by Abi Silver
‘I will get to that in a moment,’ he said. ‘Let me read the remainder.’
Brian continued to read, words with little meaning, occasionally skipping parts and referring each of them again to the copy he would provide. Then he stopped.
‘Is everything clear so far?’ he asked.
‘She’s left Tracy’s kids three hundred quid each and the rest is split between me and Trace. That’s it, isn’t it?’
Brian nodded. ‘That’s exactly it. But the next bit is crucial. It’s the qualifications your mother has added. Then we can get on to the value of your mother’s estate.’
‘Can’t we do the value bit first?’
Brian raised his eyebrows, his head moving from Joe to Tracy, his glasses slipping floorwards dangerously until he pressed them back up his nose.
‘Oh come on, Trace. Stop pretending that isn’t what all this is about,’ Joe said. And to Brian: ‘We don’t expect Mum to have left us much, Mr Bateman, before you think we’re just money grabbing. But we do want to know how much.’
Brian allowed his eyes to rest on Tracy’s face, awaiting her answer.
‘It’s fine,’ she mumbled. ‘I don’t mind what order we do things in.’
‘All right. I don’t have power over your mother’s investments or her bank account, but last year she provided me with a summary of her assets. At that time, they were worth just short of £1.9 million.’
Tracy leaned forwards, eyes wide. The corners of Joe’s mouth twitched up and down.
‘Did you say £1.9 million?’ Tracy asked.
‘Yes.’
‘But where did she get it from?’
‘I understand some of her paintings sold well through the 1970s and ’80s, and my contact, Mr Williams, invested the money for her.’
‘We always thought Mum’s paintings were rubbish,’ Joe said.
‘Oh, no.’ Brian was quick to jump in. ‘She had some successful exhibitions; you were probably both too young to remember. She was very modest about her work, that’s all. And that’s not including the house in Spain,’ Brian added, his cheeks suddenly tinged with pink. He had remembered the time his holiday to Fuengirola had coincided, coincidentally of course, with Barbara’s trip to her place in Marbella and she had invited him to join her on her veranda for some Sangria. It had been such a lovely evening.
‘She owns that place? I thought she just went there on package holidays.’
‘No. Miles bought it when they were first married, but he gave it to her as part of the divorce settlement. It is rented out much of the year and provides a steady income. And, like you say, Barbara stayed there from time to time when it was available.’
Joe laughed out loud.
‘What’s so funny?’ Tracy asked.
‘Well I can’t believe she kept all of this secret for all these years.’
‘I’m sure things would have been different if your father had been at home. You might have lived more, well, in a more materialistic way. Like I say, she was modest about her achievements.’
Tracy sat back in her chair and crossed and re-crossed her legs.
‘This is mad,’ she said, when she found both the men looking in her direction. ‘I kept worrying about how much to put away to care for Mum, in case she lived another twenty years. And all the time she could look after herself and the rest of us. Why didn’t she move, re-decorate, travel?’
‘You know your mother,’ Brian replied, questioning, as he spoke, if this was an accurate conclusion to draw. ‘She was happy with what she had. I am sure if she’d wanted those other things she would have done them. And I think, in part, once the money had been invested, she considered it gone. Waiting to be passed on to the next generation.
‘I’ll be able to provide you with more details, like I said, but we had better move on to those caveats I mentioned earlier. They are important.’ He cleared his throat.
Joe smirked knowingly at Tracy, who coloured and turned away. He’s probably planning how to spend his share already, she thought. And none of it on Janice. Then she thought of Pete, sitting at home watching TV with the boys in that bare room in that soulless house. This was a chance to change their lives forever, not just going back to what they had before Pete’s accident.
‘These are qualifications which apply to the bequests to my children, Tracy and Joseph, at paragraph 1b above; namely:’ – Brian paused dramatically – ‘1, if Tracy or Joseph does not visit me within six months of my death (not including the day of my death)…’
Brian halted again to draw breath. He had included the words in parentheses on the second re-write. He had started to explain to Barbara how important it was to make these kinds of things clear, whether days were included or not in the period of calculation, but she had waved him on with a ‘you’re better at dealing with these things than little old me’ expression and he had not bothered to complete the explanation.
‘…then their share will vest in my grandchildren. 2…’
‘Wait a minute.’ Joe’s hand was in the air and he let it hang there until he had Brian and Tracy’s attention. ‘So, as long as Trace and I visited Mum in the last six months we get our share.’
‘Yes. But there are some other conditions too, if I can read on.’
‘But if, for example, Joe hadn’t visited Mum then his share goes to Luke and Taylor?’ Tracy added loudly, with a touch of superiority. Joe tipped his head back and scowled at the ceiling.
‘Or any other grandchildren,’ Brian countered.
‘My boys are the only grandchildren,’ Tracy said.
‘At the moment, yes, but let me get on to that a little later.’
‘Is this legal?’ Joe asked, suddenly agitated, leaping up and crossing the room to the window where he leaned one hand against the pane.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Trace. You see what she’s done. She always preferred you.’
