chapter 13 and 14

well howdy do folks. It's been a while but here are some more chapters for you. Poor Agatha has been through the mill but it's all good, it'll all come good in the end!

Chapter 13
A few months later and Agatha had moved in with her grandmother, leasing her flat out to an old school friend who needed to crash somewhere for a while after a nasty breakup with her boyfriend. Agatha took the spare bedroom in the Victorian terrace which was small but comfortable.
    Her Nan had made quite a recovery, proving the doctors right when they had said there was a small but definite chance. Even though she was bed ridden and needing carers, she was able to speak and use her right hand well enough that she could write and use her iPhone.
    Atta was made of strong stuff but her dependence on others was a problem. She was becoming a cantankerous old woman, calling her carers nasty names and snapping at them for things she would have laughed at 6 months previously. Even with her beloved granddaughter she had changed, but such was the love and patience that Agatha had that it washed over her and didn't effect her.
    At least she didn't think it effected her, but there were times when her nan was tucked up in bed and sleeping that Agatha found herself crying into her pillow, mourning the nan that she had lost only to be replaced with this nan, the snappy one, the dependent one, the one who relied on her night and day.
   Agatha had taken some time off when Atta had been released from hospital, taking the holidays that she had accrued. Victoria was less than happy that her most hard working and reliable employee was actually taking time off but there was nothing she could say to deter her. In fact Agatha had threatened her with resignation, stating that no one was more important to her than her nan, who needed her far more than any child ever would. It had the desired effect but now, months down the line, Agatha was having to juggle a full time job with a night time caring position, and she was exhausted.
    Agatha had seen much more of her father in the last few months than she had seen since she was a little girl. When she was small her mother and father had been married, but never happily. She remembered many rows, many nights that he came home late, or not at all, and many mornings when her mother would throw things at him - vases, mugs of coffee, the odd pair of scissors - in fury that he smelt of alcohol or cheap perfume. Agatha did not know whether he was having affairs in those early days of her life but from the age of 9 it was evident that he was. He rarely came home and occasionally had women turn up on the doorstep waiting for him. Her mother had simply given up, not seeming to care any longer if he stayed out all night with one of his lover  women, choosing instead to take antidepressants and watch daytime tv. Agatha had learnt to fend for herself in those early days - getting herself ready for school, cooking for herself, filling out forms, doing her homework. Nobody seemed to notice her, except for her Nan that was. But Agatha had never been one to tell tales or complain so she had not said anything to Atta, and whenever Atta came over to the house her daughter in law put on a very convincing show that everything was fine. Atta was never convinced however so often asked if Agatha could stay the weekend, or come out for tea most nights.
    “Is everything alright at home Aggie Wags?” she would ask when she picked her up from school for the fifth day in a row.
   Agatha would always smile her brightest smile and say “bicketty too” as her dad always said.
   Her father came home less and less until one day when Agatha was 13 he turned up on the doorstep with a younger woman on his arms and divorce papers in a plastic bag.
   “Hey Aggie,” he beamed at his only daughter.
   “Hi dad,” she replied cautiously.
   “Is mum in?”
   “Yes. She’s on the sofa, where she always is,” she said, nodding her head in the direction of the living room.
   “I just came by to get some of my things, I’m leaving you see. This is Molly and…well she’s my good friend.”
   Agatha rarely saw red in a situation but this made her really angry, more angry than she had ever felt.
   “You abandoned me and mum, cheated on her countless times, left us without any money, and now you haven’t even got the decency to tell me the truth, that this is your latest girlfriend that you think you’re in love with. I’m not letting you in here, I’ll be selling all your stuff in a car boot sale  if you want to buy it back.”
   Molly sniggered.
   “Don’t you have to have a car to do a CAR boot sale?” She looked around the drive pointedly and sneered at Agatha.
   Agatha took a step towards the woman, causing her to stumble as she slipped off the doorstep. She regained her footing but now had her back up against the wall. Agatha carried on, knowing that what she was about to do went against her better judgment but knowing that she had to do something. She lunged at Molly, grabbing her peroxide blonde hair in her fist and yanking her to the gate where she threw her onto the pavement, shrieking “whore” as she did so.
   Her father was distressed at seeing the two loves of his life fighting that and went to the rescue, grabbing Aggie round the waist and pulling her away from the scrap that was ensuing.
   Agatha was furious, kept screaming at him, “let me go, give me a piece of her, you left us for HER?” He pulled her away, still with his arms strongly round her waist and took her inside the house, closing the front door behind him, keeping the two females separate but still able to hear the angry screams and torrent of abuse from outside the house.
    He held onto Agatha and wouldn’t let go, even after he felt the strength eke out of her body. She started sobbing uncontrollably into her hands and he hugged her as tightly as he could, unable to stop his own tears from falling. “I’m sorry,” was all he could say.
   Agatha’s mother came out of the living room and watched the whole scene, leaning against the door post with her arms folded. She watched as they hugged, as they cried, as they bonded, then simply turned and walked back to the television where she turned the volume up louder and lit a cigarette.
   “Come with me Aggie,” said her father, tilting her chin to force her to look into his eyes. “Stay with me, you shouldn’t be here.”
   Agatha looked at her father, every sensible instinct in her body telling her to run and avoid him but her broken and lost heart wanting desperately to feel the love that she had been deprived of from both of her parents.
   “I can’t live with her,” she cried.
   “I know, so come with me and Molly,” he beseeched her, a spark of light in his eyes.
   “No, I mean I can’t live with HER,” she repeated, pointing outside to the still screaming banshee.
   Her father faltered. “She’ll calm down love,” he said doubtfully. “She’s ok when you get to know her. Don’t stay here, your Mum’s not well. She can’t give you the love and attention a teenage girl needs.”
   “Oh and Molly-the-twat can I suppose?”
   “Agatha!”
   “What? I’ve been left on my own, just Nan making sure I don’t end up on drugs or end up a prostitute. She’s the only one who has cared for me since I was a young girl, so you don’t get to come in here and tell me off for swearing.”
   “Alright love, I’m sorry.”
   “What for, Dad? Why are you sorry?”
   “I’m sorry for - you know, telling you off. And for Molly.”
   “But not sorry for leaving me alone with a seriously depressed woman who just needed your love? You just left us Dad.”
   “Yeah, of course, I’m sorry about that too. Of course. But you have to know that she was impossible to live with. A man can’t deal with that much fuss, it can suffocate you Aggs.”
   “Yeah well as a result I’ve grown up without any love from either of my parents. Neither of you cared enough to be there for me, to raise me, to input into my life.”
   “I’m sorry -“
   “Just stop saying that. I don’t want to hear it. I’m done with both of you. I’m going to live with Nan.”
   “Ok Aggs, that’s a good idea. Your Nan will love the company, she would like that.”
   Agatha didn’t say another thing. It would have been pointless. She nodded and walked away from him, heading upstairs to ring her Nan, who had been begging her granddaughter to live with her for a long time. Out of a sense of duty to her parents she had stayed but she felt no duty to them any more - what duty had they ever shown to her? With the arrangements made, she packed her things and left, not even bothering to tell her mum that she was leaving.
   
   Since then Agatha had only seen her dad a handful of times...once when she got her GCSEs and passed with flying colours, once when she was out clubbing with a group of friends...he was dancing the night away with Molly, and once when he had gone to her Nans for sunday roast, her Nan trying to surprise her for her 16th birthday. Agatha hadn’t been very impressed with the surprise and told Atta that she had been hoping for a pony. She had said it drily and her Nan understood the joke but Molly, who had also been invited, couldn’t help but tut and mutter “how ungrateful” under her breath. It was not the greatest of birthdays.
   Agatha popped in once a week to visit her mum, buying a few groceries but mostly going to check she was still alive. It was a small price to pay, for the happiness that living at her nans brought. Late night games of bridge with the neighbours, watching Strictly Come Dancing with wine and cheese, not to mention the occasional visit to the pub with Agathas friends where they would stay until last orders, jeering at the men and flirting with the staff. They were good times for Agatha, times that she got to know her nan and understand her better.
    There were times however when her nan disappeared without a trace, stating that she was going to the shop for baking powder and then disappearing for hours on end. One time she told her granddaughter that she was going to water the plants in the front garden then disappeared for 2 whole days. Agatha did have her suspicions though, considering they had no plants because they were always left to die, and that she had a huge carpet bag with her when she walked out. But Agatha thought nothing of these things at the time, and when her nan got home eventually she would pretend to scold her then ask where she had been. Atta Monroe would never tell, only saying that she had been to see a man about a dog, or that the sun never shines on the unrighteous. (This one didn't make sense but Agatha didn't care.)
 
