ALFIE WITHEROW HAS QUESTIONS - chapters one & two
CHAPTER ONE
‘Welcome to the Alfie Witherow Super True Mystery Podcast! Join me as I investigate an unexplained mystery death. In this episode I will be –’
No, wait. I pressed STOP. I’d forgotten the sound effect. I could have tried to edit it in, but I’d only got a little way, so it was easier to just start again:
‘Welcome to the Alfie Witherow Super True Mystery Podcast!’
I hit PAUSE and lined up the effect on the other track. It was a totally creepy synthesiser chord that I got from a free website. It sounded pretty cool. I carried on:
‘Join me as I investigate an unexplained mystery death. In this episode I will be asking: what happened to my Nana Edwards? Unfortunately, she passed away. But was it a normal tragic accident, as certain people claim, who are my mum and dad, or are they hiding the truth?’
I made a mental note to add some echo to the word “truth” – although it might have been reverb that I needed, I’d have to check – but I didn’t stop recording:
‘There are a number of sinister questions that need answering. Like, how did this innocent grandmother, who was also a very nice person, come to meet her terrible fate of dying suddenly? What caused it? The explanation I was given is full of holes and made several alarm bells explode like red flags! Actually, I still can’t believe she’s not here. We often had a good laugh together, and sometimes she used to give me a little bit of money to spend on sweets and things without telling my mum and dad. “Oh, look,” she used to say, “I think you must have dropped these, Butterfingers, here have them back,” and she’d push a couple of pound coins into my hand, and wink at me, and put a finger to her lips. I really liked her. However, it would be highly unprofessional to allow my personal recollections to compromise the investigative procedure that must remain objective and not be influenced by my own feelings about it whatever they may be.’
I hit PAUSE. I knew I was gabbling. It was because I was trying not to let my memories about Nana make me upset. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, and concentrated on the technical details of what I was doing. I remembered what Gary was always saying in the YouTube tutorials, about speaking slowly and clearly, especially when you’re trying to build tension and anticipation. His advice was pretty useful, even though he was American and kept saying, “Don’t forget to like and subscribe!” in that annoyingly perky American way. Like and subscribe? I don’t think so, Gary. I took a deep breath.
‘The first alarm bell that rang was my Nana’s age, which was not as old as it should have been. I have been told she died while having a brisk walk, which she did every day for exercise. But why did she die if she was so fit and healthy? That’s a mystery. The second red flag was the way everyone was whispering at the funeral. Actually, that also happened at Auntie Meg’s funeral, which is the only other one I’ve ever been to, so maybe that’s normal for a funeral, but people were also looking at me strangely, as if they were covering something up, which made me suspect that –’
‘Alfie! Your tea’s ready!’
‘Oh, shit,’ I muttered.
‘Alfie! Did you hear me?!’
I hit PAUSE again. I’d need to check the recording to see how much of my mum’s voice could be heard in the background of the last few words. It was quite muffled, because my bedroom door was closed, and she was shouting from downstairs, but I’d have to find a place where I could cut, without trashing the whole take. Obviously, I’d also need to cut out the part where I used a bad word.
‘Alfie! It’s on the table!’
‘Coming!’ I yelled.
CHAPTER TWO
‘There you go, love,’ my mum said as she put a plate in front of me.
‘Thanks, Mum. Spag bol, my favourite!’
‘Remember to chew.’
I put on my Podcast Presenter Voice: ‘Very good advice there from my mother, Mrs. Donna Witherow, a thirty-nine-year-old British woman wearing her new cardigan. Meanwhile, I appraised my plate of spag bol, which is short for Spaghetti Bolognese, my favourite food dish, and noted that my mother had clearly excelled herself in her culinary efforts.’
‘Thank you, Alfie, but give it a rest.’
‘I’m practising for my podcast.’
‘Oh dear,’ she said, rolling her eyes, ‘is this going to be your new obsession?’
‘My obsession!? I’m not the one who spends the whole time listening to every podcast ever made!’
