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or The Impotence of Correct Spelling

by Almond Aire

Almond Aire translates one of Roald Dahl's Tales of the Unexpected to Ambridge, with appropriately chilly results. This story was originally contributed to the Fantasy Archers topic of the Archers .

Jennifer was taking her time getting ready for the evening. She had taken a leisurely bath with her favourite scented oils. She applied her make-up carefully, and formed a small moue at herself in the mirror. Yes, that new haircut from the stylist recommended by Adam made her look younger, and the new tint he had persuaded her to try really suited her skin tones. Over her glamorous new underwear she put on the red dress that always gave her such confidence, and then slipped on her new matching red shoes. After adding a few items of expensive but understated jewellery, she sprayed herself with her favourite scent, and smiled at her reflection in the long glass. Singing to herself, she made her way downstairs.

She greeted her husband as she cast her eyes over the sitting room to make sure that nothing was out of place: "Hello, darling. Is everything all right?" Not expecting an answer, Jennifer walked from room to room, too unsettled to sit down. She decided to have a small brandy to calm her nerves. As she replaced the bottle, she heard a car on the drive, and went to open the door to await her guest.

Before the farmhouse stood a car that breathed quality and style, and from it stepped a tall suave figure attired in a beautifully cut suit and crisp white shirt. When he saw Jennifer, he smiled widely, and strode over to her. "You look beautiful, Jennifer," he whispered in her ear as he brushed her cheek with his lips. He barely touched her, but his clear grey eyes held the promise of much more.

"Do come in," said Jennifer, slightly breathless. In the hallway, she paused for a moment to regain her poise. Then she preceded her guest into the sitting room, and turning to him, she said, "Do come and meet Brian. Brian, look who's here. I bet you didn't expect to see him here, did you? Now what can I get you to drink?" she asked her guest.

While Jennifer was in the kitchen making tea, for her guest had expressed a preference for this over anything stronger, as he was driving, the man addressed Brian. "Hello, Brian. It's good to see you again. You're looking well. I must say, I was surprised when Jennifer told me you were back home. The crash was so bad, we all thought you were a goner. The wonders of modern medicine, eh?
"Do you mind if I light a cigar in here? Jennifer says she likes the smell. She always did like the smell of anything expensive, didn't she?
"Oh, sorry, did I blow cigar smoke at you? I'll just go and smoke this outside then. "

It was the wee small hours of the following morning. Jennifer was waving goodbye to her guest. She wore a self-satisfied smile, and felt pleasantly warm and fuzzy, following an extremely enjoyable evening with her beau, firstly at a wonderful restaurant, where she had drunk enough wine to lower her inhibitions, but not enough to regret her subsequent actions. Then her companion had brought her home, and led her upstairs. Jennifer knew he did not love her, and that the attraction between them was purely physical. This suited her plan perfectly, and she allowed herself to be made love to by an obvious expert in the art of seduction.

The tail lights of the car faded away into the darkness. Jennifer closed the door, adjusted her negligée, and went into the sitting room. She walked over to Brian and regarded him in the subtle peachy glow of the wall lights.

"Well, Brian, how did you like seeing Matt again? Isn't it nice of him to take such an interest in me? I'm sorry he blew cigar smoke in your eye; that was very inconsiderate of him. Now, do you want the lights in here left on or off? Oh, I keep forgetting, you can't answer, can you? That means I have to decide everything for us both now. Well, on I think. Look, I'll just leave this photo here for you so you can see it." As she said this, Jennifer placed a large framed picture in front of Brian. Matt Crawford and Jennifer both smiled out from the photo, in which Matt had his arm about Jennifer, with his hand resting on her right breast.

"Oh, and darling, I forgot, this came for you today. Look, isn't it funny? Remember how annoyed you used to get when you received letters spelling your name wrong like this?" Jennifer propped up an envelope against the photo frame, angling it so that Brian could not fail to see the name on it: "Brain Aldridge".
Jennifer walked away from what remained of her husband following the car crash: a brain floating in a bath of milky alcohol; his only sensory connection with the world an eye floating on the surface of the liquid - a lidless eye that he could not close. Wires connected the brain to an electronic readout, from which it was possible to ascertain Brian's state of mind.

Currently, the screen was showing such massive brain activity that the peaks of the waves almost went off the top off the scale. Brian was extremely agitated.

Jennifer left the room, smiling triumphantly.