I used to visit Aunty Sash on Saturdays. My mother was glad to have a ten-year-old out of the house for the day. I enjoyed it because Aunt Sash fed me on cake and Corona which was a kind of lemonade in those days.
She couldn’t move around very much so she would sit in her chair and tell me all the scandalous things my mother used to get up to when she was younger. Then she would go on to the extraordinary behaviour of her neighbours. It was only later that I realised all this jiggery pokery came from her imagination.
One day there was a broken nutcracker on the draining board. She said she had broken it trying to crack a peach stone. Aunty Sash did not particularly like peaches and I later found most of them wound up in the bin.
“Why are you trying to crack peach stones?” I asked.
“Can you just pop to the shop and get me another nut cracker and then of course I will tell you.”
I brought the new nutcracker and she got me cracking the peach stones. That nutcracker soon broke too and I heard some new language from Aunt Sash and stored it away for future use.
In the end I had to get a chisel and hammer and break the peach stones in the shed. When I brought them back she started scraping out the insides and mixing it with some liquids. I was fascinated.
“Dennis, do you know what a panacea is?”
“An airline?”
She gave a wheezy laugh and when she recovered she said, “It is a cure for all ills. There are medicines for coughs and for aching legs but a panacea is something which can cure anything.”
“However, Dennis, you must promise not to tell anybody about this because they’ll all want one.”
“Okay, Aunt Sash. Is there any more cake?”
“You drive a hard bargain.” She laughed again and then went into a bout of coughing. She did that a lot.
The next week we arrived and Aunty Sash was in her usual chair. Mum went over to her and at first I thought she was trying to strangle her. She was taking her pulse.
She chivvied me out of the flat and called the ambulance. Aunty Sash was pronounced dead by the paramedics who then had to call a doctor to confirm their finding.
The police were called and there had to be an autopsy.
I never knew that her panacea was actually cyanide.
I miss her.
Derek McMillan is a writer in Durringon in the UK. His editor is his wife, Angela. He has written for print and online publications in the UK, USA and Canada. His latest book is the audiobook with the cheery title “Murder From Beyond the Grave” which is available on eBay. Check it out.
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