Margaret, the sister, was naturally shocked. She was shocked of course at the death, but what made things a thousand times worse was the half-drunk bottle of blue liquid sitting on the kitchen bench with the top off. She had chatted to Grattan only yesterday. He seemed happy enough. In fact he was just back from a drive to a nearby orchard and dropped into Margaret’s place with a box of apples for the kids. He joked a bit and went on his way. Remembering his mood made his apparent suicide even harder to believe. Yes, it was definitely suicide. He had been complaining in recent months of a bad hip and absolutely refused to go to hospital. Sometimes he was in considerable pain. Perhaps a bout of pain had caused him to take the poison.
Margaret called the police. They came. In fact they stayed for hours. And hours. Asking questions. Poking here. Poking there. The doctor came and declared Grattan dead. As if she didn’t know. Margaret found the whole experience invasive. She wished they’d all go away and she could have a weep. Eventually they did go, taking the bottle of partly drunk blue liquid and a few other things.
Margaret thought she’d sit and think a bit. Recall their happy childhood. Remember their parents. She sat in an armchair with a coffee. There on the coffee table next to the armchair was a newspaper. It was open at an advertisement for apples. In fact it was an advertisement for the very orchard Grattan had visited yesterday. Buy Apples! Apples! And bottled homemade blueberry juice.
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