    This was why it was so hard for Agatha to see her nan this way. Always in bed grumpy, restless. Agatha came home one day, a few months later, and saw that the carers had been earlier today, leaving her nan unattended for 2 hours. Agatha was angry when she read the notes and sprinted up the stairs two at a time to check she hadn't done something stupid like try to get out of bed.
   Agatha stopped, however, when she reached the bedroom. She could hear sniffing, whimpering, crying from her strong nan.
   She walked in and gently took her arm.
   "Nan? Hey Nan, it's me. What's the matter?"
   Atta tried to wipe her face and stop crying but at the sight of Agathas concerned face she cried louder, harder.
   "I'm just so..so sorry," she wailed, big tears rolling down her face and splashing on the fresh sheets.
   "Why nan, what's happened?"
   Atta cried for a few more minutes then Agatha saw her strength return and she steeled herself again, preparing to downplay the tears.
    "Oh it's nothing, really. I'm just being a silly old woman."
   "Nan, why are you sorry?"
   "I'm just feeling a bit sorry for myself that's all. I'm sorry for putting you out, making you care for me, I'm sorry that you're not out there meeting new people and finding love and settling down with kids of your own."
   "Oh nan, there's nowhere I would rather be, you know that. I don't want all those things yet, I've got plenty of time. Come on, don't cry."
   "There are....things. Things you don't know. About me."
   "That's ok, you don't need to tell me anything. I love you as you are. Now who did you murder?"
   Atta looked at her with wide eyes for some time until she said "Mr Watkins. 1977. With the cattle prod."
   Agatha gasped, hand flying to her mouth, before realising that her nan had a twinkle in her eyes and was trying not to laugh.
   "Oh nan, that got me. Phew," she said, fanning herself with her hand. They giggled for a moment and Agatha felt a jolt of happiness rush through her - surely this was the start of her nans recovery? The depression would lift, they could start talking about physiotherapy, a stair lift to get her down the stairs, wheelchairs to get her out...anything was possible. Agatha took her hand.
    "Now I know you didn't murder anyone I can relax."
    "I haven't always been a good grandmother to you Agatha," Atta started, raising her good hand to stop her from arguing.
    "I haven't. There are things you don't know. Things you probably...should know."
   "Nan, I don't -"
   "Let me talk. I haven't talked like this in a while and I need to get some things off my chest. I don't have a great relationship with your dad, as you probably know. Your grandfather, Tom, he was a good man. I need you to know that...he loved me, and I loved him. We had been in school together and he was the most handsome boy, the one all the girls wanted. So when he asked me out on a date, no-one was more surprised than me…of course I said yes and we got on really well. He was wonderful and he would have done anything for me. We enjoyed many years of blissful marriage, taking holidays to Brighton, spending christmas in front of a tiny tree, long walks through the country. So when I fell pregnant with our first child I was excited, I thought this would complete us. Plus, when you're happy and in love, the next step is always to have children, if you are blessed with the ability.
    "Well I was and when I found out I told Tom, making a big song and a dance about it, dragging out the moment when I revealed this marvellous information to him. He thought I had bought him a motorbike, poor chap. So when I eventually told him that he would be a father he shut down, and wouldn't speak to me for a month. Not because he was disappointed there would be no bike, you understand. He was withdrawn and sullen, barely coming home to me, choosing to work all hours under the sun instead.
    "One day he came home drunk and tried to force himself on me. My Tom had never laid a finger on me before and I knew it wasn't in his nature, but something had changed. I didn't know what it was, I couldn't understand why he would react so badly to such good news.
   "I managed to push him away from me and scramble to safety but he was quicker and stronger and he grabbed my ankle, forcing me to the ground. Well I was so scared that something would happen to the baby that I let him carry on his business and the next day nothing was said. In fact he woke up happier and actually kissed me goodbye after breakfast. I was scared of him after that but he never tried anything like it again.
    "Your dad was born one dark and gloomy day in January and it was the best day in my life when I held him in my arms. He held my finger in his fist and I cried non stop. Tom came in an hour later and looked at him briefly before walking out the door. He didn't hold him, wouldn't ask how I was, wouldn't acknowledge him in any way, even when I named him Thomas in honour of his daddy.
   "Well I got myself home in a taxi and carried on with life at home. Tom came back from time to time but I think he found life better on his own. He was living in a caravan that his mate rented to him and he was happy. He sent money back to us every month but it was never enough...not now I had to pay the bills as well as provide for a little one. So I decided if I had to get a job that I would get a good one...a nurse was what I decided on.
    "Well I started training a few months later and the next door neighbour looked after your dad. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, leave him with another woman, even someone who had had 5 of her own, but I had to steel myself to the task and get on with it.
    "I enjoyed the training, met some great people - other girls, lots of nice doctors on the ward, interesting  patients. I worked hard at it and found I really enjoyed myself. I missed the baby but he was happy and settled next door so all was good. So I thought. Because one day Tom came home as I was in work and changed all the locks, throwing a few bags of my clothes out onto the street, but choosing to throw the baby's things away...I found them stuffed into the bin when I got home.
   "It turns out that a friend of ours had bumped into him and let it slip that I was getting on well in the hospital. She mentioned that I had been seen on the arm of a nice young doctor at a party and that it was a shame we couldn't have worked things out. Of course I would've loved a chance to work things out but he wouldn't speak to me. My friend wasn't meddling, she genuinely thought she was helping. But he saw red, thinking that I was getting on with my life without him, thinking I was taking him for every penny he had, thinking I was playing him. The ironic thing was that the young doctor and I had been good friends...but I wasn't keen on him in any way. When I married Tom it was for life and I never looked at a man in the same way as I looked at him.
   "In truth I could barely make ends meet. Your dad was growing fast, I would buy him shoes and the next month he had outgrown them. I would feed him good food but he was always hungry for more. Then my neighbour decided to increase the fees I was paying her, saying it wasn't worth her while minding a kid who was so energetic. This was the last straw, I wasn’t going to fight Tom for the house, he was welcome to it. So I found that we were living on the street, cast out of the only home we knew. I had a friend with a spare room, she let us live with her for a while but it would never be a long term arrangement, not when I had a toddler running about breaking things and running in her room first thing in the morning after she had been working a night shift.
    "I took extra hours at the hospital, I worked at night in the local shop stacking shelves and I found a place we could rent...it was so cheap because the walls had damp and there was only one bedroom. But the lad and I were happy, we had a place of our own.
    "I was tired but before long he was in full time education and things settled down again. I didn't see Tom for a long time, I stayed away from our old house not wanting to confront him about why he had turned the way he had. But one day I was working in the hospital and a patient was wheeled onto the ward. I knew him at once from the way he groaned, the way he shouted for a nurse to help. I found myself backing away from the ward, wanting to run and hide, but the matron was behind me and hated shirkers. She raised her eyebrows at me and folded her arms. She also hated personal problems, they were to be kept outside, so I had to take a deep breath and attend to my estranged husband.
   “Now then Mr Monroe,” I said in my most clipped voice, “what seems to be the problem?”
   “I picked up his notes, trying to avoid looking at him and read that he had suspected appendicitus and was due to have surgery the next day.
   “I put the notes down and finally looked at him. He was pale, he had lost weight, he was looking old, a few grey hairs shading the side of his head. I immediately felt a sadness like I had never felt before - this man was a shadow of the man I had married. Not for the first time I wondered what had gone wrong? What had I done wrong?
   “Emotion must have showed on my face because even in his pain he grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
   ““I was hoping it would be you,” he said, beads of sweat gathering on his brow.
   ““You - you were?” I asked tentatively.
   ““I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said, writhing with the pain. “I never meant to hurt you like this. If I could take it all back I would.”
   ““But Tom,” I said quietly for the matron was glancing over suspiciously, “what happened to us? It all went so horribly wrong, when I told you I was pregnant.”
   ““I…I never wanted…” He was struggling with the pain and I turned to go and get him some pain relief.
    “”No,” he gasped, “not yet. Just stay, I don’t want you to go. I need you to know…”
   ““Well the sister will be over in a minute asking why I am not dealing with the other patients.” Despite my sadness I couldn’t help but remember the endless nights of worrying about finances, where they would live, if young Thomas would turn out alright without a father. It was hard to let all of this go.
   ““I never wanted children,” he whispered.
   ““But you never told me that,” I said.
   “”I tried but whenever you looked at babies in their prams, or children at the park you couldn’t take your eyes off them. I knew that if I told you I didn’t want children that it would break your heart. I just thought that if I kept quiet that maybe it would never happen, and maybe you would forget.
   ““I even tried to learn when it was your time - you know, your…” he stumbled on the words, not wanting to embarrass himself.
   ““Monthly?”
   “”Yes. I knew that there were certain times of the month that I should stay away from you because you would be more likely to become pregnant. It obviously didn’t work.”
   ““But why did you react like that when I told you?”
   ““I thought I had been careful and when you told me I assumed you had been with another man. My behaviour towards you was unforgivable and…I’m sorry.”
   ““I never loved anyone like I loved you Tom Monroe. You stupid man. What made you realise that I hadn’t been with anyone else?”
   “”The day I saw him in your arms at the hospital. I knew he was mine, just as I knew you were mine the first day I saw you at school. We belonged together.”
   “”But you barely glanced at him,” I said, baffled.
   “”I watched you both from the window outside the ward. You were so besotted that you didn’t look up once at me and I knew then that I would have to share your love from now on. I didn’t want it, couldn’t face it. I looked at him for a very long time, willing myself to hate him, but I couldn’t. I just saw a helpless baby who had done nothing wrong. But I knew then that I couldn’t go back to the way things were. I came in to say goodbye to you but words were too hard, I couldn’t speak for fear that I would give myself away. So I glanced at him and left.”
   “I looked at him for the longest time,” Atta said to Agatha, a faraway look in her eyes, “but what was I to do? We had moved on, he had chosen to desert us, abandon us and all because he didn’t get his own way. All because he wanted me to himself.”
   “So what happened next,” asked Agatha, with tears in her eyes.
   “I nodded to let him know that in my own way I understood, and that I forgave him. Then I went to get him some pain medication. By the time I got back to him he had been wheeled away into the operating theatre where he died from a ruptured appendix. I never saw him alive again.”
   “Oh Nan,” Agatha said, tears flowing freely now, “I’m so so sorry, that’s awful,” she said.
    “I thought that maybe we would inherit the house after that, maybe we could start living comfortably again but it turned out that he wrote me out of his will, leaving everything to a brother he rarely saw. I wasn’t angry, not really. We had made our peace with each other, like I said he wasn’t a bad man. Just …complicated I suppose you young folks would say.”
    “How old was dad when he died?”
    “Your father was 6. He didn’t really understand why his father was never around, he had no memories of him. When he saw me crying the next day and I told him why, he just shrugged at me and told me he had thought he was already dead. We never talked about him after that though I would have liked to, to keep his memory alive.
    “Then I retrained as a midwife. I couldn’t stand the environment on the ward after that, it left a bitter taste in my mouth. I loved babies, Tom was right about that. So in no time at all I was bringing babies into the world and it suited me right down to the ground.”
   “I just keep thinking that if I had just persevered with Tom, if I’d tried to reconcile our marriage instead of giving up so soon, maybe your father would have turned out better - maybe he would have been a better father.”
    “Wait,” Agatha said suddenly, “you’re not blaming yourself for my dad are you? You’re not apologising for him Nan, you are not to blame, we all make our own choices. You did a great job especially given the circumstances.” Agatha couldn’t believe this strong, beautiful woman, who had been through so much in her life could actually think like this about herself. It was so out of character.
    “Nan,” Agatha said, wiping her tears and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “I’m going to make a nice cup of sweet tea for us both, then I’ll come back up and we can have a good chin wag, Ok?”
   Atta laughed, a sweet cup of tea was always what she prescribed but never something she actually liked the taste of. She would drink it today though to appease her sweet, adorable, wonderful granddaughter.
   Agatha ran down the stairs, feeling better even though the story she had just been told was awful. She didn’t know it was possible to feel closer to her Nan but now she did and it felt good.
    She made the tea and put a packet of jaffa cakes on the tray. For the rest of the evening they talked and talked, only stopping when Atta had fallen asleep mid sentence. Agatha smiled to herself and tucked her Nan in, kissing her on the forehead before turning out the light and taking the tea things back downstairs.
    In the night Atta had another stroke and this time it was fatal.

