Visiting Grandma

By Tuesday afternoon, life in the Brand household had settled into something that looked almost normal.

Which, in hindsight, should have worried everyone.

Dad had barely left Leicester Royal Infirmary since Sunday night. Grandma Brand had undergone what felt like every test the hospital owned, plus a few that sounded as though they’d been invented by someone who enjoyed long words.

The good news was that she was improving, slowly. 

The bad news was that nobody was quite sure why she’d become so poorly in the first place. She had medical problems – she had a list! – but they were largely under control and didn’t exacerbate each other. Was this the start of a mass exacerbation? 

The even better news was that she was awake, chatting, and had already complained about the hospital tea.

Dad texted Mum.

“She’s definitely feeling more like herself.”

Mum smiled for the first time in two days.

“That’s your grandma,” she said. “If she’s complaining about tea, she’s on the mend.”

Barry looked horrified.

“Hospital tea made her poorly?”

“No, Barry.”

“Because if tea does that, I’m never drinking it.”

“You’ve never drunk tea.”

“I know. I’ve been avoiding danger.”

That evening Dad phoned.

“Would you all like to come tomorrow after school?”

Mum glanced at the boys.

Barry was already nodding despite not hearing the question.

Marmaduke happened to be staying for tea and copied Barry automatically.

Alfie waited.

“What does Grandma think?”

Dad laughed.

“She’d love to see everyone.”

“Then yes.”

Wednesday afternoon arrived.

Mum collected Alfie, Barry and Marmaduke from school.

The boys climbed into the car carrying enough snacks to survive a small expedition to the Arctic.

“We’re only driving to Leicester,” Mum reminded them.

“You never know,” Barry replied wisely.

For the first thirty minutes everything was peaceful.

Then Barry asked…

“Are we nearly there?”

“No.”

Five minutes later…

“Now?”

“No.”

Another four minutes.

“What about now?”

Mum sighed.

“Barry, Leicester hasn’t moved closer because you’ve asked.”

Barry considered this.

“It might have.”

Marmaduke was staring out of the window.

“I’ve seen seventeen cows.”

“I’ve seen eighteen,” Barry declared.

“You were asleep.”

“I counted in my dreams.”

Nobody could really argue with that.

Alfie quietly read his book.

Every now and then he looked over the top of it to check Barry wasn’t trying to open the windows using his feet.

Experience had taught him to stay vigilant.

Eventually the huge buildings of Leicester appeared.

Barry gasped.

“Are we here?”

“Yes.”

“Already?”

Mum looked in the rear-view mirror.

“You’ve been asking for an hour.”

“It felt quicker.”

Leicester Royal Infirmary was busy.

People hurried in every direction.

Doctors.

Nurses.

Visitors.

Porters.

Volunteers.

Barry looked around with enormous eyes.

“It’s like an airport.”

“It does feel busy,” Mum agreed.

“Where are the aeroplanes?”

“There aren’t any.”

“Missed opportunity.”

Before they went inside, Mum knelt down.

“Right.

Walking feet.

Quiet voices.

No running.

No touching hospital equipment.

No pressing buttons.

No disappearing.”

Barry nodded enthusiastically.

“I can do all of those.”

Alfie muttered quietly,

“Historically…”

They found Dad outside Grandma’s ward.

He looked tired.

Really tired.

But when he saw the boys, his face lit up.

Barry launched himself into Dad’s arms with such enthusiasm that Dad staggered backwards.

“Oof!”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Marmaduke joined the hug.

Dad disappeared completely beneath two four-year-olds.

Alfie waited patiently, then gave Dad a proper hug.

The sensible kind.

“Ready?” Dad asked.

The boys nodded.

They walked quietly onto the ward.

Well…

Alfie walked quietly.

Barry and Marmaduke whispered at a volume normally associated with football commentators.

“I THINK THAT’S HER.”

“SHHH!”

“I WAS WHISPERING!”

“No you weren’t.”

Grandma Brand looked much better than everyone had feared.

She was sitting up.

Reading.

Wearing glasses that somehow made her look even more like a grandma.

“There are my favourite boys.”

Barry frowned.

“What about Dad?”

“He’s one of my favourite grown-ups.”

Dad looked pleased.

“I’ll take that.”

Barry climbed carefully onto the visitor chair.

“I drew you a picture.”

“I know.”

“Dad put it next to your bed.”

“I’ve shown it to everyone.”

Barry beamed.

“I’m basically an artist.”

Marmaduke handed Grandma a small bunch of flowers.

