Short Story: 'Undeadly'

Starters 

Grandmother looked well all things considered. Though of course I had never met her before, she had been dead all my life until that week. 

Her name was, and is, Celia Horne. I had only known her face from framed photographs that lined the staircase wall. They were black-and-white - not because they were from olden times but, I suppose, because changing a photo to black-and-white gives an air of class to any dead person. 

The latest photo was from twenty years ago. In it she stands grandly before the fireplace in the great hall with her three teenage children stiffly placed by her side. It was taken a month or two after grandfather died and was, I suppose, a way of confirming Grandmother as the new head of the family. That didn’t last long. 

My mother - Rebecca (she insists I call her that as she finds mother too ‘cloying’) looked much the same; her thick bushy hair flicked out at the ends, the same blank shark eyes, that small mean mouth. Even looking at her directly in a photograph felt forbidden, growing up she’d snap if I was ‘examining’ her for too long with my ‘beady child eyes’. Uncle Reuben was glum and sinister as ever, his hair hanging limply onto his pale sour face. In his clammy hands was one of his stuffed owls, gazing forever in alarm. And forever on the edge was Aunt Rose, her eyes fixed on her mother, fingers nervously tugging at the cardigan she still wears. It was the last photo taken of Grandmother alive. I suppose it still is. 

Now she sits at the end of the dinner table examining the prawn cocktail. Pearls, Chanel suit, quaffed hair floating around her head in a caramel cloud. Younger than I expected - or rather, at the very same age in the photograph. Two weeks before her death. I suppose her age must be paused or do they take into account the missing years?

She turned over the lettuce leaves with a fork as though searching for slugs. 

“I can ask them to make you another if you’d prefer -  “

“Don’t fuss for God’s sake Rose! It’s so tiresome. I’ll eat what I’m given. Honestly, I can’t abide fuss…” Grandmother trailed off with a sigh and a conspiratorial roll of her eyes to Bygraves, the family’s creaky old butler. Aunt Rose sank into her chair. 

The clock ticked. I picked at my prawn cocktail. The tang of the sauce burns the back of my tongue so I instead fished out any untainted lettuce. 

“I mean really, it’s like bloody 1973 all over. I can practically taste the patterned orange carpet and bell-bottoms. It’s never been inspired cuisine in this house but… “ continued Grandmother as though rolling on waves of her own thoughts. 

“It was Daddy’s favourite,” murmured Rose. 

Grandmother paused at this a moment and eyed Rose carefully. 

“Well he’s not here to eat it, is he Rose? And as ever I am the one left to suffer…”

Rebecca sighed theatrically, “We’re all suffering mother.”

“Mind your tongue Rebecca - and don’t slouch,” said Grandmother.

“You know,” said Uncle Reuben with a slippery smile, “people say Rebecca gets her sharp tongue from you mother. In fact many remark on how very alike you’ve become. Why at an event only last month the Flestrums said - “

“Ridiculous! We’re nothing alike,” said Rebecca. 

“I think you’re quite alike,” murmured Rose while piercing a prawn. 

Grandmother recoiled as though hit with a stench. “How insulting.”

“Inaccurate more than insulting…” began Rebecca.

“It isn’t insulting to you dear,” said Grandmother sharply. “I still have my looks - all things considered.”

The conversation sank back into safe depths of silence. While cutlery chimed off the cut-glass bowls, each mind shuffled along the sea-bed of their own disgruntled thoughts, bringing none to the surface. 

“And you,” Grandmother’s eyes fixed on me, “Doing well in school are we?”

“The child’s name is Baxter,” said Rebecca wearily.

“Can’t the boy speak for himself?”

“Yes ma’am,” I began, “Quite well. “

“Good. Don’t put too much stock in academia though. You must be practical too. Reuben always had his head in a book and well… “

“I am a professor of medicine mother - “

“And I’m sure you’re satisfied with that.”

Reuben’s jaw clamped and pulsed under his skin. 

“Reuben’s quite brilliant in his field,” began Rebecca, “We’ve all achieved what we set out to in life. And we didn’t have to marry into it.”

