What I Did During the Half-Term Break

‘Go stay with Aunt Bettie,’ Mum said.

‘She’ll be glad of the company,’ Dad said.

‘You can ask her about life during the war. It’ll be good for your research,’ Mum said.

‘She’s as bright as a button, despite her age,’ Dad said.

But after the first day, aside from helping Dad’s great aunt Bettie to the toilet every four hours, and watching her struggle to eat solid food, I had made no progress on my history project. It was like looking after a puppy, with none of the fluff and cuteness.

‘Maybe, after lunch, you can tell me about your work during the war,’ I ventured.

Aunt Bettie’s pale eyes flicked away from the TV screen and met mine. ‘What war?’ The words came out in a raspy whisper.

‘You were a wireless operator in the Second World War, Dad told me. It must have been fascinating. Did you intercept enemy messages? Or were you helping pilots find their way home?’

‘Who are you again?’

I opened my mouth to reply, but she lifted the remote with a shaking hand and turned up the volume on whatever daytime TV soap was showing, so I walked over to the picture window and peered down the length of the overgrown garden, too dark to see on my arrival the previous evening. ‘Have you got a lawnmower? If it stops raining, I can tackle some of the garden for you.’

Bettie stared at the screen. I continued, ‘It looks like there’s some plastic tape got caught around the bushes. I’ll tidy it up later.’ My watch showed it was still only eleven: too early to start on lunch.

Sitting on the sofa, I sent a text to Mum; I can’t do this. Going to poke out my eyeballs to relieve the boredom. Pls make an excuse for me to come home. A message popped up on my screen: a warning I’d used 80% of my data. Of course there was no Wi-Fi.

The doorbell rang, and I almost cheered as I got up to answer it. A man and a woman stood on the doorstep. He was a little further forward, leaning into the overhang to keep out of the rain. She wore a black raincoat with a hood that left most of her face in shadow.

‘I’m DCI Blayden. Can we come in?’ He held up a warrant card in a plastic wallet. I ‘d never seen a real one before.  

He continued, ‘We’re here to see Miss Elizabeth Crabtree.’

I stepped back and motioned them inside, pointing toward the living room door. ‘Good luck with that,’ I murmured, and the female police officer gave me a sharp look.

In the living room, I gently peeled Aunt Bettie’s fingers from the remote and switched off the TV. ‘The police are here to see you.’

She frowned. ‘Who are you again?’

I answered as much for the benefit of the police as for her. ‘I’m Zoe. My Dad, Peter, is your sister Aggie’s grandson.’

The policewoman spoke. ‘Are you her carer?’

‘Heavens no. I only arrived last night.’

‘Does she have anyone looking after her?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so. Nobody’s turned up so far, though I think she does need some help. What’s this about?’

DCI Blayden pointed his hand toward the sofa, and I nodded. ‘Please, sit.’

He said, ‘We also called by a few days ago. We’re looking into the discovery of a body, just down the lane here.’

I put my hand over my mouth.

‘It had been buried a long time. Decades. We’re interested in finding out how it got there.’

‘Oh, jeez!’

‘Do you know how long your aunt has lived in this house?’

Aunt Bettie was staring at the blank TV screen, oblivious to the conversation.

‘Forever, I believe. She never married. I think it was her parents’ house.’ I shrugged. ‘Aunt Bettie, how long have you lived here?’

She turned to me. ‘Who are you again?’

The WPC asked, ‘Will anyone else be able to answer questions about the house, the residents, its history? We need to identify the victim.’

‘I can ask my Dad to phone you,’ I offered.

‘We’d prefer to speak to him in person. Where can we find him?’ asked the female police officer.

I shook my head. ‘We live in York. It took two trains to get here.’

DCI Blayden stood and handed me a card. ‘Alright. Ask him to call us. I don’t think we’ll get anything more here. Apologies for disturbing you.’

Returning to the living room, having seen out the police, I asked, ‘Would you like a cup of…’

‘Thank goodness they’ve gone.’

Aunt Bettie was transformed: sitting upright, her face bright. The rheumy, shaking old lady had disappeared.

‘What the…?’

‘Sorry kid, your dad said you’re the world’s worst liar. I couldn’t risk it.’

My phone buzzed and a message flashed on the screen. Calling you now with an emergency 😊 Mum XX

My mouth was still opening and closing like a fish as turned my phone off, then plonked down on the sofa. ‘Okay, you sly old fox. Spill. Who’s the corpse?’

Aunt Bettie said, ‘He was a slimy bastard local drug dealer, but I sorted him. And he would have stayed sorted if the field at the bottom of the lane hadn’t flooded.’ She took a breath. ‘I’ll tell you the whole story, though you’ve to promise you won’t repeat it till after I’m dead: I’m not doing time for him.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ I said. ‘And fetch my notebook.’

Originally published in Bristol Noir
https://www.bristolnoir.co.uk/what-i-did-during-the-half-term-break-by-angela-fitzpatrick/