Good Enough

by PH Morris

  “Don’t be daft; you care about that silly cat. Let’s have tea, it’s nearly ready, and a glass of wine, and I will update you on my chaotic life. It will take your mind off it.”

  We spent the next hour laughing about my crazy life, even though it wasn’t funny, but my folks had always taught me to laugh at myself, and that usually distracted others. I had a quick shower and had a reasonably early night; I was dog-tired from keeping myself buoyant when I was feeling vulnerable. I exchanged a couple of texts with Alistair, and he wished me luck for the next day before we said goodnight.

  I woke several times in the night and tossed and turned. By the time the morning came around, I felt that I could have slept the day away.

  I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled from the room. David was standing in the kitchen eating toast, and he looked as tired as I felt.

  He was on his off days, and I knew he would spend the day handing out leaflets and worrying about that daft cat. We barely spoke, and I gave him a hug and a quick peck on the cheek. I had a text from Alistair and one from Kat offering support.

  It took longer than normal to get to work, as I dragged my feet. I knew the sooner I got to work, the sooner lunch would come around and then I would be winning my rotten pineapple.

  I sighed before I entered the building, and with heavy feet trudged up to my floor and into my office. I dropped my bag on the floor and flipped on the PC and shuffled along the corridor to the coffee room. There were a few people milling around, and we exchanged banal comments about whether the milk was off and who’s the old yoghurt was in the fridge, belonged to. I was glad when I was finally left alone to slow stir my coffee, and made my way back to my office, luckily not bumping into anyone.

  Stewing in my own self-pity, I shuffled paper around for a bit, until there was a quiet knock at the door. It was Louise. She opened the door, worry etched in her frown.

  “Hey there, you look tired, Mel. You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m kind of dreading today. I have mixed feelings. “That was the understatement of the century.

  “I understand. Well, as much as I can.” Lou explained, “Look, all you have to do is go, see what they say; you don’t have to stay more than five mins. Just say to the woman, ‘Look, bitch, cough up, who is this bloke and where’s my one million dollars?’” She laughed manically like Dr Evil. I smiled at her goofiness.

  “Yeah, baby.” It was my turn to be stupid as I did my best Austin Powers.

  “Groovy, baby,” she added. “I will call for you at twelve,” back to her normal voice.

  “Thanks, Lou.”

  “Anytime,” she waved over her shoulder.

  The next three hours dragged. I thought about calling my mum but decided against it. I hovered over the texts on my phone, re-reading the words of support and encouragement. By the time twelve came around, I was emboldened: whatever today brought, it would be fine; it was always fine. I could just go back to my normal life; well, my new and exciting life, hopefully with Alistair.

  Right on cue, Louise appeared, coat over her arm, bag in hand. She smiled weakly, “You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be. Come on, let’s go get that pineapple.” I grabbed my own bag off the floor and glanced out of the window to see whether I needed my coat and opted against it.

  We talked about very little on the short ten-minute walk to the building which housed the law firm. It was a blue glass-fronted building that had several businesses occupying different floors. The communal reception area gave nothing away, and on the wall behind the security guy was a list of about half a dozen non-descript business names.

  The third floor was the one I needed and, after a brief exchange with security, we were pointed towards a bank of lifts.

  As it was lunchtime the lifts were busy, and they pinged open in turn, spilling occupants into the lobby chatting animatedly to each other. The ride up to the third floor was quiet, and as the door opened, we stepped out and several people got in. We walked towards the curved reception desk and were greeted by a smiling and professional-looking receptionist with her hair in a low bun.

  We sat on the low sofa and watched the lunchtime news by subtitle only and smiled in a juvenile way when the person writing the subtitles misinterpreted spoken words.

  “Miss Cartwright?” said a kind voice from behind us, and I almost jumped at the sound of it.

  Louise and I stood in unison and both turned towards:

  “Miss Jardine. Pleased to meet you.”

  I shook her hand. “This is my friend Louise. I hope it was okay bringing her along.”

  “Of course, yes, that’s fine. Please come this way. Can I get you a tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee,” we both exclaimed in unison and then giggled nervously as we walked behind the solicitor. As I looked at Louise she put her little finger to her lip like Dr Evil, and I punched her playfully on the arm mouthing ‘Stop it’ at her, just in time, as Miss Jardine stopped and turned to the left, opening a glass door.

  “Here we are,” she announced and swung the door open onto a small meeting room. “Please take a seat,” she offered, and walking to the telephone she picked up the receiver and gave an order to someone, and within a few minutes the receptionist arrived with an insulated jug of coffee. She placed the jug on the table and moved cups, sugar, milk and mini packs of biscuits towards us that Louise instantly snatched up and started wrestling with.

  On the table was a blue folder, and Miss Jardine sat opposite us both, smiling warmly. It was then that I noticed how lovely her eyes were: they were green, I suppose a little like mine, but hers were warm and friendly. She gave off an air of efficiency, but warm and gentle, not stuffy or rigid.

  “Do you have your ID?” she asked kindly.

