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Listeners' Fantasies |
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The Legacy
By Vicky S
 What could Will Grundy be inheriting from Great Aunt Hilda? This contribution to the Fantasy Archers topic of has some interesting thoughts...
It was Friday when it arrived. Will phoned Nic as soon as Caroline had dropped it off.
"Don't open it yet" she said, "Wait til we get there."
He had put the parcel on the table. It looked quite small to contain a teapot, and felt light, Will thought, but you could never tell. The brown paper was creased, it had obviously been used several times before, the whole thing was clumsily tied with thick string. The address was written in thick felt tip pen in a wobbly, old person's handwriting.
Nic leaned over and cut the string with kitchen scissors. The outside paper seemed almost to unfold itself, revealing a cut-down porridge box, secured with a rubber band. A brown manila envelope fluttered to the floor.
"To Will," Will read , "From Aunty Hilda with love. Will, PLEASE open and read this letter." He started to open the envelope but a gasp from Nic stopped him. She had ripped open the porridge box and unwrapped its contents from layers of The People's Friend.
"What the..." They both stared in disappointment at the object on the table. It was dull and grey, clearly neither georgian nor silver.
"Is that it?" Nic searched through the wrapping paper. "Look at it. It hasn't even got a lid. And it's squashed, it's all out of shape at the sides, can you see? I don't want to speak ill of the dead Will but in my opinion your Aunty was a tight fisted old cow. Winding you up like that with all that 'remembering you in her will crap'. This is just a kid's toy, like you get down the market"
"Oh well," said Will resignedly, "The luck of the Grundys strikes again. Never mind eh. Put the kettle on love, let's have a cup of tea, but listen, make sure you make it in a proper teapot! I'll just put this rubbish in the recycling." He picked up the box, the wrapping and the letter and balled them together with the magazine pages.
They sat on the sofa and drank their tea in silence.
"Mia's a bit quiet," said Will, "What's she up to over there?"
Nic giggled, "She's playing with her new toy, see? That's a good girl Mia, make mummy and Will a nice cup of tea. Yum yum yum."
Mia turned and grinned up at them, her little mouth brown and chocolately. Streams of chocolate dribble drooled from her mouth. She clapped her hands and squeezed her fingers together so that biscuit and chocolate oozed from between them. Nic leapt up. "Where did you get that biscuit from you little monkey? Quick, pass us a cloth Will, she's got it all over her. Give mummy the teapot Mia. There's a good girl. Ouch, that spout's a bit sharp. I'm sorry sweetie, it's not a good thing for you to play with after all. Silly mummy should have checked it first. Look, have your chewy phone instead. Where in heaven's name did that biscuit come from Will. I bet one of the boys left it lying about. "
Mia smiled at chewy phone. She could still taste the chocolate. She didn't know where the biscuit came from either. All she knew was her fat little belly had rubbed against the side of the pot just as she was thinking about chewing, and the next moment her mouth had been filled with chocolate.
"AND you've done a stinky nappy you little tinker."
Mia giggled. Yes, a stinky nappy was the second thing she had thought about while playing with the pot.
Nic wiped Mia's mouth and hands and checked that all the biscuit was gone from her mouth.
"Aha! Look Will, that tooth's through at last. Thank goodness for that, it's really been giving her gyp, hasn't it petal? Right young lady, let's sort that nappy out."
Mia smiled sleepily as she lay on the changing mat. A chocolate biscuit, a big poo and no more sore gums.
Isn't it lucky that the best wishes always come in threes?
***
"...and I reckon it smells funny," Clarrie sniffed suspiciously, "I don't care Edward, you ent having it in your bedroom. You can keep it in the shed, but your dad won't want it near his ferrets. Looks to me like it's got fleas. Disgusting thing"
"Well, I think it's cool," said Ed, "Look, you can even see its little claws. Here. See?"
"Get it off of me," Clarrie shrieked," Edward, I mean it. You are NOT having it in this house. I don't know what he was thinking about - what did the note say again - oh yes 'a wee remembrance of your late Great Auntie, I'm sure she would have wanted you to have something too, she always said it was one of her favourite curiosities with an interesting history'. Blumming cheek. Bit of rubbish from a jumble sale more like. Now clear it all off my table Edward please. I need to get the tea started."
"I'm off down the pub for an hour anyway," he told her, " Fallon's showing me how the till works and everything. Have you got a spare carrier bag? I'm going to take this and show Jazzer if he's in. Hey, if Alastair's there, he might know what sort of a monkey it came from, being a vet'n'all."
