Grumpy Grampy

Being lumbered with a small boy was the last thing John needed… or was it?

- Paula Williams

Bye, sweetheart. Be a good boy for Grampy. Love you to the moon and back.”

John winced. There was so much wrong with that on so many levels. For starters, he hated being called Grampy and had lost count of the number of times he’d asked his daughter-in-law, Megan, to refer to him as Grandad instead. To his mind, Grandad sounded a bit more dignified.

Besides, Grampy was too close to Grumpy, which Stella, his wife, thought hilarious. And, she maintained, quite appropriate.

As for “love you to the moon and back” – what was that all about? Megan said it all the time. She was a strange little thing. He never could quite “get” her, which, he supposed was what they said these days.

He just knew he didn’t hold with all her lovey-dovey, kissy-kissy ways. It embarrassed him, if he was honest. Kissy-kissy hello, kissy-kissy goodbye.

But the thing that really got him, worse than the kissy-kissy moon-and back nonsense was this assumption that he wouldn’t mind babysitting the child when their usual minder fell ill. He hadn’t even been asked, for goodness sake. It was Stella who’d said, “John won’t mind.”

But the truth was John did mind. He minded very much indeed. Because the bit of the sentence that remained unsaid but implied was, “After all, it’s not as if he has anything better to do.”

Which was perfectly true. He didn’t have anything better to do, not any more. Apart from the Telegraph crossword. And watching the one o’clock news. He glanced at his watch, then checked to see if it had stopped. Only ten past nine? The day dragged endlessly ahead.

There was a time when there weren’t enough hours in the day. All his working life, he’d worked long hours. Stupidly long hours, according to Stella. He should be at his desk now, planning the annual budget forecast. Instead…