Granny Read Free Page B

jump onto her knees and maybe even onto her shoulders. Of course, if Joe had done this, Granny would have broken into several pieces as she was over ninety years old and very frail. And with the spread came the terrible words: “Aren’t you going to give your grandma a kiss, then?”
    Joe swallowed hard. He was aware that his mother was watching him and that he had to be careful what he did. But at the same time he hated what he knew he had to do.
    Kissing Granny was not a pleasant experience. First there was the smell. Like many old ladies, she wore an expensive perfume that was very sweet and very musty and, if you got too close to it, made you feel a little sick. There were no labels on her perfume bottles, but this one might have been called “Decomposing Sheep.” Then there was her makeup. Granny wore a lot of makeup. Sometimes she put it on so thickly that you could have drawn a picture in it with your thumbnail. Her lipstick was the worst part. It was bright blood red, and no matter how carefully Joe tried, he always came away with a glowing mirror image of Granny’s lips on his cheek. Nobody knew what make of lipstick Granny used, but Mrs. Jinks could only get it off him with a Brillo pad.
    But worst of all was her skin. As well as kissing her grandson, Granny insisted on his kissing her and her skin was as withery as a punctured balloon. No words could describe the feel of her skin against his lips, actually flapping slightly between the upper and the lower lip at the moment of kissing. One night Joe had woken up screaming. He had just had a nightmare in which he had kissed Granny too enthusiastically and had actually swallowed her whole.
    Smack! Granny kissed Joe.
    Smeruberry smack! Joe kissed Granny.
    Then, with a satisfied smile, she continued into the living room. Outside, Irma was pouring hot water over Wolfgang to thaw him so that he could carry in the baggage. Mr. Warden was nowhere to be seen. This was something else that had puzzled Joe—how his father was never around when Granny arrived. The year before, Joe had found him hiding inside the grand piano and he was there now. He could tell from the cigar smoke coming out of the keyboard.
    Granny sat down in the chair that had been chosen for her. It was one of those old-fashioned wing chairs and she always sat in it even though her legs couldn’t touch the ground, with the result that you could see straight up her dress. Not that you would look. Your eyes would stray up to her bulging knees wrapped in what looked like surgical stockings, and then beyond to the yellowing flesh of her thighs. And that would be enough. Her legs were like a set out of a horror movie.
    Mrs. Warden had poured a large brandy. Granny swallowed it in a single gulp. “Where’s Gordon?” she asked, glancing suspiciously at the piano.
    â€œI don’t know…” Mrs. Warden faltered.
    â€œI can see him, Maud darling. I’m not blind, you know…”
    Mr. Warden came out of the piano, hitting his head on the lid with an echoing thud. “I was tuning it,” he explained.
    â€œI’ll have another brandy, please, dear. And do you have anything other than this cooking brandy?”
    â€œCooking brandy?” Mr. Warden exploded. “That’s Rémy Martin.”
    â€œIt burns my throat,” Granny said.
    Nobody slept well that night. The trouble was, Granny was a terrible snorer. At dinner she had complained of a touch of indigestion and an upset stomach after having been kept waiting in the cold and so she was only able to manage three portions of lamb stew, two portions of lemon mousse, and half a bottle of wine. Finally she had tottered off to bed and ten minutes later her snores were resounding through the house. Even in the vast surroundings of Thattlebee Hall, there was no escaping it. Joe went to sleep with his head buried under five pillows. Mrs. Warden finally managed to drop off after squeezing a wax