by Tegan Maher
It was me who missed out on going out with my friends. It was me who missed out on holidays to New Zealand. James told me that he was doing me a favour by giving me so many children. And he was, but perhaps I would have liked to explore volcanoes, even if that meant holding Henry’s hand while doing so. After all, I held his hand at home, on the way to school, in the supermarket. Why should I not have any fun in life?
After Carol-Angel came Murgatroyd. Yes. James forced me to name our second-born son Murgatroyd, because why name him something cute when you can name him something terrible? Carol-Angel and Murgatroyd found themselves in classrooms positively overflowing with boys named Christopher and girls named Sarah. And do you know the awful part? When Murgatroyd asked his father why we had called him Murgatroyd, James had replied, “Your mother chose the name.”
Your mother! Me? Choose the name Murgatroyd!
Apparently, Murgatroyd was the name of some long-dead cousin on James’s mother’s side.
I bet he died of shame.
“You are such a name snob,” Agatha once told me, and she was correct. I loved thinking about names.
After Murgatroyd, we had Bertha. Bertha was named after a cow my husband used to pat on his way to school. She was kind, this Bertha, and swished her tail as he scratched her behind the ears. Apparently, this was the highlight of his childhood, and how could I possibly deny him the nostalgia high of calling our daughter Bertha? His family made a big song and dance about how selfish I was, and by then I had just stopped caring. If his family insisted on choosing names, then so be it. The kids could change their names when they were older, I told myself, and Bertha, in fact, did. As soon as she turned eighteen, she had me drive her to the city, where we filled out the appropriate forms and showed the appropriate identification.
Bertha was now Lavender. But she didn’t just stop with changing her first name. No, she changed her last name too—she was now Lavender Crewe, named after the hero of A Little Princess. I’d loved that book, and Lavender had inherited that love. We’d been close once as well, just like I was once close with Henry. I don’t know how their father poisoned them against me, but he did. He turned them from my babies into adults who could barely stand to be in the same room as I, who spoke down to me and rolled their eyes and scoffed and snorted and elbowed each other in the ribs when I gave any sort of suggestion or advice. And now they were visiting me, tonight. And they were going to judge and belittle and snark.
“Didn’t Dad want to paint the house?” Henry said as he arrived.
“No,” I replied, “I wanted to paint the house.”
Henry frowned at me. “I don’t know why you protested. It could do with a new coat of paint.”
“Your father protested. He said it would cost too much.”
“Beatrix, don’t you think the house needs a new coat of paint?” Henry turned to his wife, who was tall and slim, with short black hair and a large gap between her teeth.
“I don’t know why your mother refused,” she replied.
“I didn’t,” I snapped, but there was no talking to them.
“Poor Dad,” Lavender said when she arrived, “having to live in such a grim little cottage.”
“I live here too,” I replied, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
“Please tell me all those ugly little cat figurines you like are gone,” Katie said when she arrived.
Carol-Angel agreed with her. “Oh, those were hideous.” They had arrived together, leaving their husbands at home with their children, whom they believed were better raised than I had been able to manage with them. Always so judgemental, these children of mine. To think they were all once so adorable.
I suppose they hadn’t sprouted tusks or devil horns. To the emotionally uninvested stranger, they probably seemed perfectly normal.
“I brought food,” Murgatroyd said the moment he stepped from his car. “We all know what Mum is like with cooking.”
“We do?” I said, as all the children nodded in agreement with Murgatroyd.
Dinner was horrible. Murgatroyd had brought bread and cold cuts. I thought of the dinner I had prepared—goat’s cheese mini tarts, seven-layer chicken Caesar salad, prosciutto-wrapped halloumi sticks, and salmon strips with saffron mayonnaise. In fact, I’d spent the last of my money for the month on the goat’s cheese and salmon. Neither were cheap. To think of all that food going to waste because my children thought bread and cold cuts were tastier than anything I could cook.
