The Relatives

Red flocked wallpaper soaks up the atmosphere of steamy tea and whisky, and faded prints of pastel watercolours oversee the tearful laughter of the relatives, subdued and straight-backed, perched on chairs pushed to the outer edges of the room either side of her vacant armchair, its antimacassar still bearing a faint greasy imprint. Wrapped in their many shades of mourning they feast, like crows, upon the maggoty remnants of her life, and slip with the passing hours into indecorously singing their music-hall laments.