by Beth Corby
‘Thanks.’ I beam and give her a hug.
‘Lauren told us you were . . .’ Mum glances at Lauren.
‘Yes?’ I prompt.
‘Stressed,’ finishes Mum, in a way that tells me this isn’t at all what Lauren said. ‘And when you invited everyone, I thought there must be something wrong.’
‘There’s nothing wrong. There’s just some news. But I’ll tell you all about it inside. Hi Dad. Lauren,’ I add.
Lauren glances at Alec then looks away, and Dad gives me a hug.
‘Hello, darling. Love the hair. Everyone else inside?’ he asks, then grimaces at Uncle Nigel’s Land Rover.
‘Yes, everyone’s here.’
‘In that case, shall we head in?’ His expression suggests he’d rather not, but he and Mum bravely troop inside. As we turn to follow, the back of Alec’s hand brushes against mine and lingers there for a fraction of a second. I glance involuntarily up at him, and he grins at me.
‘Jesus!’ mutters Lauren. ‘Pass the sick bag.’
I stare at her, and seeing the spiteful look in her eyes, I suddenly realise that all the times I’ve watched her play tonsil-hockey with her boyfriends was for show – she was just trying to make me feel small and insignificant. But what I have with Alec is real, and from that tiny touch, she knows it.
I grin at her and just manage to resist the temptation to chirp ‘happy, smiling faces’, before taking Alec’s hand, and going inside.
Entering the drawing room, we’re greeted with a glacial silence. I stare at my tense, tight-lipped family, and realise that this is what Donald was faced with a few months ago.
‘Oh look, it’s a Poirot-style showdown,’ says Lauren, pushing past us and taking a seat.
‘Hopefully without the murder,’ I murmur to Alec, and he winks at me.
I hesitate, wondering how to begin, then Donald’s words come back to me. I smile at everyone. ‘I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you here today,’ I say, and a frisson of anticipation runs through the room. ‘Well, I wanted to tell you about Uncle Donald’s will. You may, or may not know that Uncle Donald left me a series of tasks to complete with Alec, with the promise of an undisclosed reward at the end. The tasks ranged from apple scrumping, through go-karting and dancing, to attending the theatre and stargazing. After completing each task I learnt a little more about Uncle Donald’s past and who he was. It was an amazing education and . . . well . . . I have now completed the tasks . . .’ I look around at their expectant faces, ‘and I have discovered from the solicitor that I am going to inherit this house.’
There’s an astonished intake of breath.
‘I bloody knew it!’ says Nicholas almost immediately.
Then there’s a moment of shocked silence – clearly no one else did.
‘So, this is your house?’ asks Grandma Betty. ‘Donald left his house to you?’
‘Did he, darling?’ asks Mum. Dad’s mouth is half-open.
‘Yes, though it isn’t mine quite yet. We have to go through probate.’
‘And what about his money?’ demands Nicholas. ‘Do you get all that as well?’
Alec’s glowering hard at Nicholas, but Donald said I shouldn’t be ashamed or apologetic, so I’m not going to be.
‘Yes,’ I say, looking him straight in the eye.
‘So you got all Donald’s money after telling him I was adopted,’ he states, breathing heavily. Everyone’s eyes are on me, and I feel my self-confidence waver a little under Nicholas’s certainty. Then Donald’s words come to me as if through a medium. ‘Don’t let people make you feel insignificant – always remember they don’t have the right.’
I look Nicholas firmly in the eye. ‘No, Nicholas,’ I say evenly. ‘I didn’t tell him, and the only underhanded thing that happened was you trying to have Uncle Donald declared mentally unfit and have me disinherited.’
There’s a profound silence, save for chairs creaking as everyone turns to look at Nicholas. He shifts uncomfortably.
‘Why would you do that?’ demands Dad, staring daggers at Nicholas.
‘What made you think you had the right?’ adds Grandma Betty, looking dangerously like she’s re-evaluating her own arrangements. Everyone else just stares at Nicholas.
‘Well, who leaves their money to a woman they’ve met only once? It’s completely ridiculous, and if it hadn’t been for Hannah it would have been mine! I’m the first male in line. I was the natural choice of heir before she stuck her oar in.’
‘But that’s not how it works,’ says Dad. ‘Grandma Betty would have been the next of kin if he’d died intestate.’
