Billy picked up the letter and kicked the door shut. He edged along the left side of the worn carpet to avoid a creaking floorboard. “Grandad!”
“In here son.”
“There’s a letter.” He handed over the brown envelope and dropped to his knees, stroking the cat to a purr.
The old man’s rheumy eyes read the contents, then searched the peeling wallpaper for meaning.
Billy read the bold header in his grandad’s lap, slowly enunciating the first three syllables. “‘Eve-ick-shun’. What does it mean?”
The old man smiled. “Do you think your mum’s offer of the spare room still stands?”