The Woman Who Kept Everything

by Jane Gilley

  She put the album down, for a moment, and looked at her housing particulars. No, that couldn’t be right, she thought, flicking through it. Oh my God! The estate agents were selling her house for …

  ‘Good grief – £385,000 with one estate agent, carpets of your choice included in the price – God, £9,000 for carpets? What a rip-off! Surely it wouldn’t cost that much to put new carpets in throughout? And £375,000 with the other two agents but no carpet deal. But that’s a bloody fortune! Is my little house really worth that much? Oh my God!’

  Gloria was so shocked she had to sit down.

  She couldn’t stop staring at the typed details and photos of the house she no longer recognised without its familiar clutter in every room, on every surface. Jocelyn was right. It had been coated in white paint throughout, which made it look spacious and, maybe, fresh but it also looked very stark. It was certainly no longer her house. The outside had even been ‘landscaped’ according to the typed details. And there was now a slabbed ‘car port’ in place of the shed that used to house all her mum’s old stuff. What a ruddy amazing transformation! Gloria couldn’t believe it.

  After a while she rose gloomily and switched the kettle on for a cuppa, because she realised she belonged nowhere now. Her house was no longer her house. And there was certainly nothing homely staring out at her from the pages of the estate agent’s details. She wasn’t quite sure what Clegg and Val had in mind for her but she knew it wasn’t going to be anything rosy. Regrettably, after all the carefree fun she’d been having, flying around the nation, these housing particulars had brought her back down to earth with a ruddy great hard bump.

  She ignored the whistling kettle as she walked down the corridor, deep in thought, to her bedroom. The bed had been made and it was clean and tidy but it looked as if she’d never been there. It was, in fact, as stark as the estate agent’s particulars. There was also nothing homely, she realised, about Clegg and Val’s home, either, apart from their lovely garden.

  But maybe they’d moved her out already? Maybe – oh no – maybe an old people’s home was now waiting for her, far away from everyone she knew.

  It was totally disheartening.

  She ran a bath, stripped and when she’d got the right depth and temperature she climbed carefully in, lowering herself with some difficulty, onto her knees and then getting her legs out straight, once she’d sat down. She lay down in the soapy gel suds with a wheeze. She actually found it easier getting out than in. But she’d needed that bath. She loved having baths now.

  Before being rescued she hadn’t had one in years and years, with all the problems in her old house. She’d had baths in the three hotels she’d recently stayed in, though. She preferred them to being seated on a plastic chair in the showers they insisted you use in old people’s homes, with high-powered water peppering down on your head – even though baths were hard to negotiate. One day she’d have to succumb to showers only; she knew that much. But for now, she was enjoying this – possibly her last bath.

  She lay there, after she’d washed, until the water began to turn cool. Then she sat up, managed to get into a kneeling position, again, and tentatively got out, holding on to the edge of the bath – there was no grab rail – and dried off. She felt so tired. She also felt a little apprehensive. What were her rights in all of this? Well she knew one thing, for sure. The house was hers not Cleggy’s. He couldn’t sell something that didn’t belong to him. But where were her documents – the deeds to her house? She needed them but they weren’t in the kitchen.

  Clegg had dealt with everything after Arthur died.

  Gloria had spent long hours grieving her lovely Arthur, back then, not wanting to see anyone or do anything. She’d been very depressed. But Cleggy had looked after her, popping round after work when he first started in his job, straight out of the army, as a security guard. He’d fed her and taken control of every situation she could no longer deal with. Plus he didn’t mention her ‘collections’ of stuff, as she called her hoarding back then. So it was fine, when she didn’t know or care what she was doing, in respect of her grief and her hoarding woes. So, admittedly, yes! Clegg had helped her in those days.

  But now, she realised, she wanted some control back over her life as well as access to her ‘assets’, as Jocelyn had informed her that her house would now be referred to.

  She didn’t know where to start or how to deal with reining in her son’s attitude now he’d changed. And he’d certainly changed. He’d always been quite cocky as a teenager and often brought trouble to their door but he’d stepped up when she was grief-stricken about Arthur. Yet, nowadays, he was morose and had little patience with her. Somewhere along the line, something had changed with him but she didn’t know what had caused that to happen and why. Yet if they were to carry on as mother and son, in some context, they needed to reach an agreement about what was to be done with everything, including the sale of her house.

