Death in the Family by Carolyn Smith (e reader manga .txt) 📕

involved helping with house work.
“Good.”

We pulled up outside the house not long after. Nana was not stood in the doorway to greet us like usual. As much as I knew this was going to be the case and I knew it was my fault, it was still disconcerting. Karl went straight in, sat on his favourite chair and put on the television. Some things never change. Dad put on the kettle and made the first cup of tea, which Nana accepted thankfully. I was reminded at this point about how much tea Nana actually drinks and I knew that this would be the way I could administer the powder to her, in her tea. I could do it bit by bit over the course of the weekend, every cup of tea she drinks could be laced with a mixture if drugs from our bathroom cabinet. Excellent.
Dad only stayed for the duration of his cup of tea as usual and then headed off back home. While they were saying goodbye I noticed that Nana seemed to have put on even more weight over the last two weeks, if that is even possible. I guess with the lack of movement because of her ankle she had no way of burning it off.

As soon as Dad had left I took my opportunity.
“Would you like another cup of tea Nana?” I asked innocently, patting my pocket and realizing that the bag wasn’t in there. I had left it in my bag which was in the doorway of the living room.
“Ooh, yes please James. That’s kind of you.” She smiled.
“Me too,” said Karl without taking his eyes off the screen.
“Ok, I’ll just take my bag upstairs out of the way and then I’ll put the kettle on.”
I picked up my bag from where it lay and ran up the stairs taking them two at a time until I was in the bedroom that Karl and I shared here at Nana’s. I threw the bag on to my bed and rummaged for the bag, being careful not to be too rough incase it split open and the powder went everywhere spilling over the contents of my bag and ruining yet another chance to get my hands on that illusive money.

Once back in the kitchen I laid out three mugs on the counter while I waited for the kettle to boil. Two of the mugs were of the same green and black swirl design. The other was a white mug which matched no other crockery in the kitchen. Nana would be given the white mug. I poured in the tea and added a splash of milk to each, except Nana’s. She doesn’t take milk she has her tea black, which I think is bitter and disgusting. I took the bag out of my pocket and shook it so that its powdery contents fell to the bottom and settled evenly. I used the tea spoon to gather a tiny amount on the end of the spoon. I didn’t want to overdo it all in one go. I couldn’t have Nana keeling over and dying right now with Karl and I in the house. I also had no idea how strong a concoction this was that I had made. I put the powdery spoon in the black tea and gave it a stir. After a few seconds the powder floated back to the top of the tea and settled in the middle of the mug. I stirred it again and watched in horror as it floated once again to the surface. I did notice that there was a little less of it this time though. I stirred for a third time, making the strokes large and continuous. I stirred frantically for what must have been 30 seconds. When the tea had finally stopped spinning I could see that there was no more powder floating in clumps on the top. Thank God. I put the three mugs on the tray and carried them into the living room.

I handed Nana hers first, I didn’t want to look at her as she drank it. I might have been the mastermind behind these various ‘accidents’ that Nana kept having recently, but I always tried to arrange that I wouldn’t actually be there to see it. Watching as someone died was not the same in my eyes as just orchestrating it and then letting the event take place. This final attempt was going to mean that I was up close and personal as it played out. Karl as well of course, but he was blissfully unaware of any of it. I passed Karl his tea and then deliberately sat with my back to Nana. I could hear her take every sip. I had never realized before what a noisy tea drinker she was. She was a slurper, how had I never noticed this before? This is exactly the type of thing that gets on my nerves. It’s so common. I inwardly tutted and heaved a sigh as I sat there listening to the slurp, gulp, pause, slurp, gulp, pause, slurp taking place behind me. I suppose the one good thing to come from it was that she never suspected that anything was in her tea. She couldn’t taste any difference, otherwise she wouldn’t have been so eager to gulp it down. How did she not burn the roof of her mouth when drinking tea like this? I always had to blow on mine and wait for it to cool somewhat before I could even attempt a sip. Not Nana though. She was straight in there asbestos mouth and all.

