Our Grandparents' House. Part One.

It was half past ten and “The Wizard Of Oz” had just ended. It was one of my all time favourites, and I’d just watched it with my daughter. Now it was time to put her to bed.
“Can you tell me a bedtime story please, Mummy?” She asked, as we went upstairs.
“Oh, Charlotte! You’ve just watched The Wizard Of Oz, and now you want a bedtime story?” I looked down at Charlotte’s baby face, with her pleading eyes, and softened. “Okay, brush your teeth, put your pyjamas, and get into bed.”
“Okay, Mummy,” she said excitedly, racing for the bathroom.
I sat beside her bed as she was getting comfortable. “Now, what would you like to hear? Rapunzel? Snow White?”
“Can I hear a story about a good witch?” Charlotte asked.
“Of course you can.” I thought for a minute or two. “Have I ever told you about the time me and your Uncle Peter went to stay with our grandparents?”
Charlotte shook her head.
“Well, this was when I only ten, and your Uncle Peter was twelve. There were four of us living at home at the time, us two, and our mum and dad, your grandparents. Every summer, we would go to stay with your nanny’s mum and dad for a week. This was because we all lived in the city, in London, whereas Grandma and Grandpa lived in the country down in Cornwall, and we never got to see them that much, so we always made a trip down to Cornwall on the train to stay with them for a week, in the summer. Then one year, it changed. In a stroke of bad luck, both my mum and dad lost their jobs. My mum was forced to stay at home as a housewife. My dad got another job, as a window cleaner, but it didn’t pay enough. That summer, he could only scrape enough money for two train tickets. So Mum and Dad both said me and your Uncle Peter could both go to visit Grandma and Grandpa that summer…

The train pulled into the station. At last. I was getting bored of listening to Peter whinge on about how the train was going too fast. I didn’t think it was, but when I said so, he argued back.
“You’re just a wimp, Pete,” I laughed at him. He didn’t like that.
The train screeched to a halt; Peter and I grabbed our luggage, and stepped out onto the platform to look out for Grandma and Grandpa. We both sat at a bench. After a while, Peter started whining again.
“Where are they? They know what time we’d be arriving. Mum told them on the phone what time to expect us. Why aren’t they here, Alice?”
“I don’t know. And stop whining, Peter. You’d think I was older than you the way I have to look after you sometimes.”
Peter stuck his tongue out at me, and carried on:
“I can’t wait to get to their house. I can’t wait for Grandma’s blueberry pancakes, and Grandpa’s toys he always makes for us.”
“It’s a shame Mum and Dad can’t be here,” I interrupted.
“Are you kidding? They never let us wander off into the house, and explore it, even though Grandma and Grandpa say it’s fine with them. Maybe we can do it this time.”
“Maybe.”
The station was nearly empty by the time our grandparents turned up. Grandma was a jolly, chubby woman who was always wearing a cheerful smile, where Grandpa was a skinny fellow who looked as though he had no sense of humour, even though he did. I nudged Peter where his head had started to droop on my shoulder.
“Sorry we’re late,” Grandpa said, as they caught up with us. “Your grandma forget you were coming today. And I reminded her, she told me just to leave you here.”
“Don’t pay no attention to him,” Grandma said. “I did forget, but I never said that. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay Grandma,” I smiled. I looked at Grandpa who winked at me.
The ride back to our grandparents’ house was quite pleasant. We chatted to Grandma and Grandpa about school, mates and general life back in London; and Grandma asked about how Mum and Dad were getting on.
The ride was only twenty minutes. Our grandparents lived down a long sandy lane that was set back from a quaint pretty little village. Their house had three stories, and must have belonged to a rich family in the Victorian era, but for now it was only Grandma and Grandpa knocking about inside. In the tourist season, they showed people inside and gave a tour of the house. I knew that after the week was over, I wouldn’t want to go back to London.
All four of us got out of the car and our grandparents helped me and Peter with our luggage.
“Right. Dinner, then a bath each for you. And off to bed we go,” Grandpa said.
Peter and I both looked at him in horror.
“It’s only quarter to seven!” Peter protested in horror.
“Ignore him,” Grandma said, giving Grandpa a scolding look. Grandpa grinned.
Although we did have dinner. The four of us sat down together and enjoyed a hot meal of sausage and mash.
“Thank you,” said Peter when we’d finished. “That was lovely.”
“You’re welcome,” Grandma smiled. “Now, while Grandpa and I do the washing up, would you two like to explore the house?”
“Wow, really?!” Peter exclaimed.
“Yes.”
“Of course you can,” Grandpa answered. “But a word of warning. The only room you must stay away from is the attic.”
Peter went running out of the dining room. “Come on, Alice!” He shouted behind him.
I smiled at my grandparents, said thanks for the dinner, and followed my brother.
Most of the rooms we went into were the usual rooms you’d find in a house. A kitchen, dining room, and a living room on the ground floor. And we already knew that there were three bedrooms on the second floor. But most of the rooms we went into were dark, dusty, and quite boring looking, with nothing in them. I doubted that Grandma and Grandpa ever used them. At last, we reached the second floor where the bedrooms were. One was where our grandparents slept in. One was what Mum and Dad shared when they came down with us. And one each for me and Peter. As well as the bedrooms, there were countless other rooms which were all dusty and never used.
“This is boring,” wailed Peter. “What’s the point of letting us explore the house when all the rooms are really manky with nothing in them?”
Then he looked up, and his emerald eyes glittered. I followed his gaze, and gasped. Peter was looking up at the attic Grandpa had forbidden us from entering. Peter looked at me. “Hey, Alice. Wanna go into that attic?”
I shook my head. “No, Pete. Grandpa asked us not to. We should respect that.” But my brother had already ran into one of the rooms, and came back out with a ladder. Propping it upright, he started to climb up. “Come on,” he teased. “It’ll be like Alice down the rabbit hole.” He laughed at his own joke.
Sighing, I went up the ladder after him.
Peter pushed the attic door open, and went inside, with me going in after him. We both looked around the attic in surprise.
“What’s so special about this?” Peter asked.
The attic was no different from all the other rooms we’d been in. Dusty, dark. The only difference was that there were boxes of used stuff in the corners. Peter and I looked through them, but all we found were yellowed newspapers and magazines.
“This is boring.” My brother started back down the ladder. I followed him, not wanting him to suddenly play a nasty trick, and trap me inside. We hopped off the ladder one by one, turned, and stopped still in surprise.
We weren’t in Grandma and Grandpa’s house anymore.