Murder Most Fab by Julian Clary

time together.
    ‘You
have brought great joy into my life,’ she said once, head cocked to one side.
‘Yes. Joy is the word, I think. Such enthusiasm about the Cutty Sark …
It’s most refreshing.’
     
    As it happened, my
thirteenth birthday fell during this time. I was hopeful of a card from my
mother, but it wasn’t to be.
    ‘There
was one,’ said Grandma Rita, that morning, ‘but I didn’t consider the contents
appropriate.’ She grimaced at the memory. ‘She’s still not at all well, poor
Alice.’ Then she smiled. ‘Happy birthday, anyway, from me and your mother.
Maria has made kedgeree to mark the occasion.
    ‘It was
the sixties that did for Alice,’ she continued unexpectedly. ‘All that
permissiveness and whatever … it unleashed a great deal of trouble,
unfortunately, and she is the consequence. A product of her time.’ She seemed
to be thinking aloud. I didn’t make a sound for fear of stopping her. This was
a rare insight into the past and their relationship. ‘I should never have let
her go to that music festival when she was seventeen. Before that she was quite
a nice girl to have about the place. Clean and well spoken. Then, suddenly, it
was marigolds in her hair and unexplained laughter in the middle of the night.’
    Just
then Maria knocked at the door and entered, carrying a steaming offering that
smelt of fish in an elaborate Victorian dish. My grandmother snapped out of her
thoughts and said, ‘Ah, kedgeree! What a treat!’
    Before
it was dished up they both sang a high-pitched, vibrato version of ‘Happy
Birthday’ with shrill harmonies for the last, prolonged ‘you!’.
    ‘Happy
birthday, Johnny,’ said Maria, once they’d done. ‘You have a lovely day now.’
    When
she had gone my grandmother dished up the kedgeree, saying, ‘This’ll put a
spring in your step.’
    We ate
a few mouthfuls, regarding each other as we chewed.
    ‘Lovely,’
I said truthfully. Kedgeree was delicious. It tumbled about my mouth, hot and
salty, another new experience for me. So far, being a teenager was great.
    Grandma
Rita looked a little uncomfortable, then took a small box from her handbag and
pushed it across the polished table to me. ‘This is from me. I hope you like
it.’
    The box
was made of worn tan leather. I picked it up and opened it. Inside, it was
lined with grey silk, and nestling in the folds was a fine gold chain with a
circular gold pendant about the size of a five-pence piece. On one side was St
Christopher and on the reverse the Virgin Mary.
    ‘It was
your grandfather’s and I’d like you to have it.’
    ‘Thank
you, Grandma!’ I’d never had anything gold before.
    She
picked it up and put it over my head. ‘He wore it all his life, and now you may
do the same.’
    ‘Gosh!
Are you sure?’ I felt different, a bit like being confirmed. Or maybe my
grandfather’s spirit was paying me a visit.
    ‘I was
looking through his things last night and I suddenly sensed that he wanted you
to have it. We never had a son, and he would have spoilt you, I expect. Now you
are thirteen it’s time for you to wear it. St Christopher will ensure you
arrive safely wherever you go and Mary, the Mother of God — well, she can fill
in the gaps Alice might inadvertently have left empty, if you know what I mean.’
    ‘She
does her best, Grandma,’ I said, bristling at any criticism of my mother.
    ‘Let me
put it another way. Mary will take care of your spiritual well-being,’ she
compromised.
    ‘Good.
I feel indestructible now!’ I said, clenching my fists and raising my arms in a
heroic pose.
    She
smiled at me affectionately. Her eyes weren’t exactly brimming with tears, but
they were full of emotion. ‘You’re a very pleasing young man,’ she announced.
    ‘Thank
you,’ I said. ‘And you’re a very pleasing grandmother.’
    ‘Shall
we go to the theatre on Saturday? Would you enjoy that?’ For a split second she
looked and sounded a bit like my