Free Mad Dog Moonlight by Pauline Fisk Page A

she said, ‘I’ve been waiting for it all day.’
    Aunty turned bright red. ‘If you don’t listen to me,’ she said, ‘I’ll leave right now and not come back. I’m not just saying this – I mean it. If I count for less than the telly, I’ll take Ryan and Eric – who’ve got better things to do, believe me, than hang around here – and leave. And then whatever was so important that you phoned in tears, pleading for me to come, will never get dealt with. Not by me,
so help me God
.’
    The two women glared at each other, mother and daughter, so different and yet, in some respects, so uncannily alike. For a moment neither moved – then the Aged Relative switched the telly up louder.
    â€˜I’ve always been scared of you,’ she said petulantly. ‘You’re such a bully. You always have been ever since you were a little girl.’
    Aunty sighed, her exasperation complete. ‘Well, you would know,’ she said. ‘When it comes to bullying, you wear the crown.’
    And that was it. The end of their audience with the Aged Relative. They left the room. On the way out,Aunty tossed the notepad up on to the bed – not, she said, because she expected her mother to ever bother reading it, but because she, Aunty, wanted to know in the long years to come that she’d tried her best.
    Back in their room, they packed to leave. Aunty’s expression was one of relief. ‘I should feel sorry for her,’ she said, ‘but she’s got what she’s been asking for. She’s a lazy, selfish woman who’s always expected other people to do her dirty work for her. And now she’s had her come-uppance. That so-called “manager” of hers might be running around her when there’s someone to witness him in action, but he’s also bleeding her dry – and she’s got no one to blame for it but herself. We told her, all of us, that buying a B & B was a crazy idea. But would she listen? Would she hell!’
    Once they were packed, they made their way downstairs. It was ten thirty at night, time for climbing into bed and going to sleep, but none of them wanted to stay. Aunty packed the car. They all piled into it and were just about to drive off when the porch door banged open, and the Aged Relative appeared, swaying as if the effort of standing on her own legs was proving a bit much.
    â€˜You can’t go!’ she wailed. ‘I’m not a well person! It’s my dicky heart. I need help! Surely you can see that. I need you. I’m frightened. Don’t leave me!
Not with him!
’
    Aunty stayed. It was the
not with him
that was the clincher. How could she leave after a plea like that? The three of them unpacked again, and spent the night in beds that sank in the middle and felt damp even after airing with hot water-bottles. Mad Dog felt like aprisoner who’d tried to make a run for it but failed. The prisoner of the Aged Relative – and you could see her crowing as if she thought she’d got power over them all.
    But the real power, it was quite obvious to Mad Dog, belonged to the Manager. For the rest of the week Aunty attempted to get him working but he refused to do a thing. She issued him with lists of jobs but he kept on disappearing, leaving her to do everything. And every time she complained, the Aged Relative stuck up for him.
    Mad Dog didn’t get it. Neither did Aunty. If the Aged Relative was as frightened of the Manager as she appeared to be, then why wasn’t she seizing the opportunity of having someone else around to tackle him? It just didn’t make sense.
    In the meantime, however, there were gutters to clear, windows to wash, food to be bought in, accounts to be examined and a house to be cleaned that looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years. Aunty tried getting the Aged Relative to help, but she was as good at getting out of it as the Manager, always