‘Mr Hennessy, there is no favouritism here. The provision applies equally to you and your sister. Barbara…your mother, didn’t want you, either of you, to be strangers from her, that’s all. That’s understandable, isn’t it?’
Joe glared at Brian. ‘That’s why you asked me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You tricked me, asking me how long it was since I saw her. Before Tracy arrived.’
‘I wasn’t intending to trick you. I was just chatting. It is some time since I assisted your mother with her will and I do have many clients. This provision was not at the forefront of my mind.’
‘Mr Bateman. How do we show you when we last saw Mum?’ Tracy willed her brother to keep quiet. It wasn’t lost on her that Brian was in control of their cool nearly two million pounds, and that it might be prudent to keep him sweet. She tried to remember if her mother had ever spoken of him.
‘It’s not too onerous. If you went out somewhere together you could show a receipt, for a restaurant or theatre and make a declaration on oath that you were together.’
‘What if we just went to her flat, or she came to us?’
‘Someone else, over eighteen, should be prepared to sign and say that’s where you were that evening. They’ll need to come in here and sign in front of me, or another solicitor; that’s all.’
Joe’s mind was racing as he thought back to his last visit to Barbara’s flat. It might have been March or April but it could have been before Christmas. How could he check?
‘Mum had a calendar on her wall,’ he blurted out before he could stop himself.
‘That’s right, she did.’
‘So that may help, I was just thinking. She put appointments on there.’
‘Yes.’ Now Brian was smiling. This was all going swimmingly.
‘Mr Bateman. Is there something else in the will? You were beginning a “2” when Joe interrupted.’
‘Yes. I’ll read on.
Two and three are crucial. They override the first caveat. So I am afraid that if either of these two conditions are satisfied your bequest is forfeited in its entirety. There is no fallback onto grandchildren.’
He paused, and both Tracy and Joe viewed him suspiciously.
‘2, if either Tracy or Joseph or their spouse has been convicted of a criminal offence during the relevant period they shall forfeit their share of the bequest.’
‘Ha!’ Joe shouted. ‘And what was she after with that one then?’
‘Not rewarding the undeserving?’ Brian ventured, but worried he may have gone too far when Joe, who had only just returned to his chair, squeezed the arms until his knuckles turned white.
‘What is she talking about “during the relevant period”?’
‘It’s in the Definitions section again.’
‘I don’t care where it is. What does it mean?’
‘Relevant period ends on the day your mother’s estate is distributed and it begins five years before that date.’
‘So any conviction older than five years doesn’t count then?’
‘That’s right. And 3,’ Brian collected himself and continued with a little less confidence than before. He sensed Tracy would try to restrain her brother if necessary, but Joe was seated closer to him than Tracy and she was a little, well, even delicately, one must admit, ‘on the large side’ and may not move quickly enough to blunt any blows. He took a deep breath and gripped his spectacles with one hand.
‘And 3, if either Tracy or Joseph or their spouse is in debt during the relevant period, then they shall not receive my bequest unless such debt is cleared by the time the money is distributed. Debt will include having any overdrafts, unpaid credit card balances more than one month old or mortgage or rent arrears. There, that’s it.’
Tracy’s mouth fell open.
‘She always wanted you both to be independent financially, to make your own way in the world,’ Brian added, by way of further assistance, ‘but in a prudent, far-sighted manner.’
‘This is bullshit!’ Joe shouted and Brian flinched and dropped the will. ‘First you tell us we’re getting Mum’s money and then we find out that we have to open ourselves up to all this snooping before we get any of it. God, it’s so like her. Didn’t care about us when she was alive but determined to ruin things for us now she’s dead. I bet you’ve never had anyone else write a will like this. Or was this your bloody idea?’
Brian shrank back from the table, picked up the will and folded it neatly, quickly placing it back in its envelope.
‘I can’t possibly discuss other clients with you, and whatever advice your mother sought from me will stay with me until my own death! But I can assure you that your mother was only thinking of each of you and what she wanted from you as members of society when she set out those stipulations.’
‘Bullshit!’ Joe repeated, ‘And it’s Tracy’s kids who get everything if we can’t satisfy you.’
‘Well, perhaps not.’ Brian spoke hesitantly now. He had not anticipated quite so much antagonism, and Tracy had not moved since he had read out the third condition.
‘What do you mean “perhaps not”?’ Joe clenched his fists tight to his sides.
‘It’s in the Definitions section. “Grandchildren” includes any children living today (like Tracy’s boys) but also any children born before your mother’s assets are distributed, as long as they are born within matrimony.’
‘Matrimony?’
‘Yes. Marriage. They have to be born within marriage and before the money is distributed.’
Joe unclenched his fists but his fingers continued to move. Tracy stood up, unsteadily. She suddenly needed to be gone, out of this oppressive room with her mother’s judgement of her life, the life she shared with Pete, hanging all around her.
‘What happens now?’ she asked Brian, who was hoping, but not certain, that the worst of the storm had passed.
‘Well, I submit all the papers to Probate, which should take a month or two. Then I will liaise with Mr Williams to collect together and liquidate, to the extent possible, all the assets, although he will advise on whether that is sensible in this economic climate. And finally, there will be the distribution, so you have plenty of time to get together for me the very basic evidence I will need to satisfy those conditions.’
