That Terrible Woman

It was twenty years to the day since Don had choked on a chicken bone and had the audacity to leave Edna all alone.

Standing in her bathroom, the walls of which were a hideous shade of salmon pink, she vigorously brushed her teeth and saw a strange old lady scowling back at her. Baggy eyes, turkey neck, grey hair grown coarse and wild. She studied the face and mused about what had happened so that she now cared so little about her appearance.

What indeed!

She was distracted, thinking about how she would celebrate the memory of Don’s passing this year. Announcing to the empty room as if her beloved Don was still there:

‘I think I’ll start with a fry-up with runny eggs, perfectly browned tomatoes and super moist mushrooms. Two slices of sourdough toast and lashings of butter and apricot jam, just like you always liked, my dear.’ Edna was almost drooling at the thought. ‘After that we should go to Frimlington Woods; the bluebells should be out now. That was one of our favourite walks, wasn’t it? Then let’s…’

Edna suddenly became aware that her telephone was ringing. She made her way into the bedroom, irritated that the caller was intruding on her thoughts. She half-expected whomever it was to have hung up before she got to the phone, but no, it kept on ringing, refusing to be ignored. ‘Well, whoever you are, you’re really persistent. I’ll give you that.’ Then, thinking of her two daughters, she muttered angrily, ‘What do those girls want now?’

‘4742,’ she enunciated clearly.

‘Hello, Edna, it’s Felicity,’ the whiny voice declared. ‘Sorry to tell you that my daddy passed away last night.’

Silence. Edna couldn’t stand her cousin, Felicity, who represented everything that irritated her and far more. Even stronger was her dislike, in fact, her hatred for Felicity’s father, who was Edna’s Uncle Harold, and she couldn’t stand his wife, Betty, either. They were the people Edna held responsible for all the insecurities and unhappiness that had dogged her throughout her life.

When they were children, Edna was always expected to play second fiddle to Felicity, her younger cousin by only nine months. She was never allowed to have her own way, and the list of her complaints was long. Edna resented the fact that she never got to decide anything. It was always: ‘Let Felicity choose, she’s only little! Let Felicity have the bus ticket, the last sweet, the choice of TV programme,’ and a host of other things that Edna felt were grossly unfair. If there was one chocolate left in the box, it was given to Felicity. She repeatedly complained to her mother, Iris, about why everything had to be what Felicity wanted. When Edna passed her eleven-plus there was weak applause, yet if Felicity came first in the egg and spoon race it was cause for a great celebration party. To compound it, Felicity was their paternal grandmother’s favourite. When she and Edna’s grandfather arrived home from a holiday trip her grandmother would hand Felicity a package. Edna would stand biting her lip, watching her cousin excitedly ripping open the beautifully wrapped gift containing a doll, a dress, or suchlike, whilst Edna could only stare with disappointment and, yes, resentment. The horrid woman would then turn to Edna and say, ‘Sorry, Edna, they just didn’t have anything for a little girl of your age!’

No one ever pointed out that they were almost identical in age. What could possibly have been construed as inappropriate for a child only nine months older? At other times, her grandmother would come back from a trip and say, ‘There was nothing for Felicity, so I could hardly buy for you and not for her, could I, Edna?’

Why not? Edna wanted to scream. She hated playing poor relation to Felicity, the wonder child. It was hardly Felicity’s fault, but over the years, Edna had built up an inexplicable resentment toward the poor girl. This call was stirring up all kinds of unpleasant feelings. She especially didn’t want to think about ‘the incident’ that had occurred when she was only five years old and which had haunted her ever since. Sadly, any action, like an innocent call from her cousin, managed to bring it immediately to mind, drawing it quite firmly into the headlights again.

‘Hello, Edna, are you there? Did you hear me?’

‘Yes, I heard you. Harold is dead, and you will let me know about the funeral arrangements. I think that’s about it, isn’t it?’

‘I thought…’ Edna could hear the woman clearing her throat nervously as she tried again. ‘Oh, never mind. I will send you the arrangements as soon as the funeral has been organised.’

