Wednesday Night- Uncle Simon and Aunt Libby

Uncle Simon had said, “Libby, I don’t think the world is going to collapse if a twelve-year-old girl likes to listen to Westlife now and then,” but it was too late.  Aunt Libby had already turned the car radio’s dials away from Radio One and towards the Classic Rock station.  She was determined to improve Sandy’s mind.

Libby listened for a moment or two, then let out an excited yelp.  “Steely Dan!  One of the great songs of our time!”  As she said this, she glanced behind her, as if to make sure that Sandy was taking notes for the test later.

Sandy listened to the song, which was about a guy playing Blackjack.  It was OK, but she’d really rather have been listening to Westlife.  Try telling that to Aunt Libby, though.

“Listen to the lyrics, Sandy,” said Libby, “They’re real.  Not just I-love-you-baby nursery rhymes.  This is poetry.”

“Yes, this song is much more relatable than I-love-you-baby,” said Uncle Simon, “We’ve all gone on the run after shooting a man.  I did that twice last week.”  He could say things like that in the car, because it meant Aunt Libby couldn’t kick him under the table.

Beside Sandy in the back, Cousin Finn was asleep in the car seat.  Sandy wondered what kind of music he’d like when he was older.  Maybe he wouldn’t really care one way or another- most of the boys at Sandy’s school were more into football than music.  Sandy wondered what would horrify Libby more; that, or Finn being into Britney Spears or something.  But you never knew- maybe she’d be lucky.

“Listen to the chord progressions, Sandy,” Libby instructed.  Sandy pretended to do exactly that, even though she didn’t exactly know what chord progressions were.  She’d have to ask her Music teacher when she got back to school.

The Steely Dan song ended, and, before Simon could put in any requests, another one started up.  “Nirvana!” yelled Libby, turning up the volume.

“Oh, God…” muttered Simon, not quite under his breath, “Can’t we listen to something a bit more cheerful?”

“No,” said Libby firmly.

Sandy listened.  “Hang on, I think I know this song.  We used to sing it at school, back at St Margaret’s.”  It was about a little bird who couldn’t find a warm place to sleep.  The version playing on the radio definitely made it sound less mournful and sinister than the school choir had.  The way they’d sung it, you knew for a fact that the little bird would be frozen to death by morning.

Aunt Libby nodded.  “It’s traditional” she said proudly, “They’re reinterpreting it.”

“Like a cover version?”

Aunt Libby frowned.  “Not exactly…”

“Well, what’s the difference?” asked Uncle Simon, a big grin spreading across his face.  Aunt Libby didn’t take the bait.  She glanced backwards at Finn, then turned the volume down a couple of notches so as not to wake him up.

Uncle Simon drove on in silence until they hit a red light.  He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, looked out at the pavement next to them, and tutted.  “God!  Why are there so many leaves on the road?”

“Because it’s autumn,” said Libby patiently.

“Well, why don’t they clean them up, then?”

Libby raised an eyebrow.  “‘They’?”

Simon turned to her.  “You know what I…” Unfortunately, by taking the time to say this, he missed the lights changing, and the drivers behind him began to beep their horns insistently.  Simon went pink and stepped on the accelerator.

Libby could probably have dropped it, but that just wouldn’t have been her.  “You think the council should pay somebody to clean up after the trees every year?”

“I don’t see why not!” said Simon, sounding a little hurt.

“They can barely afford to have the roads gritted when it snows.  They’re not going to pay someone to, I don’t know, stand under the trees with a sack.”

Simon shook his finger at her.  “That’s not what I was talking about, and you know it.”

“Then what were you talking about?  Chopping down all the trees in town so that you don’t get offended by the sight of leaves lying around?”

“I just think somebody should clean them up, that’s all.”

“God, yes,” said Libby, with a smile, “They’re covering up all the litter.”

Simon let out an annoyed grunt, fixed his eyes on the road, and said nothing else.  After about a minute, Libby turned the volume up again.

&&&

Sandy had found out that Cousin Finn got very concerned when you pretended to cry.  All you had to do was cover your face with your hands and make sobbing noises, and he’d make an alarmed noise and pat your shoulder until you stopped.  This was a very useful tactic to stop him from pinching you or pulling your hair, as toddlers sometimes did.

Finn’s bedtime was in about ten minutes, but until then, he was sitting in the kitchen, keeping Sandy company while Simon sorted out some bills upstairs and Libby talked to whoever that was at the door.  This suited Sandy just fine.  It was always really fascinating to talk to a kid Finn’s age, and wonder which bits of what you were saying would be things they’d remember when they were older without knowing why.  For example, Sandy just spent the last few minutes explaining all the plots going on in Eastenders at the moment, in the hope that ten years from now, he’d still see Grant Mitchell as some kind of mythological hero.

Sandy heard the front door close, and an unfamiliar voice echo down the hallway.  “…wouldn’t want to put you out at all.”

