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‘I did. I’m like an obedient dog, you know. I don’t have the strength to argue. When you’re dependent on others you grow pious as a lamb.’
    His crooked hands moved about his blanket, pulling at its tassels.
    ‘Would you like me to read the newspaper for you?’ Johnny asked and nodded towards the local paper on the table.
    ‘That would be nice.’
    Johnny scooped up the newspaper and got comfortable. In a clear voice he read article after article, shooting quick glances at the old man to make sure he was following along. First, Johnny read a story about a horse that had gone wild during a race; when they tried to get it under control it bit one of its handlers on the arm. Next was a long article about Polish immigrants and their poor working conditions, and another that he skipped because it was about the mishandling of dead bodies at the Central Hospital. Some had been left for a month before being sent for cremation. He read the weather forecast. The heat would continue, and there was a risk of forest fires across the eastern regions of the country. He listed the television programmes scheduled for that evening, which he thought the old man might want to see. Finally he read the piece about the baby in the pram. While he read, he peeked at his grandfather, but he couldn’t tell what the old man was thinking.
    At last he folded the newspaper and put it on the table.
    For a moment it was quiet in the room.
    ‘You haven’t had it easy,’ Henry said, ‘that’s for sure. But at least you know how to treat other people. The halfwit who did that should be whipped. Don’t you agree, Johnny?’
    ‘Of course, Grandpa,’ he answered piously. ‘And to make sure he understands we could break both his little fingers.’
    ‘We could,’ Henry said. ‘How are things at home now? You can tell me the truth. Don’t lie to spare me.’
    ‘Not good. All she does is lie on the sofa. It’s the vodka. Is there anything you need from the shop? I can go right now.’
    ‘I’ll write a list for you,’ Henry said. ‘Get a pencil and paper. They’re in a drawer in the kitchen.’
    ‘Don’t need paper, Grandpa. I’ll use my mobile phone.’
    ‘That’s beyond me,’ said the old man, and nodded gratefully. He sat completely motionless in his wing chair while Johnny tapped in the shopping list.
    The girl with the red plait was still on the knoll as he drove past.
    ‘Wobblewheels!’ she called out.
*
    When he got back, he organised the goods in the pantry – a little room off the kitchen where his grandfather kept all sorts of things. Much of the food was old, he noticed, the jars of jam crusted with mould. He cleaned for a while, tidied up a bit, throwing out what needed to be tossed and wiping the shelves with a wet cloth. Then everything looked nice and neat. A red box, temptingly tucked in a corner, caught his attention. He inspected it, thinking it was some kind of breakfast cereal, but discovered it was a box of rat poison. He opened it and examined the pink grains inside. Though they were lethal, the grains looked quite appealing, and the fact that the grains were deadly fascinated him. He lifted the box to his nose; the grains had no scent. Obviously he couldn’t imagine how they tasted. Probably like sweets. He read the ingredients and instructions carefully.
    ‘When the rats go to sleep,’ it said on the box, ‘they will never wake up again.’
    Well, what do you know, Johnny Beskow thought.
    After giving it some thought, he went outside and hid the box under the seat of his Suzuki. The rat poison could be useful, and he liked having something up his sleeve. Then he went back to his grandfather. Henry was asleep in the chair. Johnny sat on the footstool and waited patiently for him to wake up, which he did some twenty minutes later.
    ‘Would you like me to make you a Thermos of coffee?’
    ‘Please. You can put a little sugar in it, but don’t screw the cap on too tight – you know how it