Mum, youre 65 now. Time to go see the solicitor and get the house sorted for inheritance, my sister nagged while visiting.
About a week ago, Mum had her 65th birthday. Naturally, she didnt fancy anything terribly rowdy, just invited us round for some nibbles at home. I brought her a lovely bunch of roses, a new dressing gown, a perfectly matching pair of slippers, and of course slipped £75 into a card. You never know when a few quid might come in handy.
My wife and kids couldnt make it, sadly. Son was down with a bug, daughter had a gymnastics tournament, and Rachel got called last minute to a conference in London. The little ones put some effort in despite, crafting a giant drawing for Gran the whole clan smiling in front of the house.
Then my younger sister, Sophie, rolled up to the village.
Oh, I completely forgot to get Mum a present, she whispered. Just tell her the dressing gowns from both of us, will you?
Fine, I replied. But you do remember its actually her birthday, right? Proper milestone and all.
Oh, Jonny, you wouldnt believe the drama Ive had at work!
Sophies never been the independent sort. Had her daughter with some guy at uni halls at 19, and he scarpered before anyone got his surname. Left her with no child support and plenty of headaches. Back then, I was working construction and sent her a bit of cash whenever I could. Baby formula, a few dresses for Nikki, the odd treat. I even begged a mate to get Nikki a place at nursery and managed to wrangle Sophie a job in his corner shop. She lasted three months and quit.
Ever since, she jumps from one odd job to the next. Nail technician in the salon, lash extensions, you name it. Last summer, she went over to Manchester for temp work, left Nikki with Mum for a little while, came back with just £1,700 for three months. Blew it on a new phone and a laptop for Nikki. I earn more than that a month at my company, but I dont sit around painting nails and watching Love Island, do I?
Mum was over the moon wed come, and laid on the full spread of goodies. Her neighbour, Mrs Green, and Aunt Carol popped by too.
But then, as youd expect, the celebration took a nosedive. Sophie decided, mid-cake, that it was the perfect time to talk about the will.
So, Mum, whos getting the house then?
Oh, Sophie darling, what a question! Youll split it equally, obviously.
Equally? But Jonnys got a flat of his own! A job! Im still bloody renting. What does he want with this place?
Sophie talked like Mum was at deaths door. No shame at all, saying this in front of everyone.
Sophie, nows not the time. Dont spoil the day.
Well, when else are we meant to talk about it? Mum, youre 65. Its high time you nipped down to the solicitor and signed it over to me.
Poor Aunt Carol practically choked on her tea. I couldnt believe her cheek. I dragged her into the kitchen.
Are you off your rocker? Whats with all the graveyard chat at the table? Planning Mums funeral for next week, are you?
Mind your own business. Ive raised Nikki on my own, what have you
On your own? Forgetting the money I brought, or the way Mum and Nikki spent more time together than the telly? If you dont pack it in, Ill knock some sense into you!
Sophie left in a huff, snatched Nikki, didnt even say goodbye. Now shes threatening to go to court about well, who knows what, but apparently Im quaking in my boots.
Mum, meanwhile, is a wreck. Sophies refusing to let Nikki speak to her gran, wont answer the phone. All over the house. Mums in bits.
Honestly, Im at my wits end with Sophie. Grown woman? More like a petulant toddler.
What would you do if you were me? Is it worth patching things up, or should I let her stew?