‘It’s not the whole time, and you know perfectly well that I only listen to the American ones as a rule, and only the true crime ones.’
‘I know. That’s what gave me the idea.’
‘Oh, so this is all my fault is it? I might have known.’
‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘have they found out yet who’s been strangling all those cats in Philadelphia?’
‘Not yet. And don’t speak with your mouth full, please. And it’s Pittsburgh, actually. But they’re making it very clear he won’t stop with cats. Or her, if it’s a her. But they reckon the campaign of terror is an ominous warning of the mayhem yet to come.’
‘When?’
‘When what?’
‘When is it to come?’
‘I don’t know, Alfie! I’m only on episode seven.’
‘It was then,’ I said in my Presenter Voice, ‘that I began to detect a note of hostility creeping into my interview with Mrs. Witherow. Was she –’
‘No, she wasn’t! Eat your tea, and knock it off, before your dad gets home.’
‘Why? Is he in a bad mood?’
‘I don’t know, love.’ She did her best to smile at me. ‘And if he’s not, I don’t want you putting him in one, all right?’
‘Got it.’
We both carried on eating without saying anything.
I finished first. ‘That was delicious, Mum. And I hardly used any ketchup.’
‘One of these days,’ she said, ‘I’m going to have to stop putting that bloody stuff on the table. I don’t know why I bother making a nice sauce in the first place, with all that tomato in it, if you’re just going to smother it in ketchup.’
‘I’m cutting down gradually, Mum, to cure my addiction. Please don’t put me into ketchup rehab.’
She laughed. ‘Where do you get these ideas from?’
‘From a special shop. It’s called Ideas Direct. You can get everything there: good ideas, bad ideas, strange notions, deep thoughts, idle speculations, passing fancies –’
I stopped because I heard the front door opening.
Just for a second I thought my mum looked sad, but then she made a funny face at me, like someone expecting a treat, and said, ‘Here comes his majesty!’
My dad walked in and said, ‘Hello babes,’ to her, and then, ‘How’s it going, sunshine?’ to me, and sat down at the table.
‘All right, thanks, Dad.’
Mum got his plate out of the oven. ‘Here you are, Lee, it’s still hot.’
‘That smells good! Pass the ketchup, love.’
My mum sighed. ‘Lee, that ketchup is on the table for Alfie.’
‘Boo-hoo!’ Dad said and held up his knife and fork in his fists like an angry little kid and scrunched up his face. ‘Why is he allowed ketchup and I’m not?’
‘Because he’s thirteen, and you’re forty. Or you’re supposed to be. But don’t let that stop you.’
‘All right, if you say so! Pass it over.’ He winked at me.
‘Fourteen in nine weeks,’ I said as I gave him the ketchup.
‘Is that a birthday reminder?’
‘No, I’m just saying.’
‘OK, and how about saying what you’ve been up to today?’
‘I’ve just been doing some stuff.’
Dad peered at me. ‘Nope, I’m still in the dark. What about you, Donna?’
‘I’ve been doing the accounts,’ Mum said, ‘trying to reorganise the house insurance, and talking to Zara about a website for our business idea.’
‘No, I meant do you know what Alfie’s been up to?’
‘Oh, I see. For a moment there, I thought you might have actually been interested in what kind of day I’ve had.’
‘I am! Don’t be like that, babe. Of course I am. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. You wouldn’t believe all the nonsense I’m putting up with at work, and the aggravation I’m getting with the timetables and the layoffs. It’s doing my head in, I can tell you.’
Mum nodded, and nobody said anything else for a minute.
Dad glanced at me. ‘Is that it? Just doing some stuff? Is that all I get?’ he looked at Mum again. ‘Is it?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ she said. ‘He’s been in his room all day, talking.’
‘I see,’ Dad said. ‘Who were you talking to, Alfie? Talking to your friends?’
‘What friends?’
‘I don’t know. Jordan?’
