It was half a year ago when tragedy struck our family; my father passed away. The memory feels distant, yet the grief is still present. Then, as if out of nowhere, roughly six months later, my father’s brother, Uncle Geoffrey, turned up at our door. He seldom visited us in those days. He scarcely spoke with my father either. There were no arguments, but they never saw eye to eye. They kept their distance from one another and lived as strangers, each pursuing his own affairs.
How was your journey? I asked. And why such formality? I am your favourite uncle after all! Uncle Geoffrey replied, flashing a sweet smile, as if he truly believed he was my favourite.
He hadnt mentioned his travel plans, and so we hadnt made any preparations. The last time wed seen him was at my fathers funeral, when he hardly said a word. Not once had he telephoned. Now, suddenly, here he was.
We sat down to afternoon tea, as was our custom, and Uncle Geoffrey asked, Shall we divide the inheritance among the three of us? No one else involved? My mother paused, startled, eventually regaining her composure. What inheritance? she asked, genuinely surprised.
In truth, there was an inheritance. We owned a lovely flat in town, a large country house nestled in the countryside, and two cars. Mother had suggested to me that perhaps we should sell the country house, and buy me a flat in Oxford, where I was attending university, but we hadnt made any decisions yet. We didnt want to hurry; we wished to let time pass.
What inheritance? Why, the property your father left behind! Uncle Geoffrey insisted. If it werent for you and your mother, Id have received everything. Since youre here, youve taken it all! But I am his brother! I deserve my share! he added. No, you do not, my mother replied. The law favours us. But what about the matter of conscience?
Uncle Geoffrey tried to play the clever man; knowing full well that under English law, he had no right to the inheritance, he tried to appeal to our sense of fairness. There was no sense in his words or actions; my father and Uncle Geoffrey had never been close, and he had no claim to my fathers property.
When my father grew ill, he made it clear that everything should belong solely to Mother and me. He wished us to keep all that he had earned. He was not inclined to share it with anyone else.
Even on principle, Geoffrey, youre no closer! Mother said firmly. You and your brother were never friends! Its as though ones wife takes it all, while parents, siblings, nieces and nephews get nothing! Uncle Geoffrey cried, as if he were the wronged party.
He sought to make us feel guilty, pressing for us to grant him a share of the property. Mother stood her ground, Enough. We will not discuss this any further with you, she said.
Once Uncle Geoffrey departed, Mother and I locked up the country house and returned to our flat in town. We knew him too well; we knew he wouldnt give up easily and suspected that he would try to take us to court. After all, the stakes were high: a third of a handsome country estate, a third of a sought-after flat in London, and a third of two motorcars. It amounted to a considerable sum in pounds.
Uncle Geoffrey believed this too, so he did, indeed, take us to court. He fancied himself victorious. Yet, the law was firmly on our side. One wonders what hope he has, truly.
