Top-Secret Grandad and Me

  For Robert

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1. The Disappearing Dad

  2. The Greenish Grandad

  3. The Jabbering Granny

  4. The Speedy Woman

  5. The Fierce Stooshie

  6. The Invisible Body

  7. The Carpeted Corpse

  8. The Unwanted Guest

  9. The Squashed Jannie

  10. The Invisible Sidekick

  11. The Sixth Sense

  12. The Elvis Gorilla

  13. The Dirty Laundry

  14. The Spooky Shakedown

  15. The Van Deduction

  16. The Sneeze Escape

  17. The Small-time Detective

  18. The Wandering Accent

  19. The Haunted Mask

  20. The Chicken’s Neck

  21. The Key Suspect

  22. The Bamboozled Turnstile

  23. The Grapefruit Flamenco

  24. The Dead Ankles

  25. The Ghostly Confession

  26. The Rissole Escape

  27. The Tongs Torture

  28. The Fringe Evasion

  29. The Bum Confrontation

  30. The Lunchtime Plan

  31. The Spaghetti Map

  32. The Bus Trip

  33. The Squinty Bridge

  34. The Crane Revelation

  35. The Gangster Pancake

  36. The Top-Secret Grandad

  37. The Button Dilemma

  38. The Countdown Song

  39. The Terminal Swoop

  40. The Final Rammy

  41. The White Envelope

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  The Disappearing Dad

  It was another cold, grey Glasgow day, with rain teeming down from the heavens. Everyone was sick of the weather. Even the seagulls looked depressed.

  When I got home from school my hands were like blocks of ice, and my feet were soaking wet – although that wasn’t from the rain, that was mainly down to Granny. She was lying across the carpet in the hall trying to bleed the radiators with a knitting needle. Water was scooshing everywhere, including over my shoes.

  She jumped to her feet, like an ape that had just realised it was sitting on an ants’ nest. “Out the way, ya balloon!” she yelled, barging me aside as she ran into the kitchen for a bucket. Her new project was ‘doing up’ the house, though it should really have been called ‘undoing’. That was why the walls were full of holes, plaster was hanging off the ceiling and the boiler didn’t work.

  Granny was a tiny terrier of a woman, with thick glasses, wrinkles and long, grey hair. She always wore a green velour hoodie, along with matching jogging pants.

  And when I say tiny I mean tiny. One Halloween she got mistaken for Yoda from Star Wars, and she wasn’t even dressed up.

  Granny was busy mopping up the floor, and Mum wasn’t back from work yet, so I thought I’d take the chance to do some long overdue detective work. I rolled up my sleeves and threw open the door of the large cupboard in Mum’s bedroom. There was a lot of old stuff inside – all potential clues.

  I gazed up at the top shelves, which were crammed with dusty boxes and plastic bags. I’d already rooted through them half a dozen times, but what if I’d missed something?

  One thing.

  A tiny clue.

  Something to give the smallest hint why Dad disappeared.

  This time I’d start at the very top. I’d reach as far back as I could. I stepped up onto the bottom shelf, bracing myself against the wall. And then a little higher still, testing the next shelf with my toe before stepping up onto it. I delved behind the front layer of boxes on the upmost shelf.

  After a bit of stretching and groping my hand touched upon something. A thing right at the very back corner. A thing I hadn’t found before. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I’d grown an inch since last time. It was a solid thing. A box of some sort. I strained some more, fingered it towards me then grabbed it with both hands.

  An old shoebox. I took it to the bed and flipped off the lid. Inside, there was a stash of yellowing newspapers, letters and photos. Some of the photos were black and white, featuring the faces of long-lost relatives on the Indian side of the family. Grandad Sanjeev, my dad’s dad, had died a few years ago. He left Delhi when he was eighteen and had never returned, except for the odd holiday. He loved it in Glasgow. He used to joke, “Where else can you go that has a monsoon twelve months of the year?”

