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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