"I knew your dad when he were about your age, he used to go to the old library after school, a lovely, gentle soul he was," explained the old woman who called herself Granny Grace. We sipped weak, milky tea in a greasy spoon café close to my home. "It were a tragedy such a fine man came to such an abrupt end. I feel for you sweetheart. And yer darling mum, losing the love of her life and having to bring you up as a single parent." She leaned back and looked me up and down, "Mind you, you're a credit to her, yer dad would be proud at how you've blossomed."
"You know my mum?" I asked.
"I know a lot of people, but not a lot of people know I know em." She leaned in, "You wanna know something?"
I leaned back, "Too right."
She leaned back in to me, her face too close for comfort, "Your dad and Dylan's dad, they were like that," she lifted up her hand and crossed one finger over the other. I shook my head, "What does that mean?"
She looked at her crossed fingers, then at me with an, 'are you stupid,' look on her face, "Close as could be, they were," she said, wagging her enfolded fingers in my face.
This sudden insight into my dad's youth astonished me, "Wait, what, like my dad and Dylan's dad knew each other?" Granny Grace rolled her eyes, "Christ all mighty sweetheart, you're slow off the mark. That's what I just told ya, that they knew each other."
My attention switched to a sudden doubt, "Why didn't Dylan tell me this?"
"Dylan doesn't know, which is why I'm telling you now," she said, dipping a biscuit into her tea and sucking it in her toothless mouth.
"Why are you telling me this, now?"
She put down her cup, "Because of that mess down at Paddock Field. What they were doing to that poor girl in the name of Juju. And she's ended up in the slammer as the guilty party, it ain't right."
My mind struggled to comprehend what she was saying, then a horrible thought occurred to me and I blurted out, "Are you saying my dad and Dylan's had something to do with the incident at Paddock Field, yesterday?" My voice was laced with a little anger, as my dad was my hero and I resented any suggestion that he was involved in anything bad or evil.
She threw her head back and laughed her throaty old lady laugh, "Now that'd be a first, crimes committed by a dead fella and his living friend who's locked up in the countries most secure lunatic asylum," she said, sarcastically.
Then something strange happened, her face suddenly softened, a kindness lit up in her eyes and she almost looked younger, "Listen sweetheart, you're sixteen now, a big girl." I felt her hand take mine, "Granny Grace wants to tell you something, in confidence, just between you, me and Dylan. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I said, my heartbeat picking up a beat.
"Your daddy went to Ghana to sort out some bad Juju, he was a good man, it's what he would do."
I shook my head, "No, he went to visit my grandma, and got run over by a truck," I corrected her.
She clasped my hand, "That's what you were told, sweetheart." She let go of my hand and patted it, "Now Granny Grace is looking for the truth, but I need yours and Dylan's help, is that something you're going to give me?"
My heart stopped beating and suddenly soared, with a love for my dear dad, "Of course, no question," I replied. I was kind of: intrigued, heartened and fired up by the idea that my dad's death might have had another reason, rather than the finality of his sudden obliteration by a truck.