  Then I saw a pair of sunglasses poking out, and I knew it must be a box of his stuff. Grandad used to wear his sunglasses quite a lot, even at night, or in the dead of winter. I wasn’t sure if it was a medical condition or if he was just trying to look cool. Anyhow, I was surprised he’d lived so long, as he was always walking into things. Glasgow gets quite dark in winter.

  I flicked the sunglasses open and tried them on, tilting my head from side to side in the mirror. “Hmm, pretty cool.”

  Then I heard a cough – well, it was more like a bark, the bark of a small angry goblin. I turned to find Granny at the door. She was ogling me with a mix of horror and disgust, like I’d just vomited live snakes onto the carpet.

  “Have you got nae respect for the dead?” she croaked, snatching the glasses away and then snapping the shoebox shut. She hurried off, chattering on about what I thought I was doing looking through poor Grandad’s stuff. “Ya pure bahookie you are!”

  I gazed back up at the shelves, then sighed and flopped down on the bed. It had been nine months now. My eyes caught the tattered, yellowing poster on the wall, featuring my father wearing a turban, and staring down ominously at a crystal ball, surrounded by wisps of light.

  It suddenly all felt pointless.

  As pointless as a vanishing act where the magician actually vanishes, and doesn’t come back? Yep, that pointless.

  I closed my eyes, thinking about my life over the last few months – life with no father, a slightly unhinged granny and a completely unhinged mum – and wondering for the very first time if I should just give up searching for Dad and let him go. The police seemed to have stopped looking for him. Maybe they were right.

  When I opened my eyes again, there was a face peering into mine. A strange face, a man’s face, with smooth skin, a long nose and short grey hair. A man who was more than a bit familiar, except I was too busy jumping out of my skin to place him.

  AAAAGH!

  Then he opened his mouth and spoke, in a deep, disapproving voice – an Indian accent fused with Glaswegian.

  “Have you been trying on my shades, boy?”

  Chapter 2

  The Greenish Grandad

  “Who are you?” I blurted out to the face that had just appeared in front of mine.

  “What do you mean, who am I?” he replied, insulted. “I am your grandfather.”

  I made a noise, which was a kind of half-groan, half-wail. I blinked my eyes open and shut, slapped myself on the cheeks, then stared at him again. He did look a bit like my grandad. And he certainly sounded like him. But it wasn’t possible.

  “Grandad’s dead. He died years ago!”

  He was wearing a thin, tweedy jacket and a brownish tie. Perched on top of his head was a silly sort of hat that he always wore, the kind of thing you see in black-and-white films. Grandad loved old American detective movies.

  “Well, I am back now, am I not? Thanks to you.” He wagged his finger in the direction of the dark glasses.

  “Wait, what? Because I tried on your smelly old shades?”

  He leaned closer. Now I could see that he was bathed in a sort of greenish glow. More worryingly, I could see the dresser through his face. He was actually transparent. “Those are ve
ry special glasses, boy. Do not call them smelly.” He patted his jacket pocket. “Ach! I feel naked without them. Would you believe it? The one time I leave the house without my shades is the time I pop my clogs.”

  Up close, I could see the pores in his skin, and the thin strands of hair brushed back over his ears. I darted into the kitchen, edging past Granny, who was still jabbering. I flung open the fridge door and checked the use-by date on the cheese, but it was fine.

  “Well, if it’s not food poisoning, then what is it?”

  “Whit are you on aboot, eejit!” cried Granny.

  I ran back into the bedroom, and the greenish apparition of my grandad was still there, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket.

  “I never much cared for this suit. I only wore it because your granny liked it. Look…” He turned to the forest of photos propped up on Granny’s dresser. One faded picture was of him, Granny and my dad, who must have been only a few years older than me at the time. They were leaning over a rock jutting out into the sea, which was painted to look like a crocodile. Grandad was wearing the same suit he was wearing right now. “That was us at Millport, June 1987. Boy, life does not get any better than that day.”

