My mother always preferred my brother over me, and who could blame her? My brother was everything that I wasn’t; smart, athletic, great with people. Also, I’m pretty sure that she had loved his dad more than she had ever loved mine. Maybe it was the fact that she had kept all of the love letters he had given her in a silver plated box under her bed that led me to that conclusion. Or maybe it was the way that she always referred to my father as “a beatnik with less brain cells than teeth”. Beatnik is a funny word. I think I’ll add it to my list.
Anyway, it came as no surprise to me, when my mother died, that she left my brother her house and all of her possessions. It didn’t seem to occur to her that my brother already had a house and that, as I was living in a caravan, I might like to move into my old home. All she left me was a cat. I think it’s name was Moses. I just call it Cat.
Anyway, my brother signed the house over to me, so I guess things work out in the end. I lived in the house with Cat and Molly for a few months. Molly was an irritating girl that I worked with. She needed a place to stay and I needed the extra income. We didn’t talk to one another, unless Molly thought I’d used her shampoo - and then it was difficult to shut her up. She was one of those girly girls, you know? Obsessed with make-up and fashion and boys. I’ve always been more of a tom-girl myself. That’s probably one of the other reasons why my mother never liked me.
Anyway, I’ve got to go. The stench of Molly’s rotting corpse is starting to get overbearing. I’d best bury her in the garden. I’ll wait ‘til nightfall, wouldn’t want to raise suspicion.
I’ll let you know how that goes tomorrow.
