Chapter Text
Ebenezer had muttered pretty much every swear word under the sun by the time his spade hit the wood of a coffin. It was an odd sight indeed, a respectable elderly gentleman stood in a grave in the dead of night, surrounded by piles of earth that he had just dug up. Ebenezer was beginning to have the tiniest little bit of doubt about whether this was a good idea now that he was actually staring at the coffin of a dead man who he once loved, but he was nothing if not unable to admit his faults. So he lugged the heavy wooden coffin out of the grave and into his dirty white Ford Transit, the back of which had been graffitied by some local hoodlum and now read 'Ebegeezer has a tiny cock'. While this was not entirely untrue, it still very much irritated Scrooge every time he saw it, and he ended up chucking the corpse into the back of the van with perhaps more aggression than was necessary.
"Sorry." he mumbled. He got into the driving cabin of the vehicle and picked up the SpongeBob SquarePants hoodie from the almost never-used passenger seat, throwing it over his formal black shirt. The hoodie had been a gift from his insolent, idiotic nephew Fred, of course- he probably thought it was funny. It was annoyingly comfortable, though. Scrooge wondered for a moment where Fred's mother, his once-beloved younger sister Fanny, was now. Though he kept in contact with her son, Fanny had been dead to him since she voted for the WOKE LEFT Lib Dem party when she turned eighteen.
Fanny was supposed to be asleep. She was the only one in the family who wasn't, as a matter of fact- her cats were both fast asleep, Fred was passed out in his London flat and her wife, Belle, was snoring. She had met Belle many years previously, shortly after Fred's birth, at a pub somewhere on the Jurassic Coast. They had quickly discovered that they were both collateral damage from Ebenezer's life, and trauma bonded almost instantly. Nearly twenty years later and they were living in a cosy house in Sussex with two cats and a hot chocolate velvetiser. Yep, they were those sorts of people.
Fanny was sneaking out. God, how old was she, fifteen? But she couldn't risk anyone, even her beloved Belle, knowing what she was up to. What she was about to do was very much against the law. She was going to smash up her brother's car. It was petty, childish, immature, this she knew. But when she heard that Ebenezer's Lamborghini was being stored here ahead of a race this weekend, she saw it clear as day. That half-excuse for a man had ruined her life. All she wanted to do was have her own political opinions, but oh no, Ebenezer wouldn't have that. He had persuaded their ageing, heavily right-wing father to cast her out on the street, take away her university fund and remove her from the will. And now he had the balls to flaunt his wealth in her face. A resolute calmness was set in the lines of Fan's face as she raised the hammer high above her head and, unflinching, brought it down with all the force of forty years of rage on the hood of his ridiculous gold supercar.