What does it matter who cared for Grandma! The flat, by rights, ought to be mine! my mother argued heatedly with me.
Even now, looking back, it baffles me how my own mother could threaten to take me to court over this. The root of it all? When my grandmother died, her flat didnt go to my mother, nor even to meit was left to my daughter. My mother was absolutely furious at what she saw as a great injustice. She believed that my grandmothers flat should have been hers. But Gran had other intentions. Most likely, it was because my husband and I had been living with her, looking after her for the last five years of her life.
Truth told, my mother was always rather self-centred. Her wants and whims usually took precedence over anyone elses. Shed been married thrice, but only had two daughters: myself and my younger sister. My sister and I have always been close. Our feelings towards Mother, however, have always been rather complicated.
I can scarcely remember my father. He and Mother divorced when I was just two. Afterwards, until I was six, Mother and I lived with Gran in London. At the time, I used to feel Gran was really quite unkind, but I think that was because Mother spent a lot of those days in tears. It took growing up for me to realise that Gran really was a good soul, simply trying her best to set her daughter straight.
Afterwards, Mother remarried and she and I moved in with my stepfather. That marriage brought along my sister. They were together for seven years, but in the end, Mother divorced again. This time, we didnt head back to Gran. Stepdad left for work up north, and let us stay in his flat for a spell. Three years on, Mother married once more, and off we went to share a home with her newest husband.
Predictably, he wasnt best pleased to have his brides children under his roof. He never outright mistreated ushe simply ignored us. Mother was much the same, wholly absorbed in her new husband, growing envious and dramatic if he so much as glanced elsewhere. There were regular rows, crockery smashed on the hearth.
Once a month, give or take, Mother would pack her bags in a fit; my stepfather always found a way to settle her down. My sister and I learned to tune it out. I pretty much raised my sister myself, since Mother scarcely had the time. Thank heavens for our granniesthey helped us as much as they could. Eventually, I left for university halls, and my sister moved in with Gran, well supported by her own dad. Mother would only ring us up during Christmas or Easter.
I accepted Mother for who she was. I got used to the neglect; I didnt expect her to fret over us. My sister, on the other hand, always took it to heart, most especially the year Mother skipped her school leaving party.
We grew up. My sister married and moved with her husband to another city. My boyfriend and Ithough together for ageswerent in any rush to marry. We shared a rental flat, modest but comfortable enough. I paid frequent visits to Granshe and I were close, but I did my best not to inconvenience her.
Time went on and Gran fell ill, landing in hospital. The nurses said she needed proper care, so I began coming every day. Id bring groceries, cook her dinner, tidy up, or simply sit and chat. Most importantly, I made sure she took all her pills. I kept this up half a year, sometimes roping in my boyfriend to help outhed fix up odd bits and lend a hand around the flat. Eventually, Gran suggested we come and live with her; that way, we could save for a home of our own, instead of wasting pounds on rent.
Naturally, we accepted. Gran adored my boyfriend. We moved in, and six months later, I found out I was expecting. Of course, we decided to keep the baby. Gran was thrilled at the thought of a great-granddaughter on the way. We held a quiet wedding and took our family for tea and cakes to a little local café. Mother neither showed up nor called to congratulate me.
When my daughter was just two months old, Gran took a nasty fall and broke her leg. Looking after both an infant and an ailing Gran was exhausting. I longed for Mothers help, so I rang her up. She declined, saying she was feeling poorly herself and would come another daythough she never did.
Half a year later, Gran suffered a stroke and became completely bedridden. Caring for her was one of the worst trials Ive ever endured. Had it not been for my husbands support, I cant imagine how Id have managed. Gran gradually improved, learning to speak and walk again. In the end, she lived another two and a half years after the strokelong enough to see her great-granddaughter running about and giggling. She passed away in peace, in her sleep. I loved Gran dearly; losing her broke my heart.
Mother, needless to say, appeared only for the funeral. A month later, she returnedthis time to demand that I leave the flat so that she could have it. She was adamant it belonged to her. She had no inkling that Gran had changed her will just after my daughters birth, leaving everything to her great-grandchild. That meant Mother would inherit nothing.
Mother was outraged. She insisted that I surrender the flat to her or face a lawsuit.
Look at her! You fooled an old lady into signing the flat over, and now youre living here yourself! You wont get away with this! Doesnt matter who cared for Granthe flats rightfully mine!
But I know Mother will get nothing. Ive taken proper advice from both a solicitor and a notary. We shall stay in the home gifted to us by my grandmother, and if my second child is a girl, I know in my heart shell be named after Gran.
