The Importance of Being Me

by Caroline Grace-Cassidy

  “God, that’s lovely,” I say, and I immediately see her hands relax. “He deserves it.” I smile at her now.

  “And you deserve to be happy too! Susan adores you, don’t, you Sue-Sue?”

  Susan nods.

  “So maybe we can start again?” Mar-nee licks her huge lips.

  “I’d like that very much,” I say.

  “When do you leave?” she asks.

  “I’m going back tomorrow. I’ve the relocation business to run over there for the summer still, but I will be back wherever I can.”

  “Well, tell you what: why don’t you come in to us for a few treatments: a nice massage, Shellac nails, maybe a facial . . . all on me?” Mar-nee smiles.

  “That sounds really nice,” I say. “I have to be honest, your salon was like a little piece of tranquil heaven when I first went in. Before I started shouting my mouth off like an idiot.” I throw my hands up in the air.

  “Oh, I’ll do you, Mom! Can I?” Susan enthuses.

  “Great idea, Sue-Sue!” Mar-nee starts the engine and says, “And maybe we can go for a curry after? Maybe I can explain to you just why I refuse to age gracefully and hope you might understand. Mother Nature never blessed me with the features you have. I have to rely on fillers and Botox!”

  “Sounds good.” I stand up and extend my hand through the window. Mar-nee takes it and we shake. Connection made.

  “No giving me the finger now when I drive away, Courtney!” She goes into peals of contagious laughter, her shoulders shaking. I can’t help but laugh too.

  “No. New me.”

  I hit the bonnet of the car twice and they drive away.

  Just as I’m about to head back inside, my phone rings out. I look at the caller ID and my heart sinks. Tom.

  “Courtney, you stupid bitch, you won’t get away with this! We found the will. It will be read Monday morning in O’Neall’s solicitors on Eden Quay at ten o’clock. I will be contesting!” He hangs up.

  “What? Hello? Tom? What?” I ask, suddenly shaking.

  I can’t believe it. Looks like I’ll be hanging around Dun Laoghaire for a little longer than I thought.

  17

  At five minutes to ten on Monday morning I sit on a low-slung couch outside Mr O’Neall’s office as Tom pushes the glass door open. He checks in with the secretary and then stands in front of me.

  “Pleased with yourself?” he says with scorn, clicking his long jaw in that way he always does.

  “I have no idea what you are banging on about, Tom,” I tell him, shaking my head. I really will be happy never to see this asshole again.

  “Get her when her head was gone, did ya? Hold the pen for her, did ya?” he sneers.

  Mr O’Neall opens his door and calls us in before I can answer. “Tom, Courtney, please come on in.” After we sit down and he walks behind his huge desk, covered in thick black and red files, he asks, “Tea or coffee?”

  “No,” Tom says at the exact same time I say, “Yes please, I’d murder a black coffee.”

  Mr O’Neall buzzes for one black coffee and a jug of iced water.

  “Now then.” He opens a large brown envelope that is sitting across the keyboard of his laptop and opens a smart, weirdly trendy glasses case. He unfolds a pair of gold glasses and puts them on, then pulls out a few pages and runs his well-manicured nail down them.

  “Okay, let’s see what we have here.” He hums a happy tune under his breath as he reads. The door opens and the receptionist brings in a cup of black coffee and the jug of water. I thank her and carefully take it. It’s a little too full, so I have no choice but to bring it to my mouth and suck some of the hot liquid down. Both men now stare at me.

  “Now, this is the final will and testament of Alice Bedford, being of sound mind and body.”

  Tom grunts at this as Mr O’Neall continues to dance his nail around the page. Then he looks up.

  “I’m afraid it’s not as you might have expected judging by our phone call yesterday morning, Tom. Like I said, Alice had left a document here, but it was not the official will, which this is. Tom, Alice has left you some money she had from a life-insurance policy, but she has in fact left her house on Emmet Road in Inchicore to you, Courtney.” Mr O’Neall looks over his glasses at me.