Felicity sounded close to tears. Edna knew that her cousin couldn’t have any idea why she disliked her so much because Harold and Betty had insisted on protecting Felicity, not wanting to frighten her. In fact, the incident had long since been forgotten by everyone. That is, everyone but Edna. She desperately wanted to tell the pathetic woman, whose demeanour was always as pitiful as her appearance, that she had no intention of attending her ghastly father’s funeral but decided not to. After all, none of it was Felicity’s fault, so best not to be rude. As difficult as Edna could be, she was nothing if not fair.

‘Well, thank you, Felicity, for the update on your father’s demise. As you know, your parents and I were not close, but I do thank you for bringing it to my attention.’ Oh dear, even for me that was harsh!

Without giving her stunned cousin a chance to respond, Edna mumbled a weak apology, excusing herself to answer a non-existent caller at the front door.

She was angry with Felicity for disturbing her because the mere sound of Felicity’s voice had the power to drag up the horrific details of that fateful day. That moment in time invaded her thoughts and just would not let go.

Feeling ravenous, Edna made her way gingerly down the stairs. Whenever Edna was anxious, two things happened. Her enormous appetite intensified, and so would the need to take a therapeutic bath in order to calm her nerves. She wandered into her once-glossy Wrighton kitchen with Hotpoint stove and Electrolux fridge, all of which had definitely seen better days. She opened the tap and poured water into her whistling kettle. Other than the Americans, most people in the UK had thrown them out years ago, but Edna couldn’t see the point in spending money on a new-fangled electric one when hers worked perfectly well. Now in a really bad mood, she reluctantly abandoned the idea of the fry-up to honour her husband’s passing and poured a generous portion of bran into a Denby bowl, not noticing that the paint around the rim was worn and the colour more a dirty grey now than the original cornflower blue. She sliced a banana on top of the crisp flakes, sprinkled brown sugar liberally over the top, and finished off with a copious amount of whole milk, which was delivered daily by Bert, the local ‘milkie’. She detested supermarket cartons; in fact, she abhorred all of today’s modern packaging, preferring to go back to her childhood of brown paper bags and glass bottles. Now that there was a worldwide attempt to protect the environment, Edna was more than slightly smug about her long-held attitude.

Slowly, a thought began to dawn on her. I wonder if I shouldn’t just take the opportunity of the old man’s death to wreak my revenge. I shall go to the funeral, if only to tell that horrid wife of his what she and her husband did to me. I will shame her into admitting what they did.

She hesitated, her resolve weakening.

‘What do you think, Don?’ she asked of the empty room. After all these years, it never failed to upset her that there was no response.

Small-boned and just over five foot tall, but weighing in at around 140 pounds due to her overblown stomach, she appeared much bigger than she actually was. Having smoked sixty cigarettes a day from the age of fifteen, she had a very throaty voice, and people were generally disappointed when they met the person associated with the sexy voice on the end of the telephone. Rude to neighbours and delivery people with her barbed tongue, she wasn’t popular and, in fact, was quite often disliked. With age and life’s knocks, Edna believed that she had earned the right to be dry and sarcastic and would often articulate what many people thought but were not brave enough to say out loud. She could be very intolerant, particularly struggling to hide her frustration and immense irritation at people she saw as stupid.

She had a sour face and ate with her mouth open. The milk from her cereal dripped down her chin in a most undignified way. Her manners were incongruous for a woman so well-spoken, a reflection of the privileged life that she had once enjoyed. Every now and then, she wiped the milk carelessly away with the back of her hand, rubbing it on her flannelette dressing gown. The gown bore the faint scent of Estee Lauder Youth Dew, a throwback from her childhood. With one whiff, in an instant she was a little girl again, sitting on Hampstead Heath with a whole world in front of her…

As she sat at the breakfast table rubbing her arthritic legs, she wondered when her knees had become ninety years old, and where it had all gone wrong.

