Mrs. Fry's Diary (5 page)

After several fruitless hours, I finally came across some kind of genealogy website. Digupyourgran.com was terribly helpful. For a single up-front fee they send you your very own, unique family tree printed on your choice of either a genuine reproduction Elizabethan parchment scroll or a tea towel. At last, I feel like I'm getting somewhere!

5 Saturday

Stephen's so sweet - he's always saying 'I love you'. Not to me, to the woman in the betting shop, but still . . .

6 Sunday

Spent the morning looking through the Sunday papers in bed. Stephen and I like to share out the different sections - I like the Travel, Culture, News and Women's magazines and Stephen likes the Soap Stars Getting out of Cars in Short Skirts section.

7 Monday

We're really hoping the baby will start walking today. If not, we'll have to drive all the way back to Tesco to get it.

8 Tuesday

How exciting! The postman brought a parcel this morning. I tore it open to find my Family Tree-Towel! There it all was - my family's entire history going back centuries printed on absorbent polyester/cotton mix. What a revelation! I gazed in wonder at the names. I had no idea I was related to so many prominent historical figures - just wait until Mrs Norton and Mrs Winton see that! Sadly, according to this, my only surviving relative is my Great Aunt Audacia. But at least she now resides in a care home only a few miles away. I must visit her as soon as possible! I can't wait! I'll go on Monday. It's Half-Price-Bus-Travel-for-Women-of-a-Certain-Age Day.

9 Wednesday

Stephen's fallen asleep to his
Sounds of the Rainforest
CD. He's always found the buzz of chainsaws relaxing.

10 Thursday

Creative writing cancelled again. Apparently the lecturer got caught in the rain on the moors over the weekend and may have contracted either influenza or consumption.

11 Friday

I do wish the children wouldn't keep knocking on the bedroom door when Stephen and I are in the throes of passion. I'll let them out when I'm good and ready.

12 Saturday

We all went along to the Spring Fair in the town square today. There were all sorts of stalls and events put on by local groups. It was tremendous fun, although I can't say we were impressed with the historical re-enactment society. They did last Tuesday.

13 Sunday

Mothers' Day. The twins gave me a mug saying 'Perfect Mum'. I was terribly touched - not for the first time that morning - although not entirely surprised. Even though I do say so myself, in many ways I am the perfect mother - my six gorgeous children are living proof of that. Or is it seven? No . . . six. Wait a minute, 'Thirty days hath September . . .'

14 Monday

Today's the big day! The day I meet my Great Aunt Audacia for the very first time. I'm so excited. I'll fill you in, Dear Diary, as soon as I return. I'm sure I'll have all sorts of fascinating things to write!

Just got home. What a day! Great Aunt Audacia's care home, Cloud Cocoon Land, was lovely. The receptionist, a nice young man called Barney, was awfully sweet. He gave me a warm smile as he scanned me for dangerous objects, then he led me down the corridor, through a set of security doors, down another corridor, through another set of security doors, past a water feature, down some stairs and finally through an electrified fence and over a cattle grid.

The Doris Day lounge was terribly nice. Half a dozen elderly ladies and gentlemen in varying degrees of consciousness were sitting in high-backed floral armchairs around a small portable television. My eyes alighted immediately on a rather stern looking woman in the far corner of the room wearing a distinctive wide-brimmed hat and William Morris blouse. I knew instinctively this must be her. On a small ornate coffee table in front of her was a large tumbler of whisky. Barney kindly drew up a chair for me on the opposite side of the table. 'Remember,' he warned me, 'don't get near the glass.'

'Audacia?' I ventured.

'Yes, dear,' the old woman responded sharply. 'What do you want?'

'It's me,' I replied. 'Your great-niece, Edna.'

She screwed up her ancient eyes and carefully looked me up and down.

'No,' she said, finally. 'I don't think so.'

After numerous protestations and rather more glasses of whisky, Great Aunt Audacia finally relented. Her mood lightened as I told her of my life with Stephen and our children and she positively glowed as she regaled me with tales of her life. And what a life! Kayaking down the Zambezi, bullfighting in Madrid, winning the Nobel Peace Prize . . .

Then suddenly, as she was telling me about her silver medal in the Olympic heptathlon, her face froze.

'Edna,' she said in a new, lower tone. 'It is Edna, isn't it?'

'Yes,' I answered.

Her expression darkened as she leaned towards me. 'There is something I must tell you,' she whispered. 'Something of . . .' she paused to emit a small cough '. . . great importance.'

I brushed the flecks of spittle from my cheek. 'Yes?'

The old lady fixed me with a beady stare.

'It's about . . . your husband.'

I gasped. 'Stephen?'

'Is that his name?'

'Yes'

Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling, then back down. 'Yes,' she said, after some consideration. 'Stephen.'

'What about him?' I asked. What could it be, I wondered? What on earth could this old lady know about my Stephen that I didn't?

'Well,' said Great Aunt Audacia, slowly raising the tumbler to her lips. 'Your Stephen.'

