Leave the Last Page by Stephen Barnard Page B

musicians that she liked.
    â€˜What’s a metal licker, Grandma?’
    â€˜It’s pronounced meh-tal-icka, Tom. They’re a hard rock band.’
    â€˜Oh, I see.’ Conversations like that.
    Grandma had popped into a Late Shop and picked up a couple of sandwiches for them. ‘50p off each because they need eating today. Bargain!’ Now they sat in silence as they munched their way through their supper.
    It allowed Tom some time to think over the day’s events.
    It had started in the house when he’d had a good old moan to Grandma about his dad and how he never got to spend any time with him. He also complained about how he was still treated like a little kid, just because he couldn’t run around and kick a ball like other boys his age. He had his latest notebook with him, and grandma had agreed to read the story.
    A page or so in she said: ‘This could be me and you on an adventure!’
    Tom had shrunk a little in his chair. ‘I don’t get to have adventures.’
    How wrong he had been.
    Grandma had told him they were sneaking off to see her mother, his Greatgrammy Aisling, which was okay as long as they didn’t tell his dad. Tom liked the idea of doing something sneaky behind his father’s back.
    But then what had happened there had been unbelievable. The long talk with Greatgrammy, most of which he didn’t quite understand, ended with her producing a beautiful necklace from a locked box in one of her drawers. Then, wow! What she did with the story before sadly slipping away…
    Within seconds the patio doors had blown in; no explosion but something like an isolated, pinpointed tornado did the damage. It had been enough to send Tom sprawling from his chair. In the space the door had vacated stood a man in a black suit, and when he held out his hand the necklace shot from Grandma Patty’s grasp into the man’s uncommonly huge fist. ‘Thank you,’ he said, grinning. ‘For everything.’
    For everything?
He hadn’t known at the time what that really meant. He did now.
    Once he had gone, Grandma Patty had turned to Tom. ‘Come on then! Get up! Let’s get after him!’
    â€˜Can you help me get to my chair?’
    â€˜You think you need that thing?’ She stepped towards it and kicked it into the corner. ‘Use your legs!’
    â€˜Are you crazy?’
    â€˜George can walk, can’t he? And we need to run if we’re going to catch him up!’
    George? George from the story?
    Something had compelled Tom to try. He didn’t have to try too hard. With much less effort than he expected, Tom had got to his feet. ‘Holy moly…’
    â€˜Pick up your notebook – no doubt we’ll need that.’
    And that’s when Tom realised what was going on, and what an adventure he was finally going to have.
    He so wanted to tell Dad. Or at least leave him a message. ‘Wait a sec.’ And that’s when he had torn out the first few pages of the story.
    In the warehouse, Grandma disturbed his train of thought. ‘You finished with that?’ He nodded, so she took the empty sandwich pack from him. ‘I think we’ll try and sleep in here tonight. There’s some huge dust sheets over there so we can use that to keep warm. And you can cuddle your grandma if you like!’
    â€˜I think I’ll be okay.’ He looked at Grandma Patty in the murk of the warehouse. The only light was coming from the street outside. He could make out some of the bright colours of her clothes though, and the large golden key on the cord around her neck. ‘What do you think that’s going to be for?’ he asked. They’d got it from the park, when Grandma had struck the fountain with her walking stick and had somehow split the stone structure into pieces. The key had been inside.
    â€˜It could be the same as in your story,’ said Grandma. ‘But it might not be. Those wolves