Her mind wandered back to her father’s mother, and how Edna used to wish that the horrid woman would go away and leave them alone, but then the object of her resentment suddenly died, and Edna cried for weeks, causing confusion for everyone, with her refusing to divulge the source of her sadness.

Edna remembered how her mother had tried, without success, to get at the truth; to understand why Edna was affected so badly by her grandmother’s death.

‘Edna, darling, why are you sad?’ Iris had asked her. ‘I didn’t realise that you were so attached to your grandmother. Tell us, please. What’s the matter?’ Iris and Richard, her father, had tried and tried to get her to talk, but the sad little girl would say nothing. Then finally, one day:

‘I killed her,’ Edna cried, the anguish and shame spilling in a torrent of tears.

‘What? Edna, why on earth would you think that?’

‘Because I wanted her to go away,’ she wailed. ‘It’s all my fault and I’m a bad person.’

‘Listen, my angel. You are not a bad person. You are a lovely, adorable, sweet, and kind little girl. You cannot wish anyone dead. It’s just not possible. You can’t make me Queen just because you wish it for me. Likewise, you can’t cause me to win the Premium Bonds tomorrow. Life just doesn’t work that way. You can want and hope all you like, but things like that are beyond our control and happen because they are part of life’s grand plan. Nothing any of us say or do will change that. Your grandmother died because it was her time to go and not because of anything that you wished or said.’

Edna remembered sitting there watching her beautiful mother with her ash blonde hair and large blue eyes. She was just full of wonder and love that Iris, her amazing mummy, always had the ability to make things better.

‘Could you make me a cheese and tomato sauce sandwich, please, Mummy?’ Edna had found her appetite again, and although this strange concoction was normally reserved for Richard to make when he was left in sole charge, today she didn’t care who made it. She was a complete mix of happy and hungry.

The silence in the house was suddenly disturbed by yet another flipping telephone call bringing Edna back to the present. Apart from her bi-weekly calls from her two daughters, Olivia and Viola, Edna hardly ever received phone calls these days, yet this morning she was being plagued with them. She hobbled out into the hall.

‘Yes?’ Edna barked rudely down the phone. She didn’t even bother to say ‘4742’ this time.

‘Good morning, Mrs Watson. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Edward Clitheroe. My wife and I have admired your house with its gorgeous gardens for many years and would like to talk to you about it. I wonder if I could make an appointment to come and see you.’

‘How do you know my name, and where did you get my number from?’ Edna was irritated but, at the same time, intrigued.

‘I looked you up on the internet,’ he bumbled.

‘The internet! What could the internet possibly know about my personal information, and what is it that you actually want to discuss, other than perhaps admiring my roses?’

‘I want to talk to you about the possibility of making you a handsome offer to buy your house.’

Not bloody likely! she mumbled under her breath. Edna was just about to refuse when her insatiable curiosity got the better of her. There was that strange note left outside her door yesterday morning: DON’T LOOK A GIFT HORSE IN THE MOUTH! GRAB OPPORTUNITIES WITH BOTH HANDS. She had found it inside her Daily Mail, and, whilst she had dismissed it as complete nonsense, something had made her keep it. She had placed it inside the dresser drawer and had completely forgotten about it until now.

‘You can come at eleven o’clock tomorrow. Not a moment earlier, as I have my routine, which must not be disturbed.’

‘Yes, of course, I will be there at eleven on the dot. Should you wish to contact me my number is….’ But before he could utter another word, the line had gone dead. As far as Edna was concerned, the conversation was most definitely over.

*

Shocked at Edna’s rudeness, Edward called his boss, Reg Hopkins, at Trident Property Developers.

‘Mission accomplished. I tell you, Reg, it worked, and it was much easier than I thought. She’s agreed to see me at eleven tomorrow morning. Honestly Reg, I can hardly believe my luck.’

‘I hope you didn’t say where you were from?’ the gruff voice snarled down the phone.

‘No, of course not. In fact, surprisingly, she didn’t ask anything at all other than wanting to know how I got her number and insisting that I wasn’t to be late. Sounded like a right old battle axe, but don’t worry, she’ll never be able to resist my incomparable charm.’

