by Rosemary Johnson
I don’t like it, shopping with Grandma. Home now. Want to play with road-carpet.
Road-carpet is best-est toy. When Mummy and me go downstairs in morning, I get road-carpet out of toy box and put it on floor. I put dumper truck on road-carpet. I put tractors on road-carpet. And trailers. And fire engine. And bus.
Grandma said we go to swings, but I on swings only little bit. Grandma has cold. Grandma sneezing lots. Now we at Tesco, to buy tissues, Grandma said. Tissues, Grandma, just tissues. Not carrots and potatoes too, Grandma? I don’t like it, Grandma. I run away. Bye-bye carrots and potatoes. I at door now. I blow on the glass, make it all steam up, then wipe it with my sleeve. I see real road now, grown-ups’ road. Cars, lots of cars. Red bus coming, like my red bus.
“Connor.” Grandma bends down, so she’s little like me. “Don’t make me run after you. Please, Connor. Grandma not well.”
I nod. I mean to be good. Really.
“Hold my hand, Connor. Tight,” says Grandma. But we’re going back to potatoes.
“Just a minute, love.” Grandma’s looking at packets with pictures of lemons on.
“Home now, Grandma. See Mummy.”
“Mummy’s at work, love.”
I don’t like it. Where’s Grandpa? Grandpa funny.
Come on, Grandma. Grandma sneezes. I crunch up my fingers in her hand and wriggle away. Back at door now. Digger on road. Big digger.
No, Grandma. I don’t want it. Door opens by itself when I stand in front of it. Very funny. I go through door.
I run across pavement. I look at digger. Coming now. Very biiiig and greeeeen. I need to see digger. I neeed to. I neeeed to. I put one foot in road.
…Car horn hooting. Car coming behind, very fast. Very very fast. Very very scary.
I want to cry, but no time. I pant and gulp.
Man grabs my hand. He pulls me on to pavement. “Careful, little chap,” says man. He looks down and smiles at me, bit like Grandpa does. “Come with me. Let's buy an ice cream.” He holds my hand really really tight. He walks very fast. “Come on, little fella. Let’s run.”
I can’t run. Knee hurts. Not nice man. Not like Grandpa. Don’t want man. I crunch up my fingers into a ball. I dig my nails into his hand, but he doesn’t let go. “No. No,” I cry. “I don’t want it.”
People stare at man and me. I kick. I scream. Nobody stops. People think I naughty.
I bend up my knees. Grown-ups can’t make you walk when you bend up knees. “Man go way. Bye bye man.”
Then man lets go of my hand. Man runs. He runs very fast. Grandma picks me up and carries me.
I hold Grandma’s hand now. Very tight. I cuddle Grandma as she does up my car seat. I love my Grandma.
About the author
Rosemary is returning to short story writing after spending time writing a historical novel. She has articles published in Christian Writer and Together. In real life, Rosemary lives with her husband and cat in Essex and teaches IT and maths. She blogs about writing and everyday life at .