“That was delicious,” Lavender told Murgatroyd. “Much better than anything I expected to eat.”
Everyone agreed.
I wanted to tell them all to shove off, but Katie and Carol-Angel had decided to poke through everything James and I owned. “We should sell this,” Carol-Angel said, picking up a porcelain doll that belonged to my mother. “It’s creepy.”
Yes, it was creepy, but it also had sentimental value. And it was not in the least bit cursed, which was surprising when you think about it. “It’s not going anywhere,” I said, snatching the doll away.
“Oh, Mum,” Lavender said. “Please be reasonable. Dad hated that doll.”
“Your father is dead,” I said, which made each and every one of my children gasp.
Evil Beatrix gave Henry a look which said, I told you your mother is an uncaring monster.
“We need to sell the bed in the master bedroom,” Beatrix said. “It’s far too big for one person. Your mother will get by just fine sleeping in a single bed.”
I was stunned. “Excuse me?”
Beatrix continued as though I were not there. “One of us really should move in with her. Just to keep an eye on her health. She’ll not be able to manage alone, you know.”
“Actually,” Lavender said, “I think we should sell the house now that Dad is gone and put Mum in a nursing home.”
“Excuse me!” I shrieked. “This is my house now.”
The kids disagreed. “Dad left everything to us in his will,” they all said in unison.
“You are over fifty now, Mum,” Lavender added. “You really do need to move into a nursing home. You can’t expect us to look after you in your advanced age.”
“Jennifer Lopez is older than I am,” I snapped. “Are you all planning on selling her house and sticking her in a home?”
“Do you need to lie down?” Henry said.
“Do I need to teach you all manners?” I retorted. “This is my house until the will is settled, and I’ll thank you for keeping your sticky fingers off the things which are mine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I plan on standing in front of the fridge and stuffing my face with goat’s cheese.”
Murgatroyd tut-tutted. “You really do need to lose some weight, Mum. People who have obesity are at increased risk for so many diseases and health conditions. Like hypertension and Type 2 diabetes.”
“And coronary heart disease,” Beatrix added.
“Not to mention sleep apnoea,” Lavender said.
“And clinical depression,” Carol-Angel added.
“I am not obese,” I snapped.
The children all looked at each other like I was senile.
“The nursing home probably has some sort of dietary requirements that Mum will need to follow,” Lavender said to Carol-Angel and Katie. “That should help get her back on track.”
“Yes,” Carol-Angel said, “but does Mum have the willpower to follow a diet? I’m sorry, but I think we need to send her to rehab.”
“I could use a drink, come to think of it,” I muttered to myself.
“Not with your alcohol addiction,” Beatrice said, “which, yes, does need addressing. No, we need to sort out your dependence on food. It’s not healthy.”
“It’s not healthy to eat?” I said.
“You binge eat.”
“When have I ever—”
“Mum, you are constantly standing in front of the fridge, where you stuff your mouth with goat’s cheese. You just admitted to that two seconds ago.”
> “I did nothing of the sort.”
“Oh, she’s now losing her memory,” Beatrix said, and she sighed. “It’s terrible what age does to somebody.”
“Obesity is a risk factor for Alzheimer’s,” Carol-Angel said sadly. “Terrible, terrible disease.”
“I think Mum is fine…” Murgatroyd said.
Finally! An ally.
“Thank you,” I replied.
Murgatroyd shook his head. “You didn’t let me finish. I think Mum is fine to go into a nursing home. Think of all the fun she could have with all the other old people. My girlfriend’s grandmother is in a nursing home. She gets ice cream every Sunday evening. Doesn’t that sound nice, Mum? Ice cream every Sunday evening.”
I didn’t tell Murgatroyd that I could eat ice cream every Sunday evening if I wanted now—that I didn’t need to be in an old people prison in order to eat ice cream.
“Shove off,” I said.
Henry, Katie, Carol-Angel, Murgatroyd, and Lavender all looked at me in shock.
