plans, I swear (not so much as a whisper)! When I wrote to you (on the sad day she died), I had no notion (absolutely none!) of the strange events that were soon to unfold.
She had never (never!) discussed the details of her will with us (we didn’t even think there was a will. We had no earthly reason to expect that there might be. You were her natural heir, her only child).
After she died we did not – as you suggested in your last communication – ‘ransack the cottage searching for valuables’ or ‘take up partial residence’ there (it frightens me to think who could have fed you these untruths, because I know – I’m certain – that you couldn’t possibly have come up with them all by yourself).
I’ve racked my brains and I still can’t settle on any one individual in the village who might have anything positive to gain by stirring up such cruel rumours against us (although Rhona, alas, is not of my bent). In fact I’ve become profoundly depressed about it all. I’m currently on a course of sleeping medication and Rhona has lost over two stone in weight (although her doctor says this is no bad thing: every cloud has a silver lining, I suppose!).
After thirty years in Burley Cross I’ve started to find the atmosphere here stifling and claustrophobic. I’m constantly on edge, staring at all the kind people I’ve known for years with nagging feelings of suspicion and disquiet.
It’s been horrible.
It pains me to have to go into all the details once again, but just so that there can be no further confusion on the issue, since Rhona discovered poor Glenys’s body on that awful day, I can assure you – hand on my heart – that we have crossed the threshold into Camberwell Cottage on only two occasions, in total (even the estate agent went in alone).
The first was to select a suitable dress for Glenys to wear in her casket (when we found her, as I mentioned previously, she was in her nightdress), and to clean out the perishable contents of her fridge (none of which we kept – all of which we disposed of).
The second was to facilitate the delivery of a commode (the driver refused to take it back, although he did kindly agree to dispose of the old one). I can only guess that the ‘disinterested party’ your lawyer referred to when he called was a witness to this transaction and leapt to all the wrong conclusions.
For the record, the new commode (which was ordered – and paid for – by me) currently sits, still boxed up, in Glenys’s hallway (even if Rhona or I had found it a desirable artefact, neither of us – thank God – have any need of it, as yet!).
In regard to ‘prettying the place up for ourselves’ (and it cuts me to the quick to even write down those words) I can tell you that we have continued to trim the grass and prune the roses. This was something we had always done for Glenys, and something we have continued to do – as an act of good will – for you.
And why? Because the house is yours, Donovan. It was always yours. I thought we made that plain when this thorny issue first arose. It never entered our minds that it should be otherwise. Your extraordinary theories about Glenys being ‘under our spell’, ‘subject to our wiles’, ‘frightened, desperate and vulnerable’ (and countless other bizarre notions which bear no relation to the truth), I can only imagine were uttered in the dark haze of grief.
What confuses me the most (and forgive me for this, because I know I can be a little slow on the uptake, sometimes), is your apparent determination to make the whole thing ‘a matter of principle’. Which principle? I don’t understand! There is no principle at stake here! The house is yours, Donovan, both by warrant and by right!
As you are well aware, Rhona and I had already consulted a lawyer (and at considerable expense) to begin the process of handing it over. That process is now in abeyance. If it were down to me, this would not be so, but it is not down to me. Rhona must also have her say in the matter.
To put it plainly, Donovan, Rhona’s feelings have been hurt – her pride has been deeply injured – and when Rhona feels something strongly, experience has taught me that there is only so much that I can do to guide and counsel her. It may help you to understand the apparent severity of her reactions to your accusations when you discover that, far from ‘sitting on a nice nest-egg’, Glenys had been under increasing financial stress over the last few years.
In the autumn of 2005, for example, her boiler stopped functioning and Rhona cashed in a portion of her own pension to fund a replacement for her. We paid Glenys’s phone bill on countless occasions. We had Glenys’s roof insulated when our own was done. For the final five or so years of her life, we fed Glenys at least two of her daily meals.
Wherever Glenys needed to go, we drove her. We arranged incontinence care (which she rejected, for the most part). Whenever Glenys came over to visit us in Threadbare (which was most days), we had to wash/clean/disinfect the upholstery (although we always tried to ‘guide’ her into a particular chair).
These are small things, silly things, things that shouldn’t need to be mentioned, but I am saying them here, Donovan, I am writing them down, in my silly green ink, even though I feel humiliated by it, belittled by it, because I want you to understand that the only crime we have ever knowingly committed against your mother was the crime of kindness.
Sometimes I sit and I wonder why it was that Glenys made the decision that she did. Was it out of gratitude? (She was never very big on saying thank you, but then nothing we ever did for her was predicated on that.) Or was it simply to cause mischief? To break your poor heart? To forge a rift between us? Was it a final, cruel way of making it plain that she had never truly forgiven me for the breach I had (unwittingly) caused, all those years ago, between you and her?
I don’t know. I don’t want to know (I’m just so sad, so worn, so exhausted by the whole affair). What I do know, though, is that all this procrastination over the will and its outcome is costing Rhona and me dearly (and not just emotionally). Camberwell Cottage is presently being sold. Rhona and I had no choice in the matter (we are currently liable to pay death duties and under threat of losing our own home).
I also think it only fair to warn you that two days ago Rhona told me that she was withdrawing £3,500 from Glenys’s account (last May Glenys’s depleted finances received a much needed injection of cash after an old insurance policy came into fruition. Up to that point she was over £5,000 in the red, a debt we were liable for. I’m not entirely sure of all the exact details, but I can find them out, soon enough, if you want).
I have no idea what the money is for. I presume that it is to cover legal fees and other debts incurring to us as a result of this impossible situation (Rhona had sworn that ‘nothing on God’s good earth’ would impel her to touch a penny of the money. I can only guess that something important has changed her mind).
I am unhappy about the withdrawal, and I felt that it was only right to let you know about it. Can I assure you, though (for my own part, at least), that my determination not to access Glenys’s account remains as strong now as it ever was.
So there you have it. I’m not sure there’s anything left to add. If you still are resolved to pursue the case against us, then all I can do is wish you well. I think it only fair to tell you, though, that both our lawyer, and Mr Baquir, seem to think your hopes of achieving anything by this course are not good.
Please see sense, Donovan! Don’t let foolish pride get in the way of a happy outcome. Stop this mess while it can still be stopped. We are your dear friends. We love you deeply. You are always in our thoughts and in our prayers,
Tilly
PS On a slightly lighter note: someone bought us a duck! He’s a Muscovy and very fine! Rhona sank a bath for him in the back garden, but he still persists in following me up on to the moor for a swim in the ghyll each morning. He had befriended a lone swan up there who unfortunately died after swallowing a load of fishing twine. By rights we should clip his wings (we’ve had complaints about him – he’s quite a beast!) but we’ve yet to catch the little devil!
Do take care.
XX