His grandmother was angry. Howard could tell this because of the vein in her neck sprang out. It became visible whenever she was in a bad mood, even if she tried her best not to show it.

Howard watched her perch on the edge of the chair, cushion gripped tightly in her hands. Her nails were digging into it in the same way they had done to Howard's arm. If the cushion were alive, it would be begging for mercy.

Minutes passed and then the vein pulsed outwards the furthest Howard had ever seen it go. He knew that any second later, things would blow over.

Without warning, Carabella whipped her arm back and hurled the cushion to the other side of the room. It smacked into the farmer's grinning face with a quick 'swoosh!' and then fell to the floor as though it had given up hope.

Howard felt very much like that. No hope, it seemed, for him now.

"Howard, dear, give me that glass."

Howard nervously followed her hand pointing to the glass of sherry on the coffee table. She'd been pouring herself glass after glass for the past hour and Howard knew better than to tell her to stop. He didn't want to end up like the unfortunate cushion.

So, her grandson handed her the glass and watched her tip the whole thing down, like she was taking a shot of vodka. That's how Carabella worked when she was angry. Pulsing veins and drinking spirits, and the rough, husky voice of a smoker.

"Whole bottle, Howard."

Meekly, an entire bottle of whisky they'd bought at Tesco's was passed over. Carabella took a large swig before wiping the excess from her mouth with the back of her hand. She was swooning now, and Howard dove to catch the bottle before it smashed to pieces.

"Lovely, lovely child," Carabella was saying. Her voice was slurred. Howard placed the whisky bottle on the coffee table tentatively. "Sweet girl. But we all know what goes on in that house." Carabella chuckled. "Oh yes. That brother... brother... he's no good."

Howard could see his grandmother was on the verge of collapsing to the floor. Half her body was out of the chair, the other waving around the room. He held her under each arm, straining under the weight. But he managed to lay her down on the sofa without getting whacked in the face by a wrinkled hand.

"Shh, shh," he whispered to Carabella, who was now mumbling incoherent words. "Sleep. You'll feel better in a few hours."

However, it was as he turned to leave the room that he caught a few of her words.

"Bodies," she mumbled. "Bodies under the floorboards."