  He turned his face to the door, and the sound of Granny’s jabbering. “Ah, my girl! Where is she? I want to see her.”

  I followed him into the hall. He stood at the door of the kitchen, watching Granny hanging up her washing. She might have been a small woman but she had the most gigantic underwear you’ve ever seen. Her pants could have belonged to a rhinoceros. She was crooning some old song, sounding like a frog gargling on mouthwash: “Cos ah gote me a real live kew-pee doll… and she’s the cutest one of all.”

  Grandad folded his hands together under his chin. “Ah, there she is, still as beautiful as the day I left her.” He opened out his arms towards her. “What do you say, my wee Scottish petal. Give me a big hug!”

  “MUPPET!” Granny barked at me as she walked straight through him.

  “OW!” cried Grandad as Granny scuttled out of the kitchen.

  “She can’t see you,” I said.

  “Clearly not.” Grandad stared after her with a sappy grin. “I think only you can.” Then he turned to me and opened out his arms. “Now, how about a hug for your grandfather.”

  “Alright,” I grumbled and leant forward, only to find myself falling flat on my face into the recycling bin.

  CRASH

  Grandad stood over me, chortling. “A word of advice – never try to hug a ghost.” He turned into the hall, before glancing back at me for a moment. “Oh, and never try on a dead man’s shades.”

  Chapter 3

  The Jabbering Granny

  In the living room, Granny was perched on one end of the sofa, where she always sat. She was knitting furiously and watching a game show on the TV, and getting annoyed at the contestants for getting their answers wrong.

  Grandad sat at the other end, his hands clasped across his belly, just like he used to. It all seemed so natural, so normal, like he’d never been away. For a moment, I thought, perhaps he was real. Perhaps it wasn’t my imagination, or that dodgy egg I had for breakfast. Perhaps it really was him back from the dead. I suddenly found my voice cracking, my eyes welling up with tears.

  “Grandad, is it really you?”

  But Grandad wasn’t listening. He thrust out his hand towards the TV and bellowed, “What is this rubbish you are watching, woman?” He turned his face to me and grunted. “I HATE quiz shows. I mean, what about a programme about flying doctors, or a documentary about sharks?”

  “WHIT?” cried Granny, cupping her hand to her ear. She was a bit hard of hearing. Then she turned back to the telly and went on jabbering at it.

  “I don’t understand,” I said to Grandad. “I mean… why?”

  “Why have I returned?” he asked. “Well, I am not sure yet.”

  He scratched his head. He seemed confused for a moment, before standing up and swiping his hand at the TV. “Ach, I cannot watch this. If only I could use the what-do-you-call-it.”

  The what-do-you-call-it was the name he gave the remote control. He beckoned me out of the room with him. “Come on.”

  Outside in the hall, he pointed at the holes in the walls. “Your granny did this?”

  “She’s ‘fixing up’ the house,” I said.

  Grandad shook his head wistfully. “What a woman! She always was a good fixer-upper.”

  We went into my room, which looked like someone had first burgled it, then ransacked it, then finally turned it upside down and shaken it violently. It was my operations centre. Piles of Dad’s papers and batches of newspaper cuttings clogged up the desk and the floor. A large map of the Glasgow area was pinned across one wall beside a corkboard covered with notes, Post-its and photos, all connected up with orange string in a sort of web.

  “So you all live here now?” he asked.

  I nodded. Me and Mum moved in with Granny after Dad disappeared.

  Grandad gazed around and whistled. “Jayesh, what is the idea with the mess here?”

  “I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors.”

  He shuffled awkwardly and fiddled with his collar. “Anyway, so, eh… how are you, boy? Are you good?”

  “Well… no.” I slumped down on the bed, trying to find a way of explaining the twists and turns my life had taken over the last year.

  Grandad caught sight of himself in the mirror. He gazed closely at his reflection, before screwing up his face. He stuck his hands in his pockets, suddenly looking sad and forlorn.

  “Um… What about you?” I asked.