‘Your charm is debatable, Edward, and not something I care to dwell upon,’ Reg retaliated. ‘Just remember that the whole deal depends upon you getting us her house. This is the one that we are going to retire on, Edward, so don’t screw up.’

In fact, Edward was not a good negotiator. He was an expert bookkeeper but had no commercial acumen. His boss, however, was so lazy that he would rather delegate to an unskilled Edward than do the job proficiently himself. No, Reg Hopkins came from a school that believed that his job was to sit and bark orders without ever dirtying his own hands!

Edna had no idea that adjoining her back garden of just under an acre was a site that Trident had purchased with a view to building two blocks of flats and twelve townhouses. Nor did she know that her house was the only thing standing in the way of Trident gaining planning permission.

Edward knew that everything hinged on getting Edna Watson to sell to Trident. Oh yes, he was supremely aware that if he wanted to keep his job, he had to get it right.

*

Still smarting from the disturbances of the morning, Edna wanted to enjoy one more mug of tea. Try as she could, she just couldn’t relax. Something strange was going on, but what?

Normally she bathed in the morning, this being her time to reflect and remember, but today, having been delayed by the call, it wasn’t possible. She abandoned her tea and went up to her bedroom, opened the wardrobe, being careful to avert her eyes away from the top shelf. She dressed quickly in her fleecy tracksuit and then made her way downstairs to organise supper before leaving. She re-entered the kitchen and peered into the fridge. Edna still missed Don terribly, and never more so than today. Looking for inspiration as to what to make for supper, she chatted to him. ‘So, what do you think of the Taylor’s extension? I think it’s vulgar and not in keeping with our village at all! So what would you like for our special dinner tonight, love? Shall we have lamb chops? Good, we’ve some fresh mint in the garden, so I’ll pop that in with the new potatoes. Come on, love. Let’s get going for our walk.’

Edna loved lamb chops so much that it was one of the few meals for which she actually made a real effort, because other meals were too much of a faff to clear up on a regular basis. Dressed in her grey anorak and walking boots, she grabbed her walking stick before locking the door carefully behind her. In no time she was walking through Frimlington Woods, which had always been that special and safe place for her and Don. The violet glow of the bluebells, the jewel in the crown of Spring, dazzled her senses. Delving into her pocket she pulled out a toffee and popped it into her mouth. Suddenly everything seemed calmer. ‘Ooh, Don, isn’t this just perfect?’ she announced. Chattering away to Don as if he were with her, she strolled for almost two hours, indulging in all the delights that Spring had to offer.

Feeling like she could eat a horse, she stopped at her favourite café and strode in. It was hard to choose what she wanted to order these days because they made such strange concoctions like smashed avocado, whatever that was, or buffalo mozzarella and tomato, which Edna found completely tasteless. What about a good old egg and tomato or roast beef and horseradish? Not one for pleasantries, she barked at the poor girl, ‘I’ll have a cheese and pickle bap, and make it quick. I’m in a hurry.’

Edna could see that the pretty young girl was slightly taken aback upon hearing her gravelly voice, and her discomfiture amused Edna. Watching in irritation as the young woman selected a bap and proceeded to butter it slowly, Edna snapped, ‘Just get on with it, will you? I don’t have all day.’

‘That will be three-fifty, please.’ With her smile gone, the girl handed Edna the bag, and Edna wasn’t even embarrassed to see the relief in the girl’s face to be rid of her at last.

Edna handed the girl a five-pound note, shoved the change into her pocket, leaving no tip, and hurriedly made her way out of the shop, bashing into a woman who also had a walking stick.

‘Do look where you’re going, you nearly knocked me over,’ Edna said rudely, and without a second glance headed off down the road. Her stomach was growling and once home, she didn’t even put her bap on a plate, but chose to eat it straight out of the bag.