Chapter 14
Agatha
Agatha looked out of the window and saw with surprise that the snow was falling thick and fast and that a layer of white was covering everything outside of her house. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder at the beauty of it all, the way the snow fell was mesmerising and she sat and watched it for a few minutes longer than she should.
   Finally she left the comfort of the spare room and went back to join her guests. They were all on their phones texting, browsing - who cares? But not one of them was talking.

Charles
‘So I’m trying to update my status on facebook but it looks like there’s no coverage here. I wonder what the wifi password is? She probably wouldn’t tell me if I asked.’ Charles had completely embraced the Iphone, as he had since learnt to call it, discovering how to text, make phone calls and even downloaded facebook though he only had 5 friends (his mother, George, Fran, Joan the National Trust manager and an unknown person from Nigeria called Nigel. He seemed friendly enough and liked to discuss cricket.) Charles put the phone down, however when his host walked back in - his high class manners prevented him from social networking whilst at a dinner party, even if this in no way actually resembled a dinner party.

Ruby
Ruby looked through the photos on her phone as she often did when she was feeling low. There was one picture of Paul she had allowed herself to keep…it was a good one of him, where he was laughing at something she had said before she clicked the button on her phone. It was great lighting and his face seemed to glow.   She loved that picture. She had one of her father too, whom she had visited on many an occasion. She wasn’t allowed to take pictures of him but had a few on her phone that she had taken the night he got arrested. Then there was one more photo of value to her and that was the selfie that she had taken with Atta a few months after they had met. They were both cross eyed in the shot, giggling their heads off just before because it had taken them so long to get the picture in focus. She missed Atta most of all.

Ben
‘What r u doing now?’ he typed.
‘Eating curry and playing Gran turismo with mum,’ came the reply from Giles after a few moments.
‘Man you are one lucky mo fo’ he typed, pressing send just as the hostess walked back in the room. He looked up and her and did a double take,she had been crying and was carrying something in her hands. He felt guilty and put his phone back in his pocket, jumping up to see if everything was ok. He might wish he was elsewhere but he hated seeing a pretty girl in distress.

Agatha
‘I must look a state,’ Agatha thought as she walked back into the room. Ben jumped up as soon as he took one look at her, Ruby stared at her face and looked guilty and even charles had the decency to put his phone away and clear his throat when she sat back down.
   “So here it is,” she announced, sitting back at the head of the table and placing the letter before her. “The letter my grandmother insisted we read together.”

Charles
‘Finally’ he thought, trying to hide the relief he felt by yawning instead.

Ruby
‘Finally’ she thought, looking down at the table and sighing. She glanced up when it had gone quiet and realised that she had spoken again. ‘Wow,’ she thought, ‘I never knew I did that so much.’

Ben  
Ben sat back down in his seat, unsure whether or not he should hold her hand or stroke her soft olive coloured skin in sympathy. Obviously she was not going to get any from these two insensitive idiots.

Agatha
Agatha looked at her guests and grimaced. She willed herself to stay quiet and play the dutiful host her grandmother had begged her to be but at the sight of Charles yawning yet again she felt  she could contain herself no more.
   “Are we boring you that much, Charles?” she snapped.
   There were three pairs of surprised eyes that were looking in her direction but she couldn’t hold back any longer.
   “Um… a bit I suppose,” he answered.
   Ruby sniggered.
   “I suppose you’re still bored too, miss I’m-Too-Cool-For-This-Dinner-Party, you miserable cow.”
   ‘Uh-oh, I’m getting out of hand.’ thought Agatha. But she was on a roll now, she couldn’t stop herself if she tried.
   “Agatha,” started Ben quietly, raising a hand in a calming down manner, “why don’t you just -“
   “Oh shut up Ben,” she snapped at him, “don’t think I haven’t seen you looking at me doe eyed ever since you saw me in my knickers. I don’t know what my Nan saw in all of you but personally I’m glad I never have to set eyes on you ever again after this letter has been read out. It’s bad enough that I have to read this in front of you all, I would much rather read it to myself and be able to have a good cry without you lot judging me and laughing at me.”
   “Well why don’t you then?” asked Charles. He seemed genuinely confused.
   Agatha looked at him and wondered how much on the autistic scale he was.
   “Because my Nan wrote me a separate letter and made me promise that I would meet you somehow, that the four of us would get together for one night only and just meet. You were all people she loved and treasured and she wanted me to know you like she did. Well I’ve kept that promise but it was never required of me that I love you all too. I’m not sure what she saw in you all personally.”
   They all sat quietly until Agatha sighed.
   “I’m sorry. I-“
   “Just read the letter, ok?” interrupted Ruby.
    Agatha nodded and opened the envelope. She pulled the letter out slowly and unfolded the paper. She took a deep breath and started to read.  
    “My dear Agatha and my dear friends,
    I am truly very sorry that I died. It was not my intention as I had planned on living forever - or at least until I delivered my first great-grandchild. (If that ever happens, isn’t that right, Aggie Wags?) Lol, only joking.”

Agatha laughed, there was no way that she would’ve let Atta Monroe, midwife extraordinaire, anywhere near her lady bits. Plus she was very forgetful, who knew where she might end up leaving her glasses.

   “I certainly feel as though I have been taken from you all far too soon. First I suppose I must address the issue of how I knew I would die. Well it happens to us all eventually of course, and having had quite a doozy of a stroke a few months ago I knew that my days were numbered. No-one of my age recovers well from a stroke of that magnitude. Plus when you get to a certain age you know…you know that it may be just around the corner. You feel it at night, creeping in the shadows, lurking by your side as you go to the toilet for the tenth time. Anyway, I’m dead.
   My dear Charles. First of all there are things that you have to know. I’m guessing that you know most of these things by now, your mother must have told you. Yes, you have a sister; well a half sister at least. Your father was not who you thought he was, and he knew that you weren’t his. This must have been hard for you to learn, and I’m sorry that you did not grow up with a father figure - I have first hand experience of how tough this can be on a boy.
   My lovely, sweet Ruby.”

At this all of the gathering looked bemused at Ruby - not least Ruby herself, who shrugged at the others.

   My lovely, sweet Ruby. You have endured many hardships through the last few years and for this I am sorry. Dealing with the death of your boyfriend and the imprisonment of your father for murdering him has been tough on you but you have coped well and you are stronger than you think. I beg you Ruby, please please restart that music career of yours - you were, no are amazing and a great future lies ahead of you if you can just move on. I love you sweet girl and I’m leaving you with a precious gift indeed.
   Now Ben ben, my strapping lad, I have some bad news and some good news. First of all your brother is dying.”
 
Agatha faltered at this and looked at Ben tenderly. He caught her eye and they had a moment between them until Charles coughed impatiently.

   “I know that you know this, I know that you have been told that his death may be closer than you had thought, but do not fear it my boy, he is in pain, he is fed up, and he is desperate for you to find some sort of a life. Do not fear his death, for here is where the good news comes in…I will be waiting for him, and wherever we may end up (and trust me there is an afterlife, of this I am certain), I will dance with him and run with him and attempt cartwheels in a long grassed meadow with him. And here we will talk of the person you have become - your insecurities, your fears, your complete dread of being alone and having to fend for yourself. My boy, be strong.
   So why have I called you together? My granddaughter, in one word.”

