The Inheritance Powder Part Four

Part Four: The Legacy

George's eyes flickered and twitched. He was dreaming. He was walking up a long flight of steps that didn't seem to be leading anywhere. It was dark, except for a tiny pinpoint of light that pricked the blackness at the top of the steps. Then, without warning, a disembodied hand reached out and gripped his arm. He felt something or someone tugging him from behind, trying to pull him backwards down the steps. His mouth opened in a soundless scream. He tried to hold onto the rail but the hand prised his fingers off and he began to fall back into the dark nothingness. Down into the abyss.

George's eyes flew open.
The curtains were closed and the light in the room was dim. He felt dizzy and disoriented. Still hovering in the no man's land between sleeping and waking, he thought for a moment that he had moved onto the next stage of the dream. Outside he could hear the magpies cackling in the trees and the distant hum of the traffic on the main road. An icy breeze rustled the curtains and stroked his sweat streaked face. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, mulling over the conversation he'd had with Erica the night before. Perhaps he was being paranoid. It could be a figment of an over active imagination. He passed his hand over his forehead. His head ached. Anyway, what if it was true and Julia really was poisoning him, who would believe him? He had no concrete proof of any kind. It was a preposterous idea but deep down he felt there was something, he just couldn't put his finger on it.

Bravely ignoring the tantalising scent of sausages cooking mingled with the smell of fresh roasted coffee, he tried to focus on recent events. The gripping stomach pains often erupted in the early hours. The onset would be a strange metallic taste in his mouth and the pains would go on in varying degrees of intensity throughout the day, his body wracked by vomiting. By the time evening came he was weak and washed out. It seemed to come on in phases. There were weeks at a time when his body functioned normally. Julia was wonderful. She was always so caring and considerate. Always there with a hot milky drink or a restorative cup of strong coffee, sweetened with honey and crowned with a dollop of clotted cream. Julia's voice broke into his thoughts, calling up the stairs.

'George darling! Breakfast is ready! Shall I bring it up or are you coming down?'

'I’ll come down'

He swung his legs over the bed , went to the window and opened the curtains. The rain had stopped but strong gusts of wind shook the trees roughly and blew the remaining leaves against the glass. He sighed and then putting on his dressing gown he went down to breakfast.

George shuffled into the kitchen. It seemed warmer this morning and filled with aroma of coffee and toast. He took his place at the table near the window that looked out onto the garden. The Guardian newspaper was propped up on the reader and his boiled eggs nestled neatly in their twin cups. A cafetiere of rich Mocha coffee stood near his plate.
Julia leaned forward and poured him some coffee. 'You look better this morning darling. Did you sleep well?'

He gulped down his coffee. 'Yes, I slept much better. I feel much more energetic this morning. As a matter of fact I was thinking of taking up Edgar Frinton's invitation to a round of golf this morning.'

'Well, if you feel up to it' Julia inclined her head towards him,'More coffee darling?'

'Mm! Yes please', mumbled George through a mouthful of toast. 'By the way dear, take care if you have to go down to the cellar for any reason. When I went down there yesterday to replenish the wine rack I noticed the stair rail had come loose. I'll fix it later on today. We can't have you falling down those steps.'
The trilling of the telephone interrupted their breakfast. Julia jumped up from the table. 'It's probably Patti. She said she'd ring me this morning about the arrangements for our shopping trip'.She disappeared into the living room.


George brought his coffee cup up to his lips but did not drink. Better not have that second cup. Bad for the blood pressure and guaranteed to get the old ticker jumping all over the place. Instead, he quietly poured the contents into the plant on the windowsill. He couldn't help noticing that the lovely lotus shaped leaves of the pink cyclamen had started to turn yellow and some of the leaves had made a premature exit onto the compost. Julia had over watered it. She was never very good with plants. Plants needed looking after and nurturing. She was a marvellous planner and organiser but he had to admit her caring side wasn't very well developed. Helena was the gardener. She loved her plants and he often found her sitting reading or sewing among the towering spikes of the blue Delphiniums she loved so much. In fact he had insisted that the garden was left pretty much how it had been when Helena was alive. He owed her that much. Julia wanted to change everything after she'd seen one of those gardening programmes on TV, but he forbade it.

Julia's voice broke into his reverie, 'George, I'm off now. Patti has just arrived. Be a dear and stack the dishwasher would you? Mrs Tudge has gone on holiday to Benidorm and she won't be back for two weeks!' She kissed his cheek briefly, then she was gone. He heard Patti's car churning up the gravel in the drive as they drove off for a rendezvous with Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo.

After he breakfasted and had a leisurely read of the paper, he rose from the table and started to load the dishwasher. Then, without warning his body was caught in an agonising vice. He crashed backwards onto the tiles struggling to breathe. Saliva poured into his mouth but he couldn't swallow. His body jack knifed as a violent seizure gripped him, then darkness and merciful unconsciousness.

