Dear Diary,
I was scrubbing the dishes when Aunt Linda turned the knob and stepped into the hallway of her modest semidetached house in the centre of Ashford.
“Do you think I havent guessed why you came all this way?” she said with a cold grin. “A decent home, a tidy garden of about a quarter of an acre, and you, Ethel Harper, arent exactly clueless. Youve done the maths, havent you?”
I sighed, leaning against the sink. “Aunt Linda, what are you on about? Which house? You invited me here while you were still in hospital.”
Id long suspected she wasnt thrilled to have me around, but Id agreed to stayprimarily for her, after all. Shed just come out of surgery and, with her blood pressure still a worry, she needed someone to keep an eye on things.
“Dont twist the truth!” she snapped, stepping forward. The sharp sting of her perfume hit me like a slap.
“I asked to help, not to move in and take over everything!” she continued, eyes flicking to the white mug with a chipped rim Id rescued from the back of a kitchen cabinet. To her, that little act must have looked like proof of some grand scheme.
“Every morning at six I water your beds, at lunch I race back to heat your soup, in the evenings I tidy up and do the laundry, and on weekends I pull weeds because you cant bend down with your pressure,” I reminded her. “And you think Im doing all this for a legacy?”
She huffed, her face flushing with a mix of hurt and anger. “Because what else could it be? A pretty young woman with nothing to do?”
I wanted to tell her I felt sorry for her, that the doctor had warned she wouldnt manage alone, that Id hoped to give her a little breathing room before deciding what came next. But looking at her, I realised arguing would be pointless; shed never believe me.
“You see, Ethel,” she said, turning to the stove where pots clanged together, “Im not new to this. Ive had helpers beforefirst theyre sweet, then they start eyeing my will. I wont let that happen. This house is mine, the garden is mine, Im the only one who runs this place!”
I felt no offense, only a sudden clarity. Her constant nitpickingoversalting the soup, misironing a shirt, buying the wrong loaf of breadwas less about a sour disposition and more about a deep lack of trust. Shed built a wall so high that even genuine kindness couldnt get through.
“You’re right,” I said softly. “Theres no point staying if you already know everything about me.”
I headed to my little bedroom and began packing. The creak of the door announced Aunt Lindas footsteps. She followed, watching me pull out my suitcase. For a fleeting moment she seemed almost pleased, then, at the last second, a look of doubt crossed her faceas if she couldnt believe I would really go.
“What are you planning?” she asked, hesitant.
“I’m leaving,” I muttered over my shoulder. “Just as you wanted. I wont be lurking around for any share of your estate.”
“Ah, I didnt mean it like that,” she tried to smooth over, her tone oddly gentler.
“Where will you go?” she pressed. “Your flat already has tenants.”
“Ill sort something out,” I replied. “Ill stay at Kats for a night, then find a place.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Dont get worked up. I was just saying it, honestly.”
I took a breath, steadying myself. “Aunt Linda, do you know why I really came?”
She tilted her head.
“My mother always said, Aunt Linda may be a hard nut, but shes alone. She has no one but us. When you called from the hospital, I thought, what a poor soulhigh blood pressure, a garden to tend, that huge house on her own. I came not for a month, not for a visit, but to help.”
She huffed, “Exactly, to help for the house,” but the certainty in her voice wavered.
“This frail, arthritic woman with twisted fingers refuses to see that my help is sincere,” I thought, “She wants everyone to be a villain, so she can stay the victim.”
I zipped my bag. “Im leaving because I love you, because its the right thing. You dont want help; you want everyone to be out to get you. When youre ill again, remember this conversation. Remember accusing the only person who came for you of selfishness.”
I slipped past her into the corridor, pulled on my trainers, grabbed my coat from the rack. Aunt Linda watched, a mixture of hurt, anger, and bewilderment in her eyes.
“The gardens still watered,” I said as I walked out. “The washing machines done, the fridge has enough cutlets for two daysjust heat them up. Your bloodpressure pills are on the nightstand. Dont forget to take them.”
“Aunt Linda” she started, but the door shut before she could finish.
How could she be so sure that everyone is after her kindness? I wondered. How could she trust no one?
I stepped out into the cold, the gate creaking behind me as Aunt Linda lingered on the porch, watching me disappear. The bus stop felt miles away, but my mind replayed the whole afternoon. The worst part? Shell probably find a way to justify her behaviour, see herself as the perpetual victim, and feel no shame.
Ill see what tomorrow brings.
Ethel.