  I spit the coffee right into his face. He jumps up. I grab a tissue from the silver tissue box on his desk.

  “This is total bullshit! I’m contesting this shit! How much did she leave me?” Tom roars at the top of his voice.

  “Sorry! Sorry!” I say.

  “So you should be, you conniving little bitch!” Tom shouts at me, and I stand bolt upright.

  “Oh, I’m not one bit sorry for you, Tom . . . I’m not one bit sorry Alice left me the house. In fact, I’m bloody delighted! Over the moon! I need the house: I don’t have one and you do!” I dab the tissue on the wet table.

  “She can’t get away with this!” he tells Mr O’Neall, who is dabbing the stained collar of his shirt. “The ole dear was bat crazy! Couldn’t even piss on her own. She wore a nappy, for crying out loud! Are you telling me she was of sound mind!” Tom’s face, always red-veined, is even redder.

  “I’m afraid it’s all above board, Tom, and I can tell you a court battle would be expensive and absolutely useless, as there is also a letter attached dated back to 1996, twenty-one years ago when Alice signed this house over. If you both might be so kind as to sit and have some respect for the reading of the will.”

  I sit. I don’t know how I feel, but I will not be bullied by this asshole.

  “Letter dated 14th February 1996. Tom, my reason for this change in my last will and testament in leaving your family home to my granddaughter, Courtney, is this: she deserves it. I love her and she loves me. I can only rest at ease when I know she is fully taken care of. You have a home and a wife and children. I trust you will understand. Courtney is a daughter to me, always has been and always will be. Alice Bedford.”

  “She always hated me, the stupid old witch,” Tom spits now.

  “She did not hate you! She never saw you, and don’t you dare speak about her like that!” I shout at him.

  “Shut your face. Who asked you?” He rises again.

  “Alice did! She asked me here today to tell me she loved me so much she wanted me to have her home. Our home. I’m very proud that I loved her unconditionally. I’m very proud she brought me up, and I’m even prouder that I can stand in front of you now and say goodbye, Tom.”

  “Fucking joke!” He jumps up and grabs for the handle of the door. “The place is a flea-ridden shithole – good luck doing that up.”

  “Thank you, Tom, how very kind you are,” I say, gathering my bag onto my shoulder.

  “I need you to sign some papers, Courtney,” Mr O’Neall says. “I’m sorry, Tom.”

  Tom stands by the door. “So how much did she leave me then? And you said there was another letter.”

  Mr O’Neall opens another brown envelope. “She left you her life-insurance policy, which is a total twelve hundred euro—”

  Tom jumps in. “Sure, I spent nearly a grand burying her!

  Mr O’Neall pushes on. “And all that was in her purse: seven euro and nine cents.”

  Tom has heard enough. He slams the door behind him. Mr O’Neall lets out a long, slow breath.

  “Sorry I spat on you,” I say.

  “Quite all right. I assure you, worse fates have unfolded in this office over the readings of wills.”

  He pulls a pen from a holder and hands it to me. “Sign here, here, here, here.” He flips through pages, marking where I am to sign with a small x, and I sign my name against each one. I’m a house owner. Just like that.

  “I really wonder why she never told me?” I ask him.

  “Oh, I see this all the time,” Mr O’Neall says as he shuffles the pages together and bangs them three times off his desk. “Simple really. A lot of people don’t want their loved ones to feel that they owe them. They want to feel that people are surr
ounding them in their last days, weeks, years even, because they want to, and not because of the fact that they are leaving something to them. Does that makes sense?”

  “I wonder what she made of Tom coming to her every day for the last year when she got really ill after not seeing him for years. What didn’t she tell him? Alice was smart right to the end. She would have known quite well what Tom was after.”

  “He was her son, after all. Maybe she just wanted to spend time with him,” he suggests softly.

  “That’s really sad,” I say. “I mean, I knew quite well what Tom was up to, but I hoped that Alice wouldn’t see through it. But the fact that she had already left her house to me years ago proves to me that she did.”

