Aunt Maggie was sipping the morning tea left by her bedside. Some kind soul in the family must have thought that a cuppa tea will augur well than a morning Merlot, if not for her health, at least for the sake of the flora and fauna in the garden.
"Ahem, ahem, aarrghhh....."Aunt Maggie cleared her throat as the insipid liquid made its way all the way down to settle in her stomach.
Aunt Maggie slid her hands under the blanket in search of the Merlot which she was sure she went to bed with, the night before. Since the death of Philip she slept with the bottle besides her and sought its comfort in the middle of the night, when the hissing sound of the gusty wind woke her up from slumber.
Aunt Maggie glanced around the room. Everything was where she had left it, a month ago. Her room was an untidy mess and whosoever walked in with that morning cup of tea was either too kind or had lost his mind.
For some reason unknown to her, she enjoyed the tea that morning, although weak and lacked flavour; just the way she always had when Philip was alive. A flash of memory and it felt that Philip was alive and back in her life.
That morning was unusual. The house was silent. The sprinklers did not start at the dot of 9 am and there was no sound of the dishes getting stacked in the kitchen or a yell if she had anything for the laundry. Even good old Ruffle was missing.
Aunt Maggie peered outside the window, the swing was empty and little Nancy was nowhere to be seen. This was the time when she would be out playing in the garden all by herself and singing her heart out.
Aunt Maggie nearly fell off the bed at the shrill sound of the telephone. She could not save the liquid nor the cup. The cup crashed into pieces on the stone tile and the tea stained the carpet, making it even harder to figure out the original colour and design of the ancient carpet which was of Persian origin but over the years looked like a piece of trash.
"I have to get rid of this carpet," she thought to herself and dropped the saucer.
"What is a cup without a saucer?"
Aunt Maggie slipped her feet awkwardly inside the fluffy shoes half chewed by Ruffle and manages to toddle out of the room. Carefully clutching the railing, as if holding it for dear life, Aunt Maggie walks down the stairs slowly. She could clearly tell that she was all alone. The phone kept ringing and by the time she reached and picked the receiver, the caller had hung up.
"Darn, you stupid old thing," she muttered and went to the kitchen. It was neat and there were no signs of breakfast having been made that morning. No cereal remnants on the floorboard. The kettle was empty.
Aunt Maggie had absolutely no idea as to how the morning tea made its way to her room.
The phone broke her thoughts and this time she hastened a bit, to pick it up.
"Hello," she hollered.
"Madam, good morning. How was the morning tea?" the caller asked.
Aunt Maggie was confused.
"Who the heck are you and why are you enquiring about my morning tea?"
"Because I left it for you," he said.
Aunt Maggie was befuddled.
"Do you think I am a fool? Why on earth would you make me a cup of tea?"
"Madam, I am a thief and I have emptied your house of all its precious belongings. I left the tea by your bedside, just out of pity, because it seemed your family had deserted you. I have some good sense in me, you see!"
"How did you get in?" Aunt Maggie demanded.
"The door was wide open and I easily walked in," said the caller.
"How could her nephew have left without saying a word to her, although he had threatened several times that he would do so. That spitfire of a wife he was married to, must have made him do this. They left the door wide open? How utterly ruthless. Even little Nancy had not pranced into her room? Even Ruffle had not said good bye?"
A wave of self-pity swept over her. She was abandoned in her own house.
"Now do you understand why I could not leave the house without offering you a cup of tea?" the caller said.
"To hell with you all," retorts Aunt Maggie and slams the receiver.
She opens the cabinet near the end of the stair case, where she always hid a Merlot in case of an emergency. She fondles the sleek neck of the bottle and looks ruefully at it. This was an emergency.
She slowly climbs the stairs up to her room. Huffing and coughing she pulls the edges of the disgusting stained carpet, in a fit of rage and despair.
Her eyes open wider than a saucer.
Multitudes of $$$$ bills lay there neatly stacked underneath. The tiles had been neatly removed and substituted by the $$$$.
Aunt Maggie sees the smiling face of Phil on each one of them.
The day Philip had that fatal heart attack he did mention that he had done something drastic.
"What have you done? You look as if you have robbed a bank!" she had exclaimed.
She finishes the bottle and smashes it on the stone tile and fumbles her way downstairs to the phone, with a wicked grin.
