Where There's A Will

by Mary Malone

  “Of course I’m delighted. It’ll be great getting to know him again.”

  “Well, then?” Frank searched his wife’s face, hoping she was starting to see sense.

  Marian pursed her lips. “Making a few changes to the will doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll leave again.”

  Frank let out a groan. “You honestly believe that?”

  Marian shrugged. “I’ve heard stories from other families.”

  “Rumours,” Frank muttered.

  She continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “If we talk to the solicitor and get a guarantee that all three of our children will get an equal share, Kieran will understand. You’re Polly’s brother, a nearer relation. You can dictate it.”

  Frank pulled his wine-coloured golfing jumper over his head, tossed it on the back of a kitchen chair and fixed his thinning hair back into place. “You don’t understand the legal system at all, do you? We can’t walk in to the solicitor and instruct her to rearrange Polly’s inheritance to the way you feel it should have been done.” His tone was laced with sarcasm. “Anyway, you, or Beth for that matter, haven’t the right to contest the –”

  “And as per usual, Frank, you’ve got the power but refuse to do anything with it!” she spat at him, eyes filled with anger. Deeply hurt by his condescending comment, she didn’t wait for him to lord it over her with his highfalutin’ legal speak. “That will be a great help to Beth! You’d rather be loyal to a dead sister than a daughter who is hanging on for her dear life!”

  Beads of cold perspiration broke out on Frank’s forehead. “Beth only has herself to blame. If she’d asked for advice beforehand, I’d have warned her to keep the hell away from that monstrosity of a house. It’s not help she needs now, it’s a miracle.”

  “She’s our daughter, our youngest.” Marian’s voice caught in her throat.

  Frank turned away from his wife. “Beth’s a married woman with a husband who should make it his priority to provide for her.”

  Like you provided for us, Marian thought silently, bitterness seeping through her, old memories jumping to the fore. She couldn’t deny that materialistically he’d been terrific but, when it came to giving them his time, his apparent heroism paled significantly. She couldn’t help remembering the endless stream of late nights he’d worked late and the lonely weekends they’d waited patiently for him to return from golf. Sighing, she let go of her dark thoughts. It was useless revisiting ancient arguments. She doubted there was any point introducing those years as a comparison. He hadn’t understood then and it was unlikely he’d understand now.

  “Carl hasn’t a notion of stepping up to the plate, Frank.”

  Frank’s green eyes flashed. “So why organise a golden handshake?” he continued. “As her husband he’s entitled to half if they split up. Has that not crossed your mind?”

  “Couldn’t Beth sign something or have the solicitor draw up some agreement that would deny him any part of it in the likely event of that happening?”

  Frank sighed. “The law is tricky. Hell, I’d give Beth some of my savings if she was on her own – she’ll get them anyway when I die – but there’s no way I’m giving that spoilt brat an easy ride!”

  “So Beth continues to suffer.”

  Frank’s expression was grave. “And if we put money their way, what will they have learned? Either of them?”

  Marian brought her hands to her face. Frank could be so obstinate at times. She tried one last time. “Please give what I’m saying some thought.”

  He took his jumper from the chair and folded it neatly, carrying it with him as he walked away from her. “I’m not going to change my mind, Marian.” Frank was definite. “The will stands as Polly wanted it and I’d appreciate if all of you would respect that.”

  Marian’s frustration was at an all-time high. She was tired of holding back. “What respect did Polly show us when she wrote her will?”

  “Marian, I’ve a blinding headache. Please let it go.”

  “But surely you get what she was playing at? How can you be so blind?”

  His face reddened. He cast around, speaking through gritted teeth. “I’m not the one who needs to have my eyes tested.”

  “She did it out of spite, to have one last dig at me!”

  “Finally!” Frank threw his hands in the air. “We get to the truth! At last you’re being honest about what’s going on inside that head of yours!”

  “Truth?” Marian’s face flamed.

  “That’s what this is really about. It’s not you worrying about Beth or trying to help her back on her feet. You’re thinking of yourself and how you can fight against Polly one last time!”

  “Damn you, Frank. You never take my side of things where Polly’s concerned.”

  “Despite what you might think, Marian, the world doesn’t revolve around you.” The jumper fell from his hands. He stooped to retrieve it.

  “Certainly not where you’re concerned!”

  “Leave things be, Marian,” he looked up at her, a warning in his eyes, “this time.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” came her reply.

  “Well, you won’t get my support and without it –”

  “What’s new? I’ll get support elsewhere seeing as you’ve made it obvious you couldn’t care less!”

  Frank left the room with a thumping headache.

  A furious Marian returned to the garden when he’d left, lighting up another cigarette and inhaling deeply. What gave him the right to undermine her, put his sister’s wishes far and above any of hers? She’d had a lifetime of living in Polly’s shadow, had never measured up to his precious sister. Taking another drag from her cigarette, she wished for the umpteenth time that she hadn’t set out to trap him into marriage. What she hadn’t realised in her rush for revenge was that in trapping him, she was also imprisoning herself.