‘Jordan and I aren’t friends,’ I said, even though I didn’t want to.
‘Oh, dear,’ Mum said, ‘what happened there, love?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Ooh, wait a minute,’ my dad said, ‘was it a young lady you were talking to, Alfie?’ He waggled his eyebrows and put on a silly voice that was meant to sound smooth and sexy and said, ‘Is there a lovely young lady in the picture, dear Romeo? Tell us, is romance in the air?’
‘No!’ I said. ‘I wasn’t talking to anyone. I was making a podcast!’ As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t. I’d only said it because he’d got me flustered.
He sat back and looked at me. ‘Really? What, like those true crime things your mother listens to?’
‘Not really, no. It’s more about solving other... types of mystery.’
He glanced at my mum, and I saw her frown at him, although she tried not to let me notice.
My dad put down his knife and fork. ‘Hold on, Alfie. Is this anything to do with your nana?’
‘No. Maybe. Anyway, what if it is?’
Mum reached over and took my hand. ‘Alfie, we understand how sad you’re feeling about Nana, and how much you loved her, and how hard it is for you, but you’ve got to understand that your grandmother was old.’
‘No she wasn’t! She was only seventy-one and I’ve seen a video of a lady in India doing yoga and she’s a hundred!’
‘What!?’ Dad said. ‘Where do you find videos like that?’
‘Online,’ I said. ‘They’re on a website called Kinky Videos of Old Ladies in their Underpants Doing Exercises for Perverts dot com.’
‘You what!?’
‘Lee,’ my mum said, ‘he’s just winding you up.’
‘Well, I wish he wouldn’t!’ He scowled at me, then took a deep breath, and straightened his knife and fork on the table, then looked up at me and said, ‘All right, Alfie, it’s true that seventy-one isn’t terribly old, but it’s not young, either. I mean, look at Bowie – he was only sixty-nine.’
‘Who?’
Dad widened his eyes. ‘David Bowie? Don’t tell me you haven’t –’
‘Leave it, Lee,’ Mum said. She gave my hand a squeeze. ‘Listen, love, we explained what happened with Nana. It was her heart, and then she fell. It was an awful thing to happen, but there’s nothing mysterious about it.’
‘Isn’t there?’ I said. ‘I’ve done some research, and according to the British Medical Association it’s relatively rare for fit, healthy people to develop heart disease if they don’t suffer from elevated blood pressure or dangerously high cholesterol levels. And that’s only part of it. There’s also –’
‘That’s enough!’ Dad said, jabbing a finger at me. ‘You’re pushing your luck.’
I knew I should have shut up then, but a part of me wouldn’t stop, even though the jabbing finger was a danger signal, and you have to be very careful when Dad gets angry. I was already in trouble, though, so I just carried on.
‘Why? Why am I pushing my luck just by asking questions? Why won’t you tell me anything? And why wasn’t Grandpa Pete at the funeral? Why won’t anyone tell me anything? I’m not a baby!’
‘Alfie,’ my mum said, giving my hand a little shake, ‘you know that Grandpa Pete isn’t well. Remember the last time we went to see him, and he didn’t know who you were? That was very upsetting, wasn’t it?’
‘I thought it was pretty funny, actually.’
‘Alfie!’ Dad banged the table and made me and Mum jump. ‘That is very disrespectful, young man!’
‘I don’t care!’
‘Settle down, love,’ Mum said.
I pulled my hand away. ‘I know you’re not telling me everything!’
‘I’m warning you,’ Dad growled.
I jumped up and my chair fell over behind me.
‘Sit down,’ Dad said, ‘and apologise to your mother!’
I ran to the stairs and said, ‘I know you’re lying to me!’
‘Come back, love,’ Mum said, ‘come back and talk to us!’
‘No,’ I said, running up the stairs, ‘I can’t! I can’t!’
I heard my dad’s chair scraping on the floor, and just before I slammed my bedroom door I heard Mum say, ‘Leave it, Lee.’