'Yes?'

'He's . . .'

'Yes?'

'Excuse me, ladies.'

I looked up. A very tall, very handsome man in a white coat was leaning over the table, flashing a gleaming white smile at us both. His shoulders were broad and manly and his eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue I've ever seen.

'I'm sorry to interrupt you,' said the doctor, tapping his watch, 'but I'm afraid visiting time is over.'

We glowered at him together from beneath our brims, and he stood up briskly.

'Well,' he said, his soft American voice a little shaky. 'Maybe five minutes more. Just five minutes, mind.'

I let out a deep breath and turned back to my great aunt. Thank goodness for that! I don't know how I could have stood it if I'd had to wait until tomorrow to find out whatever it was she was about to tell me about my Stephen.

'Well?' I asked.

'Well,' she continued grimly. 'The thing is, your Stephen isn't exactly who you think he is.'

I frowned.

'What do you mean, "isn't exactly who I think he is"?' I said, almost too afraid to hear her reply.

'Your Stephen is . . .'

'Yes?'

'He's . . .'

Frustratingly, my Great Aunt Audacia chose that moment to take another sip of whisky.

Even more frustratingly, she chose the next moment to choke on it and drop down dead.

15 Tuesday

Didn't sleep at all last night. Too many thoughts spinning round my mind. What is this huge secret Great Aunt Audacia tried to tell me about before she suddenly and unexpectedly passed away? What terrible, dark deed has Stephen been hiding from me all these years? How did she know about it? And if she knew, who else knows? If only the dead could speak - but the paramedics said it was too late to save her, no matter how many times I pummelled her chest and slapped her about the face . . .

I've tried all day to occupy my mind with menial tasks like washing, ironing and bringing up the children, but nothing's working. Oh well, there's just one answer. The one constant in my life. The one thing I can rely on. Cooking.

I made Stephen's favourite for dinner. Or did I? How do I know? Oh dear . . .

16 Wednesday

Received a phone call from the care home this morning asking me if I would be so kind as to take care of Great Aunt Audacia's funeral arrangements. Apparently, one of the other residents wants her chair. I immediately went onto the computer and checked LastMoment.com. Fortunately they'd had a cancellation so I managed to book a slot next Friday. It was a very reasonable price, excluding coffin tax, font duty, choice of pew and a hearse. Luckily, Stephen's mate Barry was able to help us out on that score as he owns a car hire company. He owes Stephen a favour, so he's letting us have a hearse at a knock-down price. I'm not entirely sure what kind of favour Stephen did for him. I'm not sure I want to know any more . . .

17 Thursday

Stephen's dyed his hair green and knocked back three pints of Guinness before breakfast. Goodness knows what he'll do when he finds out it's St Patrick's Day.

18 Friday

Stephen's got the hangover from Hull this morning. Apparently it's like the hangover from Hell, but you spend the night on a trawler. I'm feeling a little calmer after the last few days, although I still can't help worrying about what Great Aunt Audacia meant. Oh Diary, I'm so confused.

19 Saturday

Viennetta's just taken another young man up to her room. I don't know why she can't get a job at Boots like the other girls.

20 Sunday

Made one of my time-saving two-in-one specials for Sunday lunch - Spamoffee Pie with a choice of custard or gravy. Of course, Stephen had double helpings, even though he pretended he didn't want any more. Even to the point of dashing to the bathroom and refusing to come out. He's such a joker!

21 Monday

Received a letter this morning from the Out of Africa Adoption Agency. Very disappointing news. They're refusing to take both of the twins - it's one or the other. It looks like we'll just have to keep them - I couldn't bear to see them separated. Sometimes I think I'm just too sensitive for my own good.

22 Tuesday

Popped round to Mrs Winton's for coffee. She thinks the maisonette might be haunted. She says she keeps hearing a high-pitched wailing sound in the middle of the night, almost like a baby crying. Funny, I have much the same thing. Never been able to work out what it is . . .

23 Wednesday

Honestly, I despair of Stephen sometimes. He's just tried that old 'put a couple of pillows on his side of the bed' trick, so that he can go to the pub without me knowing. Might have worked better if he'd put them under the blanket.

24 Thursday

Discovered the cat's worked out how to open the fridge. We'll have to find somewhere else to keep him now.

25 Friday

Great Aunt Audacia's funeral today. Luckily it wasn't too solemn an affair, what with the chrysanthemums and the fact that the only car Stephen's mate Barry had available was a pink Hummer limo. Actually, the coffin snuggled nicely beneath the heels of the hen party we had to share it with and the girls definitely added a certain
joie de vivre
to the ceremony, particularly with their rendition of 'I Will Survive' during the interment.

Reverend Timberlake's service was beautiful and simple - nothing too personal to clutter it up, such as her name or anything about her life. Then, the congregation (largely composed of my great aunt's fellow residents, who had been informed they were going on a day trip to Margate) retired to our house for the funeral reception where I read the following, self-penned poem to the mourners before pouring out the tea . . .