LIFE IS NOT QUITE FINISHED YET

“You’ve ripped it up and thrown it to the birds,” I said. My legs felt a little weak and I knew my head was shaking from side to side. “But, Lady Margaret, that was your tax form for next year. It needs to be sent to the Revenue by next Thursday at the latest.”

“I had no bread in the house,” she replied. She bowed her head and looked at me over the rim of her glasses. “The birds seemed excited by the wind. They were swooping in and out of the courtyard. So I just took a tiny corner and threw it to them. A crow swept down and caught it, took it up to the top of the first floor window and then dropped it.” A smile lit her face making her look like an eager child. “Three sparrows then chased the scrap of paper as it swirled round the edge of the sheds. I thought they were going to fight each other for it. I took the tax form and ripped a few more pieces off.” Lady Margaret made tearing gestures with her hands and then flung her arms in the air. “I kept throwing them upwards. The birds had so much fun hunting them.”

She’s never quite sane, I thought sinking into an armchair. I’d been her financial adviser for longer than I could remember, but this was the first time she’d done anything like this. Well…. there was last year. I was just in time to stop her sending a letter to the taxman asking if he minded if she sold just a few nick nacks without telling him so she could change the bedroom carpets.

And the year before that she’d filled in all the tax forms in code. When I challenged her, she said, “I thought it would give the poor bloke a bit of excitement in his working day. To make it slightly easier for him, I’ve included the key to the code as foot notes.

“Would you like a drop of brandy with your coffee?” she said. She banged the stopper on the table and took a sip from the neck of the decanter.

“I’d prefer just coffee please. Shall I make myself one?” It was safer to be self-sufficient in her house. I remembered the taste when Lady Margaret presented me with a cup of boiling milk sweetened to the point where the tea bag she’d added had refused to sink below the surface.

“You carry on my dear. I’ll find the rest of the papers.” She took another sip from the decanter, sighed deeply and replaced it on a silver tray on the sideboard.

Returning to the lounge, I heard the sideboard door bang shut. That meant the chocolate biscuits had arrived.

“Here we are, dear,” she whispered, looking round as though making sure no one else was watching. “Take three and unwrap them ready. If you don’t eat them all, I can wrap them up again after our game.”

Hand painted finches and gold sprays clung to the porcelain of a Royal Worcester bowl placed on the floor by the French windows. “Me first,” she said flicking three silver wraps into the bowl. “That’s three pounds you owe me,” she said as my screwed up foils flopped on the floor.

“I’ll knock it off your bill,” I muttered. “Did you keep any of your tax forms?”

“Of course. It was fun throwing it for the birds, but I kept this part safe.”

She handed me the page containing her signature and the date. “”Not much use on its own,” I said. “I’ll take this signature back to the office and trace it onto a new form.”

“The birds had so much fun chasing the paper. It made me laugh so much. I’ve been a bit worried since though. I’ve not slid down the banisters for the last two days.”

“Margaret!” That must be the first time I’d never used her title. “You are nearly seventy. You shouldn’t do things like that.”

We both started laughing together. I stood to leave and she grabbed the decanter and took a quick mouthful of brandy. “Life is not quite finished yet,” she said. “I’m hoping I’ve a long way to go and when you get to my age there is no point being too sensible.”

She poured some spirit into a glass and this time I did take a gulp of brandy before I left.

744 words March 2011