A Nice Conversation and Tea With Old Friends

"By rights, Mrs. Hoefakker should deal first. After all, we’re at her house,” said Mrs. Holland.

“It’s the same way for the last thirty-five years, Mrs. Holland. I don’t see why you insist on saying that every Tuesday,” said Mrs. Wellington.

Mrs. Holland, still tall and stern at eighty-eight, gave a quick glare at Mrs. Wellington. “Because I’m the most responsible of us four and I’d like to keep things moving regular.”

Mrs. Grey giggled at the choice of words. After turning eighty-five last week, she decided life was much too short for any petty arguing. Upon turning eighty-five she decided life should be treated as one long Monty Python sketch.

“I do wish you two would stop your bitching. It’s getting old, I just want to play some bloody cards and have a nice bloody conversation.”

Mrs. Hoefakker nodded her agreement, “I don’t like her language,” she said, “but, she has a good point. Now then, Mrs. Grey, if you’d be a dear and put on the kettle, I’ll get the cards dealt.”

Mrs. Grey nodded and started for the kitchen. As she walked, Mrs. Wellington said, “Remember, I take my tea plain.” Mrs. Grey turned and gave her a sweet smile.

“Bloody picky git,” said Mrs. Holland under her breath.

“Now ladies, let’s just play,” said Mrs. Hoefakker. She started to deal out the Pinochle cards. “So, Mrs. Holland, how’s your Angus doing?”

“Same as always, he’s just found some new model trains. He’s been playing with them this past week. Seems it keeps him happy. How’s your Gib?”

Mrs. Hoefakker finished passing out the cards. “He’s alright. He’s preparing a lecture for Oxford University next week. Silly rubbish really, but it keeps him busy.”

“Ooo,” said Mrs. Wellington What’s the lecture about?”

“Something to do with the practicalities of the Ontological Argument in a Cosmological Universe. Complete rubbish if you ask me.”

The three ladies laughed. It was at that time Mrs. Grey walked back into the room. “The tea ought to be done in a wee bit. What were you laughing at just now?”

“Mrs. Holland and Mrs. Hoefakker were just telling us about their husbands.” stated Wellington.

Mrs. Grey smiled and took her spot at the table. “My Andrew has been having his silly ideas as usual. He says he wants to try barrel rolling again. Says he’s forgotten what it’s like to be a young boy. I guess he figures that it should bounce it back in his head.”

“At his age!” said Mrs. Wellington, “he’s liable to be killed.” Mrs. Wellington’s husband had died three years ago and the subject was still sensitive to her.

“Oh, it’s not like I’m going to actually allow him to do it. But, if he fancies the idea, no harm can come from that.”

It was Mrs. Holland’s turn to deal. The conversations dimmed. After that hand Mrs. Wellington dealt. She was trying to think of a pleasant conversation. She knew no matter what she said it would annoy Mrs. Holland, probably the others also, but they wouldn’t say. Well, thought Mrs. Wellington, we’ve come together for a nice game of cards and conversation, so let’s have one.

“The past few days,” started Mrs. Wellington, “I’ve been thinking about all of the things I’ve yet to experience. I’m seventy-eight now and there’s still so much I haven’t done.” She looked over at Mrs. Holland who was rolling her eyes just as she thought.

“What sort of things do you mean?” inquired Mrs. Hoefakker. “Now, that Arnie’s passed away, I thought you’d do more of those sorts of things. To pass the time, you know.”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland, or maybe even America. I’ve heard there are lots of splendid things to do in those countries.”

“I’ve been to Ireland once. Andrew brought me there on holiday; it was very beautiful. I don’t know anything about America though,” said Mrs. Grey. It was now her turn to deal.

“I’ve heard it’s loud and big. Doesn’t sound like a nice place at all,” said Mrs. Holland.

“Gib lectured there years ago, at Yale University. He did like parts of it, but he was glad to be back in good ole Britain.”

“He’s a sensible man, that Gib,” said Mrs. Holland.

“What would you like to experience Mrs. Hoefakker?” asked Mrs. Wellington. “I’m sure in your eighty-three years you haven’t done everything you’ve wanted to do.”

Mrs. Hoefakker hesitated for a moment. There had been something that sat at the edge of her mind. However, it wasn’t exactly socially acceptable, not in the slightest. She felt her stomach tighten up when it first occurred to her that she was actually going to tell her three most trusted friends her dark curiosity.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Hoefakker,” said Mrs. Grey, “you’ve grown awfully quiet, are you alright?”

That shook her from her thoughts. “Oh dear, we’ve nearly forgotten the tea.”

Mrs. Grey flushed with embarrassment. She made to stand but Mrs. Hoefakker shook her head. “Don’t fret, I’ve got it. You just sit and relax.” She stood up and walked toward the kitchen.

“Remember,” said Mrs. Wellington with a delightful edge to her voice. “I take my tea plain.” Mrs. Hoefakker did not turn around.

“What’s gotten into her I wonder?” asked Mrs. Holland after she heard the clattering of teacups and pots. “Did you see her face when you asked her your question? It’s a bit funny if you ask me.”