The call from her cousin and that Clitheroe man were both really playing on her mind. More than a little tired, not to mention still hungry, she collected the newspaper, made herself a mug of tea and carried it upstairs to her bedroom with a couple of bourbon biscuits tucked in behind her napkin for an afternoon snack. She set her alarm for three o’clock and scoffed the biscuits, planning to allow herself the luxury of an hour’s rest on the bed. Edna was startled when the alarm rang, bringing her back to the present. Quickly getting off the bed, she made her way downstairs so that she could enjoy another cup of tea in the sitting room whilst watching TV.

‘Oh, goodie,’ she declared to a non-existent Don. ‘Just in time for Countdown. I’m sorry about the disturbances, my love, but I’ll make it up to you.’

She never read or watched TV whilst eating, except for maybe the odd biscuit. It was one of her few ‘almost’ disciplines. Today, that rule would be totally broken as she helped herself to two custard creams, having completely forgotten about the bourbons she had already eaten upstairs.

Edna sat there munching while shouting merciless abuse at the unhearing contestants on the screen. The programme finished and Edna congratulated herself for doing better than, or at least as well as, the contestants. Picking up the newspaper she soon nodded off, spectacles in hand, her head reclining most uncomfortably to the side, her face taking on an anxious and troubled look.

She woke with a painful crick in her neck. She massaged her neck with the Arnica balm that she kept in the top cupboard above the coffee and winced at the pain, but also at the roughness of her hands. Despite having a pot of hand cream that sat by the side of the bed, a frivolous gift from her younger daughter, Viola, she hardly ever remembered to apply it.

It was nearly time to eat again, Edna decided, her routine being seven o’clock supper, clear up and then watch another one of her favourite programmes. She had no interest in the soaps and wondered how a particular series full of ghastly common people, which had run for over thirty-five years, could hold an audience captive with just doom and gloom in every episode. Isn’t there enough unhappiness in the world? No, Edna’s taste was more for documentaries. Panorama, David Attenborough’s Planet Earth and some with entertainment value, like Joanna Lumley travelling around the world or Stanley Tucci exploring food in Italy. Knowing that she would need to take a hot bath with Epsom salts after supper to ease her pain, Edna decided to leave the lamb chops for tomorrow. She selected a can with the familiar Heinz logo, full of their marvellous recipe of haricot beans in tomato sauce, which she poured into a small saucepan to heat slowly. She always placed a knob of butter in the pan, a trick that Don had taught her. Then she placed two slices of bread in the ancient toaster (another of her relics) and, hey presto, she had a scrumptious supper of baked beans on toast. Tonight, easy to prepare and wash up, was definitely the order of the day.

As well as relieving her pain, Edna hoped that the bath might help to relax her anxiety over the old memories that the call had stirred up. No one could imagine that Edna was actually insecure and vulnerable, as opposed to the outwardly strong and difficult woman that most people knew. And that was exactly how she wanted it.

She entered her dated bathroom, a complete original inherited from the previous owners, complete with black and white linoleum floor. There was a basic white bathroom suite comprising a pedestal basin, lavatory and bath with shower above. The bath was dressed with a shower curtain, being the only thing that got regularly changed because of the mould that developed from time to time. Edna leaned over the bath, opened the faucet and ran the hot water until steam enveloped the room. She carefully poured a few drops of Estee Lauder Youth Dew into the bath and watched the milky oil float on top of the water. She wiped the mirror so that it didn’t obscure her image, and as she removed her Triumph bra and Sloggi panties, she stared at her rather ample bosom that always managed to stretch her T-shirts most unflatteringly across the folds of lardy flesh, revealing the damage done by twenty years of Big Macs, chips, doughnuts and a host of other unsuitable meal substitutes. With no Don to cook for, she rarely took the time to cook anything healthy for herself.

Easing into the piping hot bath, as Edna loathed anything lukewarm, including people, she lay back, closed her eyes, and inhaled the aroma. Her mother had always placed a few drops of the spicy and intoxicating blend into her bathwater, a ritual that Edna had happily continued, as it helped her not only to relax but also to feel close to her mother.