  “I shouldn’t say this, but in the envelope I gave him with the cheque, there was also a letter marked Private & Confidential for Tom Bedford only. Maybe she explained it to him in that.”

  “I just hope she made her peace in that letter. He ignored her all his adult life. What kind of a son does that?” I see images of Susan in my head and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in thanks that we will always be close. “So what happens now?”

  “Change the locks, for starters, and get an alarm on,” he wisely advises me. “As from . . .” He stops, removes his glasses and looks up to the clock on his dark office walls. “As from 10.49 this morning, Tom Bedford is no longer allowed into that house. It’s all yours.”

  I extend my hand and he takes it.

  “Oh . . . hold on.” He pulls a small white folded page from the brown envelope. “I missed this.” He opens it up. “For you?” He hands it over the table.

  “What is it?” I ask as he rises.

  “I’ll give you a moment.” He smiles kindly and leaves the office.

  I unfold it carefully. The paper is so thin. On first glance, it’s a load of numbers and letters, then I refocus.

  Alice’s Secret Seafood Surprise.

  “It’s your secret recipe, Granny,” I sob. My hands shake as I turn the page over.

  My darling,

  I know one day this will mean more to you than any house, or any money. This is the secret to your happiness.

  Love you from beyond this life,

  Granny

  Bawling and still shaking uncontrollably, I stand up. Mr O’Neall stands at the door and opens it for me.

  “Take care, Courtney,” he says, and I take my leave.

  Outside in the light summer rain, I lean against the railings and write a long text to Claire. I look at it for a moment before I bless myself and press send. The ball is in her court. Then, quickly, I dial Tony’s number. He answers on the first ring.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi,” I say through heaving breaths.

  “Courtney? Are you okay? What’s happened, tell me?” His anxiety screams down the line.

  “My granny left me her house in her will. I want to sell it. I want to invest in your restaurant,” I gasp.

  18

  Walking back into the house, I have a few surprising hot tears, but I’m happy. Shutting the door behind me and heading up the stairs, this house and this life I have feel like they’re not real any more. I know it’s time for a new start. The big suitcase is under the bed and I drag it out, then I open the wardrobe and slide back the hangers. I should feel alone and sad, but I don’t. The stuff I left behind for when I returned after summer, I am taking back to Cornwall now. Alice’s presence surrounds me: I feel her wedding ring around my neck but also, more importantly, her secret recipe in my purse. Susan is happy, and can a mother really ever ask for anything else? David is in love and it’s like this episode really is over. The credits are rolling on this chapter of my life.

  I remove my phone and look at my messages. There’s one from Claire.

  Courtney. We’ll Give It A Shot. Xxx

  The doorbell rings. Guessing it’s Claire, I sing at the top of my voice.

  “Gina dreams of running away . . .” I fling open the door and find her standing there beaming. A big brown paper bag in her arms is stuffed with salads and fruit.

  “Are you actually serious?” Claire’s green eyes light up like a traffic light. But I know immediately it’s an amber light, ready to turn green.

  “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.” I dance in front of her on the spot in my bare feet.

  “Oh . . . oh wow.” She runs her hand across her face. “So you have Alice’s house to sell, Courtney? I knew it! I knew she wouldn’t leave it to that waste of space of a son! Alice was way too smart for him.” Claire slaps her hand off her knee.

  “So what I’m saying is I want to be an investor too! I will keep up the day job until we’re established. We can relocate, Claire. I can relocate! Can you actually imagine it, Claire?” I’m so giddy I’m a little dizzy.

  Claire is looking at me as though my head’s on fire.

  “Eh, aren’t you forgetting about someone in all of this, you Eat, Pray, Love woman you?” She states the bleeding obvious.

  “Susan, yes I know,” I say.

  “She figuring in your new life plans at all, is she?” Claire raises her eyebrows.

  “No,” I say and shake my head firmly.

  “No?” Claire’s expression is dazed and confused.

  “No. No in so far as she’s not coming with me, yes in so far as I will have a room for her whenever she wants to see me.”

