Читать книгу The Kicking the Bucket List - Cathy Hopkins - Страница 12

Saturday 12 September

The agent from Scott Frank came just after breakfast. A young man with rosy cheeks, dressed in a sharp suit. ‘This will be an easy sell,’ he said after he’d been around the house leaving a trail of strong aftershave. ‘We’ll have a buyer in weeks.’

‘Are you certain? I thought this was a slow time for the property market,’ I said.

‘Oh no. I already have a waiting list of buyers in London looking for properties down here, especially ones as charming as this.’

*

Taylor and Knight came just before lunch. A middle-aged blonde woman in a navy trouser suit and silver jewellery. ‘It will get snapped up,’ she said, then sighed, ‘you’ve made it lovely. I’d buy it myself if I could.’

‘This won’t be on the market long,’ said the man from Chatham and Reeves who’d arrived early afternoon. He had an old-fashioned manner about him, was dressed in a tweed jacket and corduroy trousers and smelt slightly of burnt sausages. ‘Character, original features and the garden is established, perfect country-cottage style. Just what our buyers are looking for in locations like this.’

Nooooooooooooooooo, I thought.

*

Michael telephoned late afternoon. ‘Just to let you know that I’m going with Chatham and Reeves. They want to send a photographer round the day after tomorrow if that’s all right?’

‘I have no choice, have I?’

There was a silence on the other end of the phone. ‘I am sorry, Dee, but I hope you understand.’

‘I understand perfectly,’ I said as I looked at my Greek statue, which was still resplendent on the fireplace. A vision of where I could shove it came to mind as I hung up the phone.

*

Anna came over immediately on hearing my news.

‘You can stay in my spare room if the house sells quickly,’ she said.

I was touched by her offer, but I knew she used her spare room to store the vintage clothing she put up for sale on the Internet, and to make the jewellery she sold. Her daughters also slept there when they visited, which was often, plus she had a constant stream of visitors. I’d cramp her style if I lived there with her. ‘Thanks, Anna, but you use that room,’ I replied, ‘and much as I love you, we might drive each other mad if we lived together. I don’t want to run that risk. I’ll find a room in the village when the time comes: that’s my best option.’

‘But not yet,’ said Anna. ‘House sales take months, and that’s if there’s a buyer straight away. Come on Dee, buck up, you’re acting like a victim. You do have a choice. We always have a choice.’

‘Stop being so positive. It’s annoying.’

‘Now you’re talking like Mrs Rowley in the shop,’ said Anna. ‘You know I’m right. You have to fight. Don’t just roll over and accept what’s happening like you have no say in it. Fight to get Rose on board. Fight to keep your house.’

‘OK. How?’

Anna looked blank. ‘I don’t know. I’m just full of lines from self-help books that I’ve read over the years. They never covered specifics. You know the kind – Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway. How To Stop Worrying and Start Living. Kick Your Crutch and Walk Free. Those kind of books.’

If nothing else, Anna always made me laugh.

*

‘Dear God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference,’ I said to the ceiling when Anna had gone. She was right, I thought. I have to fight for my home. If I can just keep any prospective buyers at bay for a year, I will get my inheritance, be able to stay here and all will be well. In the meantime … My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a text coming through. I looked at my mobile but didn’t recognize the number. It read: ‘Winner or loser? Hero or victim? Your choice.’ Must be from Anna, I thought. She forgot to take her mobile out and is using Ian’s to tell me to call Rose. Well, that’s me told and she’s right, I do have to snap out of feeling defeated and fight, so OK, Anna, message received and I choose to be a winner.

I took a deep breath, went into the hall and called Rose’s number. Hugh picked up.

‘Dee. Oh yes, er … Rose can’t come to the phone at the moment.’

My stomach tensed. Just as I thought she would, she was shutting me out. ‘I guess you know all about the condition of the will?’ I asked.

‘I do,’ said Hugh.

‘So why doesn’t she want to go ahead with it?’

I heard Hugh sigh. ‘She’ll have to tell you that herself,’ he said. He was never one to get involved in family squabbles. ‘I’ll see if I can get her to come to the phone.’

The line went quiet and I really wanted to hang up. I was too old for this lark, but Anna’s words kept echoing: you have a choice, don’t just roll over. A few minutes later, Rose came on to the line. ‘Dee. How can I help?’