She was still upset by her cousin’s call. Going to the funeral would involve her coming face to face with her aunt and stirring everything up again. Was that what she wanted? As much as she dreaded a possible confrontation with that terrible woman, she was wise enough to realise that the opportunity afforded her by the funeral was what she had been waiting for her whole life. After so many years of trying to find a way to repay her aunt and uncle for the damage that they had done, this could be it. The chance to make her aunt pay, really did seem too good to miss.

Tonight, the bath didn’t relax her at all, as she kept going backwards and forwards in her head as to whether she would or would not attend the funeral. A chance to finally draw a line under the whole ugly episode, but she had to concede that this was all having a bad effect on her state of mind. The thought that this could finally settle the score literally made her shiver. Then the doubts crept in again. Will I be able to say it, go through with it? Edna was battling with her inner self.

‘Go for it, Edna, this is your last chance,’ her alter ego whispered in her ear. What she just couldn’t decide was whether attending would provide the panacea she was looking for or just make everything worse.

As much as she normally tried not to think about it, today, prompted by the call, she found ‘the incident’ was very much at the forefront of her mind, as the heady scent finally lulled her into an almost semi-conscious state.

She was five years old, and her Aunt Betty and Uncle Harold had taken her to Regent’s Park Zoo with her cousin Felicity. Innocent as the outing sounded, an ill-conceived attempt at a joke instigated by her aunt and uncle turned out to be one of the most profound and distressing experiences that would still plague her at the age of sixty-nine, with separation issues, a lack of self-confidence, and an inability to accept acts of kindness.

Whilst Edna lay there, recoiling at the memory of that horrific day, she began to accept that the impending funeral would indeed offer the opportunity to finally wreak revenge for what had happened to her all those years ago. An action that had ended with such disastrous consequences. Yes, she mused, attending the funeral might finally give her the chance to tell her aunt how it had damaged her. Disquieted, also, by the most perturbing call from that man called Edward Clitheroe and the strange note left on her doorstep, she found that her normally soothing bath did nothing today to quieten her thoughts.

She stepped out of the bath carefully, wrapped herself in one of her well-worn and slightly hard bath sheets, sat on her bedroom stool, inherited from her mother and far too ornate for her own bedroom, and dried herself.

She selected a nightie from the dresser drawer, brushed her hair and then felt the all too familiar rumbles in her stomach.

Despite the dentist always telling her that she ate far too much sugar, she went downstairs and made herself a cup of cocoa.

Well, it will help me sleep, she reasoned. She boiled the milk and scattered one heaped teaspoon of cocoa into the cup, watching the bits of chocolate swirl around. She then looked behind her as if someone was watching and hastily added another spoonful of the delicious powder to the mug. Holding it firmly by the handle, taking care that she did not burn herself, she took it upstairs and, sitting in the warmth of her bed, she savoured her nightcap.

Edna realised she was again looking up towards the top of her wardrobe where a canvas box lay hidden from prying eyes. As she often did, she wondered what secrets lay within that box. The box that Edna had never found the courage to open in over twenty years. All that remained of her mother lay in that box, and she had never been entirely sure why, but something in that box scared her. Scared her enough to leave it untouched for all those years.

Then, too tired to get out of bed to brush her teeth, let alone summon the courage to open the box, she turned out the light. Within moments Edna was asleep, thrashing about, throwing the bedclothes off, her body as if on fire as one of her recurring dreams took hold.

She was running as fast as her little legs would carry her, but at each turn there was a grotesque toothless gargoyle laughing at her, leaving her no room to escape. Her heart was pounding, and her cheeks were wet.

Edna sat bolt upright in bed and, despite the heart pills that she took for her Atrial Fibrillation, she felt like her heart was going to burst out of her ribcage. Her nightie was soaking, and she was dismayed to find that she was, in fact, crying real tears. She freshened herself up, pulled a clean nightie from the dresser drawer, got back into bed and finally fell asleep. It didn’t occur to Edna that it might not necessarily have been the nightmare that had caused her nightie to be drenched with perspiration.