Missing You

My grandfather has been missing for three weeks. We reported it to the authorities but they have shown no interest. The police didn’t seem to care at all. Unofficially they told us that they did not bother with anyone who had gone missing who was over 75 and my grandfather was now 82. They advised us to put messages on Facebook almost as if we were looking for a missing dog.

Our society now seems to think that anybody of that age has outlived their useful purpose and is costing the state money rather than contributing to the wealth of the nation. It had been so easy for him to escape. He had sneaked out from the nursing home while everyone had been watching King William’s coronation on TV. I don’t think the staff had noticed he was missing until they were trying to find him to put him to bed. It is now three weeks exactly since his bed has been slept in, apart from the nursing home cat who often curls up and goes to sleep on his bed. She seems to know that something is wrong. But I don’t think anybody else at the home is bothered.

Old people are even allowed to walk around without their mobile phones. Grandad has always hated his and says that he preferred the old days when people had something called a landline. Since the year 2034 the Government has made the carrying of mobile phones mandatory. Failure to comply is punishable by a minimum prison sentence of 18 months.

I can remember having a chat with grandfather about this at one of my regular weekly visits not long ago.

“This country is like a police state,” he complained. “They force everyone to carry one of these blasted mobile things so the Government can keep track of us.”

“No grandfather,” I replied. “The Government wants everyone to have them because there is so much great content you can stream on Netflix, Amazon, Apple. It is not like in your day when you only had 150 TV channels.”

“Yeah, we had 150 TV channels and all of them were crap.”

“Quiet. You can’t say words like that in the lounge. It will upset people.”

I looked round the lounge of the nursing home. There were seven elderly men and women and they were all asleep. Nobody had noticed my grandfather’s bad language.

“The Prime Minister said it would cut down on crime,” he continued. “But it didn’t work, did it?”

“Well, no but only because the police are so busy stopping everyone to check they have their phones with them that that they don’t have time to deal with any other crime.”

“That’s why crime has gone up. This used to be a decent town but it is like the wild west round here.”

“Oh really?” I remarked. “I thought you said it was a police state.” I was teasing him but he ignored me.

“And the Government said it would stop the immigrants coming in. They are still pouring in…”

“Yes grandad,” I interrupted. “Are you looking forward to the Coronation?”

“Oh yes I think Harry will make a good King.”

“I’ve told you before. It is William not Harry.”

Physically he was pretty robust but his dementia was gradually getting more serious. He sometimes forgot my name. Sometimes he got me muddled up with my dad, who had died 3 years ago. Often he forgot his own name. But his memory for the old days was still pretty reliable.

Grandad had served in the Falklands so we thought he was capable of surviving in the outdoors, at least in the Summer. In fact he had once told me that he had spent almost 6 months sleeping rough in the early 90s after his first marriage broke down. I think I believed him. So he could be anywhere in London, sheltering in a doorway or under a bridge.

We were getting more and more worried as we had not heard from him. If the authorities would not help then I would have to look for him myself. We had put a message on Facebook and somebody from a local charity had suggested trying on the South Bank as there were lots of homeless people down there. So one bright Monday morning I set off to walk along the buildings on the South Bank to see if I could find him. I began near the old National Theatre building. It had been closed down a few years ago as nobody was bothering to go out to the theatre when it was so easy to watch drama on your phone. Why waste money on a tube or a train when you could stay at home?

I was shocked to find that there seemed to be lots of old people sleeping rough by the disused building. Everyone seemed to be at least 75 and they were sitting around chatting happily without a care in the world. Most of them seemed to be about my grandfather’s age but I couldn’t see him anywhere.

I went up to a large elderly man wearing a red tracksuit and sitting in a deckchair smoking a cigar. I explained to him what I was trying to do. Then I showed him a photo of grandad on my phone. He looked at it carefully, smiled and nodded his head.

“He was here. He was sleeping in that corner over there on that pile of old Amazon boxes. He must have moved on a couple of days ago.”

Something made me suspicious of him. I was worried that he was just messing me about.

Reaching into his pocket he gave me something. “Here, if you ever find him, you can give him this.”

I looked down. It was my grandfather’s bank card.

“Have you any idea where he’s gone?”

“He said something about going to the Falkland Islands. Must be a pub. No idea where it is.”

“No he probably meant the place, the Falkland Islands. He served in the army there.”

“He won’t get very far without his bank card.”

Taking the card I wandered round South London for a couple of hours to see if I could find him. I looked in alleyways, shop doorways and under bridges. There was no sign of him.

Then I had a brainwave. The Imperial War Museum. I had taken him there on a visit about six months ago. Maybe he had connected the museum with his time fighting in the Falklands. Our visit had obviously triggered a lot of memories.

In front of the museum there was a coffee bar with picnic tables. He was sitting there looking tired and annoyed.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’ve been in the museum over there. I was telling them all about my time in the Falklands. Telling them all my stories about my mates. They treated me like a king. Not like that bloody nursing home!”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Trying to get a coffee but they won’t take my money. They say that I need a card. I told them I served in the Falklands. They said I need a card. Even though I’m a veteran they won’t take my money.”

“I can get you a coffee. I’ve got your card. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

My grandfather looked at me. There was a pause and then he asked me a question.

“Have we met before?”

I walked over to the kiosk and bought two large cappuccinos.