" Ed! That's brilliant," said Jazzer, "It's so gross, a wee little monkey's paw. Ach man, your auld auntie must've been a right little raver in her day. All my auld auntie ever gave me was a knitted scarf with a wee bobble on the end. But this, this is magic. It's brilliant." He took a swig of his pint. "Hey, you know what this reminds me of? That old movie, it was on the other night, one of those old black and white jobbies. This fellow has a monkey's paw, right, just like this. Only his is magic see, it can make all your dreams come true, so he wishes for like a load of money, then in the end this dead bloke comes after him, I think I must have fallen asleep in the middle cos why would he wish for a dead bloke to come? Rubbish film anyway."
"Yeah right," said Ed and waved the monkey's paw in front of Jazzer's face. "So who shall we wish for then? Eh? Who shall we call back from their cold, dark grave?" He and Jazzer creased up .
"What about your auld auntie - then you can say thank you?"
"Or how about Betty Tucker? Can you imagine Roy's face if she walked in..." Edward whispered. Tears of laughter rolled down Jazzer's face.
" Or whatsisname, " he gasped," John Archer? Go on Ed, bring him back. He was a right laugh."
Ed shook his head. "No, I've got it, this is the one." He cleared his throat and made his voice deep and commanding, "Monkey. Bring me the body of Greg Turner, gamekeeper of this parish of Ambridge."
"Have you two finished messing about?" Fallon's voice cut across their hysterical laughter. "Come on Ed, it's quiet in here now, I'll show you how the till works then I'll take you down in the cellar."
"Lucky man," said Jazzer. Fallon flashed him a warning glance that made her look startlingly like her mother.
"Ed, come on, we haven't got all night. What's wrong?"
"Nothing ," said Ed, but he wiped his hands hard on his jeans after pushing the paw hastily back into its carrier bag.
***
Nic polished the wine glasses and set them on the table. The kitchen smelled good; chicken casserole and baked potatoes. All she'd had to do was set the table and slice the green beans. Will had left everything else on the timer.
"I might be a bit late, " he'd said, "Just use your key and let yourself in. Have a glass of wine. I shouldn't be too long. Just got to check the pens."
She heard footsteps on the path. Funny, she thought, didn't hear the car. There was a thump at the front door as though a heavy weight had been leaned against it. Then another.
"Forgotten your key?" she called as she walked to open it. "Just as well I'm here, isn't it?"
***
"Careful what you'm doing with that pint, Bert Fry, you nearly had my trophy over then."
Joe huffed on the Best Vegetable in Show trophy and rubbed off an imaginary splash of beer with his sleeve. Bert scowled.
"Didn't think you was entering no beans this year, " he remarked, with only a smidgeon of bitterness in his voice.
Joe took a swig of his beer and belched discreetly before answering "Well, I won't lie to you Bert, it was bit of a last minute decision . You could say them beans just peaked at the right moment. Just in time for the show like."
" Oh yes?" Bert implied a world of doubt and disbelief in both words, "Tell you the truth," he continued," I don't rightly remember seeing any beans in your veg, leastways not huge bigguns like them ones. Not when I last looked. And that was only last week."
"Is that right?" Joe kept the tone light and friendly, "Course, eff you was a-peeking and a-spying in my veg plot last week Bert Fry, then no, you wouldn't have seen them beans. Cos they weren't there. Not in my veg plot they weren't."
"Is that right? So where was they then? I wouldn't like to think you hadn't grown them yourself at all, Joe Grundy."
Joe kept cool. "They grew in that little patch of dirt outside the kitchen winder," he explained patiently, "Right where our Clarrie threw... I mean right where they was planted."
Somehow Joe's reassurances were failing to quell Bert's suspicions.
"Wouldn't have thought much would've grown in that spot, being so dark and near the house like," he observed , "What variety are they anyhow? I'll grant you they're a good size, but in my opinion that colours not right for a proper bean. Too yallery."
Joe picked up his glass and looked Bert straight in the eye. "Well I don't rightly know the variety," he said firmly, " Because they'm from Scotland. See, they're an old family variety, from Scotland, passed down in the Grundy family from generation to generation like. Very special them beans. Very particular to us Grundys. And very quick growing because in Scotland they don't have proper growing seasons like we duz."
He finished the last of his Shires and rose from the table, swaying slightly with the effort.
" So eff you wants to cast naspurtions on my beans Bert Fry, I beleeve the correct procedure is a letter to the Flower and Produce committee wiv your complaint. But I can assure you, on my word as a gennleman. There is nothing at all above board with my beans in hany way whatsoever. On my life. Nothing at all above board."
He picked up the trophy and started to leave. At the door he paused.
"And another thing," he leaned for a moment against the lintel, " Just one other thing Bert Fry. They ent yallery. No, not yallery at all. More of a gold I'd call it, or mustard. That's it. Light mustard. Not yaller. Mustard."
And with a final flourish of the trophy he walked carefully across the road to where Bartleby stood waiting patiently under the oak tree on the village green.
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Archers fantasies
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