“No, no,” said Libby’s voice, “God, no.  Stay as long as you like.  Did you say it was…?”

“Jaeger, love.  Like the rum!”

Libby laughed.  She opened the kitchen door, and came in with the other woman.  “Right!”  She looked at the able to check that Sandy and Finn were still sitting where she’d left them, and continued.  “Sandy, this is Mrs Jaeger, from down the road.  She’s been locked out of her house, and I said she could use our phone.”

“You’re too polite,” said Mrs Jaeger, “I locked myself out of my house- that’s the sad truth.  Let the door slam shut behind me and realised I’d forgotten the key!”  She smiled at Sandy, whose blood froze.

She knew that face.  Those yellow teeth.  That straggly grey hair.

“Sandy, was it?” asked Mrs Jaeger.

“My niece,” explained Libby, “She’s staying for the evening.”  She winked at Sandy.  “Needed some help with the baby, didn’t I, San?”

“Yeah,” said Sandy, “Hi.”  She’d forgotten that Finn was there until Libby had reminded her.  As quietly as she could, she moved her chair closer to his.  If Mrs Jaeger came anywhere near him, she’d…  Well, she didn’t know what she’d do.  Scream a lot probably.

Mrs Jaeger had turned away from them, for the moment.  “Now… Libby, wasn’t it?  I don’t mean to trouble you for more than a minute or two.  Just enough time to phone my husband, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Aw, don’t be like that.  Where does your husband work?”

“Macadam and Gould Furnishings, just around the corner.  He won’t be more than about five minutes, really.”

“Well, that’s enough time for a cup of tea.”  Libby turned away to put the kettle on.  “Come on, I’m not just going to let you make the phone call and then turf you out to wait on your doorstep.”

“Oh, well…  If you insist…”

So Aunt Libby made a cup of tea, Mrs Jaeger phoned her husband (who may or may not have actually existed), and then they talked.  They chatted like old friends about their husbands, about the news, about people they knew.  And all the time, Sandy sat at the table, next to Finn, staring into her own cup of tea and wondering exactly when Libby would have to leave the room and leave them alone with the old lady.

Finally, it happened.  Libby went outside to watch for Mrs Jaeger’s probably-made-up husband, and, as soon as she closed the door, Mrs Jaeger grinned.  “Hello, Alexandra Faith.  We didn’t get to talk last time.”

Sandy shifted up closer to Finn, who gave her a confused look before going back to playing with a spoon that somebody had left on the table after dinner.  She could have asked the old lady a million and one things- who she was, what she was up to, how she even knew where Sandy was tonight- but the question she actually ended up asking was almost boring.  “You don’t really live down the road from here, do you?”

Mrs Jaeger shrugged.  “I live wherever I like,” she said, with a touch of swagger.

Sandy looked down at the old lady’s hands.  There was that long, sharp thumbnail again.  “What do you want?”

“Well!”  The old lady grinned.  “You see, to me, you’re competition.”

“What?  Why?”  How could Sandy possibly be a threat to a woman fifty or sixty years older than her?  Especially when she hadn’t even known that woman existed until last Sunday?

Mrs Jaeger tapped her fingernails on the table, and looked thoughtfully around the room.  “How many people do you think there are like us?” she asked eventually, making eye contact with Sandy again, “Honestly?  What are the chances of any given baby being born with the gifts we have?”

(At the word “baby,” almost without realising it, Sandy shifted her chair so that she was blocking Finn from Mrs Jaeger’s sight.)

“One in a million,” the old lady answered her own question.  She paused, then added with a laugh, “So there’s about six thousand of us worldwide, give or take.  So tell me, Alexandra Faith, is there room for two of us in this kitchen?  Can I afford to take that chance?”

Sandy swallowed.  There were certain bits of what Mrs Jaeger had said- the gifts we have, about six thousand of us worldwide– that Sandy knew would seem important later, but right now, she didn’t care.  Right now, the only things she could think about were those long, dirty nails, inching closer and closer to her and Finn.

“You and your hailstones…”  The old lady leaned towards Sandy, so close that she could smell her breath.  “You’re more powerful than I thought.  But maybe not as powerful as you think you are.”

There was nothing else for it.  Sandy shut her eyes as hard as she could, and prayed that it would work.

She didn’t know how long she kept them shut.  Long enough for the muscles in her eyelids to ache with the strain of keeping them screwed up so tight.  When she finally dared to open them, Mrs Jaeger was lying with her head on the table, fast asleep.

She checked on Finn, and saw that he’d nodded off, too.  For all she knew, she’d sent Simon and Libby to sleep as well.  For all she knew, she’d managed the whole street.

Gently, she lifted Finn from his seat, and carried him out of the room.  She’d take him upstairs and put him to bed, and not come back down until it was safe.  With any luck, before Mrs Jaeger had a chance to wake up and look for them, Libby would find her and deal with her.