“Now,” he began. “What’s yer name?” I was reluctant to answer, my previous misgivings returning.
“Why should I tell you that?” I asked haughtily.
“’Cos if you don’t, yer’ll regret it, that’s why,” he answered.
“Oh.” I still wasn’t sure about it. But curiosity won out. “Joanna. But everyone just calls me Jo.” He laughed again. It was a strange laugh. Gruff, as if he smoked (I felt privately that he must have a pipe stashed somewhere, he seemed to be that kind of a person), but friendly.
“There. That weren’t so hard, were it?” I did not reply. “Well. Jo. This is all gonna be a bit odd for you, I know. See, the thing is, I’m yer grandfather.” My eyes boggled out of my head. Grandfather?!? He wasn’t old enough for one thing, and I had been told that my grandpa had been dead for over twenty-five years.
“You’re joking, right?” I said. “You are, aren’t you?” He shook his head.
“You’ll not believe it, I know. I always knows, you see, with things like this. But it’s true, nonetheless, no matter what way you try to look at it.” He talked half to himself, and I wondered if he were slightly mad. It would explain a lot.