by Anna Jacobs
“I’m glad for you, really I am.”
“So was I, but now - well, I feel awful. I should be here helping you at a time like this.”
“I appreciate the thought but I can manage. If you’d clear out the clothes and personal possessions your father left here though, I’d be deeply grateful. I’d been dreading doing that. Keep anything you want and send the rest to the Salvos. You can even ask her if she wants anything. I truly won’t mind that.”
Relief brightened his face. “Right. Can do.” He swirled the remains of his coffee round and round in the mug. “Has Deb been in touch?”
“No.”
“She promised me she would.”
“Well, that’s her choice. Um - there’s something else. Caitlin told me your father had made a new will and that she’s a beneficiary. Do you mind if I have a quick glance at it? She gave me a copy.”
“Go ahead.”
Laura read the will in growing indignation, this time making no attempt to rein in her anger. When she’d finished she flung the papers down on the floor, scattering them. “I can’t believe that even Craig would do this to me! He made her the beneficiary for his life insurance policy without telling me - and I wrote the damned cheque that paid for it! Surely that’s enough for her, given the short time she’s invested in him? But no. She also gets a third of his half of the house, sharing it with you and Deb, and it sounds like most of his superannuation shares. That woman is going to come out of this far richer than me, it seems. I shall contest the will.”
Her voice broke on the last statement and she dashed away a tear. Damn! She had promised herself not to break down in front of anyone.
“Oh, Mum, that’s awful!” Ryan reached out and took her hand, his expression changing, then changing again as the implications of this for his own future sank in.
She let her hand lie in his for a moment, limp and unconnected, the way she felt. “We’ll have to see what my new lawyer says about it - once I find one. Jack Benham is apparently acting for her now. When I think of all the work I’ve put into our various houses . . . ” When he didn’t say anything she realised suddenly that she now had a goal, something to keep her busy. “I guess you and Deb will want to take your money out and I certainly don’t want to stay here, so I think I’d better sell this place as quickly as I can.”
“Mmm. Probably a good idea. If you don’t mind moving out, that is.”
“I do mind having to move out, of course I do, but I can’t afford to stay. I shan’t have any money coming in and this is a big place to run.” She’d been thinking of starting up her own business, designer decorating, knew she was good at it but had hesitated to take the plunge. Now, she didn’t think she could face the hassles. She felt diminished by what had happened, there was no other word for it. Craig being unfaithful and leaving her was bad enough, but the fact that he’d ripped her off financially made her feel less confident about her ability to deal with the world, somehow.
Ryan nudged her. “Look - have you actually found yourself a new lawyer yet, Mum?”
She shook her head.
“There’s a woman at work who’s just been through a rather nasty divorce. She had a lawyer who did well by her. Want me to get his name?”
“I suppose so.”
When Ryan had left, Laura went out into the garden and swept up the crockery shards, then began to dead head some flowers. She needed to keep active and the house had to look its best if they were going to sell it.
But she kept remembering that Craig was dead and tears continued to escape and drip down her nose. Damn it, he didn’t deserve any tears, not after the way he’d treated her! Only she couldn’t forget the good times they’d had together. He hadn’t always been such a rat. And he’d been a wonderful father.
What the hell was she going to do with her life afterwards?
She wasn’t close to her daughter and Ryan was moving away. Most of her friends were couples who’d known them both for years. She’d seen it before when people divorced: singles didn’t fit into dinner parties so weren’t invited as often and gradually dropped out of the group.
She could feel herself shrivelling inside, growing smaller, less certain of herself and her place in the world. Well, she’d never had Craig’s ebullient confidence. She’d always been the quiet one, the supporting act, he used to call her.
The stupid one, she now knew.
She wondered whether she should revert to her maiden name, but that would seem like cutting herself off from her children, as if she didn’t belong to them any more. No. She’d been Laura Wells for much longer than she’d been Laura Cleaton, so she’d stick with it.
* * * *
Joe arrived at the hospital near Manchester where his brother was recovering from the final operation on his left leg, which had been the more badly damaged.
“How are you feeling?”
Kit shrugged. “All right. At least the end is in sight now.”
Joe fidgeted with the paper bag he was carrying, studying it as if he’d never seen it before, then held it out. “Grapes and chocolate.”
“Thanks. Put it there.” Kit studied him. A large bear of a man, Joe, not good with words. No need to open the bag: his brother always brought grapes and chocolate. “Come on. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Joe pursed his lips, then shook his head ruefully. “I wasn’t sure whether to say anything yet, but well - Uncle Alf died suddenly yesterday. A heart attack.”
“Oh, no! I was looking forward to seeing him again. He was such a feisty old devil.”
“The funeral’s on Saturday, but I asked that Sister in Charge and she said you couldn’t possibly be let out to attend.”
Kit stared at the wall, trying to curb his anger at whoever had done this to him, something he’d had to do many times. He knew he’d only damage his leg if he disobeyed the doctor and went to the funeral, but it was a hard pill to swallow because he’d been very fond of his Uncle Alf.