‘And are you trying to imply you had more right to Donald’s money than Hannah simply because you’re male?’ demands Grandma Betty, her neck lengthening and eyes protruding. Now that’s how you do Lady Catherine de Bourgh!
‘Yes, are you?’ demand Mum and Dad in unison.
‘She could still invest,’ chimes Aunty Pam, her desperate voice cutting through the awkward silence.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘You could invest in Nicholas’s clinic,’ she says earnestly.
‘That’s true,’ says Nicholas, turning to look at me. ‘You could. So, will you?’
Alec’s jaw has locked and I smile at him. A wordless reassurance passes between us and he relaxes back against the bookcase as I turn back to Nicholas. ‘Before I answer you, Nicholas, tell me this: if our roles were reversed and you had inherited everything from Donald, would you give me any money?’
Nicholas grunts out a laugh. ‘The circumstances would be completely different.’
‘In what way?’ I ask, and wait as his eyes dart between the various members of our family.
‘I’d be—’
‘Just a minute, why should you get money from Hannah and not me?’ demands Lauren. She eyes me speculatively. ‘I’m your sister,’ she points out, as if this is some strong form of currency. I glance at Alec, who rolls his eyes.
‘Hang on! Why should any of you get any money?’ asks Dad.
‘She’s the one who got pots of money for nothing,’ complains Aunty Pam.
‘Donald chose her,’ says Dad.
‘And who says it was for nothing?’ asks Mum.
‘Oh, now we’re getting to the bottom of it,’ says Nicholas, his nose wrinkling. ‘But at least we finally understand how she influenced Donald.’
‘Don’t be disgusting, Nicholas,’ snarls Mum. ‘I meant she did the tasks. And that they liked each other, and got on well when they met.’
‘I think you had it right the first time,’ mutters Nicholas waspishly, and everyone erupts.
I share a quiet look with Alec, and notice that Grandpa Albert has already escaped out of the door. I stare at the arguing rabble that is my family.
‘WILL EVERYBODY PLEASE BE QUIET,’ I shout, glaring at them until there’s silence. ‘That’s enough. Now, there are a few things we need to clear up because no one expected me to inherit, least of all me.’
‘It was blatantly obvious to me,’ mumbles Nicholas, and Aunty Pam, Uncle Nigel and Grandma Betty all start to speak at once. I hold up my hand, raise an eyebrow and, to my surprise, they fall silent. Perhaps I’d have made a good school teacher, after all.
‘I inherited because Uncle Donald and I got on well and we had things in common. There was nothing seedy about it,’ I say, fixing Nicholas with a hard look.
‘What on earth did you have in common?’ asks Lauren, pouting in disbelief.
‘He wrote novels for a living, and that’s what I want to do.’
‘And who told him that?’ asks Lauren, giving me a critical look.
‘I told him over lunch at the party.’
‘Since when have you wanted to be a writer?’ asks Dad, not unkindly, but everyone else stares at me like I must have conned Uncle Donald.
‘Since always,’ I say quietly. ‘It’s been my ambition to write novels for years, and now that I have the means, I’m going to write one.’
�
�I seriously doubt it,’ says Lauren contemptuously. ‘You’ll just waste everyone’s time and lose interest halfway through, like you always do.’
‘You of all people should know I’m telling the truth about wanting to write, Lauren,’ I say, unable to keep the anger out of my voice.
‘Why? Because of that pathetic little book you wrote in your teens?’
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t know you wrote a book,’ says Mum, surprised.
‘No, you wouldn’t. And just so we’re clear, it wasn’t pathetic or little. It was full-length, and Lauren deleted it.’ I look her in the eye. ‘On purpose.’
‘What?’ asks Dad. His voice is quiet, but his shock radiates through the room. He turns to Lauren, his eyes demanding an explanation.
‘It was a dismal story about a woman being held back by her sister. Of course I deleted it,’ snaps Lauren, but her reddening cheeks show that she’s not quite as convinced of being in the right as she’d like us to believe.
‘No it wasn’t. There was only one mention of a sibling in the entire book!’
‘Well you would say that, wouldn’t you,’ says Lauren angrily. ‘And I wasn’t going to read the whole thing just to be repeatedly insulted, now, was I?’
‘So, in other words, you didn’t give it a chance?’
