He had a little light lunch before they came for him. A slice of his favourite hickory smoked ham, some mature self-levelling brie and a crunchy red apple—sliced thinly through the mandolin as he preferred it. He washed it down with a cup of tea, made with the choice of leaves his wife brought with her when they married; that he had come to love over the years. Not too much for him these days; he didn’t need the energy at his time of life.

The doorbell rang the same chime she’d chosen, the last time they remodelled. When he’d moved to the seniors’ complex, they had been kind enough to send a man round to disconnect it from the old place and fix it up for him. The electrician was kind and helpful. “Anything to make it comfortable for you,” he said, “We want to make it just like your real home.”

“Grandpa. Grandpa. Are you ready.” The little girl squealed at him. Excitement he could hear in her even before he opened up.

“Come on. Come on. Are you ready?”

She came through the door in a bluster, hurrying him along gathering the things he’d placed on the little chair by the door in readiness for their afternoon’s adventure.