“I’m sorry about that,” he managed at last. “I’d have liked to see him off properly. He phoned me only last week. He never said much, but it was nice to keep in touch. I was supposed to phone him back tomorrow.”
Joe’s voice was gentle. “He enjoyed your phone calls. You need to know - he told me a while ago - that he’s left everything to us. There’s the house and there’ll be some money, so it’ll be - useful.”
“I’d rather have him around.” Pictures cascaded through Kit’s mind. Uncle Alf had brightened up both of their lives as boys, because their parents had cared more about the material side of things than listening to lads’ doings. Not that they’d been bad parents, but they’d certainly never been fun as Alf had. “Shall I send some flowers?”
“He didn’t want any. Said flowers are for the living and people should drink to his memory instead.”
Kit smiled. It sounded so like Alf.
* * * *
On the following Monday evening Joe turned up again and this time proffered a fat letter in a business envelope instead of his standard gift. Kit studied it in puzzlement, noting the name of a firm of lawyers on the envelope. “What’s this?”
“A letter from Uncle Alf about what he’s left you.”
“Oh.”
“Go on! Open it.”
Kit found a covering letter from the lawyer, then a letter in Alf’s familiar spidery handwriting and a copy of the will. The mere sight of the letter brought tears to his eyes and he had to blink hard before he could read it. He looked up in shock at Joe even before he had finished. “He’s left me his house! That’s not fair. Look, I’ll share the proceeds from it with you and - ”
Joe shook his head and gave his brother a wry smile. “He’s left me enough money to make up for it. He said in my letter that I needed to go out and do something rash or extravagant, not settle down. What did he say in your letter?”
Kit finished reading and his smile echoed his brother’s. “The old devil!” he said softly and fondly. “He said it was about time I put
down roots, so he’s leaving me the house, but only on condition that I live in it for at least a year before I sell it.”
“And shall you do that?”
“I don’t know.” Kit had never stayed anywhere for a whole year since he left university. Was this gift a pointer from fate as to his future or a wise old man trying to guide him? He didn’t know. Hell, the only thing he knew at the moment was that he wanted out of hospitals and rehabilitation centres.
He’d think about the legacy later.
Chapter 4
Ron Cleaton watched his wife stand stock still and stare round in puzzlement and fear. His heart clenched in anguish. She was becoming more forgetful by the day.
“I’ll get the tea, love. You sit down and have a rest.” But he had to guide her to a chair before she did as he suggested. It was as if she didn’t understand what he was saying and she hardly ever spoke now, let alone answered his questions. He still kept talking to her, though.
The tablets had helped for a while but the effects had suddenly begun to fade and the doctors had told him there was nothing else they could do for her. So Ron looked after her as best he could, thankful he’d retired and could do this himself. The social workers called him a ‘Carer’ and offered him respite accommodation for Pat to give him a break. But he didn’t want a break from her. He wanted to make the most of every single minute while she could still recognise him. Only he wasn’t even sure if she did now on her bad days.
Once she had never been still for a moment. Now she spent long periods staring aimlessly into space, and when she wasn’t staring, she was walking. If she was indoors, she’d pace round and round the table till he thought he’d go mad. He’d made the back yard secure and on fine days, he let her go outside and walk to her heart’s content, keeping an eye on her from the kitchen window as he washed the dishes or did other household chores. There never seemed to be enough hours in the day to keep up with everything and he knew the house was looking run-down.
It was more than time to let Laura know about her mother and suggest that his younger daughter come back for a visit before it was too late. The Australian grandchildren as well, perhaps. Eh, it’d been hard to keep Pat’s condition to himself when Ryan phoned up every month for a chat. Ron had been going to tell Laura about her mother last week, but then Ryan had rung to let him know Craig had been killed, so it’d seemed better to leave it until after the funeral and fuss were over.
His older daughter Sue lived across the other side of town, near enough to visit frequently, but she hadn’t come for a while. She wasn’t taking her mother’s condition very well and had burst into tears on her last visit and left hurriedly. That had upset the new, timid Pat and he’d told Sue not to come again unless she could control herself. He shouldn’t have spoken so sharply, though. Regretted that, because Sue hadn’t been well either.
Some people just couldn’t cope with a loved one having Alzheimer’s, he knew that from the books he’d read about the condition. But as far as he was concerned, Pat was still his wife, the woman he loved, the mother of their two daughters.
After they’d had a cup of tea, he left her sitting in front of the television, went into the hall and picked up the phone. This would be a good time to call Australia.
“Laura?”
“Dad, how are you?”
“I’m well. Look, love - ” he hesitated, glanced quickly over his shoulder and launched into the speech he’d prepared while lying awake at three o’clock that morning.
* * * *
“I’ll see you as soon as I can, then, Dad.” Laura put down the phone and sniffed away a tear. She couldn’t believe that her lively little mother had Alzheimer’s, didn’t want to believe it. Her own troubles suddenly seemed far less important.
She would book a flight to England as soon as possible and . . . she sighed. And then what? Stay in that small house and watch her mother fade before her eyes? Sit and wonder whether she too was destined to lose her mind? The tendency to Alzheimer’s was inherited, wasn’t it? She’d have to find out more about it. She really must get better at using computers. Ryan always said you could find out anything you needed to know on the Internet.
