Granny Read Free

of a cement mixer at a construction site and watching her eat was both fascinating and repulsive at the same time.
    Another aspect of her bad table manners was her tendency to steal the silver. After lunch with Granny, Mr. Warden would insist on a spoon count. Wolfgang and Irma would spend hours in the pantry checking off the pieces that remained against the pieces that had been laid and then writing down a long list of what would have to be replaced. When Granny left the house at half past four or whenever, her twenty-seven-year-old coat would be a lot bulgier than when she arrived, and as she leaned over to kiss Joe good-bye, he would hear the clinking in her pockets. On one occasion, Mrs. Warden embraced her mother too enthusiastically and actually impaled herself on a fruit knife. After that, Mr. Warden installed a metal detector in the front door, which did at least help.
    But nobody in the family ever mentioned this—either to one another or to anyone else. Mr. Warden was never rude to his mother-in-law. Mrs. Warden was always pleased to see her. Nobody acted as if anything was wrong.
    Joe became more and more puzzled about this—and more confused about his own feelings. He supposed he loved her. Didn’t all children love their grandparents? But why did he love her? One day he tackled Mrs. Jinks on the subject.
    â€œDo you like Granny, Mrs. Jinks?” he asked.
    â€œOf course I do,” his nanny replied.
    â€œBut why? She’s got wrinkled skin. Her teeth are horrible. And she steals the knives and forks.”
    Mrs. Jinks frowned at him. “That’s not her fault,” she said. “She’s old…”
    â€œYes. But—”
    â€œThere is no but.” Mrs. Jinks gave him the sort of look that meant either a spoonful of cod-liver oil or a hot bath. “Always remember this, Joe,” she went on. “Old people are special. You have to treat them with respect and never make fun of them. Just remember! One day you’ll be old, too…”

2
    LOVE FROM GRANNY
    I f Joe had doubts about Granny, the Christmas of his twelfth year was when they became horrible certainties.
    Christmas was always a special time at Thattlebee Hall: specially unpleasant, unfortunately. For this was when the whole family came together and Joe found himself surrounded by aunts and uncles, first cousins and second cousins—none of whom he particularly liked. And it wasn’t just him. None of them liked one another either and they always spent the whole day arguing and scoring points off one another. One Christmas they had actually had a fight during the course of which Aunty Nita had broken Uncle David’s nose. Since then, all the relations came prepared, and as they trooped into the house, the metal detector would bleep like crazy, picking up the knives, crowbars, and brass knuckles that they had concealed in their clothes.
    Joe had four cousins who were only a few years older than him but who never spoke to him. They were very fat, with ginger hair and freckles and pink legs that oozed out of tight, short trousers, like sausages out of a sausage machine. They were terribly spoiled, of course, and always very rude to Joe. This was one of the reasons he didn’t like them. But the main one was that Joe realized that if his parents had their way, he would end up just like them. They were reflections of him in a nightmare, distorted mirror.
    But the star of Christmas Day was Granny. She was the head of the family and always came a day early, on Christmas Eve, to spend the night in the house. Joe would watch as the house was prepared for her coming.
    First the central heating would be turned up. It would be turned up so high that by eleven o’clock all the plants had died and the windows were so steamed up that the outside world had disappeared. Then her favorite chair would be moved into her favorite place with three cushions—one for her back, one for her neck, and one