The Sisters of Castle Stone

#17: The Girl on the Bench

Charlotte found herself staring at the sight blast from the last that stood in front of her.

"Grandma?" The word fell out of Charlotte's mouth like something she couldn't swallow.

White and wild hair concealed by a neat black headscarf, only a few wispy strands flying free. She pushed her heavy framed glasses further up her nose, and looked down at the girl on the bench.

Now everything made sense.

No wonder Dad was annoyed. There weren't many things in life more annoying that the Granny from hell. Here today gone tomorrow, never around long enough to get to know her, and never kept in touch. Charlotte found herself questioning everything she did and everything she said, what she was doing gatecrashing Bethany's funeral was just another reason she didn't trust her.

"Oh darling, how many times do I have to tell you, it's Araminta."

The older woman rolled her eyes, "I mean I'm far too young to be anyone's granny, especially to three strapping girls verging on the edge of the adventure that's womanhood. Enjoy it while you can, my girl. Soon you'll be old, wrinkly and all the hot guys will be far too young."

"Two," Charlotte corrected, "two girls. We're not three anymore."

Deep lines gradually appeared across the elderly lady's face, and Charlotte felt as if she could see her thoughts.

"You, Annabelle, and Clementine. Three."

Here we go. Nothing had changed.

Charlotte sighed, and shook her head. Years away living on a barge in the middle of nowhere and still she hadn't changed one ounce.

"Why, grandma, why are you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"So odd with Bethany?"

"I'm not,"

"Yes you are, Grandma!"

At first it started with a drip, then, the more Araminta tried to defend her actions and try and worm her way out of her pathetic behaviour, the more Charlotte fought back. 'I forgot.' That was her favourite excuse, followed by others that were just as petty and just as pathetic.

"You don't send her presents for Christmas or her birthday. You say it slipped your mind but then you never forget my birthday, or Bella's, Clem's, Will's or Sebs. When you talk about how many grandchildren you've got you always say three granddaughters and two grandsons. She's always left out. Why? And don't say you forget or it slipped your mind, because that's shit! It's shit and it's wrong and sometimes you don't even mention her name. What is it you call her..."

Araminta sighed, and stood for a moment. Charlotte noticed how her attention remained fixed upon the old church door where inside Bethany's funeral continued.

"I'd better be going." She said, and quickly turned to leave.

Oh no!

Charlotte hadn't finished with her, and the moment Araminta tried to leave, she stood from the bench and followed. For a woman of nearly eighty years old Araminta McKenzie-Smyth was very nimble on her feet from all the ballroom dancing she did every week and from her constant training for the London marathon. The quicker she walked, the more effort Charlotte had to put in in order to keep up with her.

They'd walked in silence for a good ten minutes, with Charlotte huffing and puffing to keep with her old granny who still wore stiletto heeled boots. Outside the village store, Charlotte watched as Araminta entered. She thought about heading back to the castle and forgetting her grandma even existed, but the determination inside her wasn't going to give up that easily, and instead of heading home there and then, she hovered outside and waited for her. No one could spend that long to buy a packet of cigarettes and a newspaper, could they?