  “Yes, of course.” I fumbled with my bag, feeling nervous, and handed over my passport and birth certificate.

  She took them, noting down the details in the file. Smiling at me, she slid it back across the desk.

  “Thank you again for coming. I have been appointed by the estate of Mr Colin Hunting to administer his will. Mr Hunting passed away about a year ago, and we were asked to track down the single heir in his will. Do you know who Mr Hunting is?” She looked up at me, and I shook my head. I had some information, but I wanted her to spill the beans. Taking my response at face value, she continued, “Mr Colin Hunting is your paternal grandfather and, to explain, it might be easier to read this letter he wrote to you.” She unfolded a handwritten letter and passed it to me across the table.

  “Can you read it, please?” I offered in a quiet voice that did not sound like my own.

  She stopped the movement and withdrew the letter, bringing it towards her.

  She cleared her throat and began:

  “Dear Melissa

  You are probably wondering what on earth is going on and why you are sitting in this overpriced solicitor’s office reading this letter.

  Well, I hope I can explain it all. I am (or was) your grandfather and I wanted to tell you a little about myself and why you are here.

  My son, your birth dad, Daniel, had a difficult childhood, things weren’t always easy. He struggled when his mum died when he was only nine, and he was an angry young man and often got into fights and trouble. When he met your birth mum, I have to admit that I had reservations. Your dad and your mum were not good together, and they were not good for each other.

  Your mum and dad both drank heavily, and when your mum fell pregnant, I found it difficult to watch you grow in your mum’s tummy as she still made poor choices.

  When you were born, I was so excited – you had golden hair and lots of it, and you were as cute as a button. I got to see you regularly at first but, as time went on, your mum and dad would make excuses about why I couldn’t see you and I became increasingly more worried about your welfare. I would buy you new clothes and nappies, but I su
spected that your mum and dad were selling them.

  At six months old I was not surprised to find out that you had been taken into care. I was devastated and relieved, and I immediately contacted social services to see if I could get temporary custody of you while your mum and dad sorted out their lives.

  Unfortunately, I had suffered from ill-health with emphysema, due to my job, and they declined my request.

  You were staying with a foster carer, and I was allowed to see you occasionally, and we would play peek-a-boo and dollies. Eventually, it became apparent that your mum and dad could not get the help they needed, and you were put up for adoption.

  The last time I saw you, you were about a year old and had shining green eyes and lovely golden hair – you looked like a little angel. I cried for a long time after that day. I knew in my heart that you were better off with someone who could care for you, but I wished that it had been me.

  I found it difficult to forgive your parents although I knew they had their reasons.

  Less than a year later, your dad went to prison for six months due to theft, and when he came out your mum had already fallen pregnant again and she had a second baby. I do not know much about the birth dad, or if you have a half brother or sister. I am sorry to tell you this, but I think it is important that I fill in some blanks for you. You will understand the importance of this shortly.

  Your grandmother and I had a good life, and we were frugal when your dad was growing up, planning for our future retirement. However, because your grandma died young, I had to plan for mine and your dad’s future. Unfortunately, because of your dad’s choices, I never felt comfortable having cash around and so got used to putting the money away in the hope that your dad would come through it all and I could help him put his life on track. That never happened and Daniel died a few years ago from an accidental drugs overdose. That day my heart broke again but I knew out there I had you, my little golden angel.

  So, here we are today. I couldn’t help you as much as I wanted when you were little, god knows I wanted to, but I hope that what I have left you now will help you in your future life. You are my only living heir. I tried many times over the years to trace you, but the files were locked to me, and although I contacted social services, they were unable to help, even though I knew by then that you were old enough to find me.

  In some ways, I didn’t want to upset your life, and I am sure it was a great one. More importantly, I want you to know I loved you and always kept a photo of you close to my heart.

  With love

  Grandad x”

  She slowly lowered the letter and passed me a tissue from a nearby box that I hadn’t seen appear; I realised that tears were streaming down my face. I slowly reached for the letter and was glad that it was handwritten, and I stroked the cursives with my finger through blurred eyes, trying to get some sort of connection to the man I never knew.

  A small picture came into view handed to me by Miss Jardine, a picture of a balding man with eyes like mine, and he was smiling at the camera with a cute little girl in his arms. On closer inspection, his eyes were clearly shining with unshed tears, and this, I realised, was probably the last picture he had of me. In the background was a clinical-looking room and I guessed it was the contact centre where we met. Louise was beside me, stroking my arm in comfort, and she put her arm around me.

  A glass of water appeared next to me, and I took a shaky gulp. I then looked up at the solicitor.

  “What’s your name?” She looked puzzled. “Your first name,” I explained.

  “It’s Annabel.”

  “Thank you, Annabel,”

  “Take all the time you need; do you need a moment alone?”

  “No, no, I’m fine, it’s just a shock. I only thought I was getting a pineapple,” I snorted in an unladylike fashion.

  Annabel frowned at me, and I shook my head. “Long story,” I scoffed.

  “Do you want to know what he left you?” She was talking to me in a voice becoming of a nurse explaining a complex medical issue to a patient.