Here Agatha stopped, a lump forming in her throat, unable to carry on. It was at this time that Charles shouted, “bloody hell, look at the snow!” and the letter became temporarily forgotten in Agatha’s hands.

Charles
Charles hadn’t meant to be insensitive - it was one of those moments that he let his worries get the better of him and he had been trying for so long to learn how to stay under control. But it had come as a shock, the snow was falling so heavily that it had become impossible to see any cars outside. He rushed to the window and stared out glumly.
   “There’s no way I’m getting back home tonight - not in this. My mum will be so worried, I’d better ring her.” He took his phone out of his pocket and went into the other room to ring her.
   “Hi Mum,” he said when she finally picked up. He was in the spare room so started rummaging through the shoe drawer to make sure his precious wine was safe.
   “Charles, where are you? Are you on your way back?”
   “No mummy, we were reading the letter from Atta - sorry, aunty Atta - and we got distracted.” Charles started panicking, he couldn’t find the wine and he knew exactly where he had hidden it. Damn, she must have come in and found it.
   “But Charles, tomorrow is Christmas Eve, you must be home for our traditions. I can’t do them without you.”
   “Mummy stop worrying, I’ll do what I can.” He started looking around the room, trying to see where someone like Agatha would hide a bottle of wine.
   He talked for her for a few more minutes and it was soon clear that firstly he was going to have to stay the night with these…these people, and secondly that he would never find the wine in a room with so many drawers and hiding places. He sat down on a bench seat by the window and sighed.

Ruby
‘Looks like I’m the only person who has no-one to call,’ she thought drily. ‘That’s me, a loner. I suppose I could call Old man Taylor, just so it looks like I’ve got someone who loves me but then he’d probably think I was hoping for a snog, and that most definitely is not on the cards.’ Ruby went to the window and looked out, wrapping her arms around her for warmth even though the house was quite cosy. It was to comfort herself more than anything else. She thought about the things that Atta had said about her. She had always had the ability to see things that nobody else could see. And could she ever go back to music? Ruby doubted it somehow but she admitted that the thought of standing on stage singing to crowds of people still got her excited, and maybe it was something to consider once this long night was over. Looks like they would have to endure each other for a few more hours.

Ben
“Hey bud,” Ben called jovially, “it looks like I’m not coming home tonight after all, I scored a hot date with this chick who I’ve already seen in her undies.” He tried staying as light as he could but the words in Attas letter were still ringing in his ears and the last place he wanted to be right now was in this house far away from his brother. In fairness he could probably walk it but he had arrived in the wrong clothes and didn’t know if he would survive the distance.
   “It’s alright chap,” Giles said, “don’t fret. Tell me, does she have a sister who happens to like men who have very little function left in their body?”
   Ben bit his lip to compose himself and said “sorry mate, only child. Listen, you sure you’re ok? I’m gutted mate, I wanted to be back so we can watch The Snowman on repeat all day and drink mulled cider until we can’t see straight. But as soon as I wake I’ll try and get a taxi or something, ok?”
   “It’s fine Ben, mum is doing a great job of looking after me. we’ll still be here when you get back ok? G’night.”
   “Night bud,” he said, hearing the click of the phone cutting off on the other end. He took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together.

Agatha
Of all the nights that her strange guests had to be snowed in it was this one. Her night had been a terrible one from the moment that Charles walked in through the door, refusing to give her the bottle of wine, until the moment that she had started reading the letter, choking on the words that her Nan had written just days before she died. Agatha had a feeling that her Nan had simply given up and decided that she was going to die. It would be just like her.
   The wine! She remembered where she had hidden it and knew that Charles would be checking up on it. She ran into the spare room and looked as he smugly sat smiling on the bench seat.
   “All ok?” she asked breezily.
   “Oh just fine,” he replied, with his best attempt at a wink. It looked more like a squint and Agatha snorted a laugh at the absurdity of it all.
   When they had all finished their phone calls they gathered once again in the dining room.
   “So I suppose you two can take the spare room and Ruby, you and I can sleep in my bed.”
   “No offense Agatha but I can’t sleep in your bed with you. I’ll take the sofa.”
   “No, I need the sofa because I have sleep apnoea and I don’t want to keep anyone awake,” said Charles with the first act of selflessness the company had seen so far.
   “That’s kind of you Charles but I am a heavy sleeper, let Ruby have the couch.”
   “No,” said Charles, “I have sleep apnoea and it’s very bad. Plus I can’t sleep in the same room as you Ben, you might try something with me in my sleep and I don’t want that.”
   They all looked at him baffled until Ruby said “He’s not gay, you know that, right?”
   “He’s not?” said Charles, confused.
   “No, I’m not.”
   “Oh.Ok. But i still don’t want to sleep in the same room as you,” he said shrugging his shoulders.
   Agatha rolled her eyes. How on earth had her Nan had any tolerance for these people?
   “Ok well sleep where you want. I have spare pillows and blankets, and I can lend you some pyjamas Ruby. If you want some, of course.”
   The house became a hive of activity for a few minutes as people helped Agatha tidy the kitchen. Charles made some teas and coffees and Agatha found the box of chocolate biscuits she had been saving for christmas day. No point in keeping them for just herself and plus her guests were probably still hungry.
   “Shall we finish the letter?” she asked after some time.
   They all nodded their assent and they sat in the living room, three of them in close proximity on the sofa and Charles on the floor.
 “So why have I called you together? My granddaughter, in one word. She is the light of my life and always has been. The day she was born she won my heart like no-one else had been able to do. She is so pure, so good, and I adore her. By this point of the evening I expect you have tried her food. For this I am sorry…”

   “Huh,” Agatha started, “what a cheek.” But she had no sympathy from the others who were giggling and nudging each other in a rare show of companionship.
   “Oh come on Aggs, it was pretty bad,” Ben said poking her in the ribs.
   “How long did you spend cooking again?” laughed Ruby, showing a beautiful smile that she had not yet revealed.
   “Yeah, it was shit,” said Charles, expecting everyone to laugh more. But they just stopped abruptly and shook their heads.
    Agatha smiled as she cast her eyes back down to the letter.
 
    “I have tried to impart my skills down to my granddaughter but I’m afraid that I am not much better - I make a mean bowl of Heinz tomato soup and a very tasty christmas pudding, but I doubt somehow that she has tried to make this tasty combination for you tonight.”

They all looked at her expectantly and Agatha said coyly, “Well I did buy a few tins of tomato soup just in case. Looks like we might need them after all.” They laughed some more and Agatha found herself enjoying the night for the first time.

   “I can assure you however that this is the only area in which she is found to be lacking.”

At this Agatha found she couldn’t read on, she couldn’t believe these things about herself so she couldn’t expect a group of strangers to believe them.
   “I’ll just skip some of -“
   “No you won’t,” said Ben taking the letter out of her hands.

   “To give you an idea of how kind and pure she is I shall tell you a story of something she did when she was five. I took her into town to buy her some new shoes because her parents had forgotten and her toes were poking through the end. We went into the shop and spent some time looking at the various styles and choosing which colour we liked the best. Agatha couldn’t believe how lovely they were and kept touching each pair she tried on as though they were the magical glass slippers in Cinderella. Finally we agreed on a pair of red leather shoes with a buckle which made a small jingling sound as she walked. She loved them and didn’t want to wear them on the way home in case she ruined them. We carried them in the box and walked back to the bus stop. But on the way to the bus we came across a family who clearly had nothing. There was a mum, a dad and a little girl, perhaps slightly smaller than Agatha. Their clothes were threadbare and the little girl had smudges of soot on her face. Agatha looked at her feet and saw that her shoes were even worse than her own. She looked at me pleadingly and I knew that her intentions were the kindest and purest I had ever seen. I nodded at her and she shyly took the bag with the new red shoes in which jingled as she walked and handed it to the girl. She simply said “you can have these. I don’t need them,” and she gave her a hug. She took my hand and walked away, not glancing back or regretting for one moment that she had given them away. I have never been so proud in my whole life as I was in that moment.”

Ben finished reading the page and stopped. The room had an eerie hush about it, each thinking of the sacrifice that Agatha had made that day.
   “Who wants shoes that jingle anyway, right?” said Agatha after while, trying to lighten the mood back to what it had been just a few moments earlier.
   They all laughed again but everyone was beginning to look at each other differently. Something was shifting amongst them and it was good.

Chapter 10 (second part) to chapter 12.

 (Chapter 10 continued)

(If you recall Charles has been into the village and has bumped into Atta. They are chatting.)

 "So my mother has been keeping a secret from me and it concerns you."

   "She's been keeping many things a secret and I'm only a small part of it."

   "And you're not going to tell me? Or are you?"

   "No, no I think I won't. I'm visiting my son who is living nearby, I often come and stay for weeks on end. I'll be happy to talk to you once she tells you but if not...then maybe we can meet for cake another time. Here is my number," she said, scribbling down a number on a napkin "I have the new iPhone 6 with 64 giggles."

    "What's an iPhone?" said Charles, confused. Atta frowned at him, looking utterly baffled. 

     "Shall we meet tomorrow? Say 10am?"

    "What makes you think she'll tell me by tomorrow?"

    "Just mention the name Rufus Monroe to her and see what she says. Now drink up, you'll want to be getting back to those jumpers I expect."

    He drank his cappuccino in silence, keeping his eyes low. 'Rufus Monroe' he thought, puzzled. He finished the dregs of his coffee then looked at the old woman. 

    "Can I ask you one question?"