"Hello officer, my nephew has robbed a bank and is absconding. I can help you with more details."
She chuckles and chuckles .......
"Ahem, ahem, aarrghhh....."Aunt Maggie cleared her throat as the insipid liquid made its way all the way down to settle in her stomach.
Aunt Maggie slid her hands under the blanket in search of the Merlot which she was sure she went to bed with, the night before. Since the death of Philip she slept with the bottle besides her and sought its comfort in the middle of the night, when the hissing sound of the gusty wind woke her up from slumber.
Aunt Maggie glanced around the room. Everything was where she had left it, a month ago. Her room was an untidy mess and whosoever walked in with that morning cup of tea was either too kind or had lost his mind.
For some reason unknown to her, she enjoyed the tea that morning, although weak and lacked flavour; just the way she always had when Philip was alive. A flash of memory and it felt that Philip was alive and back in her life.
That morning was unusual. The house was silent. The sprinklers did not start at the dot of 9 am and there was no sound of the dishes getting stacked in the kitchen or a yell if she had anything for the laundry. Even good old Ruffle was missing.
Aunt Maggie peered outside the window, the swing was empty and little Nancy was nowhere to be seen. This was the time when she would be out playing in the garden all by herself and singing her heart out.
Aunt Maggie nearly fell off the bed at the shrill sound of the telephone. She could not save the liquid nor the cup. The cup crashed into pieces on the stone tile and the tea stained the carpet, making it even harder to figure out the original colour and design of the ancient carpet which was of Persian origin but over the years looked like a piece of trash.
"I have to get rid of this carpet," she thought to herself and dropped the saucer.
"What is a cup without a saucer?"
Aunt Maggie slipped her feet awkwardly inside the fluffy shoes half chewed by Ruffle and manages to toddle out of the room. Carefully clutching the railing, as if holding it for dear life, Aunt Maggie walks down the stairs slowly. She could clearly tell that she was all alone. The phone kept ringing and by the time she reached and picked the receiver, the caller had hung up.
"Darn, you stupid old thing," she muttered and went to the kitchen. It was neat and there were no signs of breakfast having been made that morning. No cereal remnants on the floorboard. The kettle was empty.
Aunt Maggie had absolutely no idea as to how the morning tea made its way to her room.
The phone broke her thoughts and this time she hastened a bit, to pick it up.
"Hello," she hollered.
"Madam, good morning. How was the morning tea?" the caller asked.
Aunt Maggie was confused.
"Who the heck are you and why are you enquiring about my morning tea?"
"Because I left it for you," he said.
Aunt Maggie was befuddled.
"Do you think I am a fool? Why on earth would you make me a cup of tea?"
"Madam, I am a thief and I have emptied your house of all its precious belongings. I left the tea by your bedside, just out of pity, because it seemed your family had deserted you. I have some good sense in me, you see!"
"How did you get in?" Aunt Maggie demanded.
"The door was wide open and I easily walked in," said the caller.
"How could her nephew have left without saying a word to her, although he had threatened several times that he would do so. That spitfire of a wife he was married to, must have made him do this. They left the door wide open? How utterly ruthless. Even little Nancy had not pranced into her room? Even Ruffle had not said good bye?"
A wave of self-pity swept over her. She was abandoned in her own house.
"Now do you understand why I could not leave the house without offering you a cup of tea?" the caller said.
"To hell with you all," retorts Aunt Maggie and slams the receiver.
She opens the cabinet near the end of the stair case, where she always hid a Merlot in case of an emergency. She fondles the sleek neck of the bottle and looks ruefully at it. This was an emergency.
She slowly climbs the stairs up to her room. Huffing and coughing she pulls the edges of the disgusting stained carpet, in a fit of rage and despair.
Her eyes open wider than a saucer.
Multitudes of $$$$ bills lay there neatly stacked underneath. The tiles had been neatly removed and substituted by the $$$$.
Aunt Maggie sees the smiling face of Phil on each one of them.
The day Philip had that fatal heart attack he did mention that he had done something drastic.
"What have you done? You look as if you have robbed a bank!" she had exclaimed.
She finishes the bottle and smashes it on the stone tile and fumbles her way downstairs to the phone, with a wicked grin.
"Hello officer, my nephew has robbed a bank and is absconding. I can help you with more details."
She chuckles and chuckles .......
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