Feeling as if she had to start preparing for the trip this very minute, she jerked to her feet then sank down again on the chair. There were a few problems to solve before she could leave. Major problems. She had an appointment with the new lawyer the next day. Wasn’t there a rule about a wife being entitled to a fixed share of a husband’s estate? If there was, she’d push for every cent she could. She’d worked damned hard on those houses and all that woman had done to get a slice of the profits was sleep with Craig.
And love him. Caitlin must have loved him to judge from the reddened eyes. It’d be much easier to hate her if she hadn’t.
* * * *
Deb beamed at Ryan when he told her the news about their inheritance. “Oh, good. That means I can quit work for a while and do some travelling. I should have gone to university like you. Office work sucks. Wasn’t it great of Dad to think of us?” She blinked away the tears that threatened every time she talked about her father.
“Great for us, not so great for Mum.”
She pulled a face. “She didn’t deserve him.”
“Hey, that’s not fair!”
“Well, look how she’s let herself go. She’s at least ten pounds overweight and she used to slop around the house all day in rags. No wonder he didn’t fancy her any more.”
“She wore old clothes because she did all the painting, decorating and gardening on each new house they built. If it hadn’t been for her, they’d not have made the fat profits they did. Anyway, that’s irrelevant now. I think she’s going to contest the will.”
“What? But that’ll stop us getting our share.”
“You’re a right little bitch, you know that?”
“And you’re a - ”
The phone rang and she went to pick it up. “Oh, Mum. Hi. Must catch up with you soon and - ”
“Yes, he’s here. Right, yeah! I’ll put him on.”
“Hi, Mum.”
“Ryan, can you and Deb come round here - now? I’ve something to tell you. More bad news, I’m afraid.” Her voice wobbled on the last word.
“We’ll come straight away.” He put the phone down and scowled at his sister. “Mum needs us.”
“But I need to wash my hair. I’m going out clubbing later and . . . ” Her voice trailed away at the disgust on his face.
“She was in tears.”
“Mum was?”
“Yes. Said there was more bad news. Hell, what else can have happened?”
Deb gave an exaggerated sigh, but picked up her bag and jacket and followed him out. Their mother didn’t often cry. She was more likely to fly into a temper.
* * * *
Laura waved her children to chairs then said bluntly, “It’s your grandmother, I’m afraid.”
“Gran? She’s not dead too?” Deb stared at her in horror.
“No. But she’s got Alzheimer’s. Dad rang me last night. She’s apparently slipping away fast.” Laura had to stop for a moment to pull herself together. “He says if we want to see her while she still recognises us, we’d better go to England soon. Very soon.”
Deb burst into noisy tears, suddenly looking younger than her twenty-one years.
Laura knew better than to offer her daughter a hug, but she was sure the grief was genuine. Deb and her grandmother had always got on like a house on fire. Her parents had visited them in Australia three times, longer visits than Craig had wanted, but it was silly to come all that way for two weeks, so they’d stayed for two months each time.
And Laura had taken the children back to England one year, though Craig hadn’t gone with them. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t his country, he hated the English weather and Laura’s parents weren’t really his family.
He’d made it very plain to her in private that he resented the money their trip had cost and didn’t want her
to repeat the exercise. She should have done what she’d threatened and got a job, paid her own way from then on. Why hadn’t she? Because he always said he didn’t want her to go out to work, wanted her at home for the children.
Looking back, she wondered if that was when the coolness had started between them. Had he been unfaithful while she was away? Oh, what did it matter now? Why did she keep going over it? He was dead.
She watched Ryan move across to put an arm round his sister and waited for Deb’s sobbing to stop before continuing. “As soon as I’ve sorted out the will and made arrangements to sell this house, I’m returning to Lancashire. I’ll probably stay until - well, until I’m not needed any more. I’ll get a job over there if I can. I’ll need to - now. You two will have enough money from your share of your father’s will to come for a visit. I think you should, but it’s your decision. I can’t afford to pay for you, given the circumstances.”
They sat very still, reminding her suddenly of when they were little and in trouble. They’d frozen then in just the same way, sitting or standing side by side to face the music. They’d always got on really well, considering Ryan was two years older and about a hundred years more mature than Deb.
“What are you going to do about Caitlin and the will?” he asked.
“Tell my lawyer to settle matters as quickly as possible. That woman is going to get a win out of this, because I haven’t time to fight it through the courts. I want to see my mother, spend time with her. And Dad needs help. He’s seventy-five, too old to be doing everything for her.”
Ryan hesitated. “I could speak to Caitlin for you if you like.”
Laura let out a snort. “To what end? She’s not going to give up her share in this house and he’s named her as beneficiary for the share portfolio. Why I let him put them in his name, I don’t know. I must have been crazy. Then there’s the five hundred thousand dollars of life insurance paid for by the wife who gets nothing. This Ms Sheedy will do very well indeed out of all this.”
Deb gaped at her. “What do you mean?”