Family Fortunes: A glass of poison and a scorched ceiling for Christmas

When I was about seven, I was staying for one night at my nana’s in the run-up to Christmas. She decided one freezing day that we would go visit an elderly friend of hers who lived alone. This woman was quite fond of her drink; she really liked whiskey.

Delia welcomed us into her home and gave us a tight hug. I remember she was so small and very thin. She wore big round glasses and a long frock with classic slip-on “rubber dollies”.

She led us into her rather stuffy sitting room. The fire was blazing and the windows were shut tight, not letting any air in to ventilate the room. The old Aga cooker was open and turned on full, making the kitchen nearly unbearably hot. There was a pungent smell of perfume, and the smell of cigarette smoke was embedded in every piece of furniture and clothing she owned.

She sat us both down next to her crocked and very old-looking cat, who was by now very used to the heat. She poured me a glass of 7Up, and, for my nana, a concoction of alcohol.

There was whiskey and vodka and God knows what else: poison, really.

As her friend went into the kitchen to get a slice of Christmas cake, my nana took the glass and threw its contents into the fire. It was midway through the air when she had realised what was about to happen. The fire gushed out from the fireplace and the flames hit the ceiling, leaving a big, black stain. She froze with the shock of what she had just done. The fire quickly retracted back into the fireplace. The old woman plodded back into the sitting room, completely oblivious to what had just happened.

A rather large smile stretched across Delia’s rosy face as she peered into my nana’s glass to see it was empty. Nana chuckled to herself, thinking at the funny memory she had just created. She turned down the offer of another glass of poison and joined me in a glass of 7Up and a slice of Christmas cake.

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