  And now he was leaving her no choice but to follow this through without him. A barrister in semi-retirement, he had invaluable legal knowledge and could easily sort out the mess if he wanted, which he didn’t.

  Flicking cigarette ash onto the grass, her thoughts turned to Kieran, her only son. Her relationship with him had become strained when Polly got her claws in him, enticing him from her, becoming his confidante and encouraging him away from his family home. Frank had turned a blind eye, particularly once he’d accepted his son wasn’t going to be the fourth-generation Dulhooly to spend his professional life in the courtroom – at least not in the way his father had in mind!

  Her failure to hide her animosity towards Polly became an unresolved issue between mother and son as Kieran got older. She adored him and the growing distance between them became a great source of heartache and something she blamed entirely on her sister-in-law.

  “Show some respect when you’re speaking about Aunt Polly,” he’d respond automatically when she’d pass a snide comment about his stay in Number 5 Pier Road, yet another male in her life going through a phase where he wouldn’t have a word said against precious Polly. Frank’s loyalty to Polly had remained steadfast. Even on the occasions he was present for Marian’s arguments with their son, he’d rarely correct Kieran, more often than not leaving the room and opting out. And so it had continued time after time, fraying at their relationship and increasing the tension between them. Kieran’s decision to travel had come as a mixture of relief and remorse to his mother, relief she wouldn’t have to watch from the sidelines as he treated Polly more like a mother than he did her and remorse that she’d wasted the years when she should have been close to him, allowing her resentment for Polly to drive a wedge between them.

  The garden was chilly after the warmth of the kitchen stove. She finished her cigarette and tossed the butt away, catching the first glimpse of daffodils shooting through the earth. New beginnings, she thought, crouching down to take a closer look before returning inside.

  Frank was engrossed in the evening news bulletin. Still too annoyed to go and join him in the living room, Marian took the por
table phone and went to her bedroom to call long distance.

  Charlotte answered on the first ring.

  Having exchanged pleasantries with her eldest daughter, Marian sat on the bed and listened impatiently as Charlotte filled her in on how she’d passed her weekend.

  “Charlotte,” she said, “have you been on to Beth since?”

  She could hear Charlotte’s groan on the other end of the line.

  “Not this again, Mum.”

  Marian moved off the bed and went to stand by the window. “I know you’re not completely in favour –”

  “It just doesn’t sit well with me at all, Mum –”

  “But it’s important to your sister,” Marian continued as though she hadn’t spoken, refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer again that day. “Why can’t you understand how desperate she is? It’s not as though she asks very often.”

  Charlotte’s sharp tone came down the line. “And when she does, it’s not like I make a habit of refusing.”

  Marian sighed in exasperation. She had a tougher fight on her hands than she’d expected. More defiant than her sister, a lot like her father in fact, Charlotte had an orthodox sense of fair play – even in the most horrific of situations.

  “This is Polly’s way of splitting you up good and proper. Favouring your brother and luring him to the easy-going lifestyle in Schull at every hand’s turn – she did that to annoy me!”

  “Mum, not that old nugget!”

  “Any scrap of trouble he got into, I’d swear she was encouraging his little escapades, allowing him stay out as late as he wanted and seldom monitoring the company he was keeping. For years I had my suspicions that she had him calling her ‘Mammy’!”

  Charlotte’s deep groan finally halted Marian’s flow. “Dramatic, Mum, even for you,” she said. “Kieran loved Schull. He was a different person there, could suit himself, stroll down the pier, hang out at the beach all day every day. He made his life there. Once he got into the habit, he lost any allegiance he had to home. I honestly don’t think it was anything malicious to get at you or anybody else. He was just a boy having fun.”

  “But there are only the three of you. If she had children of her own –”

  “Mum! That’s below the belt. Losing her husband to the sea in their first year of marriage – have you any idea how heartbreaking that was? Can you not show her a modicum of respect? Not even now? She is dead after all, no longer a threat.”

  Marian had the grace to wince at Charlotte’s words, although she took umbrage that her eldest daughter considered Polly a threat to her. Huh! Threat indeed, she thought. Downright nuisance would be a better description.

  “Charlotte, have you any idea what’s at stake here?” She took a tissue from her jeans pocket and dusted the screen of the flat-screen TV. “Your father’s denying he knows how much the place is worth but I know you’re turning your back on what could make a substantial difference to the rest of your life.”

  “But it’s not mine! It’s Kieran’s. He wouldn’t interfere if things had worked out in my favour.”

  Marian grimaced. Charlotte’s words echoed her brother’s. “Will you call your sister, please?”

  “I’ll do it soon, Mum. But, honestly, from my own perspective, I’m not interested. I’m coping fine on what I earn here. I’ll call Kieran and suss out his plans – he could be contemplating taking off again. Then your fussing would be needless.”

  Marian clutched the tissue in her hand. “But . . . eh, do you think that’s a good idea? Talking to Kieran, I mean?”