  She dressed again and walked back into the kitchen and flicked the kettle switch on, so she could make some tea and have a sandwich before she went out again.

  In the lounge she spied her London postcard sitting on the mantelpiece above the hearth. Well at least they hadn’t thrown it out in disgust. Maybe there was hope. Or maybe it meant nothing. The Eastbourne one was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it hadn’t arrived yet.

  But she realised if Clegg wanted to play dirty she would simply have to go and see a solicitor and sort everything out properly. She didn’t want to do that. It felt mean, even though he’d treated her badly. But he’d caused this unpleasantness and so now she had to deal with it. Trying to talk sensibly with him wouldn’t work because he always managed to turn things around so it looked as though she was somehow in the wrong. And she couldn’t take that any more. She couldn’t stand being put down by him all the time.

  It had to stop.

  Jocelyn had told her about a cheapish solicitor, called Ron Byrd, who was a one-man band. Jocelyn had used him when she and Tilsbury divorced. So, if he was still in business, perhaps he’d give Gloria some free advice and even if she had to pay for it, well then, she still had the credit card Clegg had given her, after all.

  Chapter 30

  Gloria got the bus into town because she knew Jocelyn and Marvin were betting at the dog track today. They’d left a written message on their hall table for Tilsbury to let him know that, whether he sneaked back in to annoy them, or to pick up his mail, Gloria was back and wanted to see him.

  She found out where Ron Byrd’s office was, so she went to see him. As she stepped off the bus she took a deep breath. This was all starting to seem a bit real now. What a shame they couldn’t all sit down like adults and discuss what was to be done with her house.

  Ron Byrd’s office was on the first floor of a block of offices. The lift was out of order so the flight of stairs had her gasping and wheezing for breath. As she approached the reception desk, panting, the receptionist said Ron wouldn’t be able to see her because he was tied up with client meetings all day and that she’d have to make an appointment for another day if she wanted to see him.

  ‘Oh Ron Byrd’s come up in the world now has he? He never had anyone mindin’ him before!’ Gloria said exasperated, as she looked around at the tired reception area with drooping spider plants and scratched faux leather seats – or were they meant to look like that? She perched on the edge of one. ‘Plus I’ve just climbed all the way up those ruddy stairs, love. Would be better if you’d mended the lift, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘We need a new lift, actually, ma’am. But the other folks in this building ain’t got the money to pay for a new one and the landlord says he don’t want to pay for one either. So it’s a tricky situation. Anyway I’m Ron’s receptionist as well as his secretary, so I do everything except speak to clients. And I’m in charge of his diary and he’s busy all day.’

  ‘Oh that’s nice. Well, love, I have to say that I’ve just about had a skinful of late and, if he’s to be my solicitor then I
want a few quick words with him as soon as.’

  ‘Yes, well, like I say he’s busy at the moment. I’ll look at the diary and then we’ll find you a spot.’

  At that moment there was a roar from the office behind the girl.

  ‘Oh he’s in with clients is he? Well I don’t think he’d be roarin’ like a lion if there was clients in with him, lass!’

  Gloria got up.

  ‘Er well no! No but yes! He’s seeing clients in about five minutes you see. So you’d have to wait anyway –’

  ‘Well I’m not waitin’, lass. I’m goin’ in.’

  And with that Gloria strode purposely behind the reception desk, knocked on Ron Byrd’s door and entered his office.

  Ron Byrd was a stout man who clearly chain-smoked, judging by the overflowing ashtray on his desk. And it seemed he was happy to work with – ahem – unruly piles of paperwork covering his desk. Gloria raised her eyebrows at that. Living in chaos was one thing but how was anyone able to work, professionally, in that sort of environment? A wooden frame with his credentials hung slightly crookedly on his wall.