‘It was a diatribe!’
‘I don’t care if it was a political assassination of all you hold dear,’ barks Dad, startling us both. ‘How dare you do that to your sister? I’m appalled at you, Lauren!’
We both stare at him and I’m almost as shocked as she is. He’s only spoken to her like that once before, and after that she deleted my book. I’m wide-eyed as Dad turns to me. ‘So, is that why you changed your university applications from English to history in sixth form?’ I nod mutely. ‘And why you went back to study English as a mature student?’
‘Yes,’ I say, finding my voice.
‘I always wondered what that was all about,’ he says, shaking his head.
‘But how did you find time to write a book?’ asks Mum.
Lauren glares at me, threatening me with her eyes, but I take courage from Donald’s letter.
‘You know all those times I was supposedly at home with Lauren when you and Dad went out?’ Mum’s face falls as she realises what’s coming.
Lauren’s eyes narrow. ‘You little shit!’ she says before I can say.
‘Jesus, Lauren!’ says Nicholas, and noticing everyone’s horrified faces, Lauren juts out her chin and stalks from the room with her nose in the air, closing the door loudly behind her.
‘Well!’ says Grandma Betty.
Alec drifts over and puts his arm around my waist, and I let my head rest briefly against his shoulder. ‘Perhaps I should get everyone a drink,’ he whispers, and slips out.
Dad comes over and gives me a hug. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I had no idea.’
Mum looks at the door Alec just went through and back at me. ‘Are you and he . . .?’
‘Yes, I think we are.’ I can’t help smiling.
‘And he isn’t just interested in you because of Donald’s money?’ she asks, her shoulders rising fretfully.
‘Mum, I can guarantee that isn’t the case.’ I smile as Alec comes back in with a tray of glasses and a big jug of Pimm’s clinking with ice cubes.
‘Mrs Crumpton had a tray ready,’ he says, his eyes widening significantly at her magical foresight, and starts pouring.
Glancing around, I hope it does the trick, because they all seem more uncomfortable than ever. I resist the urge to check my watch. Alec smiles up at me and indicates the drinks are poured.
‘Grab a glass, everyone,’ I urge, handing them out, and after a few minutes I’m relieved to see the Pimm’s is working its magic. They start chatting, possibly discussing the appalling show Lauren and I have just put on, or Nicholas’s underhandedness, but at least it’s a start.
Grandma Betty beckons me over to the sofa and I sit down beside her. She looks at me curiously, as though she’s seeing me properly for the first time. ‘Hannah,’ she says, after a moment’s considered thought. ‘I am starting to see why Donald chose you, and I’m glad to see that it suits you. But I feel compelled to warn you that there are certain aspects of his life . . .’
I lay my hand on top of hers. Not being a tactile person, this startles her into silence. ‘You don’t need to worry. I know all about his past.’
‘Are you sure?’ she asks.
‘Absolutely certain. He trusted me enough to tell me pretty much everything, and though I appreciate your warning, you don’t need to worry – I know all about Judith, him leaving home and his time in London.’
A slight flush comes to Grandma Betty’s cheeks. She assesses me for a few moments and I hold her gaze. For the first time in my life, she’s the one to break eye contact. ‘Very well. In that case I wish you every happiness,’ she says finally. ‘And you, young lady,’ she says, seeing Lauren creep back in, ‘owe your sister an apology.’
Lauren shifts uncomfortably under Grandma Betty’s scrutiny, then her chin lifts and she smiles at me, though the warmth doesn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Hannah, I’m sorry for deleting your book,’ she says with commendable gravity. Of course I don’t believe she’s sorry at all, but for my parents’ sake, I give her a curt nod, and watch as Mum and Dad’s faces relax.
After a slight pause, everyone gets back to their conversations, and I join Alec, who pours me another Pimm’s.
‘You’re getting your wish,’ he whispers, handing me the glass.
I colour slightly, remembering the wish I made on the shooting star, where he and I . . . but then I grasp what he’s talking about. He’s right – everyone now seems to have accepted the idea of me being an heiress, and thankfully seem to be over their initial wave of outrage and resentment. Except for Lauren – though she has quite a few things to be upset about right now, and there’s only ever been a thin veil covering those sour grapes. But if it hadn’t been for Donald’s face-it-and-brazen-it-out last task, there might have been months of grumbling and bad feeling behind closed doors. As it is, I think we can all now move past it.
