The People of the City

"I Always Knew"

"All that Uncle Jelly Bean scandal leaves such a nasty taste in the mouth," Aunt Marion announced to the room in front of her.

Dan wanted to let out a loud and sarcastic groan, but he didn't. Instead, he changed his position on the sofa and glanced over at his mother who silently rolled her eyes. Only now had Aunt Marion got onto the subject of the Uncle Jelly Bean Scandal. She'd spent the whole of Sunday dinner ranting about one subject or another, shooting out her very black and white opinions at them, and when he didn't agree with her, which was every time, she'd lash out at him with her sharp tongue. The only thing her age hadn't seemed to affect was that tongue.

"We all know about it," his mother replied to the old woman, more than a hint of tiredness in her voice. But Aunt Marion just ignored her.

"It was absolutely scandalous that that dirty, old pervert was allowed anywhere near little kiddies."

Dan's stomach would have sunk if it wasn't so full of Sunday dinner. This was the last subject he wanted to discuss. Now he wanted their usual Sunday dinner conversation back.

It had quickly become a tradition after his parent's divorce - Sunday dinner at his mother's home. At first it had him and Ollie having Sunday dinner with his mother. Eighteen months ago, Steve had split up from his partner Amber and he'd joined them over Sunday dinner too. On alternative weekends he'd bring his daughter, Cassie, with him, when it was his turn to look after her. Dan had never been that found of little children but Cassie was bright as a button and he had found it easy to talk with her. Two months ago, Ollie had left him, but Dan still came here for Sunday dinner. He'd actually found the routine of it comforting.

His mother would always cook their meal and always, it would be a heavy roast dinner with all the trimmings - enough food to always fill his stomach and zap all his energy afterwards. But the entertainment would always make the meal. Since her divorce, his mother had flourished and with it had brought forward her sarcastic sense of humour: she would dominate the dinner table conversation with her favourite topics of family and celebrity gossip and her take on local and national politics, all cut through with her sharp and sarcastic sense of humour. It was always entertaining and he always found it so relaxing at the end of a busy week. That Sunday was different though.

Steve wasn't looking after Cassie that weekend, so it should have just been the three of them for dinner, but they had been joined by a fourth guest - Aunt Marion. Technically, the old woman was his mother's aunt, but they had always called her Aunt Marion. She had never been his favourite relative as a child, and as an adult he'd plainly avoided the woman.

The old woman had sat across the dinner table from him, eating her food and shooting them down with her opinions. Her white hair was set in a perm that seemed as solid as a helmet. Her make-up had been applied in thick and strong lines that emphasised her lips, cheek bones, eyes and eyebrows. But Dan remembered her having the same makeup from when he was a child. She was wearing a blue, high-necked dress and a small, pink cardigan over the top of it.

Now, they were sitting in the lounge after the meal. This was the time when they would have relaxed, digested their meal and often quietly watched television together. Aunt Marion had other ideas. As soon as they had sat down in there, she had started in on her rant about Uncle Jelly Bean.

"Jimbo Bean, as that awful Uncle Jelly Bean, was on your television screens for forty odd years with that pathetic brand of slapstick, all those custard pies and buckets of water. It was so childish," Aunt Marion said, distaste dripping from her voice.

"It was a children's program," Dan added, trying to have a dig at her.

"Come on, we both watched it," Steve said. "His shows were stupid, but funny."