Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Week 20 - Who's Uncle Henry

Nan was sitting almost on top of the communal telly drooling over Compo in ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ when I got there. Saying what she would do to the scruffy chap if she was Nora Batty. It had been nearly three hours since our telephone conversation, but I quickly realised that it could have been three decades ago. Nan was in the kind of mood when she couldn’t remember anything of the last few years. I asked a lot of questions, but she started to get frustrated and couldn’t even recall that I had been jilted let alone who Becky was. I think she thought I was my dad. Then when I tried to tell her that I was Jon not my dad, she then assumed I was her son! One of the Care Assistants then came over and told me that they were very sorry and they didn’t usually let their residents drink a whole bottle of brandy. As I turned back to face nan she was throwing her walking stick like a javelin at a rather fraille old lady with a blue rinse. With the help of the Care Assistant I managed to sit nan back down.


“He’s not your dad you know”, nan suddenly informed me.

Now I was confused. I mean, first of all, who did nan actually believe I was and secondly did she even know what she was saying? I don’t think I wanted to hear this. It was bad enough being suspected of doing in my missing bride without my parentage being questioned.

“You are my son Henry. Aren’t you?” Nan was certainly confused. She thought I was my Uncle Henry, dad’s younger brother. He was nearly thirty years older than me! Maybe the traumas of the last few months were catching up with me and making me look a lot older. I decided that I would play along with this and asked why granddad was not my father?

“Now, it was during the second world war when your dad was with the Home Guard protecting the Town Hall”, Nan was ready to reveal all. At least as it was about Uncle Henry, who I had never really liked, it could be quite juicy gossip. “Your Uncle Clive came round. He was quite a looker in those days. Not like he is now”, I decided not to mention the fact that he died twelve years ago. So my Great Uncle Clive was really my dad’s brother’s father? That would explain why my granddad and Uncle Clive never seemed to get on. Oh, but hold on, a dreadful thought then hit me. I wasn’t totally up to date on the Family Tree but was pretty sure that Uncle Clive was actually my nan’s brother not my granddad’s. Oh no, this was something I didn’t want to hear. It was getting quite like a ‘Brookside’ plot.
“Yes, I can still remember what happened as if it was yesterday”, nan prepared to tell me all the details of this incestuous relationship. It might explain Uncle Henry’s very strange nose. “Your Uncle Clive showed me something truly amazing when he opened up his trench coat”, nan was beaming as she told the story. “There it was; a tiny pink thing, A beautiful baby boy”, tears started to roll down nan’s cheeks. I was just so relieved that I wasn’t descended from a family who interbred. “That poor baby was left with no parents or family thanks to a jerry bomb, but your uncle Clive knew that me and your dad would give that baby a special home and treat it like one of our own”. I was quite touched and if it was possible it made me love my nan even more. “So Henry you are a very special boy and you have two parents that love you lots. Although not the original ones who were blown to pieces”. Nan held my hand as she told me this before suddenly slapping me across the face. “Jon! Why are you pretending to be your Uncle Henry? That’s a horrible trick to play on an old lady!”
Several times in the next hour I really thought nan’s memory was coming back but still she couldn’t recall my wedding and certainly had no knowledge of the headlines in the Sunday papers. When she dosed off for the fourth time I decided it was time to leave. I thought it was best if I kept the information about my Uncle Henry to myself partly because my nan always did have quite a good imagination. I was just creeping out when nan opened her left eye; “Next time we must talk about what you are going to do about Becky bonking hunky Pete”, nan said before her head dropped and she started snoring.

Back at home I was desperately trying to take in the events of the last day. I had half expected to return to the flat to find the word ‘murderer’ painted in red paint across my front door, but instead all was quiet. So did Nan really know about Becky and at what point would she have found her marbles enough to talk about it? My head was so full of everything and I was starting to dread going to work tomorrow at Walsall Council. Surely wheelchair Dave and lovely legs Hasmitta would have seen some of the newspaper articles. Hopefully they will be on my side.


I decided to try and be the first to arrive at the Council Leisure office on the Monday, but I was met by Tracey from Human Resources who was wearing tweed. “Sorry Jon, but I think it is best if you go on leave until this is sorted out. Of course, if they find the body we will support you through the trial, although, we would obviously suspend you and fire you when you are found guilty. Sorry if you are found guilty”, Tracey blurted out without looking me in the eye. She handed me a brown envelope before very quickly disappearing.


Just as I was leaving the building ready for my unexpected holiday I was greeted by a familiar face.

“You don’t hang around do you Stadler?”, it was ‘Bluenose’ Dave in his state-of-the-art wheelchair. “I mean they haven’t even found your missing bride and you are caught snogging the lips off another beauty.” Dave handed me today’s copy of ‘The Sun’ and on the front page was me kissing Heather at the station. The headline read ‘JILTED JON’S NEXT VICTIM?’ This was turning into a really bad year!

Dave was finding this all quite funny but you could tell he knew that I was not capable of murder. He suggested we pop into the Council Canteen for a coffee and a chat before I headed home. To my surprise Doreen behind the till refused to serve me and snarled as Dave paid for the drinks instead. The atmosphere was not good with several people who I usually exchanged pleasantries with now sitting as far away as possible.

“You’ve got to find her”, Dave said whilst spilling coffee down my trousers. I told Dave about nan and he said that I had to go back and try and find out more. I decided not to tell Dave about Pete as I didn’t really trust him that much. Dave always looked after number one and I suspected that it wouldn’t take too much money for him to tell the gutter press all he knew. “She is a cracking bird though”, Dave commented on the picture of Heather.

I decided on my way home that I should really pop around and see my parents as all this must be very difficult for them. When I got there I noticed that there was a red Skoda parked outside but decided to go in anyway. Despite having a key it didn’t seem right this time to use it so I decided to ring the bell. My mum answered dressed in a very long flowing hippie-style purple and gold thing and she just burst into tears and hugged me so tight that breathing would have to be delayed until later.

“Oh Jon how are you? I have been so worried about you. Come in, come in. Oh, your Uncle Henry is here”, my mum said through the many tears.

Inside my dad was looking at some photographs of Uncle Henry’s son Michael at his graduation.

“Look Jon, doesn’t Michael resemble your Granddad?”, my dad asked while pushing a photograph in my hand. There was, of course, no resemblance, but then I suddenly realised how totally different the two brothers standing in front of me looked from each other. “Your Uncle’s on his way to see your Nan and just wanted to ask us what he should say about your little trouble”, Dad had a habit for understating things. Here was I on the front of every newspaper with suggestions I had murdered my bride and he called it my ‘little trouble’. Should I stop Henry going to see nan because she might tell him what she told me. But then does he have a right to know?
Just then the phone rang and my dad disappeared into the hall to answer it. My parents still had a telephone on a small table in the hall and even though the call was nearly always for my mum it was my dad’s duty to answer it.


“So what did happen to Becky then?” Uncle Henry enquired. “I don’t think I ever got to meet her. Pity she wasn’t at the wedding. Oh, that reminds me, can you send the silver cutlery set back quite soon that was our wedding gift to you. We have got another wedding to go to next month and it would save us buying another present”. Perhaps now would be a good time to tell him his parents were blown up!


My dad walked back into the room looking totally stunned. Something was wrong I have never seen him look so pale.

“What is it love?” Asked my mum.

“I can’t believe it, she’s dead” replied dad.

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