    "You can ask," she said shrugging her shoulders. 

    "What is your name?"

    "Ah. Great question. Thought you'd never ask. My name is Atta."

    Charles looked at her and furrowed his brow. 

   "Wondering where you've heard my name before?" she asked. 

   "No. Wondering what kind of a name Atta is. Totally bonkers if you ask me. See you tomorrow," he said as he pushed back his chair and went to pay George. 

"Mother," he called as soon as he walked through the front door. There was no answer. "Mother?" he called again, determined to find her and have it out with her. "Where are you?"

   Charles looked in the few rooms downstairs and saw no sign of her. He ran up the steps two at a time, even though it nearly caused his lungs to explode, and found her lying on his bed sleeping. She was clutching an old teddy of his, one he used to take everywhere with him until the age of 12. Charles frowned, it was unlike his mother to sleep in the middle of the day. He was about to walk out of the room to start on the remaining orders when he noticed something else in her hand. It was a photo of a man, a handsome man with a ruddy complexion and a warm smiling face. Whoever the man was it most definitely was not the man he had once called father. He went to leave again but this time haltered because of the sight of an empty bottle of pills on his bed side table. 

    

Two hours later and they were in the hospital, Suzannah having had her stomach pumped and Charles having had the fright of his life. They had caused quite a stir amongst the national trust guests when the ambulance arrived, and when his mother got carried away on a stretcher. At the time he had been too concerned to care but now his cheeks flushed with the humiliation. 

    His mother was sleeping now, the doctors informed him that it would take some time for the pills to flush out completely in her system. He stayed by her side and held her hand, willing her to wake up, willing her to be ok. If anything ever happened to his mother...she was all he had, he should never have shouted at her or stormed out like that. He cried and a giant tear fell and landed on the bed. 

    The kindly nurse who had taken charge once they were taken to the ward saw Charles upset and waddled over to comfort him. She was 8 months pregnant and felt every step. She rubbed his back however and bent over as far as her stomach would allow. 

   "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked in her Lancashire accent. "Is there someone I can call?"

    Charles knew, later on when he recalled the whole scenario, that he wasn't thinking straight, and that if he was to ask anyone to come in that it would be someone like Jane, the national trust coordinator that they spoke to regularly, or Mr Timms the closest neighbour that they had who occasionally made them jam from the plums he grew in his garden.  But never in a million years should he have called the number on the napkin in his pocket. 

    "Yes, could you call this number please? She has an iPhone 6 with 64 giggles and her name is Atta." 

Chap 11

Agatha

The small company sat down at the table and looked at the food in front of them. Agatha had finished serving the final bits of food - the veg, gravy, though only after spending 20 minutes bleaching the kitchen after the mouse debacle. She looked around at the food she had so lovingly prepared and felt quite dismayed. It looked awful...the Turkey was greasy looking, the potatoes had gone soft, the cranberry sauce had a weird shine over the top. The marks and spencer stuffing balls she had tried to pretend were hers were looking quite well however. She let out a deflated sigh and looked at her guests. 

   "You know what," she said, "forget it. It all looks gross, I wouldn't feed it to a dog. Just go home, it's not worth it."

   "No, it doesn't look that bad," said Ben, reaching across the table to touch her hand. 

   "You're very kind but it really does. It's started snowing outside and there's every possibility that it won't stop. You don't want to be stranded here with me in this tiny flat. That would be an unmitigated failure."

    "It was an unmitigated failure when you brought out those starters...what were they?" This from Ruby, ever the tactful one. 

    "They were a recipe I made up...it should've worked. But thanks for your honesty," Agatha said, without a trace of sarcasm or anger. 

    "Maybe we should go," said Charles, "I mean I need to get back to mother and if I'm snowed in on Christmas Eve she will never talk to me again."

    "We're not leaving," said Ben "we are having a quick bite to eat and then we'll finish what we came here to do. It never snows that bad in England and it's not going to start tonight of all nights."

   Agatha looked at him gratefully for his support but really wished they would all go so she could put her pjs on and cry into the nice bottle of wine that Charles had hidden around the flat somewhere. He must have thought she hadn't noticed but she would make sure that he left it for her if it was the last thing she did. 

    She sighed again. 

    "Look, how about we skip all this and just have dessert. It's a particularly tasty Christmas pudding. While we're eating it I can deal with the necessary arrangements and then you can go. Go back to the wonderful lives you must all lead, and then we never have to cross paths again. Deal?"

Charles. 

"Rightio," said Charles, infinitely relieved. He hoped that Agatha hadn't found the bottle of red that he had secretly stashed away in a shoe cupboard in the spare room. He refrained from rubbing his hands together with glee. 

Ruby 

'Finally, a sensible suggestion. I can get the hell out of here.' Ruby thought. Everybody looked at her with varied expressions... "I thought out loud again didn't I?" she said. 

Ben

Ben felt a small twinge of something at Agathas words. 'What was it?' he thought. He looked at his hostess with her beautiful eyes and delicate wrists and realised that maybe he didn't want to leave and never see her again. She was...really quite sweet. But he couldn't out stay his welcome so he resigned himself to another Christmas with just his brother and a box set. 

Agatha

Agatha bought out the steaming hot Christmas pudding and placed it on the table, in place of the turkey which had been dumped in the kitchen with the hope she might salvage some to make curry with. She wasn't too hopeful but she had learnt over the years how to be thrifty and she had to try. 

   The guests looked underwhelmed at her Christmas pud, but she could hardly blame them after her previous efforts of the night. She served up four helpings and dolloped the brandy sauce on top. 

    They all picked up their spoons cautiously, hoping that a catastrophic event would suddenly prevent them from eating it. Agatha took a bite. 

Charles

The girl took a bite so Charles felt he should follow suit. He took as small a mouthful as he could without drawing attention to himself and put the spoon in his mouth. The taste was...the taste was surprisingly good. He could not contain his shocked expression. 

Ruby. 

'So the girl can make a Christmas pud. At least she can do something right.'This time no one looked at her so she was fairly confident she had managed to keep her thoughts inside her head. 

Ben

Ben took a spoonful and grimaced. There was one thing he hated and that was Christmas pudding. And trifle. And chocolate gateaux. In fact he wasn't really a pudding kind of person. For so many years of trying to look good, stay healthy so he could wear the clothes he liked to wear, his taste buds were no longer fond of sweet things. And plus he hated raisins. But he would persevere because after the terrible night his hostess had had she deserved to know he appreciated her for something. 

    "You know," he said suddenly, putting down his spoon, "this one time I was out on a date with this girl and we went to a quiet little restaurant with soft music in the background and candles on the tables. The conversation was lovely, she was really nice, the food was amazing. But after the main course she asked the waiter for a glass of ice...nothing else, just ice. When it came she popped one in her mouth and crunched...really loudly, with her mouth open. I listened to her as she munched through 16 ice cubes ...I know it was 16, I counted...and by the end the whole restaurant was looking at us in pure disgust. It was then that I realised what I feared...hearing people eat. Apples, carrots, ice...it sends shivers down my spine!"

    He finished with gusto and expected people to laugh. He got a disgusted look off Ruby, a puzzled face from Charles and Agatha gave a polite smile but looked back down at her pudding. 

   Maybe it was best that they leave soon. 

Agatha 

'It was a very sweet thing to do,' she thought as she took another mouthful, 'but it doesn't really come close to breaking the frozen ice of this party.'

    "What is it about mice then," Ben asked, trying to cover up his belly flop of a story. 

   "Oh...oh I'd rather not talk about it if that's ok? I um...I don't like to dwell on it, I just don't like them. Now excuse me a moment while I go and get something that nan left."

    Agatha practically ran to the bedroom where she had kept the letter..the place she kept all her treasured things ...mementos, photos, shoes. She opened the drawer and found to her surprise the bottle of wine that Charles had brought. She had a moment of feeling triumphant and took it back out, hiding it instead in the box seat that was against the window. It had a secret compartment, a lid that opened up. She mostly kept rugs and cushions in there but it was a perfect place to hide an expensive looking bottle of wine. Then she went back to the drawer, moved her most favourite shoes aside and found the letter, beautifully written in her nans handwriting. She held it in her hands, treasuring this moment that she had waited for for over 6 months. She wished she could just get them to leave so she could savour this moment on her own, rather than with 3 strangers. Agatha found herself wondering yet again what her nan had been up to when she plotted all of this. She sniffed the letter, taking in the smell of the paper, the mustiness of the drawer but also smelling the perfume that her nan always wore. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and drop onto the letter, and there she let it stay. 

Chapter 12

1 year ago

Agatha 

"Miss Monnow, James Black won't give me back the car and I had it first. And he said I smelt of wee wee."

   Agatha looked at the little girl in front of her and smiled, her unnatural but never ending patience with these children her most greatest gift. She knelt down and looked the child in the eye. 

    "Now Rose we know that telling tales is not very nice is it? Now let's go together and ask James to give you the car back, ok? Come on then," she said and took the little girls hand. 

    James Black - black by name, black by nature. He was from a large family with 4 older brothers and a father who worked  away for much of the year. His mother tried her best but the behaviour of her youngest child left a lot to be desired. 

    "James," Agatha said sweetly as she approached the boy who was hitting another boy on the head with the car he was taken, "James we don't hit do we?" She went to take the car from him but he swung his arm away from her and hit her in the eye. 

