Where There's A Will

by Mary Malone

  Boys and girls in red jumpers, white shirts and grey trousers burst into the playground, some happy to walk around munching fruit or bars, others making straight for the basketball court and pouncing on the discarded balls on the court.

  Kieran got to his feet, hurrying towards the school yard as a basketball flew over the wire and rolled down the sloping field. He stuck out a tan hiking boot and stopped the multi-coloured ball.

  “Hey, I know you, I saw you before,” came an accusing voice.

  Kieran approached the court, bouncing the ball as he went.

  “You came to visit my mum!”

  The ball slipped from his hands. As he stooped to pick it up, Kieran came to eye-level with a small blond boy with soft curls dancing on the nape of his neck as he clutched the mesh wire and jumped up and down.

  “You were in my house. Remember?”

  Before he had a chance to respond, a crowd had gathered around the little fellow, various ages and heights, male and female, all curious about the stranger tossing back their ball.

  Kieran was very grateful to hear a tumble of questions coming from the gathered friends, saving him the embarrassment of admitting that he’d forgotten the little boy’s name.

  “Greg, who’s that man?”

  “How do you know him?”

  “Greg, is he your uncle or cousin or something?”

  “I’m Kieran.” He lifted his arm and lofted the ball over the high fence, smiling as some of the children disbanded from their huddle to chase the basketball, a few of the boys diving dramatically on top of it.

  Greg remained at the wire, a serious expression on his face, looking as though he had several questions he wanted to ask.

  Hearing the school bell ring signalling the end of morning break, Kieran made to leave.

  “See you around, Greg,” he said, raising a hand in salute.

  “Are you living next door now?” the child called after him.

  Kieran turned back to face him. “Sure am.”

  Greg’s eyes widened, a few stammers leaving his lips before finally he found the words he was searching for. “Mum’s not able to fix my bike. The chain’s off for ages and it won’t go. And the wheel’s flat too. Can you fix bikes?”

  Kieran nodded, hiding his amusement. “Call in with your mum – and your bike – later on and I’ll see what I can do.” He gave him a wave, pleased the child’s serious expression had been replaced with a smile.

  His step was lighter as he made his way back towards the pier, his energy revived. He could actually visualise making a life there, filling his days with activity, maybe even get a job. Am I actually thinking like a grown up for a change, he wondered? Nobody would be more surprised than himself if that was the case. Then breaking into a grin, he decided he was acting more like a lustful teenager at the thoughts of getting closer to the hot girl next door than a thirty-one-year-old man thinking of settling down.

  He burst into Aunt Polly’s house with renewed vigour, running in and out of every room, throwing open the windows and allowing the sunshine and fresh air to filter through the house, reminded of the number of times Polly had asked him to do the exact same thing.

  “You’ve younger legs than me,” she’d say, or “It takes a strong lad like you to win an argument with some of those rusted window catches.” Of course he knew she was teasing, Polly’s ability to take care of herself was never in question.

  He took an honest look at the house he’d been gifted, unable to deny its charm and attraction. Even as a summer-rental property, he imagined it would be in high demand with its sea view and close proximity to the water activities in the summer months. Admittedly it would benefit from a little modernisation and a fresh coat of paint – and definitely a colour change. That would brighten the interior significantly without losing Polly’s quirky old-world charm entirely. A lover of strong, bright colours bordering definitely on gaudy, she had refused to move with the times and introduce neutral shades to her surroundings, happy with her citrus-green kitchen and harvest-orange sitting room.

  Kieran strolled between rooms, taking in their characteristic detail – high ceilings, sash windows and a magnificent ocean view that would be difficult to surpass. Running a hand across one of his aunt’s antique dressing tables, ignoring the trail of dust and remembering her attachment to the tiny figurines sitting on top, he realised how lucky he was to have a chance of owning such a beautiful property – a house he could be proud of, a house filled with happy memories both for him and for Polly. At least he assumed his aunt had enjoyed happy days there. As a boy he hadn’t paid too much heed, as an adult he hadn’t been around to notice. And now it was too late to enquire.

  So many questions popped into his head as he scrutinised the rooms in greater detail, opening and closing wardrobes and drawers. Spotting a bundle of notebooks, he reached to the back of the drawer and pulled them forward, realising after a quick glance that what he held in his hand was a collection of diaries, pages well-thumbed and crinkled by the looks of them. They were held together with a piece of pink knitting wool tied in a neat bow. Kieran was tempted to take a peek and read about the intervening years in his aunt’s life, probably her innermost thoughts. The last time he’d visited, she’d been active and healthy, full of fun and willing to sit for hours listening to the plans he had in mind once he’d stepped on the plane to explore the world. Never once had she nagged him about the four years he’d spent in college. Neither had she tried to dispel his excitement about his decision to follow his heart and travel. Staring at the diaries for a few moments, he decided against prying. Another time perhaps but for now he had more than enough memories. Perhaps when they began to fade he’d probe a little more.