Rose’s spoon paused, her eyes fixed on the table. Reuben’s flicked to Grandmother with morbid fascination. His tongue teased his wet lips. 

Grandmother nodded with a vinegar smile. She slowly wiped each finger with a napkin.

“Because you were born into money,” she titled her head as though talking to a particularly stupid child, “You all were. Birthed in it, suckled on it, breathed, and bathed in it. Comforted and coddled by it all your life.  So no, I dare say you didn’t do a thing to get it.”

Rebecca’s knuckled rapped the table. “The family business is at a higher turnover than ever before. It’s fourteen times the size Daddy left it - “

“Oh wonderful. You are a success. And how is the father of you child Rebecca? Absent I see. Perhaps with his wife? Or a less awkward question, how is how is your child?" Eyes turned to me. “Your first time seeing him this year I believe?”

“He’s very content at the boarding school. It’s a good school - “ Rebecca began with steely vigour.

“Are you dear? Are you happy?” Grandmother called down the table. 

The truth is I wasn’t happy at the school. I was lonely there. Lonely too in an empty townhouse with servants darting from rooms as I entered, lonely here at the family home in the country with its echoing halls, but I was perhaps loneliest of all when she was there. Mother. Rebecca. Her only mothering touch was to straighten my shoulder blades with hard fingers covered in bulbous rings. She never hugged or smiled or said anything even tepid towards me. I was, I had supposed after many years of thoughtful examination, an unwelcome reminder of my unmentioned father. 

“It’s a good school.” I said. 

“For God’s sake Baxter. You can say more than that! Tell her how much I invested in the sports gymnasium.” 

I clammed up, as I do when people are watching me. I’m never very good at speaking in class. 

Rebecca sighed and shook her head. I was numb to her disappointment now. She never hid it, rather she staged and performed it. “I donated seven point two million for a new sports gymnasium.” she continued. 

“Well,” said Grandmother cooly, “Who am I to comment on how children should be raised? Clearly it’s not my area of expertise.”

“You couldn’t say one nice thing could you mother? Not a ‘Well done Rebecca, on turning a shabby little business into a billion-pound industry.’ Or how about ‘You’ve become the equal of your father and ten times the person I ever was - “

Grandmother sighed, “Oh Rebecca, you deluded bitch.”

Rose gasped and stifled a giggle. Reuben’s eye twitched with excitement. I watched.

Rebecca clenched the knife in her hand. “You know what, I wish they’d kept you frozen. It suited your natural temperament much better. Frozen to the core and tucked away in that facility where you can’t harm anyone. If it wasn’t for that bloody fault you’d be there now.”

“Well there was a fault,” said Grandmother handing her empty plate to Bygraves, “I’m all thawed out. And I’m just getting warmed up.”

Mains

The beef bourguignon was served. Another of grandfather’s favourites, Rose said. I had fettuccine alfredo, or as I call it cheesy pasta. I became vegetarian when I was eleven. I didn’t like to think of dead things at dinner.  Rebecca once stood over me forcing me to chew and swallow a steak but it didn’t take and she soon tired of the effort and instead wrote an angry letter to the school demanding the vegetarian art teacher be fired for brainwashing students. I didn’t take art. 

Grandmother insisted I wasn’t to have wine as it’s not for children. Rebecca pointed out I was fourteen and could do what I wanted. (I actually turn fourteen in two months but I dared not correct her). Sensing a test of loyalty, I refused the wine and earned a nod of approval from Grandmother. Rebecca rolled her eyes. Grandmother asked for a gin and tonic - large. It came in a huge glass goblet that wobbled her in hand and made her head seem small as a chihuahua’s. 

While I ate, Rebecca droned on to nobody in particular about business expansion. They were making headway in China which she was very excited about. Grandmother stifled a yawn and asked Reuben about his ‘little hobby’. Reuben had recently stuffed a rare owl found in North Korea. Grandmother idly wondered where he got such a ‘morbid curiosity’ from. And Rose, Rose said nothing but picked at her food, occasionally glowering at Grandmother from beneath her thick eyebrows. 

Bygraves brought in some yellow papers on a silver plater. 

“Ah this should liven things up,” said Grandmother. “The papers from my lawyers.”