“Mum?” Henry said.
I gave them all the finger, stuck out my tongue, and climbed out the window.
6
"I'm never going back to that house again!" I burst into tears and stuck my face in front of Agatha's air-conditioner.
Agatha picked up a magazine and fanned me. "I'm terribly sorry that James's death kicked you out of your own home. Why don't you contest the will?"
I reached for the remote control and set the air-conditioner to its coldest setting. "I can't do that. I can't take my own children to court."
"They don't care about you!" Agatha snapped. "Where do they expect you to live?"
"I don't think they care, to be honest. They said they're going to sell the house. I'll have to get a job and rent a small apartment somewhere in town. Maybe Edison Chester could give me a job."
The hot flash had passed, so I turned the air-conditioner back to its usual setting. I crossed the room to sit next to the Christmas tree. "I don't think he has enough business to give anybody a job," Agatha said, "but I'm sure somebody in town would be happy to give a job to a local."
I threw up my hands to the ceiling. "I don't have any skills. My only skills are sleeping and eating, like a cat." I broke off and uttered a rueful laugh.
"Nonsense!" Agatha said firmly. "You looked after James for years. You waited on him hand and foot."
"Yes, I did." I pulled a Christmas ornament out of the tree and spun it so it reflected the light.
"You’re welcome to stay here until you find a job and get on your feet," Agatha said.
I thanked her. "That's very kind."
"It's the least I can do." Her expression was grim. "Have you heard from the police again?"
I shook my head. "No, thank goodness. Obviously, the murderer didn't plant any peanut substances in my baking ingredients."
"I'm sure the murderer didn't want to frame you," Agatha said brusquely. "I wonder if the police have arrested Luella?"
I continued to shake my head. "No, it would be all over town by now if they had. Anyway, I'm never going to that supermarket again."
Agatha nodded solemnly. "I don't blame you. When will you start looking for a job?"
"Today," I told her. "People might need extra help, what with Christmas and everything."
Agatha agreed. "You could try waitressing. Plus some of the smaller specialty stores would need more help. Maybe the health food store or the cakery. You're a very good cook."
"I don't have any qualifications in anything," I told her. "And they can pay younger people really cheap wages."
"I'll ask around for you.”
While I was shy and introverted, Agatha was quite the opposite. She went to the local gym daily and was as fit as someone half her age. She was strong and wiry, and as well as being interested in physical fitness, was a member of the local theatre group, the local Landcare group, the local bushwalking group, and many other groups whose names I couldn’t remember. She knew everybody in town.
Agatha grabbed her iPad. "I know! You could put a job wanted ad in the local Facebook community group."
My hand flew to my mouth. "What if they think I was the murderer? What if people think I murdered James, and they will be afraid to have me working for them?"
"I don't think anyone thinks that," Agatha said indifferently. "And if the police thought that, they would have taken you back in for questioning. They're more likely to be suspicious of Luella, considering she was the last person to see him alive."
"Actually, I was," I corrected her.
Agatha waved one hand at me in dismissal. "You know what I mean. We were having coffee together, and you went back home unexpectedly. Luella and James clearly weren’t expecting you. The police will realise that. She had plenty of opportunity to pop the peanut cookies into the cookie jar."
I rubbed my forehead. "It's all too much to take in. It's bad enough that James is dead, but being murdered? It's all too much."
Agatha walked over and placed her hand on my shoulder. "It’s a horrible shock. You're better off without him."
I agreed with her, but I didn't think it a polite thing to say. Still, Agatha was nothing if not blunt.
"Here, you could help me decorate the Christmas tree to take your mind off things."
