Granny Read Free Page A

for her legs. A silver dish of chocolates would be placed on a table, carefully selected so only the ones with soft centers remained. And a large photograph of her in a gold frame would be taken out of the cabinet under the stairs and placed in the middle of the mantelpiece.
    This had been happening every year for twelve years. But this year Joe noticed other things, too. And he was puzzled.
    First of all, Irma and Wolfgang were both in a bad mood. At breakfast, Irma burned the toast while Wolfgang spent the whole morning sulking, muttering to himself in Hungarian, which is a sulky enough language at the best of times. His parents were irritable, too. Mrs. Warden bit her nails. Mr. Warden bit Mrs. Warden. By midday they had consumed an entire bottle of whiskey between them, including the glass.
    Joe had seen this sort of behavior before. It was always the same when Granny came to visit. But it was only now that he began to wonder. Were they like this because Granny was coming? Could it be that they didn’t actually want to see her at all?
    It was seven o’clock on the evening of Christmas Eve when Granny finally arrived. She had told Mr. Warden that she would be coming at lunch and Wolfgang had been dutifully waiting at the door since then. When the taxi did finally pull up, the unfortunate man was so covered in snow that only his head was showing and he was too cold to announce that she was there. It was a bad start.
    â€œI’ve been waiting out here for ten minutes,” Granny muttered as Mrs. Warden opened the door after just two. “Really, dear. You know this weather doesn’t agree with me. I’m going to have to go to bed straight away—although goodness knows I won’t sleep. This house is far too cold.”
    â€œWhat’s gotten into you, Wolfgang?” Mrs. Warden sighed, gazing at the blue nose and forehead, which was just about all she could see of her faithful Hungarian servant.
    Granny stepped into the house, leaving her luggage on the drive where the taxi driver had dumped it.
    â€œA little brandy?” Mrs. Warden suggested.
    â€œA large one.”
    Granny stood in the hall waiting for someone to help her off with her coat and at the same time examining her surroundings with a critical eye. Mr. Warden had recently bought a new Picasso of which he was very proud. It hung by the door and she noticed it now. “I don’t think very much of that, dear. Too many squiggles and it doesn’t go with the wallpaper.”
    â€œBut, Mummy, it’s a Picasso!”
    â€œA piano? Don’t be ridiculous. It doesn’t look anything like a piano.” Granny could be deaf when she wanted to be. At other times she could hear a pin drop half a mile away. She moved toward the living room then suddenly stopped and pointed. “But I like that very much,” she said. “How original! And what a lovely color!”
    â€œBut, Mummy. That’s not a painting. That’s a damp patch.”
    Joe had watched all this from the first-floor landing, but hearing Mrs. Jinks opening a door behind him, he realized he had to show himself. Quickly he stood up and went down the stairs.
    â€œHello, James!” Granny cooed. “You’ve put on a lot of weight!”
    â€œMy name’s Joe, not James,” Joe said. He was sensitive about his name. And his weight.
    â€œNo, it’s not. It’s Jordan,” his mother said. “Really Jordan! Joe is so common!”
    â€œJordan? That’s what I said,” Granny interjected. “Haven’t you grown, Jordan! What a big boy you are! What a big boy!” And with these words, Granny went into a “spread.”
    Joe shuddered. The spread was the word he used to describe what Granny was doing now. It was the one thing he dreaded most.
    The spread was the position Granny took when she wanted to be kissed. She widened her legs and crouched down slightly with her arms open as if she wanted him to