“What lawyers?” said Rebecca, “The family lawyers? My lawyers?”

Grandmother smirked. “No dear, they’re very much not on your team.”

“So now,” said Grandmother peering at one before handing it to Rebecca, “These outline that while the inheritance, house, and family business etcetera etcetera came to you in the event of my first death - that death is now null and void. And so it all returns to me.”

An aghast look shot through the siblings like cold electricity.  

“Do pass a copy on to your sister dear - and one for you Reuben. The lawyers say it’s an unprecedented case. They became so lively with excitement. Rare to see in a lawyer. So the previous will is now void. And I’m writing a new one. I would like you all out of my house please.”

“But - but surely…” began Reuben, “My laboratory - my owls.”

“My laboratory. My owls,” said Grandmother, “… though what one does with a stuffed owl I shudder to think. It all seems so perverse to me.”

“You can’t do this!” said Rebecca with choked alarm, “I’ll get my lawyers to sort it. You can’t simply waltz back to life and claim everything you lost. You died. It’s ours.”

Rose’s hands gripped onto the table-cloth, her knuckles white. 

“No my dears, sadly for you legally, biologically, and ethically your mother is alive. Tomorrow the banks will return everything to me and recognise my new will - which - “ She nodded to Bygraves, “I shall sign now.”

Bygraves brought Grandmother a thick fountain pen. She glanced over the paper murmuring to herself - “in the event… heirs get nothing… left in a trust… Looks good to me.” She gave a smile to the table and raised the pen. 

Rebecca, Reuben, and Rose shared looks loaded with a dark understanding. Grandmother’s pen paused. 

“Leave us for a moment would you?” Reuben said to the butler. Grandmother lifted the pen, and with a glimmer of a smile, gave Bygraves a nod. He left, silently shutting the doors behind him. “Perhaps you should leave too Baxter.” said Reuben grimly.

“Oh, do let him stay,” said Grandmother, “he can truly meet his family. The greedy grasping children who now want me dead.”

A look darted through the siblings - 

“Oh I do know how convenient it would be for you all if - let’s say, the defrosting process wasn’t as simple as expected - perhaps I become faint and crack my head on that fireplace,” Their eyes followed her’s to the stone fireplace, seeing her lying there dead on the bearskin rug. “Perhaps I choke on a grizzly bit of beef?” I could see the trio forcing the fatty meat into her throat, hands gripped around her throat. “Or maybe, I am to be slowly poisoned in a fashion that leaves no trace…”

The trio stared.

“Oh I know how I was murdered,” said Grandmother with a shrug as she shook out her napkin, “and I know who did it.”

Desserts 

We were served an option of creme brûlée or fruit pavlova for dessert. I opted for both. Rebecca didn’t like me eating desserts as she said it made me fat, but I supposed she was rather distracted in the circumstances. The brûlée gave a satisfying crack when my spoon touched it. 

“I know you pushed for me to be cremated Rebecca - much like this brûlée - which for my money is quite exquisite. The cook has gotten better - still I suppose they should with twenty years experience. Back to death. Luckily somebody bothered to pay attention to my will and carried out my instructions. I wasn’t to rot in the damp gardens like your father. No thank you. I much rather be put on ice.” She raised her goblet, the ice-cubes swirling with a twinkle. 

“I was at your father’s grave today,” she continued, “Flowers - from you I presume Rose. You were always so devoted to the old bastard.” Rose flared pink. “Still, nice that somebody imagines him a soul worth remembering. But now to the murder - my murder.”

Grandmother sat back and watched her children stiffen, enjoying their agony of anticipation. 

“How would a healthy youthful woman of just fifty-something years fall into a coma and die just like that? How very mysterious. I’m told the coroner could find no reason behind it. A medical marvel if you will. I should be flattered. And then I’m told there’s a very rare poison…”

Reuben twitched. I leaned forward and resting my chin on my hand. My elbow was on the table but at that point I didn’t think I would get shouted at for it. 