She sounded so official. ‘This is Dee, Rose, not one of your staff. And I think you know how you can help. You can do what Mum asked us to. Her last wish.’ I might not have been in touch with Rose for years, but I knew what mattered to her. She was always the good daughter, never disobedient, always seeking Mum or Dad’s approval.

‘Plus you need the money,’ said Rose.

‘I do, but regardless of that, it was still Mum’s last wish that we get together and do whatever she’s programmed. She’d thought this out, Rose. I think the least we can do is go along with what she wanted. What if she’s still watching us from somewhere? What if there is an afterlife and she can see that you intend to disregard her wish and not hear how much she regretted us not talking.’

‘Oh for God’s sake, Dee, there is no such thing as a ghost or an afterlife. You live, you die. Mum’s gone.’

OK, I thought, I knew that might not work. Time to try another tactic.

‘You’re probably right,’ I said. ‘But part of her will live on with her kicking the bucket list. We know from the letter that she put time and thought into it. If we don’t do it, we’ll never know what was really on her mind these last months. I knew she’d been thinking a lot about death. You probably knew that, too – all those books in her room. I want to do it, for her but also for me, because in a way it will help me hang on to her a little longer, like she will still be there, telling me what to do every other month.’

Rose was quiet.

Enough said, I told myself, don’t push her.

‘I suppose there’s nothing to lose if we at least see what she wanted,’ said Rose finally.

‘Exactly,’ I agreed. ‘Step at a time.’

‘I might drop out if she’s dreamed up something completely insane. You know what she was like.’

‘Your prerogative, but I think we owe it to her to at least give it a chance.’

‘Let me think about it,’ said Rose. ‘I’ll get back to you.’

I sighed. Blooming Rose. She’d not changed. She never agreed to anything easily, it was always: let me think about it. She’d played the ‘I’ll get back to you’ tactic perfectly, like she always had: taking control and leaving me hanging, at her mercy and wondering what she’d do.

Rose

Saturday 12 September.

‘What did you say to Dee?’ Hugh asked after I’d put down the phone.

‘That I’d think about it.’

‘Fleur?’

‘Fleur’s in.’

‘I think you should do it, Rose. It might be just what you need.’

‘I probably will … just … I still feel so angry with them both.’

‘Over the funeral?’

‘They’re both so selfish, always have been and now they expect me to turn the page on the fact that neither of them offered to help and just carry on like it never happened. Someone had to settle the bill, see the last people off, book taxis for the out-of-towners.’

‘It was their mother’s funeral. They probably didn’t even think.’

‘Exactly. They never think and they’re not the only ones who lost a mother. Fleur didn’t even say goodbye at the wake. I know. I should let go but I can’t. Not at the moment.’

‘To be expected when you’re going through what you are. It’s one of the stages. Denial, anger, depression, acceptance, something like that.’

‘Well I’m stuck in the anger stage.’

‘The funeral was back in July,’ said Hugh. ‘You can’t keep carrying this. You have to let it go.’

‘I know and I know it’s not really about them but anger is an emotion I can deal with at present so I’m sticking with it.’

Hugh smiled. ‘Anyway, it was probably easier that you did it yourself. I’ve often heard you say that neither Fleur or Dee are great organizers.’

‘Stop being reasonable and nice. I want to rage about something and they happen to be in range.’

‘Fine. Rage away,’ said Hugh.

I had wanted to speak to both of my sisters at the funeral before they left but it had been full on from six in the morning, then Dee’d picked the worst possible time to try and talk to me. She probably took it the wrong way, prickly as always. She was always oversensitive. And Fleur just disappeared, probably wrapped up in her grief like she was the only one who existed. I meant to make it right at the will reading then but got a call I couldn’t ignore. I had to go and it’s all been crazy since then. Life takes over, appointments, people to see, plans to make.

‘So much for sisters,’ I said.

Hugh came over and gave me a bear hug. ‘You have me, Rose, you always have me.’

That much was true. I had Hugh. Neither Fleur nor Dee had partners. I was being mean and not thinking straight. I’d call Dee and let her know I’d do the programme. Of course I would, but not today; tomorrow, I’d call her tomorrow.