    "Oopth," he said, stopping in his tracks at seeing his teacher covering her eye and trying not to cry with the pain. The little girl Rose burst into tears however and ran away crying "Miss Monnow has a baddy, James Black did it!" to the nearest nursery school teacher. 

    Agatha groaned, this would mean an accident report, a health and safety report and the boy's mother would have to be informed, just what she needed with another baby on the way. 

    "It's ok Rose, I'm fine," she called after the little girl who thankfully had run to Elsie, a trusted friend of Agathas who also would not want the hassle of filling out reports. 

    "Thorry mith Monroe," he said with genuine concern in his eyes. 

   "That's ok James, it was an accident. But did you take the car from Rose?"

   "Yeth mith Monroe but only becauth she took it from me firtht. I wath jutht playing with it and she thnatched it away."

    "Did you also call her a name?"

    "Yeth, I called her a wee wee."

    He said it with such seriousness that Agatha had to bite her lip in order not to laugh. He ran off from her at that moment before she had a chance to reprimand him for the name calling but she let him go. He was a sweet lad really, just needed some love and one on one time. 

   Elsie came over at that moment with a wailing Rose clinging to her leg, concerned look on her face.  

   "You alright love?" she asked. 

   "Oh yes, of course I am. You know me, resilient to the end. Rose," she said firmly, turning to the girl, "stop that crying. I'm fine, look, nothing wrong with me." She removed her hand from her eye but it must have looked bad because it made Rose scream even louder and even Elsie wrinkled up her nose, wincing at the sight. 

    The nursery manager, Victoria had started to notice the commotion and Agatha knew that it would be any moment before she came over to see what was wrong. One sniff of trouble and Agatha would be filling out forms all night. And she had plans. 

   "Right Rose," she said suddenly, an idea forming in her mind, "why don't you do some face painting on me, make me into a beautiful butterfly or a flower."

   "Like a rose?" she hiccuped. 

   "Yes, like a rose! Come on, let's go over here." She led the girl to the craft cupboard and found the face paints, which they only used on special occasions, and let her paint her face with many colours. Victoria seemed content that everything was ok and in no time at all Agathas bruise was covered in bright green and pink smudges. 

   

  A few hours later and Agatha was driving in her battered old VW beetle - which she likes to call vintage - in the rain to her favourite place in the whole wide world. A place with Christmas cinnamon smells the whole year round, a place with freshly baked scones no matter how late notice it is that you're dropping by and a place with a happy, funny, wonderful woman who could sort any problem out with a good ear to listen and a funny story for every bad situation. 

    Agatha parked outside and locked the door, praying that the lock wouldn't stick like it did most rainy days. The key had survived so she skipped happily up the path to her grandmothers quaint little terraced Victorian cottage which had ivy growing on the outside and had a grand front door with stained glass windows. She rapped out her fondest knock and waited for the familiar creak of the doors inside and the mumbling she always made as she shuffled her way. Her grandmother was in her late 80s but she was a bright thing, fully in control of her life and her faculties. She often went out, catching the bus, train or taxi, visiting friends of old who could not leave their house, making new friends on the way, collecting them and their stories like stamps. She loved people  and attracted them wherever she went. In fact Agatha had something of a reputation when it came to her grandmother. People would stop her in the street, complete strangers and hug her or shake her hand or occasionally kiss her on the cheek. She was one of the most popular people in the town, purely because of Atta Monroe. 

    Agatha knocked again, concerned that she couldn't hear her on the other side of the door. After another minute Agatha started fishing round in the bottom of her bag for the spare key. She wasn't worried, occasionally her nan had been too busy in the guest room doing her yoga DVD in nothing but a thong. That had been something of a shock but Atta just carried on the stretch she was doing until she had quite finished. Another time Agatha had burst in because she could hear screams but her nan and the local creep Old man Taylor were just in her front room with the curtains shut watching scary films. They'd had the sound up loud because he was hard of hearing. So Agatha wasn't too worried about how her grandmother was...just worried about what she would find her doing this time. 

    She opened the door and called out cautiously but heard nothing back. Frowning, she walked from room to room, unable to find her downstairs. Agatha thought she heard something in the front bedroom so climbed the stairs slowly, not wanting to startle her nan or cause her to have kittens over being interrupted again. 

   But when Agatha got to the top her heart nearly stopped. She could see an unmoving foot. She ran to the room and pushed open the door, and cried out at seeing her precious nan lying on the floor with her dressing gown on with what appeared to have been a stroke. 

The ambulance arrived quickly and took the both of them directly to the hospital. Agatha was in a state of shock and kept looking at the paramedics as though they were speaking Greek to her. There were decisions to be made, phone calls to be made, but Agatha couldn't deal with any of it. When they got to the hospital the staff rushed her nan away from her and a nurse came and took her to one side, partly to get her out of the way and partly to ask some vital questions. 

   "Come on love, let's sit over here. Can I ask you some questions?" 

    Agatha just looked at her blankly, struggling to focus on the speaker of the voice. 

   "Come on pet, we just need to find out a few things about your nan. Are you the next of kin or is there someone else we should call?"

   "My dad. Call my dad."

   "Ok love, have you got his number there?"

   Agatha gave the nurse her phone with the number and she went to the nurses station to make the call. When she came back she handed her a sweet cup of tea. 

    Agatha laughed when she took a sip, appreciating the irony in the situation. The nurse looked at her through narrowed eyes. 

    "Sorry, it's just that...my nan swears by sweet tea when you've had a shock."

    "Sounds like your nan knows what she's talking about."

    "Will she be ok?"

   "I can't say that pet, but we'll do everything we can for her. Lots of people get through a stroke and have great lives."

    "She's the most important person in the world to me. I can't lose her."

Agatha choked down the sobs and took another sip of tea. 

An hour later her father burst through the door. Agatha was staring into space when he arrived, had not even noticed the disturbance. 

   "Aggie," he cried, running over and sweeping her up into a great bear hug.

   She held him tightly and cried into his strong, familiar smelling shoulder. He had been at home watching the rugby probably, and thrown his work clothes on which would have been the easiest thing to find. 

    "Oh Aggs," he said, finally pulling away from her to look into her eyes. 

"How is she?"

   "I don't know dad, they won't tell me anything. They wanted you, you're her next of kin."

    "Let's go and see them now, together." 

    They walked to the nurses station and waited for someone to be available for them. Everyone seemed to be on the phone or dealing with patients. 

   "You're looking good Aggs, really good."

   "Thanks dad. How's Molly?"

   "Yeah, she's...ok." Her dad smiled awkwardly at her but it didn't make Agatha smile back.

   "She wants a baby actually. I keep telling her that I'm too old but she's desperate and you know what she's like when she gets an idea in her head."

   "Well that's what happens when you marry a woman half your age."

   "Don't start Aggs, not now." 

   They continued to wait in silence, Agatha unable to speak for fear of saying something she would regret. She was tired, stressed and worried...really worried. She bit her lip, an old habit of hers, and started shifting from foot to foot. 

   "Come on, come on," she muttered impatiently. 

   "Alright love, they're busy. Give them a break."

    "I just want to know what's wrong with Nan. She'll hate being in here, I want to take her home."

   "She won't be coming home tonight love, not if it was a stroke."

   "It probably wasn't, they can't say until they've done tests and stuff."

   Her dad kept quiet, not wanting to distress his daughter further. He put his arm around her and pulled her into him, something she found hard to resist. 

   Finally a nurse came over and spoke to them about the early prognosis the doctors had made. It did appear to have been a stroke and by all probability a bad one. 

   "But look, people recover from strokes all the time. It'll take some hard work and dedication but there's no reason why she can't gain back a good portion of her life."

   The nurse was trying to help, Agatha knew this, but she didn't know Atta Monroe like they did. She didn't know how independent she was, and how sociable she was, and how many people relied on her. There did not seem to be any positives in this situation and Agatha felt desperation roll over her in a tidal wave. 

chapters 8 and 9

A bit more for your pleasure.
xx
chapter 8
Now
Agatha
Agatha stood on top of the kitchen counter hanging on for dear life and cursing herself for wearing a short dress. Her three guests were currently crawling on the floor looking for the mouse that she had seen and Agatha, scared out of her wits, would not come down until it had been taken away. But still…the dress was so short that she had caught Charles in the act of sneaking a glance, then looking away red faced from embarrassment.
   “It’s no good,” Ben sighed, standing up and brushing down his trousers, “I think it’s gone under the cupboards. You may as well come down, it won’t come out again tonight.”
    “I can’t,” Agatha said, “you don’t understand. I’m terrified of them, I’m really quite paralysed with fear right now.”
    “Look it’s alright,” Ben said patiently, “I’ll help you down…let me lift you. I’m stronger than I look.”
    “And I’m heavier than I look,” said Agatha, trying for the second time that night to keep the tears back. “Maybe…maybe you should all just go. We don’t need to do this.”
    “What, and leave you up there for the rest of the night?” This was from Ruby, who was also now standing and leaning against the fridge.
    “I’m fine, really,” said Agatha, trying to stand in a casual way, whilst holding onto her dress with one hand and to the kitchen cupboards with the other. “You just go, and have a nice christmas.”
    Agatha looked down at her guests - Ben who was looking up at her sympathetically, Ruby who was trying not to laugh and Charles who was still on the floor with one arm under the oven, a look of concentration on his face.
    “We’re not going Agatha so either come down here now or I’m going to have to manhandle you, and with the length of that dress I’m not sure you’re going to come away with any dignity,” said Ben with what he hoped was his stern voice.
    Agatha looked down and took a deep breath. She couldn’t hear a squeak and couldn’t see a tail…maybe she should just climb down. She started to lower herself but her foot suddenly slipped from under her and she fell into Ben’s arms clumsily, him only catching her at the last second. He held her there for a moment, Agatha looking into his eyes, until they were interrupted by Charles who stood triumphantly with the wriggling mouse in his hand.
    “Got him,” he exclaimed proudly, dangling the offending creature just inches away from Agatha’s face. She screamed loudly into Ben’s ear, scrambling as fast as she could to get back up onto the counter, which resulted in an elbow into Ruby’s face, a kick into Ben’s groin and a nudge in the way of Charles’ hand which sent the mouse flying into the sink. Charles moved quickly and recaptured the mouse, this time holding it in both hands securely.
    Ben was groaning, bending over and clutching his manhood, and Ruby was cursing a steady stream of expletives whilst tears streamed from her gradually blackening eye. Agatha had run from the room, seeing that as her only way of being protection. She ran and hid in the shoe closet.

