Ratbags and Scallywags [bxb]

Chapter 18

She came over and leaned past Tom to kiss my forehead. "Tom'll handle your discharge papers," she said. "And be on your best behavior, alright?"

I nodded. "Bye, Mum. See you tomorrow."

"Bye now," she said, waving goodbye as she hurried out the door.

Uncle Tom finished waving her off and looked at me. "Right, I'll go confirm when they're gonna let you out," he said as he pulled out his phone, briefly glancing at the screen. "Shall we pay Charlie a visit before we go?"

My heart squeezed. Since I couldn't bring myself to say anything, I nodded. I'd been wanting to know all afternoon, but the answers were always so obscure. 'He's fine, he's doing okay, he's well.' But I wanted to confirm it. I'd been left feeling restless all day, wanting to see for myself that he was okay. The fact that he'd asked about me too was what got me through this.

It made everything more bearable.

It was already after six PM, but I'd finally get to see him. We reached the nurse's station. Uncle Tom asked for Charlie's room number, only to be told that he'd been discharged an hour ago. My heart sunk. Guess I wouldn't see him tonight after all. Why did it feel like tonight was gonna pass by too slowly?

At a quarter to seven, the doctor ran a final check to ensure I was fine to go. After that, we stopped by a Fish and Chips shop to pick up dinner. We pulled into the front yard. Uncle Tom switched off the engine and got out, running towards the gate. It was made of old and tattered wood that probably existed before my Grandad was born, but a feeling of nostalgia washed over me as I stepped out onto the grass.

Grandad's home.

The night was dark, and the air felt brisk and cold. My sight wasn't the greatest during the day, but low lights were even harder to adjust to. As I pulled our dinner out along with my schoolbag, Tom raced up the porch to the front door, setting off the warm orange glow of the sensor light. He turned back and waved me over.

"Can you see alright?" he called. "Need a hand?"

I shook my head. "I'm fine."

My eye strain wasn't particularly enjoying this challenge, but I made it across the grass to the front door easily enough. It creaked open after a few moments of Uncle rattling the turnkey, and Uncle switched on the light. I was immediately met with the smell of candle wax, sawdust, and books; old and new.

Just as I remembered it.

Some walls were brick and others were made of dark, unpolished wood. The kitchen was wooden, too, but modern and stylized for an old-fashioned chic. Tom had convinced Grandad to do this some time ago, opting for a more functional kitchen. I must have been around eight at the time.

There were wooden shelves built into the walls, with old books scattered in a disorganized fashion, all the way across the open living area. Candles were placed all over everywhere, even across the kitchen benches and windowsills.

A peaceful space, I'd spent half of my childhood here.

Uncle Tom went around the house flicking on lights while I set everything out on the coffee table. I sat on Tom's formerly favorite seat since he'd taken over Grandad's tatty green recliner. He came over with a glass of whiskey and set it down beside him. He unwrapped the newspaper from around the chips and dished himself some before pushing it towards me.

"Thanks for setting up," he said, grunting with exhaustion as he sat down. "I'm getting too old to exist."

I raised my brow at him. "Hardly."

"I'm forty-eight already," he said, picking up a chip and chewing on it with an absentminded expression. "I'm certainly not getting any younger."

When he seemed to register that he didn't like the chip he was eating, his face scrunched into a grimace. "How much salt is on here?" he asked. "How do they afford to keep the place without running out of salt stock?"