Free Grimm by Mike Nicholson Page B

you didn’t want to talk about it,” said Bonnie. “I would ask how it went,” she continued, “but I’m not sure that you want me to.”
    Rory shrugged. “No, I don’t mind.”
    Bonnie’s eyes widened at the opportunity. She pulled herself straight in her wheelchair and clapped her hands in glee. “So? Why were you up there? What’s going on? Come on, tell me all. Spill the beans. Was it what you expected? I’ve been dying to ask you. Did you only just get back alive? Have you any scars?”
    “Maybe I do mind if that’s how you normally ask questions,” said Rory managing to get a word in eventually.
    “Sorry, sorry,” said Bonnie. “It’s just that I’ve never met anyone who’s been there.”
    “You should meet my Grandad,” said Rory. “He confessed to me yesterday that he half-built the place.”
    “Wow! I’d love to meet him,” said Bonnie.
    “Well, actually I er … need a bit of help with what Granville Grimm has asked me to do and I’m going to be doing it at my Grandad’s. If you came we could kill two birds with one stone.”
    “Granville Grimm has asked you to do something?” Bonnie squealed.
    “ SSSSHHHH !” said Rory. “Could you keep it down a bit, please. It’s not something I was planning to broadcast.”
    “Sorry,” said Bonnie, speaking in hushed tones and looking furtive. “What’s he asked you to do? Is it a marketing job? How exciting!”
    “You can have this job if you want,” said Rory, “You sound more into it than me.” He was wishing again that his encounter with Finkleman all those months ago had never happened. He had emailed the big American about his impossible challenge, trying to describe Hotel Grimm as diplomatically as he could, but had heard nothing back yet.
    At least Bonnie was right in front of him and showing an interest so Rory gave her as much of a run through of what had happened as he could before the bell rang to go back inside. As it did, he fixed a time for Bonnie to join him at his Grandad’s the next day.
     
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bonnie,” said Grandad. He was on his feet holding on to the back of his armchair. “I’ve tidied up a bit as Rory had said you were in the wheelchair. Hope I’ve given you enough room there,” he said jabbing the coffee table with his walking stick. Rory cringed a bit as it seemed as though his Grandad was drawing attention to the fact that Bonnie was in a wheelchair. Bonnie didn’t bat an eyelid and was upfront as ever.
    “That’s fine, Mr Munro. As long as I can get through the door I can usually muddle through. The fact that you’ve got a ramp up to your front door is the winner for me. Otherwise you and Rory would have been fighting over who got to carry me in.”
    “You should hear him complaining about that ramp,” said Rory. “Might as well hang a banner up saying ‘I’m about to keel over,’” he said doing a very good imitation of his Grandad’s accent. Grandad grimaced at him.
    “I just see these things as a way of getting from A to B,” said Bonnie.
    “Here,” said Grandad, wanting to change the subject. He manoeuvred around his armchair, reaching for the padlocked box. “This is what keeps Rory entertained when he comes here.”
    “What is it?” asked Bonnie resting the box on her lap and peeringat it.
    “Just a load of old junk, some people might say. But everything seems to have a story attached to it, so it’s all been worth hanging on to.”
    “Have a go,” said Rory. “Grandad’s right. It’s amazing what’s in there.”
    Bonnie unclasped the padlock and looked inside. Then reaching in as if it was a lucky dip, she rummaged right to the bottom until she pulled out a crumpled and grubby white card, its gold edge nearly rubbed off with age.
    “Okay, what’s this then?” she asked.
    “I don’t know,” said Grandad glancing over and looking a bit vague, as he concentrated on getting to his seat. “Some old invitation I think. Try something