Jenny looked at the weathered kettle she was holding, then at the brown, wrinkled skin of the hand that held it. She despised the ageing process, she thought to herself.
What was the point of her body growing weaker, and her hair going completely grey when, at 80 years old, her mind was still as sharp as ever?
Jenny dropped a few leaves from the mint plant on her windowsill into the old white and blue teapot, one of the few things of value she’d inherited from her father. She poured hot water into the pot and allowed the warm, minty aroma to fill her nostrils.
Replacing the lid, she allowed the leaves to steep and walked over to the window where she reflected on her picturesque surroundings.
She had always loved rural Jamaica, with the flourishing fruit trees that she used to climb as a schoolgirl and the rushing rivers where she’d learned to swim. The rooster crowing in the distance was her daily alarm and the bleating goats were a constant, comforting background to her midday singing. It was a place where she’d found peace and solitude in a world that had grown too loud and chaotic.
She was looking at the mango tree nearest to the house when she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the wiry figure of Roy Bogtrotter. Roy was a nervous-looking young man, with skinny arms and a long slender face. He had the demeanour of someone with much to hide, frequently looking about to ensure he wasn’t being followed.
Jenny exhaled. She glanced over at the teapot, then went to the cupboard and retrieved two cups and two saucers. She placed them on the small breakfast table, along with the teapot, a miniature milk jug and a jar of sugar.
She met him at the door before he could knock, and they both nodded wordlessly before she let him in.
“Is it raining?” she asked as he lowered the hood of his raincoat.
“No, ma’am, not so much yet,” he said, shaking his head and kicking off his boots. “It was just drizzling a little when I left out.”
“I see,” she said, and watched as he peeled off the dark green raincoat and hang it on the nail by the door.
She then led the way to the kitchen. Jenny sat at the table and poured tea into both cups. Roy sat opposite her and helped himself to a concerning amount of milk and sugar.
Jenny added only half a teaspoon of sugar to hers, and absolutely no milk. She watched as he stirred his milky concoction with unnecessary aggression, the metal spoon hitting the porcelain and clinking noisily. She fought the urge to grab his hand.
“Why are you here, Roy?” she asked finally. “I thought we’d agreed you wouldn’t come here again.”
Roy stopped stirring and looked up. He raised his brows, and his brown eyes were wide like a deer caught in headlights. He parted his lips to speak, then closed them again and shook his head.
“Roy, I wasn’t born yesterday,” she said. “What’s happened?”
He sighed.
“I’m in some trouble,” he said.
She nodded. Of course, he was.
“What kind of trouble?”
“The fire at the Spring Valley sugar factory.”
She’d read about the fire in the paper. Her father had worked at the same factory for over forty years before he passed.
“What about it?” she asked.
“Well, the police are looking into that fire,” he said nervously. “I think they might be coming for me.”
“Who have you been talking to, Roy?” Jenny asked, lowering her cup to the table.
“Nobody,” he blurted. “I promise. I ain’t said nothing to nobody.”
“So why would the police be looking for you specifically?”
He shrugged.
She stared at him. Her piercing eyes were unblinking, waiting for him to come clean.
Jenny regarded Roy’s thin lips and the boney fingers wrapped around the teacup.
“You better not have brought any trouble on my doorstep,” she said sternly. “I don’t want any stress in my old age.”
Roy looked concerned, his emotions were laid bare across his face. He swallowed.
“You know my wife, Mavis, has a little corner shop, right?” he asked.
Jenny nodded and waved her hand for him to continue.
“Well, someone reported her for all the extra bags of sugar she suddenly had in her shop.”
Jenny sighed and ran a hand over her closely cropped, coily grey hair.
“And why did she have extra bags of sugar in her shop, Roy?”
Roy took a sip of his tea and coughed as it hit the back of his throat. He lowered the cup and looked down at the beige liquid.
“Because I took them from the factory before I set the fire.”
“For goodness’ sake, Roy!” she exclaimed. “Why on earth would you do that?”
He shrugged helplessly.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I was just trying to make some extra change, and I didn’t think nobody would notice.”
“You live on a small island,” she said. “You must know by now how people talk; everybody is in everybody’s business.”
He nodded.
“It was stupid,” he admitted.
“It sure was,” she said. “Now, what do you expect me to do about it now?”
“Well, I was hoping you could tell the police I was here that afternoon, working in the garden or something.”
“And why would I do that?” she asked. “Why would I lie to the police?”
“You know, because I helped you with that other thing last year.”
Her expression grew stony.
“I thought we’d agreed not to bring that up again, Roy,” she said. “It sounds to me like I can’t trust you to keep your word.”
“No, no,” he said hastily. “I don’t plan on saying anything. I was just hoping you would do me this solid. So we’d be even.”
“Even?” she asked, taken aback by his audacity. “We were already even. I paid you handsomely for that job and this one. I didn’t tell you to steal any sugar.”
“I know, but—,”
“But nothing,” she said. “Our business is finished.”
With that, she took a sip of her tea. The heat of it warmed her chest as she drank.
“Well, I already spoke to them last night,” he said. “And they’re coming to see you this morning.”
“They’re what?” she spat, stunned, returning the cup to the saucer. “You wouldn’t be so foolish.”
“I’m no fool,” he said indignantly. “I’m smart enough to know that if you don’t help me, we’ll both go down. You made me set that fire.”
“And how would you go about proving such a thing?” she asked, her head tilting slightly, an amused smile on her face.
“Well, you paid me. You just said it yourself.”
“In cash,” she added. “Oops, I must have forgotten to get a receipt.”
“I can tell them about how you made me break into that shop for some old books and this ugly tea set.”
“Those items rightly belonged to my father,” she explained. “And that’s precisely what I’d tell the police.”
They eyed one another like two snakes prepared to attack.
“Let’s be honest, Roy,” she said finally. “No one is going to believe that this little old lady forced you, of all people, to steal sugar and burn down a factory. What would be my motive?”
He looked at her. Panic in his eyes as he realised the gravity of her words.
“I just want to live a nice, quiet life in the country, drinking tea and reading books,” she said, smiling sweetly at him. “I don’t want any trouble. Do you understand?”
Roy nodded. Resigned to his fate, he stood up from the table and went to the door.
She followed him.
“You know, you’ll be found out one of these days,” he said as he slipped his boots on and pulled his coat over his slender frame. “The truth always comes out.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Roy,” she said. “You take care now.”
She closed the door behind him and returned to her seat. As she sat at the table, Jenny looked to her right, at the large framed photo of her father. He’d been a handsome man. Tall and strong, a hard worker. He had put his entire life into that factory. Forty years, in fact. Yet, when he retired, there had been nothing to show for it.
The Spring Valley sugar factory had robbed her father, and dozens of other workers of their pensions, leaving them penniless in their old age. Jenny’s father had passed not long after and she was convinced it had been the stress of it all.
It had taken her years, but she’d finally righted a wrong, and she was sure her father would have been proud.
Jenny despised the ageing process, but it was the very image of her frail, elderly figure that would keep her above suspicion. It was a shame they would soon arrest the young man for a crime she’d orchestrated. But it satisfied her that she had avenged her father.
She touched the teapot with the back of her hand. It was still warm. She poured herself another cup of tea and smiled as she inhaled the warm, minty aroma.
THE END
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