“A poison if administered in small doses would have no obvious side-effects until BAM,” She thumped the table. Cutlery, glasses, and we jumped. “One day they fall into a coma - and eternal rest. No traces, no finger-prints, no way of anyone knowing. Except maybe the victim - but they can’t talk. Usually.”

“Preposterous!” said Reuben, and then with a flushed smile added, “I would have heard of such a thing mother and I - “

“You would. And did. A rare nettle found in the Andes - very hard to source. Expensive to track down too I imagine. And so difficult to administer correctly. Why you would have to note the exact dosages in a notebook found in the bottom drawer of the desk in your laboratory under a stack of yellowing owl magazines - all coded of course but not a hard code to crack.”

“I don’t know what you’re suggesting - “

“You don’t? For a professor you’re not terribly quick are you? I’m suggesting my dear boy that you poisoned me.”

This hung in the air a moment. A moment too long.

“I did not!” cried Reuben. 

“Correct! Not directly. How was the poison administered? The poison itself is clear but has a slight but noticeable tang. How to disguise that? Tea? Coffee? No it would taste ‘off’. But perhaps swirled into a daily gin and tonic. One brought to me each evening by my simpering youngest daughter, feigning interest in building a relationship following her beloved father’s death… “

“Mummy that’s just not fair - “ said Rose sulkily as she stared at the tablecloth. 

“Well it wouldn’t be your idea of course. Too ambitious. Too daring. Too much imagination for you Rose. Isn’t that so Rebecca?”

Rebecca playfully twisted a ring on her finger and smiled. Rose’s mouth fell open, her face flushed beetroot.

“It wasn’t her! It was my idea. It was my idea from the start - I talked them into it. And you want to know why?”

“Pray tell.” say Grandmother cooly. 

“Because of father. Because of what you did to him. Years of belittling, exploiting and sneering at that dear man - and then, and then to bring the tennis instructor to his funeral!”

“Julio? I had forgotten all about him. I should call - though it has been twenty years, I imagine time hasn’t been kind to those buttocks.”

“There you go again!” Rose’s bottom teeth were showing, “You vile selfish old cow. You cared about nobody but yourself - you never loved Daddy. You never loved us!”

For the first time that evening, Grandmother was taken aback. 

“Your father was a brute. One with a monstrous temper. I didn’t love him, that I’ll admit. But I did try to love you children. You never made it easy but I tried. You each became twisted by this luxury, twisted against me by your father’s words. You looked down on me, sneered at me.”

“Because you were and are and will only ever be a cheap gold-digger,” snarled Rose, “Cheap!”

Rebecca laughed, “Bravo Rose.” Reuben sat forward on his chair, giddy. 

Grandmother then looked a way I hadn’t seen before, resolved but sad. 

“It’s only now at the end I see you have such spirit. I should have respected you more. I see that. Still, no point crying over spilled blood. And now to the murder I suppose, you’ve all waited long enough.”

Rebecca scoffed, “I suppose you’re right. Nobody outside the family knows you were back and nobody will know - “ 

Her face smashed into the pavlova sending cream, meringue, and slices of kiwi flying. 

Rose jumped, then reached for her throat - then flopped back in her chair, arms dangling by her sides as though she was hanging limp on a bungee cord. 

“Oh dear,” said Reuben flatly. His face bounced off the table before his body fell to the floor with a clatter. 

I put down my fork. 

“Oh, don’t worry dear, your dessert is perfectly safe to eat. And I don’t want to see any wasted. Empty plates that’s what I like to see.”

I spooned a hefty fork-full of pavlova into my mouth. 

“The wine you see. The same little trick they pulled on me but a higher dosage. An explanation will be tricky. They’ll be found in a car-crash I suppose. And do eat up the fruit, not just the cream, that’s good fruit.” Grandmother said primly. “You aren’t too upset I hope?”

“Not terribly,” I said, “Am I in your will?”

She looked at me for a long while. Then nodded. 

“You can be.” she said with warm respect, “I must admit, Granny’s been a bit cheeky. It wasn’t a fault at the facility. It was a dear old friend who paid them to unfreeze me. Terribly decent of him - “ She turned with a smile as Bygraves entered and surveyed the scene. 

“Would you like tea or coffee to finish ma’am?”

****

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