‘And the distribution itself?’
‘It will be some months, assuming none of the bequests are forfeited. And I suppose if you don’t agree on the liquidation of the assets, that may hold things up. Once Mr Williams has done his bit it will be up to you two how quickly things move.’
‘What does “forfeited” mean? Where does the money go if we don’t get it?’ Tracy asked.
Brian cleared his throat. ‘It goes to a charitable trust which is registered offshore, in the Cayman Islands, very tax-efficient, to be used for charitable purposes.’
Joe was hovering near the door but he turned around, his eyes dancing crazily in his head.
‘No!’ he bellowed. ‘I will only say this once, Brian. Our mum’s money is not going to the frigging Cayman Islands, do you understand?’
Without another word, Joe marched out of the room. Tracy offered Brian her hand and then followed him.
20
Judith and Constance arrived at St Marks armed with a prearranged plan in case of challenge; Constance had found out the name of a long-term patient from Ahmad but, ultimately, when they burst through the swing doors at the entrance to the eleventh-floor private ward, they found the reception desk and surrounding area empty. Grinning at each other conspiratorially, they strode on to the ward, Judith heeding the signs to hand-sanitise on her way, muttering ‘clean is best’ under her breath as she went.
Mrs Hennessy’s room, two down, on the right, was still cordoned off but the door was open. They each peered in and noted the layout; metal-frame bed, bedside cabinet on wheels, all set against a large window but without any mechanism for opening. Nevertheless, Judith craned her neck and peered in for an age, then gazed back up the corridor towards the swing doors, and down the corridor, towards the room where, reportedly, Mrs Hennessy had headed on that fateful night.
She counted the number of rooms and made a note in her book, asking Constance to photograph the room and its surroundings from various angles. ‘Do it quickly and quietly,’ she said. Constance raised an eyebrow but said nothing in response.
She noted the top part of each door was made of glass and that Mrs Hennessy’s door had a slatted blind which was currently closed. There was no CCTV as far as she could see. At the end, also on the right, was the staff room, which Constance entered, while Judith wandered off to survey the rest of the ward.
‘Can I help you?’ the young male nurse seated in the staff room, drinking from a steaming mug, asked Constance, with a touch of annoyance.
‘I hope so. I’m Miss Lamb. I represent Ahmad Qabbani.’
She was rewarded with a blank expression.
‘Ahmad. He’s one of the hospital cleaners.’
‘Ahmad’s not in today.’
‘Yes I know. I’m, well, as I said, I represent him. I’m a lawyer. Do you work with Ahmad? You obviously know him.’
‘I’ve been here three months but I’m only up here one day a week. I see Ahmad sometimes.’
‘I’m here to find out about Mrs Hennessy, the lady who died?’
‘Oh. Mrs Hennessy. I saw her just one time. We have a rota.’
‘What was she like?’
‘A nice lady. I did her blood pressure. She liked to talk. She had an operation, on her foot.’
‘Could she walk alone after her operation?’
‘I didn’t see her after. You should speak to the physio.’
‘And Ahmad. Did you talk to him?’
‘We said hello. He used to talk to the patients more, I think. Ask Lo
ttie, Nurse Li. She’s permanent on this ward. She knows Ahmad much better. She has holiday today but she’s back tomorrow.’
‘Yes, I will, thank you.’ Constance gestured over to the door leading outside, noticing it was newly installed, with a combination code. ‘Is that where…?’
‘Yes. Now they’re saying we should lock it. See the numbers? They put in the new door – said they need the old one for fingerprints. It’s open, though. We all complained, so it’s open. You don’t close all staircases down, just in case someone, some day, decides to jump off one of them.’
Judith wandered in, grinned at the two of them and marched straight out onto the balcony. Constance joined her and the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. They were standing on a metal grate which allowed tantalising glimpses of the ground, one hundred feet below. A few stray cigarette ends, no doubt smoked since the murder, littered the floor. The railing was low, finishing around mid-thigh on Constance, at a convenient hand-height for ascending or descending the stairs, but not suitable for any serious leaning; it would be easy enough to push someone over, more difficult to fall unintentionally.
‘What did he say?’ Judith asked.
‘He doesn’t know Ahmad well. Said to come back tomorrow to talk to another nurse.’
‘Ah.’
‘And the door’s new. They’ve kept the other one.’
‘Gosh. They are taking this enquiry seriously then.’
Judith surveyed the expanse of overgrown woodland below. The area where Mrs Hennessy had been found was still cordoned off, although her body was long gone, and a lone officer remained stationed below.
‘I find the lack of any security here staggering,’ Judith began. ‘We’ve just walked in, straight off the street, and no one has challenged us. I mean, I know we appear fairly respectable, well, I do anyway, but that’s really not the point, is it?’
‘No.’ Constance ignored Judith’s attempt at humour.
‘The people in here are sick and vulnerable and no one checks who comes and goes.’
‘It’d be expensive I s’pose,’ Constance replied. ‘To have security. And inconvenient. You come to visit someone. You don’t expect to be subjected to the third degree.’
