The Conditional Will

There they are, gathering, like vultures round a carcase. Well, let them gather. I’m not dead yet. And I’ve got a few surprises for the lot of them. I’ll watch them dance to my tune, hoping for some scraps from the table, but I’ve made my will and it’s too late to change it now. I must say though I’d like to be around to see their faces when they see what’s in it.

I made my will to divide the estate between all progeny that fulfil certain criteria. If they fail, if they all fail, what then? What if none of them steps up to the mark and inherits? Then the place is sold and the money sent to Jada, my beautiful Jada and her son. Our son.

Of course, this lot don’t know about Jada. They don’t know about their half-brother. Joshua I believe she called him. I’ve sent her money over the years for his upkeep, his education, but when she inherits this, there will be so many opportunities for him. He’s a clever boy by all accounts, he’ll be able to go to university, make a difference to his homeland.

I did think of leaving the estate to Jada as it is, but she wouldn’t fit in here. Not just the colour of her skin, but her upbringing, her background. And to have her come here would be to expose her to the abuse and cruelty of this lot who would be sure to contest the will. And what would she know about how to run a place like this, a place that’s four times the size of her whole village? And she wouldn’t have any money to invest in the place. No, I wouldn’t do that to Jada, not when she gave me so much comfort after Constance had died.

You’d have thought though that with five legitimate offspring I could have produced one that was worth something, one that I could have trusted with this place. You don’t own a place like this. You’re just a caretaker, and it needs to be passed on to the next caretaker. But the money that made this place what it is ran out long ago, and now there’s nothing but debts. To say nothing of crumbling brickwork, poor plumbing, out-of-date electrics. The list goes on.

I know they all have their own ideas about what could be done with this place. They’ve all come to me from time to time with those ideas, some possibly feasible, but not in my lifetime, thank you very much. While I’m alive, this is my home.

Not that I’ll be alive much longer. Doctors have said a couple of weeks at most. And so they gather, waiting, wanting it to be over, not through any consideration for my suffering, but to get their grubby hands on this estate. To be the saviour of this failing pile of bricks.

Listen, can you hear them? They’re arguing even now about what’s to become of this place. They think they’re all going to get a one fifth share, and then let the games begin. Or maybe each one thinks that they’ve got the best claim and will inherit the lot.

Yes, five children, three boys and two girls, and all of them a disappointment in some way or other. You’d have thought with five of them that there’d be at least one grandchild by now. But no, not a single one. If I could see any one of them as family orientated perhaps things would be different. But if there are no grandchildren, how can I pass this to any one of them? Who would they pass it to?

There’s James. Big in the city apparently. Plenty of money to put into this place, I dare say. But humourless. And that wife of his. Stick thin, goes around with a face like a slapped arse. Never seen her smile, not even when they got married. It’d cause too many wrinkles, apparently. I ask you. And as for children, oh no. She’s not going to spoil her body for the sake of children. How James could want to bounce on that bag of bones anyway I don’t know. Can you imagine it? ‘Oh, James, be careful, you’ll mess my hair.’ And ‘Oh James, you can’t kiss me, you’ll smudge my lipstick.’ Hah. And I hate to think how much surgery she’s had. Breasts do not come in that shape. Veronica she’s called, though she calls herself V, like the rest of the name has too many calories.

Of course, she thinks this place would make a great health and beauty spa, and I’m sure between them they could make it work. But I can’t have her being lady of the manor. So, if they’re to get the property, it’s on the following understanding. She has to keep away from the knife for at least six months, put on a couple of stone in weight and there has to be evidence that she can laugh, not just an insipid little smile either, a proper belly laugh like she’s being tickled to within an inch of her life. 

Just like Constance used to laugh.

I suppose he could divorce her and marry a proper woman, someone with a bit of meat on her, but I know he won’t do that. Her dad is his boss.

Then there’s Charlie. I had high hopes for Charlie. Hard working, right at home in this place. Seems to care about it as well. And I waited, waited for him to bring some girl home, make his dad proud. And then I find out he’s gay. Bat’s for the other side. I ask you. I told him, in my day that wouldn’t have been allowed. In his grandad’s day, he’d have been put in prison for it. But these days, it’s normal.

Didn’t seem to be a surprise for any of the others though. They’d always known. How can they have? How can they have known when I had no idea? But when it came out, it was eyebrows raised, as if dad must have been dumb not to see it. Of course, it was James who let the cat out of the bag, knowing how I feel about such things. Thought he’d increase his chances of getting the property I suppose.

Charlie would turn this place into a ‘venue’. You know, the sort for weddings and business meetings. They all seem to be doing it these days, and makes money, so I’m told. But then Charlie won’t get the place either. Not unless he’s married and got a kid on the way within six months of my death that is.

Then there’s Benedict. What a waste of space that young man is. His mother’s favourite, for what good it did him. Got everything handed to him on a plate, but while the other two boys are at least hard working, he’s never done a day’s work in his life. I suppose there might be the odd grandchild out there curtesy of Benedict, but I’d never know. Doubt he would either. Doubt he’d even remember the mother if one turned up on the doorstep with a babe in tow. If he were to take it over, he’d hold one big bash, plenty of booze, plenty of drugs possibly, probably burn the place down in the process.

I can’t see it really. He’d just squander whatever he was given on drink and gambling, probably kill himself in the process. Can’t have that. He’s still my son. No, if he wants this place, and I’m not sure he’s really bothered either way, he’d have to go to rehab, get clean, not gamble, and get a job that shows promise.