Charles
The crazy one had been standing on the kitchen top in her tiny short dress and Charles had been unable to look away. He knew it was wrong and he knew what his mother would say but still…she had good legs. He set himself the easy task of finding the mouse, and shut off all the distractions whilst he felt about under the oven. This he could do…he knew how to catch mice, he was patient and calm and had had plenty of practise. He suddenly felt the warm furry body and as fast as he could wrapped his hand around the tail, and held on tight. He hadn’t anticipated the reaction from Agatha though, resulting in the mouse being knocked out of his hands. Carnage ensued but he managed to grab the mouse again before he scampered off. This night just got weirder.

Ruby
‘Ow, freaking ow’, thought Ruby as she saw stars. Wait, had she spoken out loud? Judging by people’s reactions she had spoken out loud, and had said a lot worse than ‘freaking’.

Ben
‘What was that? That…look.’ Ben was groaning and clutching his balls but he was pleasantly distracted by the way her legs felt in his arms and the way her pretty brown eyes looked into his. He waited for the burning sensation to ease before he went to look for her. But damn he had forgotten how much this could hurt.

Agatha
Agatha ran into her bedroom and shut the door, barricading herself in by moving the chair. She shuddered, unable to get the image of the mouse wriggling in front of her. She felt dirty so stripped down to her underwear, throwing her dress into the corner of the room to deal with later. She ran to the wardrobe and searched quickly for something else to wear. So absorbed was she in finding an outfit that she didn’t hear the knock on the door. The next thing she saw was Ben and Charles bursting into her bedroom, knocking over the chair and standing with their mouths agape at Agatha in just her underwear.

Charles
Charles gulped.

Ruby
Ruby looked through the freezer for a bag of peas and spotted the shelves and shelves of ready meals and tubs of ice cream. ‘Healthy eater’, she thought sarcastically before settling on a bag of sweetcorn.

Ben
“Oh wow…I mean sorry, we were just making sure you were ok, but we can see you’re more than ok, I mean you look great, really great, but not because you’re almost naked, although that’s great too - not that I’m looking because that would be weird, but…ok we’ll just go and leave you to it.” Ben nudged Charles in the stomach and turned. Charles didn’t move so Ben went back and grabbed him by the sleeve. “Sorry again.”

Agatha
‘Will this night ever end,’ she asked herself before settling on a slightly more demure dress which fell below her knees and covered up a good part of her chest. ‘What oh what were you thinking Nan?’ She sighed and decided to face the music, first off readying herself to explain about the mouse thing.

Chapter 9
Four years earlier
Charles sneezed again and blew his nose with the over sized hankie that his mother insisted he carry in his pocket. He had tried to persuade her that he didn’t need hankies any more but she wasn’t one to break with tradition and continued to embroider his initials in the bottom lefthand corner as she had done for his father before him. She came running into the room on the next sneeze and felt his forehead with the back of her hand.
    “Charles darling, you’re all snuffly, you must go to bed.”
    “Oh mummy, stop fussing will you? I must finish these jumpers or they won’t be out by christmas.”
    “No darling, I’m not risking your health. Come on, to bed with you.”
    “NO. Mummy I’m not a little boy any more and I’m not going to die like Daddy and James.” He sneezed again.
    “Well at least let me get you a lemsip, or maybe a few spoonfuls of calpol.”
    “Calpol? Oh please. A lemsip will be fine. Thank you.”
    “Rightio. Though I’ll be back with a thermometer and if your temperature is too high I’ll be calling Dr Sanderson. No arguments.”
    Charles waited until his mother had left the room then put his hand over his forehead, willing the shivering to stop. She simply didn’t understand it - they had no money and if he didn’t complete these christmas jumpers then there would be no goose for christmas lunch, and no christmas presents under the tree.
    He forced himself to continue but knew it was only a matter of time before he’d have to stop. He tried to focus on the last few bits of detail but found himself sitting back in his chair and staring out of the window.
   Charles was a handsome 22 year old with a mop of curly brown hair and dark brown eyes that remained in a furrowed position almost all of the time. He lived with his mother on a grand estate in the beautiful countryside of Surrey, surrounded by fields and farms and picturesque brooks. It had been their family home for many generations, being passed down from son to son. It was a tradition that the Harrington family have sons and this generation had been no different. Unfortunately it had also become a traditon that the Harrington men died young from heart disease, so Charles had grown up without a father since the age of 3. He had had a brother too, James, who had tragically died as a toddler in a car accident. As a result Charles’ mother was very protective and smothering towards her only remaining relative.
    They had a good relationship however, and for the most part Charles was content living in the grand house. But money was scarce and before long they had to face facts that they could not afford to live in the house any longer. The roof was leaking, walls were starting to fall because of damp and bats had moved into the attic, all things they were unable to fix. Charles had spoken to the National Trust and now they had visitors from all over the country traipsing through their home on Tuesdays to Sundays and a lovely tea room in the old stables.
It was not perfect but at least they were left alone at night time.
 Of course, this had meant that all the rooms were maintained by the National Trust, which had only left five rooms available to them - a bedroom each, the kitchen, dining room and one of the drawing rooms, the smaller one that had fantastic light. When visitors arrived they shut themselves in their rooms and kept the curtains closed so nosey old women wouldn’t be tempted to see how the mighty had fallen. Charles didn’t mind it really, he sometimes walked through the gardens to listen to the guests gossip, or just to get fresh air. But his mother had struggled to come to terms with the arrangement, still living for better times when every room was available to her and every room was furnished beautifully.
    Theirs was a weird but wonderful relationship. He had been pampered and spoilt by his mother from the day he was born and there was not a day went by when he did not feel smothered by her. Yet he loved her so unconditionally that all her faults seemed small and inconsequential. He had no social life to speak of, no real job and he did not really know the things that flicked his switch.
    He did love to cook though. He really loved to cook. Many hours were spent in the kitchen tasting, stirring, creating new recipes. He had spent many a night watching cookery programmes with his mother, and such was his brain that he just had to read a recipe once and it stuck in his mind until an opportunity arose for him to try it. His mother found this hugely beneficial as her culinary expertise stopped at being able to cook the perfect boiled egg. They ate like kings every night and his mothers waist line was the proof.
    Charles and his mother had tried their hand at many things - dog training (they had one dog Womack who was old and had no teeth) but people only came with their dogs to nose into the grounds of the house. They had tried clay pigeon shooting lessons but the only people that ever booked was stag parties and they either never showed up or showed up drunk in their onesies, nearly killing each other in the process. They even tried horse riding lessons but they had had to borrow a neighbours horse and it turned out that they didn’t really know much about how to teach people to ride. In fact it turned out that the remaining Harrington family knew very little about anything, and didn’t really like people very much, so after that they decided to start a business in knitting.
    Charles’ mother Suzannah had been trained in knitting back in the day, before she was married and had any prospects. She had learnt from her mother and was actually rather good at it. But when she found, met, and married Charles’ father it was suggested to her that she keep this…gift quiet. In fact she never even mentioned to her husband that she could knit because such a concept was alien to the Harrington family. But when they were resigned to a life of rack and ruin, Suzannah taught her son everything she knew and so they began knitting and selling chrismtas jumpers, just before christmas jumpers became fashionable. Their produce was good quality - Charles had learnt quickly with something of a flair for knitting, and soon their website - the unoriginally named Harrington Christmas Knitwear - was inundated almost throughout the year.
    Charles lay his head down on the table for a moment and rested his eyes. The wood felt cool for his head and in no time he was drifting off to sleep. He was awoken suddenly by his mother who had panicked that he had gone into a coma, and that was that, he was shipped off to bed.
    He couldn’t argue any longer. The orders would have to wait, even though it was their busiest time of the year. He took some paracetemol and crawled under his bed covers, ignoring the distant sound of National Trust visitors and occasional shriek from a fed up child.
    It was a few hours later that he woke up to the sound of raised voices and the smashing of what sounded like glass. His clouded brain took a few moments to register what was happening and he shot out of bed, causing his head to explode in agonising pain. He heard more shouting and made his way in the dark room to the top of the stairs. He glanced at his watch which said 7pm - he had slept for 4 hours - and wondered who his mother could be shouting at. The NT guests would have left and they didn’t have any friends that ever came to visit. As he neared the sound, which was coming from the kitchen he realised that the other voice was a womans, one which sounded similar to his mother. He found himself eavesdropping, something he had never really learnt was wrong.
   “Suzannah, this has gone on long enough. What on earth would Charles say if he knew?”
    “Leave Charles out of this, he must never know. We’re happy like this.”
    Charles frowned, unsure that he was happy, but also unsure that he knew what happiness was. He decided that he would go and find out who the voice belonged to.
   He walked towards the kitchen but stepped on the creaky floorboard in the hall, and suddenly the voices stopped. He thought he could hear a “shhhing” but that could just have been the fuzziness of his head. His mother came running out to meet him before he could reach the kitchen.
   “Charles my love, what are you doing out of bed? Come on, lets get you back upstairs, you need your rest.”
   She tried herding him back towards his room but he kept looking at the kitchen and trying to get past. His mother was a force to be reckoned with and she had made it to the bottom step before he could ask the question “who is in the kitchen?”
    She stopped in her tracks and for a moment Charles thought she would tell him.
   “No-one you daft sausage,” she finally said airily, continuing to push him. But it was too late, he saw the lie in her eyes.
   “Who is it mummy? I heard a smashing sound.”
   “Oh that was just clumsy old me dropping a plate. I was talking to myself like I always do. Come on, up we go.”
   He felt so lightheaded that he thought he would pass out so decided to let his mother put him back in bed after all. His head hit the pillow and he was out cold again, sleeping until the next morning.
   He did not wake as the woman was forced out of his home, he did not wake as his mother slammed the door slightly louder than she had intended, and he did not wake to the sobs of his mother as she cried herself to sleep.

