In the solicitors waiting room pondering. My grandmother has passed away but we didn’t know as my mother had an acrimonious fallout with her years ago.
The door opens, I’m waved in, sitting in the only available seat. My aunts and uncles glower at me.
The solicitor, Mr Packson, a young man, says, ”We are here to read the will of Agnes Florence Whitely of 56 Millpond Road, Whisley. ”
Grunts of impatience from people.
”Being of sound mind, these are my wishes. To my daughter, Sylvie: you may remain in the said property until your death. Upon your demise the house will be left to my granddaughter Alison Dobbs.”
Uproar. All shout the odds, mainly at me, Alison Dobbs.
”To my sons, Bertie and Leslie, I leave any house furniture you can get Sylvie to part with. You’ve both had the bulk of my money over the years so there’s little left. Any monies remaining will go to my grandchildren Ronnie, Rose and Abi. Those are my wishes. ”
Uproar again, a chorus badgering Packson. ” She was out of her mind, we’ll challenge the will, the house should be sold and split between us, not her who dresses like a tramp.”
”A codicil to the will is that if any of you challenge the will, the house goes straight to Alison including any monies . The choice is yours. I now wish to speak to Alison alone.”
They storm out.
I slump in the chair. Alright I did have on torn jeans and a sloppy jumper, maybe the pink hair doesn’t help but I’m not a tramp. ”I see you’ve met my family then,” I say.
He laughs and says, ”Now Alison I’ve a box left with us for safekeeping with strict instructions that it be given to only you. ”
Mystified, I take it, a large intricate carved wooden box with a lock. He hands me the key. I open it and the smell hits me. It’s grandma’s favourite perfume; it brings tears to my eyes. Inside are photos of me as a child, cards and drawings I’d done when we lived with her, unopened letters she’d sent to me after the argument, all returned to her by my mother. Now I cry, she hasn’t forgotten me as my mother had told me. No wonder my mother kicked me out at sixteen, as I was going to trace Grandma. Life got in the way, finding work and somewhere to stay had taken time, but I survived and thrived, and now I have my grandma back. I can’t wait to get home and show my children my history.
” Are you OK Alison?” he asks passing me tissues.
”Oh yes, you’ve given me back my grandma. That’s more precious than everything, thank you. ”
”I’ll send out a copy of the will to you to keep as we have the deeds to the house. Good luck. ”
Floating on air, I wave and walk off.
