sugar levels go weird it makes him short-tempered, or maybe he really is getting fed up with picking me up early. Maybe he’s getting bored of picking me up full stop. I don’t like it when he looks tired and he looks tired a lot since Grandma died. I told him once that he didn’t have to, that I would walk home with Jake. He said he’d promised, but I’m not sure if he meant he’d promised Grandma or me.

As we drive past the shops I think about what I can do for the rest of the afternoon. I don’t like being sent home because it makes the teachers annoyed with me and Mum and Dad mad. But it did get me out of double English and Romeo and Juliet! I’ll have to catch up, but it’s hard when I’m already behind. Last term I tried to catch up in the holidays, but it’s like starting a race after the starter gun has gone. All I want to do now is go up the tree and wait for Jake to come home. Or I could just play Angry Birds, but Granddad took my phone off me yesterday evening when he discovered me playing it behind my maths book.

I glance across at him. We’re now past the chip shop and his grumpiness is making me nervous. It gets even worse when we’re stuck in traffic at the lights. I wish the school hadn’t bothered him. If only I’d sat still and not said anything about a wig.

‘Granddad,’ I say cautiously. ‘Have I made you miss the snooker on TV?’

He stares at the lights.

‘Granddad.’ I lean forward to get his attention. ‘I’m sorry I made you miss the snooker.’

‘What’s that?’ Granddad blinks like I’ve just woken him up.

‘I said, I’m sorry if you missed the snooker.’

‘Ha!’ He shakes his head. ‘I am not caring about snoooka! I just care about the things going on in there!’ He takes his hand off the steering wheel and raps his knuckles on my head. ‘Now, let’s get back to base.’

He knocks my head again. Grandma used to tell him not to do it. He’d tell her he was only messing. He is, but he doesn’t know how much it hurts.

I rub the spot as tears well in my eyes.

I love my granddad and I think he loves me, but sometimes it’s hard to tell.

Teatime in Germany