I made sure that I made every single one of Nana’s cups of tea over the course of the weekend. Even if Karl had offered, which he didn’t, I would have taken over the duty instead. I kept count too of how many cups of tea she had. She had no less than 18 cups of tea in two days. 18! Each one had the tip of a tea spoon dipped into the powder in my bag. As far as I could see it wasn’t having much of an effect on her. She did fall asleep in front of the T.V for a while during her favourite Saturday night program. I put this down to the sleeping tablets mixed with the hay fever tablets. She wasn’t happy because she missed pretty much the whole thing. At one point on the Sunday she said that her ankle was feeling much better and she attempted to put some washing on. She was still a little wobbly oin her feet, but she could definitely hobble better than she had done previously. Maybe this was the copious amounts of paracetamol taking the pain away. The powder was supposed to make her ill, take her right to deaths door, and not make her better! By Sunday afternoon, when Dad arrived to collect us, I had completely run out of powder and Nana was as chirpy as ever. Once again I had failed. I decided it was time to throw in the towel and forget it. I was clearly not clever enough to be able to pull this off. Nana had bested me. AGAIN!

*** *** *** *** ***

I was moodier than usual over the next few days. I lost my appetite and refused to come out of my room when at home. I didn’t go and see Nana again after that weekend. I made up excuses like I had too much homework, or I was working on the book I was writing. I couldn’t be bothered to go through the ritual of being the happy, helpful grandson anymore. Nana wasn’t who I thought she was, every time I looked at her I was reminded of the money stashed away out of our reach. I certainly wasn’t who she thought I was, so why pretend?

I didn’t even mind when the bullies stole my school bag and threw it on the roof of the school. I had resigned myself to the fact that this is how life was going to be from now on. The monkeys would play stupid games with me and my stuff because they were too stupid to think of any other way to express their feelings about my superior intellect and I would let them because I was too weak and far too tired to fight back. I missed half of a math lesson because I had to go and find the caretaker so he could climb on to the roof and retrieve it for me. Then I got a detention for being so late. Why is it that teachers never want to listen to reason? They think of themselves as so high and mighty. They have a superiority complex which they need to convey by exerting their authority over us kids by punishing us for the most idiotic reasons. If I had turned up to this lesson without my bag (books and math equipment) I would have got a detention for being unprepared. I really couldn’t win. And so, because my brainless Nana refused to die, I was fated to life like this for the foreseeable future.

I had been existing like this for about three weeks when it happened. I was in a History lesson learning about the Vietnam War in the 60s and early 70s and how America had napalmed large areas of forest in an attempt to flush out the Viet Cong, but ended up hurting, maiming and in some cases killing many civilians in the process. It was fascinating and very disturbing reading these first person accounts and looking at those horrific pictures. It was a terrible time in History but I was thoroughly enjoying learning about it. I was looking at a particularly upsetting picture of a girl running down the street. She was naked, screaming and covered in burns. There were other people running alongside her and either side and behind them were the American military holding guns.
“James Wilkins,” my History teacher Mr Wittal called out across the room. I looked up, barely able to tear my eyes from the picture. I couldn’t possibly be in trouble, I was on time to the lesson and I was working!
“Yes Sir,” I answered.
“Please come to the front.” I left my seat and all my belongings and made my way to the front of the class where Mr Wittal was sitting at his desk surrounded by our homework books. He had been marking them throughout the lesson. I naturally thought that he was going to talk to me about my unsatisfactory homework assignment, which would have been very disappointing seeing as how I actually did work quite hard on it.
“James. I don’t know how to tell you this other than to just come out and say it. I suppose there is no good way to receive bad news.” Mr Wittal was rambling. He was obviously feeling very nervous and uncomfortable. I wondered what this was all about when he finally came out with it.
“There has been a death in your family. I’m sorry James. Your Dad is in reception ready to collect you. Go and gather up your things and you are free to go as soon as you are ready.” I walked slowly back to my table. A death in the family. Who could it be? I knew it wasn’t Dad because he was here at the school. Mum? I started to feel weak at the knees and suddenly felt the need to sit down. Oh no! Not Mum, please