Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,132

Ted?” I asked.

“Oh, don’t you worry, love, there’s plenty of time for that.”

While Ted would watch almost anything on television, his favorite program by far was Columbo. He said that when he was in prison he and his fellow inmates never missed an episode. “He’s a bloody riot, that bloke,” he’d say, gesturing toward Peter Falk as he arrested yet another murderer. “To look at him, you’d think he was thick as two short planks, but he’s got it all up here,” he’d add, tapping an index finger to his temple and giving a knowing nod.

My father had never really liked American detective programs. “Bunch of bloody Yank rubbish,” he’d mutter during the episodes of Cannon or Kojak that my mother sometimes watched. Because of this, the first Saturday night he was at our house Ted had to put up quite a battle to watch Columbo, but he managed to persuade my father to at least give it a chance. Much to my surprise, after seeing his first episode my father was hooked. He loved the way the disheveled and rambling detective outsmarted all those wealthy doctors, film stars, and highflying businessmen. “Hah!” my father exclaimed when the villain was caught. “Rich bastard, serves you bloody right!”

Within a month, we’d developed a weekly household ritual to prepare for our viewing of Columbo. Early on Saturday evenings, Ted made an excursion to the Midham Co-op, where he’d buy bottles of beer, lemonade, crisps, and salted peanuts. While he was gone, my mother would cut up little cubes of cheese, spear them with toothpicks, and set them out on a plate. By the time the opening sequence came on to show the murder that Columbo would later solve, all four of us would be perched eagerly around the television set, chomping on salt-and-vinegar crisps. These evenings soon became some of my favorite times, and I imagined that if someone walked by our window and looked inside they’d think we looked like just another happy family gathered together on a Saturday night.

I was not very happy, however, several weeks after Ted came to stay, when Mabel and Frank dropped by a couple of hours before Columbo was due to start. I always liked to see Mabel, of course, but I hated the idea of Frank intruding on our cherished family ritual.

“Oh, so somebody finally decided to let us in,” Frank said when I opened the door. “Thought you were going to leave us out here all bloody night.” I’d been upstairs reading a pilfered book from the mobile librarian’s slush pile and had expected someone else to get the door, but my father and Ted were apparently so involved in their television viewing that they hadn’t wanted to leave the room. My mother was in the kitchen working on something related to the wedding plans, and these days she was so singularly focused that it wouldn’t have surprised me if the knock on the door hadn’t even intruded into her consciousness.

I ignored Frank, looking past him at Mabel, who was bent low, her leg lifted off the ground as she examined the tapered heel of her strappy shoe. “Hello, Auntie Mabel,” I said.

“Hello, darling,” she replied, looking up at me. She lost her balance and staggered forward, almost falling over before making a grab for Frank.

As she steadied herself on his arm, he tried to shake her off. “Watch the bloody jacket, won’t you, Mabel? It’s just back from the cleaners.”

A hurt frown flickered across her face. Then, catching my eyes, she recovered herself and flashed me a tight smile.

“Are you all right, Auntie Mabel?” I asked.

She sighed as she took off both of her shoes and made her way into the house in her stocking feet. “I’m fine, but I think I’ve broken the bleeming heel on this shoe. It’s walking up that path of yours that’s done it.” From the doorway she gestured to the ragged path behind her, its concrete cracked, weeds eagerly pushing upward through those cracks. “That’ll never do. I don’t want my wedding guests falling over and killing themselves. Not exactly an auspicious beginning for a marriage. I suppose I’ll have to mention it to our Evelyn.”

“Come on, Mabel,” Frank said, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, a look of irritation on his face as Mabel continued to examine her broken heel. “It’s just a bloody shoe.”

“I know, but this pair is one of my favorites.” She tossed the shoes to the floor and turned to me.