* * * * *

After he'd rung the bell several times Edgar rattled the door handle and was surprised when it sprang open. Assuming that the door had been left open for him, he walked into the hall and called out, 'George!' There was no answer. The house seemed strangely still. He walked towards the kitchen. 'It's me George, I.......'
The door to the kitchen was slightly ajar. Edgar pushed the door open and saw George writhing and jerking around on the floor. He rushed forward, 'My God man! What's happened to you?' but George couldn't answer him. His eyes had rolled up into his head and his entire body was convulsed in rigid contractions and thick strings of vomit flowed from his mouth. Edgar snatched up the phone and dialed for an ambulance.

* * * *

The rain began to fall again just as Julia stepped out of Patti's car heavily laden. She put down her designer bags and waved goodbye to Patti as she drove off down the road. The house was in shadow. No welcoming lamps lit up the sightless windows. The rain suddenly came on heavier and she was aware that her feet, so daintily encased in strappy Jimmy Choos, were getting cold. She rummaged in her bag for her key and fumbled it into the lock. George must be in bed sleeping off the effects of her breakfast. She could hardly suppress a smirk as she walked through the house snapping on the lamps as she went. She ran upstairs calling 'George! George darling! I'm back', but there was no answer. She went into their bedroom but it was empty.

She sat at her dressing table in the dark and looked out over the Rododdendron hedge into the street. Glittering raindrops swirled round the streetlights. A brisk, chilly wind blew down the almost deserted street and an empty tin can skittered along in the gutter. It was only seven o' clock in the evening but the grim weather had driven the Saturday night revellers from the streets. George must be having dinner with Edgar she surmised. She had expected to find him at home. She shuddered involuntarily and felt a wave of fatigue wash over her. 'What I need is a drink' she said out loud and went downstairs to the kitchen.
She noticed that the dishwasher was only half loaded and the table was still littered with pots of marmalade, honey and butter smeared tea plates. She sighed, exasperated that George had left her to clear up the breakfast things. She took a clean glass down from the cupboard but noticed that there was only red wine in the rack. She had decided to drink only white wine, it seemed to have less effect on her diabetes. There was bound to be some in the cellar. She switched on the light and cautiously made her way down the steps. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw a movement of a small shadow cross the floor. She shivered! A mouse or worse, a rat! As she grabbed a couple of bottles of Chablis and turned to go back up the steps, she heard the phone ringing. She was halfway up the steps when the light began to fizz and splutter and finally went out leaving her in total darkness except for a slice of light from the open cellar door at the top of the steps. She went up quickly clasping the bottles under one arm and holding the stair rail with the other. She had almost reached the top when her spiky heels slithered on the smooth stone steps. She clutched frantically at the stair rail which immediately came away from the wall. Losing her balance completely, she fell backwards, arms and legs flailing and plunged down into the blackness, striking her head on the corner of the last step. The wine bottles smashed and splintered into a thousand glittering shards. Julia lay there, eyes closed, the lids a heavy purplish blue. Her face was ashen. One leg awkwardly under her body, her arms lacerated by the broken glass. Her blood mixed in with the wine staining the concrete floor.
Upstairs the answer phone had picked up Edgar's message. His voice boomed out into the empty living room.
'Julia! Are you there? Please pick up the phone.........Look, it's Edgar here. George has been taken very ill and he's in Royal Dearing hospital. Seems like he's had some sort of poisoning. They're keeping him in for 48 hours. They won't let him see anyone just yet. They're doing a lot of tests. Er..I'll ring again soon. Bye for now!'
The machine whirred and clicked again and a clear female voice filled the room. 'Hello Julia! It's Patti! I'm afraid I won't be round for coffee tomorrow. Bertie has just rung asking me to go up to London to baby sit for him. Bit of an emergency, so I've got to go and play grandma. What a drag! Anyway, we'll catch up when I get back. By the way, what did George think of your new shoes? See you when I get back sweetie! Bye'
The house sat in dust filled silence with all the lights on. Down in the dark, dank cellar Julia regained consciousness and discovered that she could not move . A creeping paralysis had spread up the left side of her body and her limbs had become heavy and numb. She opened her mouth to call for help but it was as though her jaws were locked and her lips had been sewn shut. Her eyes tried to pierce the gloom. She could see a fuzzy light at the top of the steps, but the effort of trying to maintain consciousness was too much and she slipped back into a comatose state.


* * * *
Bright sunlight streamed into the bedroom where Julia lay propped up on a bank of snowy pillows. George sat quietly watching her pale face for signs of life. He noticed the mouth seemed twisted to one side and spittle flecked her lips. He reached out and touched her hair, now turned completely white. She seemed to sense his nearness and opened her eyes.The bright blue eyes he remembered were dimmed and full of rheum. She tried to speak but only a drooling mumble indistinct from human speech, came out. Her left arm lay useless by her side. The doctor said she'd had a stroke brought on by a blow to the head. Her speech centres had been destroyed and the stroke had left her paralysed down the left side. She gazed at George, mute and helpless. Her eyes pleading and tormented.
George leaned forward and patted her hand. 'You don't have to worry about a thing old girl. We're going to look after you. Everything is going to be all right, isn't it Erica?' He smiled up at the tall, redhaired woman standing with her hand on his shoulder. Julia blinked and two huge tears slid slowly down her withered cheeks.


FIN

The right of Rusty Gladdish to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to people living or dead is merely coincidental.