Keeping it in the Family by Peter Fuller
Annabelle watched her sister cross the room and imagined her as a serpent slithering towards her next prey. “That would be me”. she thought.
“Is anybody sitting there?” Clarissa said, pointing to the chair next to Annabelle and, without pausing for an answer, promptly sat down. “I wondered if you’d come today”, Clarissa said adjusting her skirt and pulling her clutch-bag to her chest. “Seeing how you and Papa didn’t get on”, she continued and then adding for emphasis, “…. for almost forty years!
Annabelle stayed calm. “I had to come to the old tyrant’s funeral, didn’t I? Almost ninety he was, but then his sort does tend to linger on so that they can continue to blight the lives of those around them for as long as possible”.
“Well, you didn’t have to involve yourself with him too much, did you”. Clarissa said smugly and even more serpent-like. “It is a blessing that my Hugo and I were able to care for Papa during his final two years. But then, you know me, I’m such a giving person, always trying to put the world around me to rights.”
“What a treasure you are, Clarissa.” Annabelle responded, “I’ve often wondered what we would possibly do with you should you eventually succeed in your exhausting quest”. Annabelle paused. “But was it not two years ago that Hugo lost his job, your house was repossessed, and the tyrant took you in? Which is where you currently reside and, I suspect, will continue do so for some time to come”.
Clarissa waved a dismissive hand in Annabelle’s direction. “We shall all just have to wait until the Will is read next week”. A ghost of a smile cornered Clarissa mouth, however, that betrayed her conviction that the family home will have been bequeathed to her, which, she reasoned, would only be fair after all the sacrifices she had made.
Before Annabelle could form a suitable reply, Clarissa quickly changed the subject. “I see that your youngest, Ronnie, wasn’t able to be here for his grandfather’s funeral. I assume that he didn’t get parole this time. Embezzlement can be so naughty”.
Annabelle knew that the gloves were now well and truly off and that she needed to rise to the challenge. “I couldn’t help noticing, Clarissa, that your eldest, Deirdre, isn’t here either, but then knowing her reputation I imagine she’s probably attending the birth of her next toy-boy”.
Not a flicker of ire crossed Clarissa’s face. The many years that she had invested in cultivating enmity towards her sister had made her a seasoned and competent adversary. “Sticks-and-stones Annabelle. I do realise, however, how frustrated you must be living with the knowledge that your husband lost his sex drive around the time British forces entered Baghdad, whereas my Hugo is still on the go, so to speak.”
Although Annabelle had been saving her biggest gun for a better occasion than this, she felt that she had no alternative but to deploy it now. “With ‘go’ being very much the operative word with regard to Hugo’s sex drive”, she said, “For it seems to be common knowledge around here that he withdrew such impulses from your house over twenty years ago and transferred them to the other side of the Avenue – to number forty-six and a certain Mildred Culcutter, I’m told.”
Hostilities were brought to a temporary halt when the Rev. Oakwood arrived in the room and immediately approached them. He tilted his head slightly to one side and donned the compassionate smile that he had practiced many times in his bathroom mirror. “Ladies, I know that you are united in grief, but I do trust that both time and the Lord’s guidance will help you overcome your loss”.
“You may rest assured that unity is our watchword”. Clarissa gushed. “Our dearly departed father thought nothing of putting all his efforts into keeping his family close”.
“I definitely think nothing of it, too”. Annabelle said smiling sweetly. “Oh, how wonderful”, she exclaimed suddenly in delight whilst rising rapidly from her chair and pushing past the vicar. “Please do excuse me Reverend, but I think that they have just brought out the crab and cucumber sandwiches, a delicacy that I simply cannot resist!”
Like the ‘birth of her next toy boy’ comment.
Sharply written dialogue, but I felt it should rise to some sort of crescendo or scathing wit or a reveal that the family fortune had gone to a cat’s home, rather than cucumber sandwiches. Maybe ending at Mildred Cutter and some sharp riposte- the vicar seems like a slightly disconnected add-on. And the dialogue might have stood out more with less supporting exposition, bringing it down to a sharper and shorter piece.
Simon says:I liked the build-up of this. A funeral is a good moment to focus family enmities. Whatever disagreements there may have been between the individual members, there is always social pressure on them to turn up and celebrate the life of the deceased. Relationships between people who don’t get on, whose contact is reduced to the occasional phone call and an exchange of Christmas cards, suddenly have to get up close and personal. And funerals are intensely emotional occasions. Some of the emotions are respectable ones – grief, regret, admiration for the departed. But other minds fill with memories of old arguments and conflicts, words left unsaid at the time which can never now be said. I liked the barely disguised undercurrent of venom between Clarissa and Annabelle. Their conversation was a sharply-written bitchfest. But I think the piece probably suffered from the restriction of the five-hundred-word limit (though it was in fact over seven hundred!), and could not quite decide whether it was the opening of a continuing story or a narrative complete in itself. As a result, the ending felt rather abrupt.