[h2]The wooden bench in Hyde Park, the one with the perfect view of the duck pond, was occupied by a young couple snogging like it was their last day on Earth. Mavis was the first of the "Owls" to arrive. Her walking frame, creaking and wheezing with every step, sidled up to the girl in the couple and, with the grace of a battering ram, crushed her ankle under one of its rusty legs, the rubber tip long since missing.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]The girl let out a yelp of surprise, and blood began to trickle from the fresh wound.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"Oh, sorry, love, didn’t see you there," Mavis croaked, her voice as wobbly as her knees.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"Don’t worry about it, gran," the girl replied, though her tone suggested she very much did worry about it. Her boyfriend had to help her up as she limped away, wincing dramatically.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"Put some antiseptic on that, lad," Mavis called after them, ever the picture of remorse.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]With her good deed for the day done, Mavis parked herself on [i]her[/i] Sunday bench with a satisfied smirk. From the bag tied to her walker, she pulled out a loaf of bread, a familiar ritual. A few metres away, she spotted Ethel and Gladys approaching, both puffing and panting like a pair of overworked steam engines.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"Move it, Owls! I haven’t got all bloody day!" Mavis barked, lighting a cigarette with the flair of someone who refused to acknowledge warnings from her doctor.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"If you keep puffing on those, you won’t [i]have[/i] all day," Ethel quipped with a smug grin.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]The three elderly women cackled in unison, a sound somewhere between a kettle boiling and a murder of crows. Once Ethel and Gladys had shuffled into position on the bench, Mavis handed out bread rolls like a benevolent monarch distributing favours. Each of them began tearing the bread into bits, scattering the crumbs for the ducks that floated serenely—blissfully unaware of the chaos brewing behind them.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"Right then, whose turn is it?" asked Ethel, cracking her knuckles like she was about to engage in some light sparring.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"I’ll go first," Mavis declared. "Thursday, my grandson had a school play. Poor lad got cast as the horse. The costume was bloody awful—looked more like a camel. Anyway, being the best grandmother in the world, I brought him some homemade pastries for breakfast. My special recipe, you know, with just a pinch of my secret ingredient."[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]Ethel stifled an exaggerated yawn, loud enough to draw glances from passing joggers.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"What’s your problem, Owl? My stories boring you?" Mavis snapped, hurling an aggressively large chunk of bread into the pond.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"You’re recycling, Mavis," Ethel said, smirking. "Didn’t you pull the same stunt with your daughter before her job interview?"[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"Exactly! If you’re good at something, why stop doing it? Anyway, back to my story, Owls. The plan was flawless. My pastries worked their magic, and little Alfie’s stomach turned into a war zone just as he went on stage. The poor sod crapped himself in front of the entire school! He’s still crying about it!"[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]The Owls erupted in laughter, a wicked harmony of banshee sounds and nicotine-stained cackles.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"My turn!" Ethel announced, practically bouncing in her seat. "You lot aren’t ready for this. A few weeks ago, I discovered my darling son’s been cheating on his wife—the cow he married, you know. God knows who with, probably some tart he found on Facebook Marketplace or whatever."[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"Which son, Owl? The fit one or the one who’s, you know… a bit dim?"[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"Oh, come on, Mavis, use your head. Of course it’s the handsome one. Anyway, I was rummaging through his rucksack the other day and found some condoms. So, naturally, I did the only sensible thing—I poked holes in every single one with a pin and put them back where I found them. With any luck, in a few months, I’ll have a new grandchild out of wedlock. Imagine his face when it all comes out! Priceless!"[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]Again, the trio howled like a pack of unrepentant hyenas, the kind of laugh that made nearby pigeons scatter in terror.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"You’ve been quiet today, Gladys," Mavis said, narrowing her eyes at the third Owl. "Haven’t got a cruel grandma story to share this week?"[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"Careful, Owl. The quiet ones are always the worst," Ethel chimed in, waggling her eyebrows.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]Gladys didn’t say a word. Instead, she reached into her handbag and tilted it just enough for the others to peek inside.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"What in God’s name… Gladys!" Ethel gasped, recoiling.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]Mavis squinted at the bag’s contents before letting out a low whistle. "Well, bugger me. Is that… is that a severed pinky finger?"[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]Gladys nodded, her expression one of serene triumph.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"Bloody hell, Gladys! You’ve raised the bar for us all now. Next Sunday, we’ll have to work overtime to beat that!" Mavis said, shaking her head in admiration.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"I told you lot—the quiet ones are the worst," Ethel added, looking equal parts impressed and horrified.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"You’re disgusting, Gladys. You’ve put me off my bread," Mavis declared, but there was a gleam of curiosity in her eyes. "Oi, you didn’t use the bread I brought for the ducks, did you?"[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"As if, Mavis. I might be an Owl, but I’m not an idiot," Gladys retorted, rolling her eyes.[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]"Now come on, Gladys, don’t leave us hanging," Ethel pressed, leaning in closer. "Whose finger is it?"[/h2] [h2] [/h2] [h2]The three Owls erupted into another round of laughter, their sinister chorus echoing over the pond. Behind them, the ducks quacked nervously, their carefree floating now tinged with dread.[/h2]