  Kieran peered under the bed in the largest bedroom. Polly had used it as a type of dumping ground, a place – as she said herself – she didn’t have to keep in order. And she hadn’t been joking. Overflowing cardboard boxes took up most of the space, an ancient suitcase and accordion case stacked one on top of the other under the old-fashioned iron frame. Those who knew Polly best would agree that meticulous housekeeping had never been her first priority, but having a well-stocked larder and a crackling open fire were something she’d taken great pride in. As he got to his feet, Kieran dusted off his jeans and put any further investigation of the boxes on hold.

  He continued to the bedroom across the landing where Polly had slept for over forty-five years. South-facing, the room was the warmest in the house. He rubbed a hand over his stubble as he mooched around to study the array of framed photographs on the wall. In all the years he’d stayed under her roof, Polly had never encouraged his being in her bedroom and he’d accepted without argument. Now she was gone, however, and her will had proved how much he’d meant to her, so he was confident she wouldn’t mind him making it his own.

  He stared at an old black-and-white photo of his aunt, admiring the younger version of the kind-hearted woman he remembered. She was standing against an old tree, her lips shaped in a broad grin, her shoulder-length waves swept back from her face and a smouldering look in her eyes. Kieran guessed her love was directed at the person behind the camera. He’d seldom given thought to her life as a young woman, what her dreams had consisted of or whether she’d loved. There was so much he didn’t know about her. His eyes were drawn to the box of jumble peeping out from underneath the bed. Maybe sorting through her stuff would fill in the gaps, build a fuller profile of her life and help him discover the side of her he’d never given consideration.

  As he glanced back at the photo he gave a gentle nod in his aunt’s direction. “I’ll accept your challenge, Polly. But don’t go haunting me while I’m here, tied down to one place for a year,” he whispered, grinning as he imagined her chuckling and rubbing the palms of her hands in victory.

  Deciding to formalise the arrangements while it still seemed a good idea – and before he talked himself out of it again – he searched his phone for Fitzgerald & Partners’ number, planning on dealing
with two issues with one call. Despite his family’s opinion that he cared little for anyone other than himself, he was concerned about Amy. He wanted to clear the air between them – and clear his conscience.

  “Kieran Dulhooly speaking,” he said, running a hand across his forehead when he recognised Amy’s voice at the other end. No time like the present, he thought, tackling the first of his ‘issues’ head on. “Amy! I’ve been meaning to call you to apologise.”

  “I’m sure you have,” came her curt response. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Honestly, I want to apologise, explain why I had to run off like that.”

  Amy’s tone lowered. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

  He could hear her fingers moving across the desktop keyboard. She couldn’t be too upset if she wasn’t giving him her undivided attention. He couldn’t deny this pinched his ego. “I needed to check things out at the house . . .” Kieran allowed his sentence to trail off, searching for the words as he went along. The spontaneous evening in her city apartment seemed a million years away now, a brief interlude between two parallel lives.

  She didn’t respond, wasn’t making it easy for him. He couldn’t say he blamed her.

  “Look,” he tried again, “I had a great time. It was fun . . . good fun. I’m sorry how it ended.”

  He let out a sigh of relief when Amy’s laughter came down the line.

  “I’m kidding, Kieran. Don’t take yourself so seriously. I had fun too and, just so you know, I’m not in the habit of picking up clients!”

  “You made an exception for me ’cos I’m irresistible,” he deadpanned, picking up on her mood and following her lead. He was relieved she’d let him off the hook, had expected to do a lot more grovelling.

  “I’ll see you around, then,” she said.

  “Eh, Amy, one more thing . . .” Damn, he still had to talk to his solicitor.

  “I presume you didn’t call specially to speak to me. I guess you’re looking for Ms Jacobs? Will I put you through?”

  “If she’s available, that’d be great.”

  He moved around Polly’s room while he waited for Amy to come back on the line. The drawers stuck in the tall, narrow chest. He nudged and nudged the top one loose until finally he managed to pull it open.

  “Putting you through now, Kieran.”

  “Thanks again, Amy. See you around.”

  Then Olivia’s professional tone sounded in his ear. “Hello. What can I do for you?”

  He wondered what his lawyer would think of the attention her receptionist was bestowing on one of her clients.

  “Ms Jacobs – I mean, Olivia,” he began, “I hope it’s not too late but I’ve had a rethink about Polly’s will. I’ve decided to give it a go.”

  “Oh, I’m delighted,” she began.

  Her words of approval were reassuring, though closely followed by a degree of caution. Kieran couldn’t help smiling as he listened to her reiterate the main details.

  “The terms of inheritance are specific. Live in the house for a year. And, Kieran, I must mention that proof will be required once the period has elapsed or midway if there are any people contesting the will.”

  “Proof? What sort of proof?” Kieran realised how ignorant he was about the legal system. Who would have thought inheritance would have been so complicated? Then again, it wasn’t as though he’d needed any such information – or had any interest – before now.

  “Utility bills, bank details, change of address on your documents – that sort of thing.”