Marjory had helped him choose them.

“They’re yellow.”

“My favourite.”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“My mum asked.”

Everyone laughed.

Honesty is refreshingly simple when you’re four.

Grandma chatted with Alfie about school.

Asked Barry about Reception.

Asked Marmaduke whether he was still collecting interesting sticks.

“I’ve got twelve.”

“Excellent.”

“One smells funny.”

“Perhaps don’t keep that one.”

Then Barry noticed something.

A little button hanging beside Grandma’s bed.

“What does this do?”

Every adult answered together.

“NOTHING YOU NEED TO PRESS.”

Barry froze.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“I was.”

The crisis had been avoided.

Or so everyone believed.

Until Barry spotted the adjustable bed controls.

“Ooh…”

Dad intercepted him like an Olympic goalkeeper.

“Absolutely not.”

“What if Grandma wants to be taller?”

“I’ll ask a nurse.”

Barry looked disappointed.

Hospitals contained an astonishing number of buttons.

Adults seemed strangely unwilling to let children investigate them.

After twenty lovely minutes Grandma announced,

“I’m feeling a little tired.”

“That’s our cue,” Mum smiled.

The boys each gave Grandma another cuddle.

Barry whispered,

“Come home soon.”

“I will.”

“We’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

Outside the ward everyone agreed to visit the hospital café before driving home.

Excellent idea.

Unfortunately…

Barry discovered automatic doors.

“They open by magic!”

“No,” Alfie sighed. “Sensors.”

Barry walked backwards and forwards.

The doors obediently opened and closed.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Marmaduke joined in.

Soon they looked like tiny security guards conducting a very confusing experiment.

People trying to leave had to weave around them.

Mum counted silently.

One…

Two…

Three…

“Barry.”

“Yes?”

“Stop hypnotising the doors.”

“We’re testing them.”

“They’ve passed.”

In the café Barry chose a chocolate muffin almost as large as his head.

Marmaduke copied him.

Halfway through eating, Barry spotted a little robot trundling across the floor carrying clean trays back to the kitchen.

His eyes widened.

“I KNEW IT!”

Everyone turned.

“The hospital HAS robots!”

The little service robot politely continued its journey.

Barry followed.

Marmaduke followed Barry.

The robot ignored both of them.

Which only made it more interesting.

“It likes us.”

“I don’t think it knows you’re there,” Alfie said.

Barry marched beside it.

“Hello Robot.”

No reply.

“Bit rude.”

The robot continued.

“It must be shy,” Marmaduke whispered.

The robot disappeared through swinging kitchen doors.

Barry stood looking disappointed.

“I think we were becoming friends.”

On the drive home the excitement finally caught up with everyone.

Marmaduke fell asleep before they reached the motorway.

Barry managed another fifteen minutes.

“I think Grandma looked much better.”

“I think so too,” Mum said.

“I’m glad Dad wasn’t lonely.”

“So am I.”

Barry smiled sleepily.

“When people are poorly…”

“Yes?”

“…you should visit them.”

“If you can, yes.”

“So they know they’re loved.”

Mum glanced in the mirror.

For once, Barry had nothing cheeky to add.

Within seconds he was asleep.

His mouth was open.

One shoe had somehow disappeared.

Nobody questioned it.

Back in Leicester, Dad stayed one more night with Grandma.

The following afternoon came the message everyone had been hoping for.

Grandma Brand was coming home.

Home to her own little house in Leicestershire.

She still needed plenty of rest.

Lots of cups of tea.

(The non-dangerous sort.)

And strict instructions not to overdo things.

Barry immediately made a plan.

“We’ll visit.”

“I’m sure we will,” Mum smiled.

“I’ll bring biscuits.”

“Very thoughtful.”

“And dinosaurs.”

“Why dinosaurs?”

Barry looked genuinely puzzled.

“Because hospitals don’t let you have dinosaurs.”

Dad laughed.

“I can’t fault that logic.”

Some adventures begin with excitement.

Some begin with curiosity.

This one had begun with worry.

But it ended the way the best family stories often do—not because everything had been perfect, but because everyone had pulled together.

Alfie with his quiet kindness.

Mum and Dad with their steady love.

Marjory with her reassuring medical wisdom.

Marmaduke with his loyal friendship.

And Barry…

Well.

Barry reminded everyone that even in difficult weeks, there was still room for laughter, cuddles, chocolate muffins, and accidentally making friends with a hospital robot.

Sometimes, that is exactly the medicine a family needs.