“Well, we didn’t,” retorted Mrs. Wellington. “Anyway, she’s probably never really thought of it before. Probably, just made her think a bit.”

“That’s it, I should think. Whose turn is it to deal?” asked Mrs. Grey. She still felt dreadfully embarrassed about forgetting the tea.

“I think it’s yours,” said Mrs. Holland. Mrs. Grey shrugged, picked up the cards and shuffled them. She was pleased with the distraction.

By the time she had dealt all of the cards, Mrs. Hoefakker came through the kitchen door with the tea tray full. She had taken the liberty of pouring all of the teacups for them. The ladies said thank you as she handed them their cups.

“Well, Mrs. Hoefakker, have you thought about what you would like to experience?” asked Mrs. Wellington.

“There was something I had been thinking about lately,” she replied.

“Well? What is it? Why are you being so mysterious?”

Mrs. Hoefakker took a deep breath and expelled it in a sigh. She tried to think how to word it properly. “Lately,” she began, “Gib and I have been watching some programs about serial killers”

“Ahh, yes!” Mrs. Grey cut in. “Andrew and I’ve been watching those, the ones on BBC4.”

“Yes,” agreed Mrs. Hoefakker, “those are the ones. Anyway, I’ve started to wonder why people fancy killing one another.”

“Good Lord,” cried Mrs. Holland, “What sort of rubbish is that? I don’t think they fancy it, they’re just ill in the head.”

“There must be something more, after all, or else I shouldn’t think they’d keep doing it. Anyway, you asked me what I’d like to experience. I’d like to know what it feels like. I don’t expect I’d actually do it.”

All three ladies took a sip of tea. Then they took a second sip to try and clear the strange atmosphere from the room. Even Mrs. Grey felt uncomfortable with that sort of talk. However, a question occurred to her, “Who would you choose to murder if given the choice?”

Mrs. Hoefakker frowned as she thought through the question. “I suppose,” she started slowly as if still thinking, “I suppose I’d more than likely choose a friend.”

Again, the ladies took a sip of their tea. Their game had now been forgotten, swallowed up in the bazaar twist of conversation. Mrs. Holland shook her head in pious disapproval. Mrs. Grey grew very interested in her cup of tea.

Mrs. Wellington, without making eye contact simply asked, “Why?”

“Well, if I murdered a stranger they’d likely think I had something against them. However, if I murdered a friend they’d know I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Mrs. Holland made a strange expression on her face. She opened her mouth as if to say something, shut it, and then finally said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d dare say you’ve become quite mad.”

“I don’t think I like the conversation any longer,” said Mrs. Wellington. She took a sip of her tea, and then looked into the cup. “I told you I take my tea plain, did you put a bit of Amaretto in it?”

“No, I don’t have any. Would you ladies like some more tea?” Mrs. Hoefakker offered as she poured herself more. Both Mrs. Holland and Mrs. Grey politely nodded their heads. Mrs. Wellington took another sip and politely declined.

“Do you two taste an almond flavor in your tea?” Mrs. Wellington asked.

The ladies said no. They looked at Mrs. Hoefakker as if she’s been unfair to them, giving Mrs. Wellington flavoring, and not them.

Mrs. Grey said, “It seems our talk of murder has put a damper on the conversation. However, I can see where Mrs. Hoefakker is coming from. After all, there are a few negative things I’d like to experience. I know I shouldn’t, but it does make one wonder.”

Mrs. Holland nodded in understanding. “When put like that it seems understandable. I mean, in all of those mysteries I enjoy reading, the authors never did any of those things, yet curiosity probably drove them to write about it. I’m sure that’s what you mean, right Mrs. Hoefakker?”

Mrs. Hoefakker wasn’t listening; she was staring at Mrs. Wellington. Mrs. Wellington wasn’t listening either; she had an expression of illness and panic on her face.

“What have you done to me?” asked Mrs. Wellington. She did not have time to hear an answer. For at that moment she died, face first, into her cup of tea.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Said Mrs. Grey, “Is she... is she... dead?” Terror and disbelief battled over her face.

Mrs. Holland fought bile from escaping up her throat. “Was it strychnine?”

Mrs. Hoefakker looked at Mrs. Wellington, much the same way a birdwatcher might look at their favorite bird. “What?” she looked over at Mrs. Holland. “Oh, no, it was arsenic.”

The three ladies stared at poor Mrs. Wellington for quite some time, each thinking their own thoughts, dealing with it their own way. Finally, Mrs. Holland, being the eldest and most sensible, regained her composure and decided they needed to make a plan. “I suppose we ought to think about what we should do with Mrs. Wellington.”

Mrs. Grey nodded her agreement.

Mrs. Hoefakker said, “Already been taken care of. Gib said something about the medical department at Cambridge needing bodies. I don’t know too much about it. All that university rubbish, it’s a mystery to me.” She shrugged.

“Well then,” said Mrs. Grey, “what did it feel like?”

Mrs. Hoefakker thought about it for a long while. Then, when she was satisfied with her thoughts, she said, “I can see the appeal, it’s charming really, a bit like a nice conversation and tea with old friends.”