  Kieran groaned inwardly. Paperwork! What a pain! The only document he’d ever worried about had been his passport, keeping an eye that it was up to date so he could take off whenever he felt like it. And bills – he hadn’t given those any great thought! He’d need to get a job at this rate. Or collect Polly’s pension that Olivia had mentioned during his first visit.

  “Okay, I’ll set stuff up so there’ll be a year’s supply of evidence. Do I need to visit your office again to sign documents or something?” Despite Amy letting him off the hook, he didn’t relish bumping into her in person quite so soon. He poked through the papers in the drawer, old appliance guarantees, a few religious prayers and what looked like the leaflets contained in medical supplies. Did she throw anything away, he wondered?

  “No need to travel such a distance,” said Olivia. “I’m satisfied that everything has been explained in detail and you have a thorough understanding of your aunt’s wishes.”

  “No mistaking them,” Kieran commented.

  Flicking through the manual for a twin-tub washing machine, he vaguely remembered his aunt lifting laundry from the washer into what she called the ‘spin-dryer’.

  “I’ll send the documents by registered post,” Olivia went on, “and you can get a local solicitor or commissioner for oaths to witness your signature. Register them again on return.”

  “Oh, that’d be handy – send it to Number 5 Pier Road. It can be my first letter, an official document – proof I’m living there. I might even believe it myself!”

  Olivia laughed at his admission and gave one last run through the terms and conditions, her final words a pleasant reminder. “Don’t forget to collect any outstanding pension –”

  “Your mention of bills reminded me of that,” he admitted.

  “And any cash you find in the house is yours to spend now but the bank accounts can’t be touched.”

  “Does she have money tucked away in a mattress or somewhere I should know about? Did she specify that to you recently or was it a long time ago?” He was curious about when she had made the will. At what point had she decided he should be sole beneficiary?

  “I met with your aunt before she went to the nursing home. She made the long journey to the office to review her will one last time, too independent to let me travel to Schull. The poor darling was terrified of Alzheimer’s, or worse, having watched so many of her counterparts diminish once they’d left their own homes. Moving to the nursing home on a long-term basis was a terrifying but unavoidable prospect.”

  “You think that was truly the case? Were there no other options?” Kieran voiced a question he’d been longing to ask, though he knew he had no right. Yet he pounced on the opportunity to ask a neutral party’s opinion. Polly might have confided in Olivia.

  “That’s not for me to judge, Kieran. I can only tell you what I saw with my own eyes. Her mobility was severely curtailed. Living alone put her at huge risk. And she was exhausted from trying to manage. I’m no medical expert but seeing her dragging herself with a walking aid from the lift to this office, taking a minute between each movement to get her breath back inspired very little confidence.”

  “If someone had offered to stay with her?”

  Olivia’s voice was gentle. “I don’t think any such offer materialised. And she wouldn’t hear of bringing her bed downstairs. We had a good chat the last time she asked me to visit. But in the end her stay there was short . . .”

  There was a pause on the line.

  Kieran’s mind was a muddle, anger simmering underneath that Polly had been neglected by her family and guilt reminding him that he’d also been party to this neglect. He sat on the bed, his eyes drawn to the ancient black and white photograph on the dressing table, one of Polly with his father, cute siblings dressed in their Sunday best. Hadn’t his father taken any steps to help? Or had Polly’s stubborn independence led her to refuse any offer he might have made?

  Olivia’s voice cut in on his thoughts. “To answer your question about the money, Kieran, Polly said there was cash hidden in the house. In fact, she hinted that finding it would be quite a treasure hunt.”

  Kieran grinned and shook his head. “Thanks, Olivia. Looks like I’ve a mystery to solve.” Polly’s sense of humour had remained right to the end, playing games even from beyond the grave. Where on earth had she stashed this cash though, he wondered, getting to his feet once more and returning to the chest of drawers. “I can freshen up the
place as I go along. Keeping an eye out for bundles of money will make me tread cautiously and think twice before tossing things in the recycling pile.” He closed the top drawer and yanked open the second one. Old-fashioned underwear stared back at him, rolled in neat piles in the narrow drawer. Again, he closed this one, deciding against rifling through his aunt’s ancient hose and panties. Too gross – even if there were bundles of cash lying underneath! He’d park that idea for now. At least not until it was a last resort. Polly’s deviousness amused him. Her way of ensuring he didn’t hire a skip and throw everything into it.

  “Maybe she designed it to keep you occupied so you wouldn’t be tempted to take off again?”

  Olivia’s enjoying this too, he thought, feeling partly amused and partly irritated. He wondered how much Polly had disclosed to the glamorous solicitor. Slightly miffed, he felt like the butt of a joke between the solicitor and his aunt. Polly, wherever she is flying her angel wings, is probably laughing her head off at how difficult she’s making this for me, he thought. From nowhere, he remembered one of the things she’d regularly spouted at him: ‘If it’s worth having, it’s worth fighting for – never give up, lad.’

  “Everything’s in order so?” he asked. “Do I need to send you confirmation once I have the utility bills set up?”

  “Yes. You’ll need to get your aunt’s name taken off and new agreements set up. Photocopies of bills, account numbers, agreement with service providers – that sort of thing.”