‘Okay,’ I say, standing up. ‘But I need to go to toilet first.’

Granddad smiles wearily as I walk out into the hall. ‘Oh, Felix,’ he suddenly shouts. ‘While you are up there, can you bring down the knight? I found it yesterday. It’s on the dressing table.’

I stop on the stairs.

‘But it’s in your room, Granddad.’

‘Yes,’ says Granddad. ‘On the dressing table.’

I walk to the top of the stairs. I’ve not been in Granddad’s bedroom since Grandma was ill. I’ve never wanted to.

On the landing, I turn the handle and open the door. The room is dark like the sitting room. I reach for the wall and turn on the light. It illuminates Granddad’s bed, his flowery duvet and pillows, and the machine that Grandma used to make tea to save her getting out of bed in the morning. I take a step, but it feels like I shouldn’t be here. I look across the room and see the knight on the edge of the dressing table in front of the window.

I walk towards it. A floorboard creaks and Granddad’s wardrobe door slowly opens. It smells old, like little bits of Granddad’s aftershave mixed with Grandma’s scent. I peer inside. All I can see is Granddad’s shirts and jackets and his long coats, then a flash of something pink. I reach inside and gently pull the hangers apart. Between Granddad’s suits are three of Grandma’s flowery pink dresses. I thought Mum had taken them all to the charity shop. I remember Grandma was wearing one of them the last time I went with her to town. I kept on at her to take me to McDonald’s for a Creme Egg McFlurry and she gave in and had one too. We sat at a table by a window and watched people walking by for ages. She said she would always remember it, and I will too, because my McFlurry tasted of her rose perfume.

As I go to close the door, I spot a box file peeking out between Granddad’s shiny shoes. On top of it is The Little Prince, the book Grandma was reading when Granddad first met her, and the book she used to read to me. I pick it up and flick through it, see the picture of the little prince standing on a mountain. As I turn each page I can hear Grandma’s soft voice reading to me, and the pages seem to smell of her. I swallow hard. I miss my grandma loads. If I read any more I think I’ll cry and Granddad will wonder what’s wrong.