  ‘Okay, well,’ she began. ‘Right now, I know I ain’t got an appointment but I’ll be quick. Do you remember Jocelyn Harrington or you’d’a known her as Jocelyn Hunter when she was married? Well, anyway she recommended you and all I want, at this stage, is for you to answer me a few quick questions.’

  Ron Byrd roared again but it wasn’t actually a roar. He clearly had a very bad cold and that roar was the sound of a huge sneeze. He had a large white handkerchief to catch it.

  ‘Bless you, love,’ said Gloria.

  Ron Byrd shifted in his seat. ‘Thank you. Right, now, who d’you say? Jocelyn? Nope. Don’t hear the name Jocelyn bandied about much these days, do you? Oh, wait a minute! Yeah! I remember. Loud mouth. Argumentative sort,’ Ron Byrd said, screwing his face up in an unpleasant way. ‘So. You related?’

  ‘No, she’s my friend. Now the girl outside says you’ve got another appointment in five minutes so I’ll be quick. I’ve got a house in my name that my son is tryin’ to sell from under me. First, can he do that and second he’s hidden me documents provin’ it’s mine. Can I get him to give ’em back?’

  ‘Right, well that’ll be a No to the first question and a Yes to the second.’

  ‘Ah well that’s encouragin’. So could I tell him you’re going to be my solicitor if he starts gettin’ stroppy with me? And how much do ya charge?’

  ‘Yes you can tell anybody I’m your solicitor. I need all the business I can get these days! And my charges vary depending what’s involved. Debs, the girl outside, will give you a sheet with my charges on or we can have a chat about what we’ll be doing and I can give you a quote.’

  ‘Right, well I think first off I’ll just say you’re me solicitor and then take it from there, if ya don’t mind. Can you give me a card to rub under his nose?’

  Ron Byrd sniggered. ‘Sure. Pick one up off the front desk.’

  ‘Well thank you very much, Ron Byrd. You’re a good ’un.’

  ‘But you haven’t seen my charges yet.’

  Chapter 31

  Gloria felt mountains better, after her little chat with Ron Byrd. And having Ron’s business card now meant that she, too, could do ‘business’ with Clegg and Val. It wasn’t quite war but it certainly meant she was a force to be reckoned with.

  Plus, knowing she could get help with her quest – if she needed to – was a bargaining tool, if nothing else. She’d done her homework. And it had given her bags of confidence, knowing she was about to take back some of the control over her life.

  Gloria had known for quite a while that she simply couldn’t allow Clegg to continue treating her as though she was a stupid imbecile. She needed him to respect her, the way he should, as his mother. She also knew that it would be hard for her to force this issue with him. Perhaps that’s why she’d allowed him to treat her the way he had, all these years. Because it was easier than fighting all the time. But it hadn’t helped anyone – least of all her. So she knew it was going to be difficult to be firm with him; to put him in his place. But she also knew she had to stick to her guns. For all their sakes.

  After leaving Ron’s she walked into a bank, around the corner from the solicitor’s office, and opened an account with £100 of Clegg’s money that she’d taken out of the hole-in-the-wall in Sheringham. She gave her own home address, not Clegg’s, in case things suddenly changed and the house wasn’t sold, for some reason. And Gloria showed the teller a recent utility bill of hers, that Jocelyn told her she’d need, as well as an old library card with a faded photo, for identification. She’d found both in Clegg’s kitchen drawer.

  She’d had to answer quite a few questions about herself before the bank account could be opened. In the past, Arthur had done this type of thing for her and then Clegg had taken over dealing with her paperwork once his dad had passed. After the bank, she found a little café and treated herself to a well-earned cup of tea and a pink iced bun before picking up some fish and chips and then heading back to Jocelyn’s on the bus.

  When she got back she was pleased to see Tilsbury was there, having a cup of tea with Jocelyn and Marvin. They hugged for a while.

  ‘Get a room, bruv!’ snorted Marvin, with a grin.

  Gloria chose to ignore him. ‘Oh I’ve missed ya, Tils.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Tilsbury. ‘So c’mon tell me all about yer adventures.’

  ‘Well, first we’ll have these fish and chips I’ve bought us all and then we’ll have a little natter, ducks. Plus, can I make a couple of phone calls, Joss? I can pay ya if ya like.’

