Monday, 17 June 2024

The Biscuit Factory by Lisa Williams

 He’d wet himself; possibly worse. We were all trying to not notice that. He kept repeating that he

was waiting for his Mum. She was meeting him. Double shift at the Biscuit Factory apparently. His

Dad was working away so she’d promised him chips on the way home. I know we all felt sorry for

him but didn’t know what to do.

I noticed then the flats there were called The Biscuit Factory and it dawned on me.

He was agitated. I was imagining my own Grandad there. I went over to ask gently whether he knew

where he lived.

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