“I’ve been thinking.”
Hannah’s head lifted from her chest as her grandfather spoke.
“Whistonwick church is rather quiet, rather peaceful wouldn’t you think?”
“I suppose.” said Hannah. She rolled her neck experimentally and hissed. She should have taken her mother up on that neck support cushion thing that always seemed to be somewhere on her person. It may have been the most horrendous colour in existance, and smelt oddly like onions, but at least it would have saved her another cricked neck.
“You don’t get many people trudging around Whistonwick anymore.” continued her Grandfather. “Bit of a sleepy place now and it seemed so… well not busy as such, but busier, back when I was a kid I mean. I suppose you must think that was centuries ago.” he chuckled. The laughter shifting, morphing into lung lurching chokes which sent Hannah onto her feet.
“Easy, easy.” she soothed. “Here, the nurses left you some water earlier.”
Her grandfather scowled at the plastic cup she presented him with.
“You would think they’d let me have whisky. Bein’ on my last legs and all. Not like it can do much harm now, liver’s half knackered as it is and my heart is plotting to give out on my anyway.” He passed the cup back to her and Hannah placed it on the little side table.
“Don’t be morbid.” she said. “You know what the doctors are saying, they still think you can pull through.”
“Ah my darlin.” He caught her hand inside his own, curling his bent fingers as best he could to hold onto her. “Always hopeful, just like your mother. But I’m not goin’ to pray for anymore time, I’ve had more than my fair share for all the good I’ve done in this world. You and your mother, you’ve got all that time left, and you shouldn’t be here wasting it next to old man who spends most of his time asleep.”
“I like spending time with you.” Hannah whispered.
“And I with you my darlin’, and I with you.” he smiled.