"Just pick up the pieces!" he murmured to his wife.

"And please don't say anything . . . to anyone! Don't tell Lucy, not now, not later!"

She gasped at what had just happened. How would he cope with this?  She could see the disappointment in his face as he tried to remain calm and controlled.

So much work down the drain - hours of his time, hours of painstaking effort. He'd been so pleased with what he'd done so far. Swept away in a moment. An accident, unintentional.

She helped him move to the living room and settle into his favourite armchair.

"I'll get you a cup of tea straight away," she consoled him.

She soon returned and they sat together, enjoying the calm and the cup of tea. Neither Grandpa nor Gran said a word. Each knew what the other was thinking. They needed these few moments of peace.

Their little granddaughter Amy was now quietly playing nearby with a train set, their big old dog Georgie watching with great interest. Amy was a lively child, usually running everywhere. At three years old she was the delight of their lives, born to their eldest daughter, Lucy.

They baby-sat just one day a week, a tiring but happy day. Amy would often jump onto Grandpa's lap and throw her arms around his neck, declaring her never-ending love.

She had a great imagination, helped in part by Grandpa's vivid story telling. They often sat together, making up stories, and adding much drama and laughter to the regaling of the tales.

Grandpa was in a wheel-chair. His activities were limited, but he was still an avid reader, and enjoyed several hobbies. He'd just been working at his most recent hobby while Amy played with Georgie outside.

Suddenly she'd come racing in, her hair flying out behind her. Georgie was loping after her, tongue hanging out, eyes shining. Both were enjoying the game.

"Grandpa! Grandpa!" she exclaimed, "There's a monster chasing me!" Arms flailing wildly, she'd grabbed at his wheelchair to pull herself up onto his knees, out of reach of Georgie the "monster".

Trying to regain her balance, she'd slipped, and had almost fallen onto the low table, set at just the right height for Grandpa in his wheelchair. In those next few seconds, in the mad scramble to prevent her from falling, her arms swept . . . most of his half-finished jigsaw puzzle to the floor.

It was a complex puzzle with 1500 pieces – and it was double-sided, with the obverse set at right angles to the top picture. Daughter Lucy had given it to him for his birthday, to be a challenge for him. She was looking forward to seeing his progress with it – when she picked up Amy tonight.

"Did you pick up the pieces?" Grandpa asked Gran. She nodded.

"Thank you, Dear," he replied, "otherwise Georgie will spread them further – and he might eat some pieces."

"There's still a little bit left on your table – it's not all wrecked." Gran was trying her best to be encouraging.

"We'll just tell Lucy I'm finding it to be quite a difficult puzzle and I've only got a small part done!" Grandpa replied, with a smile, "And that's the truth!"

"Yes, I'm disappointed," he continued, "but . . . we always said 'people matter more than things', and Amy didn't mean to knock it down! So yes, we'll just pick up the pieces – and pretty much start again! That'll keep me busy and out of mischief!"