I looked at the Christmas tree. It already seemed very well decorated. Every spare bit of green was entirely covered with Christmas decorations: Santas sitting on trains, ceramic reindeer, pink velvet rhinestone reindeer, Santas hanging from parachutes. On the top of the tree sat a huge sparkling silver star. Agatha, being wealthy, had the most superb Christmas decorations, whereas I had made paper chains and had tied green and red ribbons around bits of lavender from the garden. James had given me a tiny budget for the Christmas decorations. I said as much to Agatha.
"He was certainly a stingy man. Look, Jennifer, I know you don't like me saying it, but you really are better off without him. I mean, you’ve been a grown woman all these years, and he gave you a tight household budget."
I nodded. "I had to ask him if I wanted to buy anything. He wouldn't even let me go to the hairdresser to get my hair coloured." My hand went to my hair, which was a horrible monotone shade of dark brown. I always bought the cheapest one in the packet from the supermarket. "I'm going to let my hair grow back to its natural colour."
Agatha leant forward. "What is your natural colour?"
"It's probably all grey now." I stopped speaking and sighed deeply. "But it was red. When I met James, I had flame-red hair, but he said it was a horrible colour and insisted I colour it brown. I’ve been colouring it brown for all these years, just to please him."
"Now you can do whatever you like," Agatha said brightly. "You don't have to worry about James's tight budgets or James and his silly allergies like peanuts and myrrh."
I didn't think peanuts counted as a silly allergy, considering a peanut allergy was life-threatening and, in fact, had killed James. As for the myrrh… I frowned hard.
"Myrrh?" I repeated. I looked at Agatha, who had stopped speaking and was licking her lips in a nervous manner. She reminded me of a snake.
I had only set the myrrh in the nativity scene the morning before James was killed. Agatha hadn't seen James for at least a week before that when I had invited her to dinner with us. How would she know about the myrrh? That is, unless . . .
As I watched, Agatha's face drained of all colour. She looked away at the coffee table. I looked too, at the large pair of scissors lying there.
Agatha lunged for the scissors. I jumped to my feet and sprinted into the first room I could find, with Agatha hard on my heels.
I spun around and bolted the door, just in time. I looked around the room. It was a pantry, a tiny pantry. There was not so much as a high window. The only way out was through that door, the door I had just bolted.
My mobile phone was in my handbag out by the chair. If I screamed, nobody would hear me. Agatha would get through that door one way or another. She
had an open fireplace and was used to chopping her own wood. She owned a wood splitter.
I decided to try to reason with her, but before I could speak, her strident voice came through the door. "The myrrh gave me away, didn't it?"
"Yes," I admitted. "I knew you couldn't have known about it, not unless James told you. But why, why?"
It dawned on me nanoseconds before she spoke. "I was having an affair with James too. He told me he was going to leave you and marry me. Yet only a few days ago, he told me his children would be embarrassed if he got a divorce."
I didn't know what to say. I stood there, trembling, my heart beating out of my chest. "I won't tell anyone," I croaked.
Agatha laughed, a dry, cackling laugh. "I can't take that risk, Jennifer.”
"But if you murder me, the police will know it was you. It won't look good—first James and then me?"
"I don't have a choice. I'll throw your body down at the bottom of Cedar Falls."
"But there will be DNA evidence," I protested. I had no idea if that was true, since I didn't like watching gripping murder thrillers on TV. I only liked watching happy shows, nice mysteries where only mean people died and the others lived happily ever after.
"I know what I'm doing," Agatha said. "James isn't the first person I murdered. I murdered two of my past three husbands. Where did you think all my money came from?"
I sank to the floor. Was this really the end? There were no weapons in the pantry, nothing I could use as a weapon. Sheer panic overwhelmed me, so much so, that my head began to clear. The Book of Truths! Was I really coming into my powers? Could I use magical powers to save myself?
I tried to will a can of diced pineapple to fall off the shelves. Nothing happened. I tried to think of the other books I had read in the bookstore. The books had said success came in manifesting what one truly desired. It was all to do with focus. Maybe I didn't really care about the can of pineapple falling off the shelf. What did I desire most in the world at that moment?