Well, that’s all the boys written off. Then there’s the girls.

Abigail is a bit God-help-me. No, she’s a lot God-help-me. Had a bad relationship, messy abortion which took away her fertility, and now is constantly depressed. She’d want to turn this place into a retreat for some cause or other. She’s always got a cause. Of course, it wouldn’t pay a bean, which would mean she’d have to rely on charity to keep the place running. But she’s not the sort of personality that attracts those that give to charity. Not in any meaningful amount, anyway.

If she were to get the place, she’d have to get off the Prozac, get herself a spine, and man up. Or should that be woman up? Otherwise she’s going to rattle round in this place like Miss Haversham after the non-wedding.

Then there’s Amelia. If Abigail is God-help-me, Amelia’s a God-botherer. Now, don’t get me wrong, each to their own, but with Amelia she does tend to ram it down your throat, as if her beliefs are the only ones that are worth having. That’s the problem with some religions, you can worship God all you want, but if it’s any other way than their way, then you’re doomed to hell and damnation. Well, they can’t all be right can they, and I’d much sooner make time for a good man who’s agnostic than a bad man who’s a bishop.

If Amelia got the place, she’d probably turn it into a convent or some such.  Of course, her church might be willing to put the funds up to repair the place, or they may not, which would leave a mad nun, as opposed to a mad monk, rattling around here.

If she wants the place, she’s going to have to go way out of her comfort zone. She’s going to have to get drunk, get laid, get arrested. Hah. I’ve been generous, I’ve given her the option of two out of three, so she can choose to keep her sobriety, virginity or good reputation, whichever means the most.

Ah, here comes Rhoda, with my medicine. She’s my assistant. Striking woman, good woman. Good at what she does. But no, she won’t be benefitting at all from this, not a bean. She does a lot for me, but she gets paid a good wage. All my staff get paid a decent wage which is why they stay on. And I’ve written each of them a good reference for after I’ve gone. Can’t do more than that.

Besides, Rhoda knows the terms of my will. She got Phillip Stamford to come round here to draw it up last autumn. She witnessed it. And she didn’t say a word against it, knowing it was my decision, mine alone. She knows she won’t benefit.

Rhoda’s leaving now, and I’m going to have a nap. Funny, from this angle, I’m sure… But no, must just be because she’s wearing something looser than normal, that’s all. Well, it is hot at this time of year.

***

Of course, Laurence doesn’t realise what’s been planned. If he has noticed my increasing bump, he’s not said anything. But then he is ill, probably in pain. Such a shame. They wouldn’t let an animal suffer like they do humans, eking out every last second of life they can, no matter what the suffering.

And when he’s gone? Well, Charles and I will stand back and wait while the others curse at our cleverness.

You see Charles is a good man, the only man for the job here. Laurence is right about James, his only interest is for his wife. And he’s right about Benedict, Abigail and Amelia as well, all lost causes as far as being caretaker for this place is concerned. But Charles is just what this place needs. With his vision, my organisational abilities and Michael’s contacts, we could make a go of this place.

 Michael is my cousin and Charles’ husband. Yes, they married quietly in the spring. With Laurence being so ill, it seemed inappropriate to make a big deal of it. That’s one of the criteria from the will taken care of. And Laurence didn’t specify that Charles had to be married to the mother of his child, did he? Just that Charles had to be married and a child well and truly in the oven and baking.

And that’s where I come in. Me and the turkey baster. This child will have three parents, Charles the biological father, me the biological mother, curtesy of said turkey baster, and Michael, Charles’ husband and another father. And the three of us between us will make a success of this place.

Oh yes, we’ll make sure the others are okay. We might offer V a place for her clinic if James will invest. V’s okay if you know how to talk to her, though she is rather self-obsessed. We thought the old stable block. It’s quite separate, very run down, to do with as she pleases. What she doesn’t seem to realise is the main house wouldn’t do at all for her project, there’d be too many building restrictions on a place like this for what modernisations she has in mind.

Abigail’s a good sort if you offer the right support, and she’s damned good in the kitchen, so offer her a home, a role in charge of the tea-rooms and she’ll be fine. Maybe as we expand, her role could expand too. Or not, if she’s more comfortable living in a small pond.

Amelia has a degree in art and history. She’ll be wonderful in sorting out the vast array of antiquities there are in this place. We’ll be relying on her to work out what pieces are valuable but not part of the integral history of the house, which can be sold to allow us to start on the repairs.  And there’s even a small chapel that can be rejuvenated if she feels the need to pray. 

Benedict has never felt he could live up to his father’s exacting standards. Very much a mummy’s boy and he was young when his mother died. But we’ll give him a chance and help him along the way. But he’ll be given an ultimatum. Come on board, work hard, shape up and there’ll be a role for him. Or he can go his own way. Very much up to him.

And Joshua? Of course the others don’t know about him, but Charles does and agrees that if it can be done then the young man should be encouraged to study and we’ll see to it his fees are paid.

You might think I’m a scheming bitch, and I suppose I am. But if you think of it another way, I’m enabling Charles to supply Laurence with what he has long wished for, a grandchild. And I don’t see why there can’t be a couple more in the years to come. 

Essentially the old man wanted a future for this place, and that’s exactly what Charles and I are planning.