  He puffed out his cheeks. “Oh, you know, dead.” He glanced at his reflection again, before shivering. “I think.” He waved his hands at the corkboard. “So what is all this? The strings.”

  Before I could explain, the house phone started to ring. I went into the hall and checked the caller ID.

  It was Mum’s mobile number. I held my finger up at Grandad. “Hold on. This isn’t over.”

  I picked it up, expecting to hear Mum, but it wasn’t her. It sounded like clothes sloshing around inside a washing machine. Then I realised it was actually someone’s mouth with chewing gum swirling round inside it.

  “Hullo, Jay?” A flat, monotone voice.

  “Hullo, yes?”

  “It’s Mrs McCleary, from the school.” Mum worked part-time in the library at my school, and Mrs McCleary was her boss. I could hear angry shouting in the background, and a lot of thumping. “Listen, son, you better get up here.”

  “Why?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your mammy, she’s flipped. The police are here.”

  “Flipped? The police?”

  “Aye son. Flipped.”

  “I’ll be right there,” I said, and hung up.

  “What is it, boy?” asked Grandad.

  “I’m not sure, but I think Mum is being arrested.”

  Chapter 4

  The Speedy Woman

  I explained to Granny why I needed to get to school – sharpish.

  “Oh, GEE-MIGHTY FATHER!” She flapped around like a tiny, panicking bird and snatched the car keys out of the bowl, while I grabbed my parka coat.

  Our transport was a battered old VW campervan, which Mum had painted lime green. The interior was decked out in rich Indian fabrics, with stringy beads hanging down over the windscreen.

  “What a heap of junk you are driving,” said Grandad. “Where is your father? He needs a talking to.”

  I shook my head. “He’s gone, Grandad.”

  “What? Gone?”

  “WHIT?” yelped Granny as she jumped in the driver’s seat.

  I opened the passenger door and was about to get in.

  “Wait,” said Grandad. “What about me?

  I shrugged. “What about you?”

  “You must open the door for your grandfather, Jayesh Patel.”

  I closed my door over a bit, shielding my conversation from Granny. She was busy in any case,
adjusting the seat and mirrors to Yoda-level. “You’re transparent. Can’t you just float through it?”

  “Haayy! No, boy, I am not doing that.” He shivered like he’d just seen a ghost, except he was the ghost.

  I sighed, shook my head and slid open the back door for him, watching him flit past me into the back seat. “Thank you, boy.”

  What kind of a ghost was he, I thought, that he couldn’t even go through things? I was beginning to remember how annoying Grandad could be at times.

  Granny squawked at me. “Come OAN, ya puddin’!”

  I got in, fastened my safety belt then assumed the crash position. Granny only ever drove in an emergency, and for good reason. Usually it was her causing the emergency.

  “What do you mean, your father’s gone?” asked Grandad.

  “Gone,” I said, with my head lodged between my legs. “Disappeared about nine months ago. We still don’t know what happened to him.”

  “Whit? Whit, whit?” yapped Granny.

  Grandad leaned forward, his face creasing with worry. “Disappeared, you say? That does not sound like him.”

  Granny was hunched over the steering wheel, her face practically pressed up against the windscreen. Beads of sweat were trickling down her forehead. She hated driving. She was shrieking at a pedestrian, swiping her hand at the man to get out of her way – even though he was on a zebra crossing and she was supposed to stop for him. Fortunately, the man looked up at the last moment. His jaw dropped in terror, then he dived aside, goalie-style as she zoomed through.

  While Granny was distracted I told Grandad about Dad. How he disappeared in the middle of his great ‘vanishing act’. This was a stage routine he did where he seemed to disappear into a box, but then reappear from the wings. Except this time, he didn’t reappear. He vanished off the face of the Earth and was never seen again. “It made front-page news and everything,” I said.

  He nodded. “Ah, now that does sound like your father.” Then he rubbed his chin. “Jayesh, I am sorry, but as a magician your father was… uh…”