  ‘Nah, what’s the cost of a couple of phone calls, love. You brought us dinner. Dial away to yer heart’s content.’

  * * *

  The next day at 7.45 a.m., Clegg, Val, Adam and Jessie were settling down to their breakfast of cornflakes, tea and toast when they were startled by a loud banging on their front door.

  ‘What the – ?’ began Clegg, annoyed, mug of tea in hand.

  Adam got there first, sliding down the hall in his socks. He opened the door cautiously and there was Gloria’s face, beaming at him.

  ‘Hello, Adam love! My how you’ve grown! Crikey you’re almost as tall as my Cleggy! Don’t remember me do you, love? I’m your gran. Yer dad’s mum!’

  ‘Oh hi, Gran; Dad said you were stayin’. Well he said you’d gone off. Swore a bit he did. You’ve been to London. Cool place ain’t it?’

  He moved forward to hug Gloria.

  ‘’Tis that, love. Especially Big Ben.’

  ‘Who is it, Adam? Who’s at the bloody door, at this hour?’ Clegg bellowed, finishing his swig of tea.

  Val walked into the hall. ‘Gloria! Where the hell’ve you been? We’ve been worried sick!’

  She didn’t move to hug Gloria.

  ‘Cleggy’s been going off his rocker,’ she said in a flat tone.

  Gloria regarded her stiffly. ‘Well I didn’t think you wanted me back, with all the arguments and tippy-toeing around me. I don’t like all that unpleasantness, love.’

  Adam looked puzzled but went back to finish his breakfast. Adults, his expression clearly said.

  Clegg appeared at the door, the rage bright red on his face. ‘Well, Mother, I think we need to have a talk.’

  Gloria always felt wobbly, dealing with him. He had a certain knack of always making her feel foolish. But, today, she moved towards the lounge, ahead of him – admittedly, with more certainty than she felt. But she was determined. It had to be done. Val followed.

  ‘You two get yourselves off. See youse later, guys,’ she shouted to her children and then closed the lounge door for privacy.

  Clegg sat on the sofa, his arms crossed, a grim expression on his face. ‘So what’ve you got to say for yourself, then, Mother?’

  Gloria sat on the edge of the armchair opposite and also steeled herself, arms folded.

  Wasn’t he supposed to jump up and hug her, now she’d come back
from God knows where, knowing that here she was safe and sound and back home, where she belonged?

  But although she felt threatened by Cleggy’s unfriendly manner, she didn’t like the thought of what she needed to say to him and Val. Not one little bit.

  Chapter 32

  ‘I am your mother, Cleggy. And let me tell you, you have no right to talk to me as though I was summat nasty you’d stepped in.’

  Clegg shifted in his seat.

  ‘You and Val have been controlling me for a long time now. And I will admit that I didn’t realise it until I spoke to those lovely people at the nursin’ home. Fact, I couldn’t believe I’d let things get so outta hand that I really didn’t know what I was doin’ any more.’

  Nobody spoke.

  ‘I was depressed. But what did you care? You left me to rot in my rotten house. I was probably in need of some mental health attention too. But no. You were happy to see me deteriorating like that, weren’t you, Cleggy? Because that way you could tell everyone I was a hopeless case and then, once you got your hands on my money, you could put me away somewhere, far away from you all. In fact, I think by getting me put away you saw it as one less problem for you to have to deal with. And I think you do see me as a “problem”. Not, unfortunately, as yer mother, son.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Val retorted.

  ‘Where the hell have you been, Mother?’ Clegg said through clenched teeth.

  ‘I’ve been away on my holidays and to – hmm, what’s that expression – oh yes, to find myself.’

  ‘Oh yes? And where did you find yourself?’

  Gloria shrugged. ‘Here and there, actually. Well, all over the place really. I’ve learned a lot from my travels.’

  ‘Have you now? And did you enjoy using all my money whilst you were doing that?’

  ‘You kept giving me credit cards, when yer dad died and I never spent one single penny on them. Until now. Plus you never told me what I COULDN’T spend it on!’