I grin at Alec and he rests his arm around my shoulders, almost causing Lauren’s mask of repentant civility to slip. Luckily, Mrs Crumpton chooses this moment to bring in the cakes and scones, distracting everyone with her excellent culinary skills, and Alec goes to help her.
As Mrs Crumpton starts pouring tea, Mum comes over and leans in close. ‘Who is that?’ she whispers.
‘That’s Mrs Crumpton.’
‘Oh! Lauren told me about her. Is she staying on?’
‘Yes,’ I say cheerfully. ‘For as long as she wants; a bit like tenure – or the housekeeper’s equivalent, anyway.’
Mum quails a little as Mrs Crumpton, hearing her name mentioned, treats her to a degree of scrutiny. ‘Is that one of Donald’s stipulations?’ whispers Mum.
‘No, it’s one of mine.’ I grin at Mrs C, and she gives me a glimmer of a smile.
Mum looks from Mrs Crumpton to me. ‘You’ve really fitted in here,’ she says, surprised. ‘Well done, darling.’ She drifts off to get a piece of cake and sit by Lauren, who leans into her, already playing for sympathy – but for once it doesn’t rankle. It seems Donald was right; hiding her unkindness only made me feel substandard and vulnerable, but now everything’s in the open, the little things don’t hurt.
I take a slice of date and apple cake and go to have a chat with Dad and Grandma Betty joins us in order to hear all about the different tasks. And then I start to mingle, with everyone wanting to hear more about what I’ve been up to and telling me their own news. I even chat with Nicholas, who seems to have finally accepted that he’s behaved badly, and I wish him good luck with the clinic. Despite the unpromising start, it’s turned into a pleasant afternoon.
Before I know it, it’s time for everyone to go. Alec puts his arm around me as we stand on the drive waving them off. Lauren, I notice, focuses determine
dly on her phone, and Alec gives me a little squeeze.
‘Well done,’ he says, planting a kiss on my temple as Mum and Dad’s car, the last to leave, pulls out onto the main road. ‘That went really well.’
‘It did, didn’t it,’ I agree, grinning.
Hearing the chink of crockery inside, I wrinkle my nose at him. ‘We should help clear up.’
Alec nods, looking resigned. He takes my hand and we almost collide with Mrs Crumpton and her tray of dirty plates as we stroll into the hall.
‘I fed your grandpa in the kitchen. Nice man,’ she says. ‘There are dish cloths and tea towels waitin’ in ‘ere for both of you,’ she adds crisply, before heading off towards the kitchen.
‘We’re on our way, Mrs C,’ says Alec, stealing a quick kiss from me while her back is turned.
‘Don’t get distracted! Washin’ up!’ shouts Mrs Crumpton. She must have eyes in the back of her head.
‘I look forward to continuing this later,’ mutters Alec in my ear, eliciting a little shiver of anticipation. He pecks me chastely on the cheek and holds on to my hand for just a second longer before letting me go so that I can collect more dirty crockery from the drawing room. I grin to myself as I feel him watching me walk away before he heads towards the washing up.
Later that evening, Alec and I are sat in front of the fire in the study, cradling a glass of whisky each. Alec gives me a small reassuring smile as I put my glass aside and pick up Donald’s last letter. A sudden sadness sweeps over me as I realise there won’t be any more. I hold it for a couple of seconds, savouring the moment, then carefully peel it open.
My Dearest Hannah,
Do you remember that at my party you asked what advice I would give you? I’ve thought long and hard, weighing up what I told you, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I gave you excellent advice. The only thing I forgot to say was that you should put it all into action right away. Be brave now, do what you want to do now, and never allow anyone to make you feel insignificant. This was the purpose behind your final task: I wanted you to stand up to your family now. I didn’t want you to wait. I only hope it went well.
Either way, we are at the end of our journey together. You have tried many of the best things I have experienced during my lifetime, and stood up to your family at the start of your life rather than at the end, which is the one thing I wish I’d done, so our time together is complete. It is now up to you to shape your life into exactly what you want it to be, so be brave. If you wish to write, then you should now have a wealth of experience, to inform your writing. If not, then I am still pleased you are in a good place going forward, and know that whatever you choose, I wish you joy.