  “I’m not lying to my brother. If we’re going ahead with this venture, he’s going to hear it from me. I’m not taking the coward’s way out and letting the solicitor inform him that his sisters are contesting the will. What does that say about us as a family?”

  Marian resented her daughter’s obstinacy but made an effort to keep her patience. “Not a word to your father though . . .”

  To appease her mother, Charlotte relented – for now at least. “All right.”

  Mother and daughter agreed to get in contact again after Charlotte had spoken to Beth and Kieran, then both hung up at the same time, neither very pleased with the outcome of the call.

  Chapter 12

  “I’m disappointed Beth couldn’t make it this evening,” Ed commented to Carl.

  Apart from the odd sigh or exclamation, there had been very little conversation since Ed and Carl had taken their places either side of the chessboard ninety minutes previously.

  “Definitely next time. She was in the city today and didn’t make it back on time.” Carl gritted his teeth, hating lying to his brother but too proud to divulge the real reason for her absence.

  In foul humour when she’d returned from her visit to the Council, her mood had worsened when he’d handed her the letter they’d received from the bank, detailing their mortgage arrears and requesting a meeting to discuss increased repayments. She’d stormed away from him, yelling and screaming as she’d pulled pots from the press and set about chopping potatoes and vegetables for their dinner – which unsurprisingly had turned out to be a tense, silent affair.

  “Not to worry,” Ed said.

  “But she’ll call to see you soon,” Carl promised, seething that her stubbornness had won out. No matter what he’d said, she wouldn’t budge and he’d had no choice but to make the trip to the hospice in Bantry to visit Ed alone.

  “Make sure you tell her I’m looking forward to her visit. She brightens up the place with that smile of hers and she’s never short of a story or two either.”

  Ed slid the black rook to the next available square on the chessboard, aware that Carl was assessing this movement and its consequences to the game. He was also aware of his discomfort every time he mentioned Beth and his reluctance to engage in too much conversation.

  Carl’s eyes narrowed at Ed’s latest play, his opponent’s sharpness amazing in light of his grave illness. He threw a quick glance at the older man. The whites of his eyes resembled a dull egg-yolk, his complexion a horrid grey – like that of a sky on a dreary winter’s day. He’d seen healthier-looking corpses. Mistaking this man in his forty-ninth year for an octogenarian would be easily forgiven.

  Sighing deeply, Carl’s heart ached for a chance to relive the years he’d taken Ed’s existence for granted. But how could I have known his life would be cut short, he reasoned?

  Carl’s thirtieth birthday being still three months away, he doubted very much Ed would be alive to share cake and champagne. Never once imagining disaster could strike twice in one family, now he lamented the years he’d refused the invitations to spend summers sailing leisurely around the south of France or joining him on his travels to all five continents in his search for the latest in couture fashion.

  Ed couldn’t be blamed for the distance that grew between them; the fault lay entirely with Carl. And he knew it only too well. Ed, in his usual carefree manner, had continued to issue invitations but left the decision to accept or reject with Carl, never once trying to change his mind once he’d replied.

  Lowering his eyes to the chessboard once more, Carl placed index finger and thumb on one of his white rooks, dithering over the move and twirling it from side to side on the inch square. His heart wasn’t in the game. A life without Ed seemed unbearable, his foundation whipped from underneath him.

  Confusing round-the-clock-hired-help with quality parenting skills, Carl’s parents had been more like distant relations than a proper mum and dad so Ed had stepped into the breach and replaced them as Carl’s sole source of stability. As a result, he’d relied on Ed for advice and a helping hand whenever required. It had been Ed who’d taught him to field off school bullies, Ed who’d slipped the condoms in his rucksack on his first secondary school trip, Ed who’d counselled him through his first heartbreak and Ed who’d placed an arm around his nineteen-year-old shoulders and hugged him tightly when he’d broken the news of their parents’ death, gently explaining that the cable car they’d t
ravelled in had dropped thousands of feet from the Swiss Alps, killing them both instantly.

  “They didn’t suffer,” Ed had told him, not that it made any great difference to Carl whose initial reaction to the news was one of relief.

  While the world without his parents was undoubtedly changed and more financially difficult than before – at least until he reached twenty-one years of age and gained access to the vast property they’d left him – Carl’s strength of personality shone through as it had failed to do in their presence. Their death had altered everything, reduced his fear of failure, permitting him to carry plans through to fruition (or not, in certain cases) without the added burden of their critical disapproval – the one thing he was guaranteed to receive. And Ed had offered stalwart support.

  “I don’t know if I’m ready,” Carl had admitted to Ed when he was offered a coveted place on the French under-21 rugby team a short while after the accident.

  “Nonsense,” Ed had proclaimed.

  “But what if I make a fool of myself?” he’d protested, still unsure about the responsibility he was being offered. “What if I’m the cause of losing a game?”

  “You’ll be part of a team,” Ed had reasoned. “It’s unlikely you’ll be the sole cause of losing any game. Now get your butt down to training before the offer’s withdrawn and thank them for the magnificent honour of playing at national level.”