Thirteen Chairs Read Online Free PDF Page B

Helena was as bloody-minded and stubborn about that as she was about everything else, and she didn’t die after three months and she didn’t die after four, or six, or even a year … In fact, Dr Whitfield himself died before Helena did. Went to bed one night telling Mrs Whitfield he had terribleindigestion and it turned out he was having a heart attack. It might not have been fatal if Mrs W had been upstairs with him to get help, but she was downstairs in a huff because he’d blamed her dumplings. Silly man. Still, if he
had
lived, then it wouldn’t have done much for his reputation, would it? People knowing that he couldn’t even diagnose his own heart attack!
    Anyway, Helena lived on for three years and a little bit more before she finally passed on, and she didn’t get any kinder in her last days. That poor boy Roland took all manner of abuse from her, and it wore him down, you could see. Oh, he’d been a lovely lad when he arrived. He was a fine boy: bright and cheerful and kind. Couldn’t do enough for you. And he was still trying his best at the end, but you could see that some of the old woman’s poison had seeped in. He’d be just a little bit short with you, and he always looked so tired, the poor boy. He looked, well … he looked broken.
    But even then, when Helena did finally die, he was proper upset about it. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d had a party. I would have. There would have been plenty who’d’ve been happy to celebrate the occasion. But there was a decent turnout at the funeral, for all that. More for Roland’s sake than out of respect for the departed, mind, and old Mrs Collins just along for a good feed at the wake as usual. Couldn’t resist a ham roll, that one. It was a sunny day for the burial, and you couldn’t help feeling like it was a rather jolly occasion. Not really funereal at all. I swear the vicarwas absolutely
beaming
at times, you know, when he thought nobody was looking.
    A few days later and they had the reading of the will. And the thing was, with no friends and no other relatives (her rich husband had died
years
before, and who could blame him), Helena had left Roland
everything
. Now, there was a
bit
of money – not a fortune, but a tidy enough amount – but the main thing was that he got the house.
    Only there was a catch. There was a condition in the will that Roland couldn’t
sell
the house, or at least not yet. He had to live in it and carry on looking after the cats, and only after they’d all died could he sell it.
    Well, you can imagine, he wasn’t especially keen to stay. He’d not exactly had a whale of a time in that house and he certainly wasn’t fond of those blessed animals. But the house was in a right old state from generations of cats roaming around the place scratching and chewing and doing their business wherever they pleased, so what Roland decided was that he’d stay living there while he got the place tidied up a bit, then by the time the cats had all passed on and he was able to sell it’d be looking at its best.
    So now we see a bit more of Roland around the village for a while, and he seems a bit happier now, with his aunt gone, but it doesn’t last long. You see, as dreadful as Helena was to everybody, she always spoiled those cats, and Oswald in particular. But now Roland’s in charge and he isn’t treating them likeroyalty, like they’re used to, so they act up proper terrible like. Roland’s trying to make repairs around the house and they’re tearing around the place, or they’re fighting amongst themselves. And they’re bringing in dead mice and whatever and getting blood and fur all over the carpets in rooms that Roland’s just got clean. So you’d forgive him – anyone would – if he was proper sick of those bloody animals (pardon my French) by now. You wouldn’t blame him a jot if he wished they all just died as soon as you like and he could have a bit of peace and quiet and sell the house and go. Off to