  “Oh right. I am just so happy to get this letter; you have no idea. I hadn’t thought about anything else,” I clarified.

  “If you would rather do this another time,” she offered.

  “No, I’m sorry. Please go on, Annabel.”

  She shuffled some more papers and pulled out a sheet of A4 paper.

  She looked down at the page. “As your grandfather explained, you are the last living heir to his estate.”

  “Stop, wait, did you say last living heir? I have met my sister… well, now I know her to be a half-sister, but she was slagging Dad off, but I guess now I know she meant her father and not mine.”

  “Well, I don’t know about her, but the man who was your birth father died as your grandfather explained. I am sorry if you are only hearing this for the first time.”

  I just shrugged, not sure that it meant anything to me, and right now it was a lot to take in. Seeing my response, she continued:

  “Even if you weren’t the only living heir, Mr Hunting has made it very clear that you are the sole recipient. His estate contains a number of things: he had a lump sum, from a house sale, and some equities. His instructions were clear that the house was to be sold rather than being left to you directly – he didn’t want you having the hassle of the house – but he did leave you a small box of possessions which I can bring in shortly. The cash and the house sale amount to around £250,000. The equities have not been valued but are to be transferred into your name for you to do with what you want.”

  Wait, what? What did she just say?

  I blinked at her a few times, and I realised that my mouth was open.

  “Shit a brick,” Louise muttered beside me.

  “What, what did you say?” I was unsure of myself, and I was glad I was sitting down.

  “£250,000 plus equities,” she spelt it out slowly. “I know it is a shock.”

  “No shit, Sherlock!” exclaimed Louise.

  I looked at Louise, and her eyes were like saucers. She was speaking – well, her mouth was moving – but all I could hear was a rushing sound in my ears. Quickly I stood up at the table, suddenly needing some fresh air, and I ran to the door, yanked it open and exited into the corridor. I had no idea where I was going but I couldn’t breathe. I walked to the reception area and then turned and walked down the corridor. Louise was still standing in the doorway with her hands up, not sure whether to catch me or hold me; her hands just hovered in mid-air.

  “Mel, you okay?” Louise probed gently.

  I looked at her as if she had grown another head. Was I okay? I didn’t know. Wait, what? What was going on? I then realised where I was and what had just happened. Everything came into focus with a bizarre clarity, and suddenly it was the funniest thing I had heard.

  I guffawed a big laugh, and once I’d started, I couldn’t stop. I was holding on to a nearby console table. Eventually, the giggles subsided, and Louise was smiling at me, but more out of concern than anything else, and Annabel looked like she wasn’t sure what to do with me.

  I managed to pull myself together and walked back to the meeting room.

  “Miss Cartwright, are you sure you don’t want some time, or to do this another time?”

  “I’m sorry for being unprofessional, it was just a huge shock.” I took a tissue and blew my nose. I grabbed the water and drained the glass. “I think that might be a good idea, especially the box you said there was.”

  “Yes, of course. I think we should perhaps arrange for some paperwork to be sent to you which explains fully what happens next and arrange for the box to be kept here or sent to you, whichever you prefer.”

  “Yes, I agree, but can I keep the letter and the picture?”

  “I think your grandfather would like that. “She gently folded the letter, popped it into the envelope and passed i
t over to me. “I have your contact details, but here’s my direct number.” She slid her business card over to me, and I took it without looking at it and popped it into my bag. “It will take a few weeks to put everything in your name, but now that we have found you we can move quickly; the equities may take a little longer, but you might want to do some research on the shares; they are penny shares from a while ago, and many of the companies have changed hands over the years, but that maybe for another time.”

  “Thank you, Annabel,” whispered Louise. “Can we stay a few minutes longer in this room?”

  “That’s fine. The room is available all afternoon, so take as long as you like. If you need more tea or coffee then press zero on the phone, and my number is 245, so please call me when you are ready to leave, and I will come and show you out.” She closed the blue folder with a quiet thud.

  Louise stood and shook Annabel’s hand, and I stared ahead and then, remembering my manners, stood quickly and then felt a little lightheaded and sat back down quickly.

  “I think I will organise some tea; maybe a few sugars will help, “Annabel offered. “If you wish to call anyone, please feel free to use the phone; just press nine for an outside line.”

  She excused herself, and I put my head on the table while Louise rubbed my back. “Do you want to call your mum?” she asked.

  “I just want to stay here for a minute…Wait, what time is it?” I had lost all sense of time and had no idea if we had been there for five mins or an hour.

  “It’s only twelve forty-five. I’ll fire off a quick text to Nick’s PA, just explaining that we’re running late.” Louise grabbed my phone and clicked away on the screen.

  There was a tap on the door, and the receptionist entered with a jug of tea, more sugar and some milk. She efficiently cleared the coffee which remained untouched and exited quietly.

  I took the letter out and looked at the handwriting, trying to read between the lines at the man who had written the words. I re-read the letter a couple of times and stared at the two of us in the picture. I felt for him, and I hoped he knew that I had a good life.