“No, don’t,” Vera said suddenly. “You know what? Just take the house. I’ll take the cottage. Even if it’s worth less.”
“Margaret, are you absolutely sure you read everything properly?” Vera’s voice trembled with tension. “Maybe there’s something hidden between the lines?”
“I did read it—here, see for yourself!” The solicitor slid the document across the desk. “It’s just the standard phrase: ‘By this will, I revoke all previous wills.’ That’s it. Nothing more.”
Anne sat thunderstruck, twisting her glasses in her hands, putting them on, then taking them off again. Vera fidgeted with the clasp of her handbag, while Eugene, the youngest of the late Clara Wilson’s three children, simply stared blankly ahead.
“But… how can this be?” Anne finally forced out. “Mum always said she’d sorted it—that the house and cottage were divided between us. Remember, Vera? She explained it all last summer.”
“Of course I remember!” Vera threw up her hands. “She said you’d get the house, Annie, because you’ve got the kids, and I’d have the cottage—I spend every summer there. And Eugene would get the savings—he lives in London, he doesn’t need property here!”
Eugene lifted his head, glancing between his sisters.
“I thought Mum was just talking. You know how she loved planning things, discussing them. I never thought she’d actually written a will.”
Margaret cleared her throat gently.
“Clara Wilson did draft a will—but that was years ago, nearly a decade. Then she must have changed her mind and wrote this new one, revoking the past ones. Only she never got around to redistributing the estate in the new will. Or she ran out of time. It happens, unfortunately.”
Anne stood, pacing the office. At forty-three, a teacher at the local school raising two children alone after the divorce, her mother’s old house had been her last hope for a home of her own.
“So now we divide everything equally? Between the three of us?” she asked, fighting back tears.
“That’s right. The house, the cottage, the bank accounts—all split equally.”
Vera scoffed.
“Good! Annie’s already sulking, thinking she’d get everything. As if my pension could cover that tiny cottage!”
“Vera!” Anne snapped. “What does your pension have to do with this? You know what Mum wanted!”
“I know, I know! But wanting isn’t enough—she should’ve put it in writing. God rest her, our mum was always one to leave things to the last minute.”
Eugene stood, buttoning his coat.
“Enough arguing. We’ll sort this at home. Margaret, when should we come back?”
“In a week. I’ll prepare the paperwork for the estate division. But first, you need to agree among yourselves who gets what. If you can’t, the courts will decide for you.”
Outside, a miserable October drizzle fell. Anne pulled up her hood, Vera opened her umbrella, and Eugene lit a cigarette, muttering under his breath.
“Maybe we should get a coffee? We need to talk,” Anne suggested.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Vera shot back. “It’s obvious you’re upset you’re not getting everything. Mum had three children, not just you.”
“Vera, why are you angry? It’s not my fault the will’s so strange.”
“Not strange—fair!” Vera snapped her umbrella shut so hard water sprayed in all directions.
Eugene stubbed out his cigarette on the wet bench.
“Enough. It’s pouring, and people are staring. Let’s go to Annie’s, have some tea, and talk properly.”
Anne’s house was a fifteen-minute walk away. They walked in silence, each lost in thought. Clara’s home stood on a quiet street—weathered but sturdy. The windows were boarded, the gate locked with a rusted padlock.
“Who has the keys?” Eugene asked.
“Me,” Anne said, pulling them from her pocket. “I took them after the funeral, thought I’d start clearing things out.”
Inside, the garden was overgrown, apple trees untrimmed, the greenhouse tilting. The front door creaked open, releasing a damp, musty smell.
“Oh, Mum,” Vera whispered, her voice breaking. “Look at the state of it.”
The living room was frozen in time—old furniture, the piano all three had learned to play, a cabinet of crystal glasses. Photos lined the walls: their parents’ wedding, school portraits, grandchildren.
Anne put the kettle on, pulling biscuits from the cupboard. They sat at the round table where the family had once gathered.
“Remember how Mum used to force us to do our homework here?” Vera said softly. “We always tried to sneak off outside.”
“And remember, Eugene, when you failed algebra in Year Seven?” Anne smiled. “Mum threatened to tan your hide, then stayed up all night helping you with sums.”
Eugene nodded.
“Strict, but fair. Never favoured any of us—scolded and praised us all the same.”
Vera stirred sugar into her tea.
“Fair, you say? Then why did she want to leave you everything? Me the cottage, you the money, Annie the house. The house is worth the most!”
“Vera, this isn’t about fairness,” Anne sighed. “Mum just thought about who needed what. I’ve got kids, no home of my own—of course the house would help. You’ve got your flat, but you love the cottage. And Eugene’s in London—he doesn’t need property here, just the savings.”
“Easy to say when you’re getting the most!”
Eugene slammed his fist on the table.
“Enough! Vera, listen to yourself. Mum died a month ago, and here we are, snarling over her estate like dogs!”
Silence fell. Only the ticking clock and the rain outside filled the quiet.
“Maybe,” Anne said, standing by the window, “Mum did this on purpose.”
“How?” Vera frowned.
“Think about it. She was clever—always planned ahead. Do you really think she’d forget to specify who got what?”
Eugene considered it.
“What are you getting at?”
“That maybe she wanted us to decide for ourselves. To divide it fairly, with a clear conscience. Remember how she always said, ‘You’re grown-ups—you should know right from wrong.’”
Vera snorted.
“Right. Now you’re making Mum out to be a saint. Maybe she just ran out of time—she was ill at the end.”
“Maybe,” Anne agreed. “But we’re still here. We can do what she wanted.”
“How?” Vera asked warily.
“The way she told us. Me the house, you the cottage, Eugene the savings.”
“Ha!” Vera shot up. “I knew it! You’ve been leading us here all along! The house is worth twice the cottage!”
“Vera, calm down,” Eugene said. “Let’s break this down. Yes, the house is worth more. But look at its condition.” He knocked the wall. “Peeling wallpaper, ancient plumbing, wiring from the ‘70s. And the roof? It leaks. Annie, do you have the money to fix this?”
“I know,” she murmured. “A teacher’s salary won’t cover it. But at least it’d be mine.”
Vera sat back down, silent for a moment.
“And the cottage isn’t perfect either. The greenhouse’s collapsing, the paths are weeds, the fence is rotting. It’ll cost a fortune to fix.”
“But the land’s good,” Eugene noted. “By the river. If we fixed it up, it could be worth something.”
“So what are you suggesting?” Vera demanded.
Eugene lit another cigarette—something he’d never dared do in front of their mother.
“We get everything properly valued and split it equally. In cash or kind, but fairly.”
“How?” Anne asked. “Hire an appraiser?”
“We could. Or we could figure it out ourselves. Or… we could sell it all.”
The sisters stared at him.
“What?” Vera said.
“Neither of you really wants the property as it is. Annie, you can’t afford the repairs. Vera, the cottage’s too much work for you alone. If we sell, we split the money—each buys what we actually need.”
Anne considered it. It made sense, yet something ached at the thought.
“It’d be a shame to sell Mum’s house. Our whole lives happened here.”
“Our lives happened, but the house is just bricks,” Eugene said. “What’s the point if we can’t use it?”
Vera twisted her empty cup.
“You know what? Maybe Eugene’s right. We sell it, split the money, no debts between us.”
Anne exhaled.
“Fine. But let’s not rush. Give it another week, then decide.”
“Agreed,” Eugene said. “I’ll come by this weekend, see what can be salvaged. Maybe it’s worth restoring.”
Darkness fell early,