Chapter 10
The next day Charles woke slowly, still feeling rough but feeling better, especially from the amount of sleep. He looked at the clock which said it was already 11 O’clock and pushed himself up in his bed. He needed to get back to the jumpers, some needed finishing but more importantly was the completed orders which needed to be taken to the post office. His mother was something of a recluse and hated going out anywhere…even a short walk to the village was a struggle for her, always feeling like the neighbours were laughing at her, and feeling like the open space was going to collapse on her. So Charles knew that he had to get out of the house, but that he may take some time to manage it.
    They had a car, an old Morris Minor that was kept in the garage, but Charles had never officially learnt how to drive so there it remained, rarely looked at and never used. His mother used to let him take it round the estate before the National Trust came in but now he didn’t touch it as he didn’t like the idea of knocking an old man in his wheelchair over. He enjoyed walking anyway, a trip to the village was a pleasant one and something he looked forward to. If his mother knew anything about couriers though he had a feeling he would never be allowed out of the house - which is why he kept quiet.
   He went downstairs and saw his mother watching a cheap TV christmas movie with dodgy actors and bad sound. He watched her for a moment, wondering how his life had ever ended up this way. When he was at school - the local village school instead of the boarding school his father had intended him to go - his teachers used to praise him and tell him he was destined for great things. He was consistently the top of the class and was considered a bright pupil. Socially he was lacking though and he had almost no friends in the small school where he was considered quiet and boring by the other children. His only friend was a girl who had learning difficulties. She never talked to him about spiderman - which held no interest for him - or asked him to play action man games like the other boys. They would sit without speaking and although Charles knew there was something strange about him he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to be more…normal.
    Watching his mother now though he knew that she was a big part of this. She had refused to send him to school for some time, stating that he didn’t need an education and that the world was too scary for a boy of Charles’ nature. But the authorities didn’t see it that way and so on his sixth birthday he left the house with his trousers out of fashion and too big and walked the half mile to school, his mother crying the whole way.
   She understandably had wanted to keep him safe, having had an awful time losing her husband and her son when they were both so young. Charles had grown up shouldering the responsibility that he must stay fit and healthy, that if he died then his mother would have no-one in the whole wide world. Her parents had died many years ago and she was an only child.
   When his mother finally looked up from her film he noticed a sadness in her eyes that he had not seen for some time. But she blinked and in an instant she had wiped it away with the strong iron will she possessed. She would never let him see her like that if she could help it.
   "How are you feeling my darling?" She exclaimed, standing up and cupping his face in her hands.
   "Much better thanks."
   "Good, good. Sit down and I'll get you breakfast. What do you want, bacon sandwich? Pancakes? Dippy egg with soldiers?" She giggled at the last option, still enjoying the joke they shared.
    "No, I don't want anything. I'm not hungry."
   "Oh my love you must eat," she said, absentmindedly stroking his hair.
   "No, really. I'm about to head to the post office."
   "No, you mustn't. You're not well enough to walk all that way. You should be back in bed."
   "No." He stood up abruptly. "Stop fussing over me mother, I'm not a child."
   She stood back as though he had struck her and kept her eyes low.
   "Who was it that was here last night? Tell me."
   "Honestly love, no one was here. You were hallucinating that's all. It was just me."
    "You're lying."
   "Charles!"
   "You're lying. And I know you are. I know what I heard and you're lying to me."
    She started crying, real tears falling down her cheeks, and she ran out of the room and went up to her bedroom. Angrily Charles stood up and left the house, making sure he slammed the door for effect. Of course, he had to sneak back in quietly when he realised he had forgotten the parcels and his wallet. But hopefully she would never know.

After posting his parcels Charles spent some time in the village, taking his time before he would have to head home and pretend like nothing had happened. Yet another strange event in his life that would remain unmentioned, unavailable to him. First though he would do something he was rarely able to do..,go and have cake at The Pot, the local cafe. Fran and her husband George were well liked in the village, and their cakes and coffee were some of the greatest Charles had ever tasted. In fact on the rare occasion that he went in and allowed himself an indulgence he found himself talking to Fran for hours about lemon drizzle cakes and drop scones. They were kindred spirits and she was one person he allowed himself to be real with.
   George, her husband, tolerated him but only because his wife would give him a look...a look which said 'leave the poor boy alone, what's he ever done to you.' Charles had a feeling that they laughed about him behind his back but she was the only person that made him feel normal, like a human.
    Charles pushed the door and saw with dismay that the cafe was busy and that Fran wasn't even there. George and the local girl were serving people, balancing trays and cleaning tables as soon as they became available. Charles was about to walk back out of the door but he caught the eye of an old lady and felt drawn to her. She nodded her head towards the spare seat at her table and he found himself walking to her, as if she was using magnetic rays to pull him in.
   "Come and sit with me Charlie, I have a spare seat."
   He faltered, nothing like this had ever happened to him before. She seemed safe enough but what would his mother say?
   "Oh come on Charlie, it's high time we spoke. I think there are some things you should know."
   He looked towards the door and back at the woman. He looked at George who had stopped with his arms folded, almost threateningly. He made to leave but then realised something. That voice. Her voice...he had heard it before. It was the voice from the kitchen.

   "Now I'll be having the Chelsea bun because I have a thing for raisins and Fran does make them with an extra helping. What will you be having Charlie?"
    "My name is Charles."
   "I know. But back when I was a young girl there was a boy that looked exactly like you, curls and all, and he liked to be called Charlie. Do you have any objections?"
   Charles thought long and hard. He had been called Charlie in school, and although he had objected to the nickname, back then it had been used with venom from the other school children who used it to taunt him. From this lady it seemed...it felt like she was a kindly relative who had a soft spot for him. But he had never met her before so how could that be?
   "I suppose we could give it a go," he said tentatively.
   "Good," she said, tapping his hand affectionately.
   George chose this moment to come and take their order, worrying no doubt that Charles was somehow mistreating this sweet old lady.
    "Morning George. My usual please. Now what do you want Charlie? I hear the croissants are good this morning."
   "I'm not hungry. I think..,I'll just have a cappuccino."
   George looked at him puzzled.
   "Nothing to eat? But you always have something to eat."
   "I think Charlie has been unwell, he may need to build his appetite back up slowly."
    George shrugged and shuffled away and Charles found himself staring at the woman before him. She looked vaguely familiar but she couldn't think why. Before he could stop himself however, he blurted out "you were in my kitchen last night weren't you?"
   The old lady looked at him long and hard but didn't say anything for some time. Charles felt time ticking away but didn't feel the need to speak or break eye contact with her.  
   George came back noisily with his tray and almost dropped it on the table in front of them.
   "Thank you George, this looks as lovely as always. Is Fran ok?"
   "Oh yes, the sickness is beginning to pass. I'll be glad when she's back on her feet again that's for sure."
   The old lady looked sympathetic and nodded her head.
   "The first trimester is always the hardest George. She'll be right as rain."
   "First trimester?" Asked Charles confused.
   "Yes. We're having a baby."
    "But...but you're too old," Charles blurted out before he realised that this was one of those thoughts that was supposed to stay inside his head.
   George's shoulders raised like the shackles on a cat and his face turned a bright shade of puce.
   "How dare you, you little -"
    "It's alright George come on. It's not like you're a pair of spring chickens is it? What Charlie means to say is congratulations, isn't that right Charlie?"
    Charles, stlll getting used to the way his nickname sounded on him, snapped out of his thoughts and nodded.
   "Yes. Um, congratulations George."
   George looked unsettled but seemed to accept it as he placed the food on the table. He nodded once at Charles before heading back to the kitchen.
   "So you still haven't told me why you were in my kitchen."
   "Well technically you didn't ask why, you just asked if I was. And no, I haven't answered yet, because I'm trying to decide if I should override your mothers wishes to keep it a secret."
    Charles felt as though he needed another sleep. The room started spinning and he gripped the table until his knuckles went white.
   "Oh come on now, don't be so melodramatic," the old lady said rolling her eyes. He snapped his head up to look at her and was so taken aback that he felt the panic dissolve and actually smiled.