‘Learning about chess, of course.’ Granddad puts a piece of bread in his mouth.

‘Still learning, Granddad,’ I say. ‘When are we actually going to play a game?’

‘I am thinking this will be soon.’ Granddad picks up his glass. For a moment I think he might be smiling, but it could just be his lips looking wonky through the water.

‘But it’s been ages, Granddad,’ I say.

I wait for him to reply, but all he does is chew food and drink water. Practising all the time is so frustrating. It’s like driving a thousand practice laps in Forza without actually being able to race.

I cut another piece of meat and put it in my mouth. Granddad suddenly puts his knife and fork down and asks, ‘Can you see the board?’

‘What, Granddad?’

‘Can you see the board?’

‘Yes.’ I nod at the cheeseboard. ‘Why? Do you want it?’

‘No, not that one! The chessboard in here.’ He taps the side of my head with his finger.

‘What?’ My jaw drops. ‘How did you know I see chessboards?’

‘Because I put them there, just like my father did to me. Now, can you see it?’

‘But we’re eating.’

Granddad raises his eyebrows.

‘All right,’ I say. I stare ahead at the wall and concentrate. ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I can see it.’

‘And if you look at the table, you can still see it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. So where is your fork?’

‘It’s here.’ I pick up my fork.

‘No. What square is it on?’

‘Umm . . . c1?’

‘Ah. One moment, I am thinking I need to recalibrate my board.’ Granddad closes his eyes then opens them again like a shutter on a camera. ‘That is better,’ he says. ‘It’s like synchronizing watches – we have to start in the same place. We have to see the same thing. But yes, I see your fork is at c1 . . . And your knife?’

‘f1?’

‘Yes. This is good. They are your bishops. Now take your plate out of the way.’

I move my plate to the end of the table. Granddad does the same, then hands me the jars of pickle and mustard.

‘Put them between your bishops,’ he says. ‘The pickle is your queen and the mustard is your king.’

I laugh.

‘Right.’ Granddad hands me a bread roll. ‘Rip it into eight little pieces and roll them between your palms, like this.’ He shows me a piece of bread that he’s now rolled into a ball the same size as a marble. ‘These are your pawns! We have eight each.’

I break my roll into eight pieces. This is weird, but I can’t stop myself smiling as I place the balls of bread in a line in front of my mustard and pickle.