on the end.’ Seriously, it’s not that big of a deal. ‘Is it a priceless family heirloom or something?’ He seems quite upset at the notion of a broken walking stick.
Becker stills against me for a few moments before pulling away, looking at me vacantly. He’s thinking, but I haven’t the foggiest idea what about. I can only stand here, becoming increasingly impatient as I wait for enlightenment. I’m about to repeat my previous question, when his eyes spring up to mine, wide and questioning.
‘Becker?’ I say warily, watching as he starts to march doggedly around the room.
He halts and presses the balls of his hands into his forehead, his back rolling from his deep breaths. ‘I can’t believe I haven’t realised before.’
‘What?’ I’m getting mad now, wanting information faster than Becker is willing to give it.
He strides out of the kitchen and I’m in hot pursuit before I’ve asked myself where he’s going.
Following him down the corridor, I note the tension making his back muscles protrude beneath his shirt, and his hand goes through his hair more than once, ruffling up his brown waves. He’s on a mission, and I haven’t got a clue what that mission is. He passes the library, the staircase to his quarters, his office, and eventually reaches his granddad’s suite.
He takes the handle and pushes his way into the room. I fear the worst. Old Mr H wasn’t in a good way. A confrontation with Becker – whatever Becker’s reason – could cause undue stress. I need to stop him. I hurry forward and catch Becker’s arm, trying to pull him back, but I get shaken off. I peek past him and see Mr H lying in his bed, Mrs Potts sitting next to him in an old fashioned, high-backed winged armchair. She looks up at us hovering at the doorway.
‘How is he?’ Becker whispers, surprising me. Everything suggested he was ready to go on a rant.
‘Resting,’ Mrs Potts frowns, and I see the question in her eyes. It’s probably matching mine. ‘Best to leave him,’ she says diplomatically, like she senses Becker has plans to do otherwise.
He ignores her and wanders quietly to his bedside. ‘Gramps,’ Becker says quietly.
Mrs Potts is up from her chair quickly, circling the bed. ‘Becker boy, I think it’s best we let him rest.’ I admire her valour, but nothing is getting Becker out of this room until he’s done whatever he needs to do . . . which is what?
He places a hand over his granddad’s frail, wrinkled one, and rubs a little. ‘Gramps, don’t pretend to be asleep.’
‘He’s not pretending, Becker.’ Mrs Potts swats his hand away, but he shrugs her off, determined, and moves in closer to his granddad, whose eyes are lightly closed, his breathing steady.
‘Gramps, I’m not going until you open your eyes.’
‘Becker boy, what’s gotten into you?’ Mrs Potts starts trying to pull him away, and for reasons unbeknown to me, I hurry over and take her arm, nodding at her reassuringly when she turns shocked eyes onto me.
Becker thanks me by reaching back and taking my arm, squeezing gently. The small gesture nearly breaks my heart. Whatever he’s doing, I have every faith that it’s necessary. That he’s confident he’s not putting his granddad in any danger.
Becker releases my arm and leans down, getting his face close to old Mr H’s. ‘Tell me, Gramps. Tell me why you had a funny turn.’
I hold my breath, and Mrs Potts looks at me, clearly confused.
My heart nearly stops when Mr H’s eyelids start to flutter. He’s not asleep. He can hear every word. His eyes open, revealing glassy orbs that zoom straight in on his grandson. I hold my breath, and I can tell by the rise of Becker’s shoulders that he’s holding his, too.
‘Fine,’ the old man rasps, staring into Becker’s eyes. ‘I’ll tell you, Becker boy.’
I find myself backing up, wary of the old man’s haunted eyes.
His nostrils flare.
He flicks his eyes to me.
And he takes a deep breath before he speaks.
‘Your wife-to-be just found the missing piece of the map.’
Chapter 29
Life stands still for a minute, my pulse whooshing in my ears.
Becker recoils, and Mrs Potts staggers back, taking me with her. I’m in no position to catch her, leaving her scrambling for a nearby cabinet for support.
‘What?’ Becker asks on a whisper, pure wonder in his question. Mr H struggles to nod as he looks away, like he can’t face the evident fascination sparking from his grandson.