  “You aren’t actually serious, Courtney?”

  “Listen to me. If Susan was being treated like this by her own daughter one day, what would I want her to do? What advice would I give her? What advice would Alice have given me right now? Live your own life.” The answer reverberated around my head. “I am, Claire, I’m doing this for me . . . not for you, not for Susan, for me, and yes this really is the most selfish thing I have ever done. Despicable, probably. All my life I’ve wanted to make people happy – Granny, David, Susan – but never really me. Yes, of course having Susan made me happy, but I haven’t ever been truly, honestly happy in myself. I want to be. Jesus, you know I’d give anything for Susan to want to come with me, but she doesn’t. I think Alice is trying to tell me something. She always stressed the importance of being me. When I’d tell her I was jeered at school because my mother was so old – all the kids thought she was my mother, I didn’t want the sympathy of having two dead parents – Alice always told me to just be me. I’m only getting that now, and I’m two years away from forty. I’m only beginning to understand all these years later what that actually meant. I mean, like you literally said – just look at Tom! Alice did everything for him, worked her fingers to the bone for him. He never loved her back and I don’t know why. There was no rhyme or reason other than Tom was always a selfish prick. Nature not nurture is what I’m learning the hard way, Claire. Maybe that’s the same with Susan: maybe she will never love me in the way I love her. She isn’t going back to school – she is going to work full-time in Mar-nee’s. She loves it. She is happy! So what do I do, Claire? Do I sit in David’s house all alone until they kick me out? Do I hang around Mar-nee’s salon day after day, hoping Susan will come for lunch or dinner with me? Gift me with an hour of her time?” My breath goes and I swallow hard, but I’m not going to cry. It’s more like a victory speech. I believe in what I’m saying.

  “In that case, I think you are dead right,” she says, now shaking her overgrown red hair and running her hands through it. “You really are, when I hear it all like that. I think we both need this. You know what, Courtney? I think we both deserve this. Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you had fully thought this through, you know. I think Susan will come to her senses eventually, because you have always been a fantastic mother, but you’re right: you’ve cared for sixteen years every second of every day about that girl’s happiness. Did you care for yours?” Her green eyes are sympathetic.

  “No.” It breaks my heart to answer that way, but it’s the truth.

  “No,” she repeats quietly. “But maybe this is fate. I
think what Susan’s always needed was for you to take a step back. Maybe, just maybe, Susan needs to figure this relationship between mother and daughter out for herself.” Claire nods.

  “But can we do this? Can we just invest in a restaurant we know nothing about? Like, neither of us have ever run a business. It’s not that simple, Courtney. I’m starting to get nervous about it all now.” She looks concerned.

  “Don’t be! We will go through everything with Tony and the solicitor. It’s all meant to be, Claire.”

  “I’m going to stay at home in Sandymount for another week, Courtney. Martin has asked me to see his therapist with him and I said yes.”

  “He doesn’t deserve you,” I say.

  “He needs closure too: his therapist thinks it will be good for him if I could come to a few sessions before he heads away. But I’m ready to do this, if you feel it’s right.”

  “Something deep down inside me tells me this is the right thing to do,” I confirm.

  “What, like a gut instinct?” she asks.

  “Like a really, really strong gut instinct, Claire.”

  “That’s good enough for me. Now can I come in? This lettuce actually weighs a tonne!”

  part 3

  19

  ONE YEAR LATER

  The last days of August are blisteringly hot in St Ives. Hottest weather in a decade. I decided to cut my hair into a short bob, as it’s easier for cheffing. Funnily enough, nobody mistakes me for Kate Winslet any more – not in any movie. It’s a relief. And yes, professional cooking! In the evenings I’m going to be helping out in the kitchen, learning my trade. I can’t tell you what a whirlwind the last year has been. Susan and I actually talked properly before I left Dublin for ever. We just cooked some vegan food and watched TV and went for a long walk. I know she was happy for me to go, because the night before I left, she told me so.