The little bear on Leo’s pyjamas.
And, over several evenings, a simplified map of the short walk from the park to their house.
He made the drawings large and clear, using colored pencils and thick black outlines.
Then he added symbols.
A star for the park gate.
A red rectangle for the postbox.
A yellow circle for the bakery.
A blue roof for home.
He also copied the house address and emergency telephone numbers onto a card inside the front cover.
He showed the notebook to Hannah once.
She turned the pages.
“What’s all this?”
“Something to help me remember.”
“It’s a good idea.”
Arthur closed it.
“I’ve still got some useful ideas.”
Hannah smiled.
“Of course you have.”
She suggested making a duplicate of the contact page for his coat and checking the route together.
He agreed to the contact card.
But he didn’t tell her about the next part.
The game.
It began on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
Leo was sitting on the sitting-room rug with a wooden shape puzzle, repeatedly trying to force a triangular piece into a round opening.
Arthur watched him for several minutes.
“That won’t fit, old chap.”
Leo pressed harder.
“Fit.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Fit!”
Arthur laughed.
He sat beside the boy and picked up the circular piece.
“Try this one.”
Leo pushed it into the opening.
It fitted perfectly.
He looked delighted.
“Found it!”
Arthur applauded.
“Excellent detective work.”
Leo looked at him.
“Detec?”
“Detective.”
“De-tec.”
“Close enough.”
Arthur pointed toward his own nose.
“A detective looks carefully.”
Leo touched his nose.
“Looks.”
“And finds things.”
“Find!”
“Exactly.”
The boy giggled.
Arthur glanced toward the writing desk.
An idea occurred to him.
He fetched the black notebook, opened it to a page showing the park, and placed it on the rug.
Leo leaned forward.
“Swing!”
“That’s right.”
Arthur turned the page.
“What’s this?”
“Bread!”
“The bakery.”
“Bread!”
“Fair enough.”
Then Arthur pointed to the little drawing of their red front door.
“Where’s this?”
Leo smiled.
“Home!”
Arthur’s throat tightened unexpectedly.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s home.”
Leo tapped the picture.
“Grandad home.”
Arthur nodded.
“Grandad home.”
The game developed slowly.
Arthur began making separate puzzle cards from thick paper, using drawings copied from the notebook. He cut the cards into two or three broad pieces, large enough for supervised toddler play, and stored them in a small envelope.
He sat with Leo at the kitchen table, helping him match pictures.
The red postbox.
The yellow bakery sign.
The park swings.
The blue-roofed house.
Leo loved it.
“Find home!” he would shout.
Arthur would spread out the cards.
“All right, Detective Leo. Find the way.”
The child would begin by placing the bear beside the swings.
Arthur would help him turn the next piece.
“What’s after the park?”
Leo would point.
“Bread!”
“And after the bakery?”
“Red box!”
“And then?”
“Home!”
Arthur would clap.
“Case solved.”
Leo would throw both arms into the air.
“Found it!”
At first, Arthur considered the activity little more than a way to entertain his grandson.
Then the game began serving a deeper purpose.
Repetition helped him feel more confident about familiar landmarks. The drawings gave him a way to review a route without struggling over a complicated street map. And the simple sequence became something he and Leo shared.
A small private language.
One afternoon Arthur added a drawing of himself standing beside a tree.
Leo pointed.
“Gandad!”
“Grandad,” Arthur corrected gently.
“Grandad!”
“That’s right.”
Then he drew a small magnifying glass beside the figure.
“Sometimes Grandad needs help finding his way.”
Leo frowned.
“Lost?”
Arthur hesitated.
The boy had recently lost his favourite toy beneath the sofa and had been deeply upset until they found it.
“Sometimes,” Arthur said.
Leo considered.
Then he placed both hands on the page.
“Leo find!”
Arthur laughed.
“You certainly will, won’t you?”
He kissed the top of the boy’s head.
For a moment, his eyes filled.
He turned away before Leo noticed.
Hannah knew about the picture game.
She did not know Arthur had become frightened of walking alone.
One afternoon he returned from the chemist nearly an hour later than expected.
He said there had been a long queue.
In reality, he had turned left at a junction where he normally turned right, walked several streets in the wrong direction, and found himself outside a row of unfamiliar houses.
He had stood there trying to understand how he’d arrived.
Eventually, he recognised a bus route and followed it back toward the main road.
The experience left him shaken.
He did not tell Hannah.
He convinced himself that it was a momentary lapse.
A bad afternoon.
Nothing more.
But when Leo came downstairs after his nap, Arthur held him longer than usual.
The toddler wriggled.
“Down!”
Arthur loosened his arms.
“Sorry, old chap.”
Leo patted his cheek.
“Grandad sad?”
Arthur looked at him.
He forced a smile.
“No. Grandad’s fine.”
Leo seemed unconvinced.
He reached toward Arthur’s cardigan pocket, where the black notebook had been tucked.
“Book!”
Arthur removed it.
“Shall we play?”
Leo’s face brightened.
“Find home!”
“Yes,” Arthur said quietly. “Let’s find home.”
The day Arthur went missing began with a disagreement about a bread roll.
It was a Saturday in late November, the kind of damp English day when the sky seemed to hang just above the rooftops. The rain had stopped after breakfast, but the pavements remained wet and fallen leaves clung to the gutters.
Hannah had a dental emergency appointment at the practice where she worked. She had arranged for a neighbour, Mrs Patel, to stay with Leo while Arthur was at home.
Arthur disliked the arrangement.
“I don’t need a minder.”
“She’s helping me with Leo.”
“I can make the boy lunch.”
“I know.”
“Then why have you asked her to come?”
Hannah checked the time.
