Chapter 1
‘Oh no, poor Uncle Jack.’
‘He had been unwell for a little while. But you know how private Jack is. Was… He never even told anyone he was ill,’ Mum says with a sigh.
She dabs at her eyes with a tissue as she tells me how her older brother, my uncle Jack, passed away at the age of seventy-four in the early hours of the morning.
I can barely take in the news. I feel terrible, knowing I had been enjoying myself in Greece, when all the time Jack had been struggling with his health, which had led to his untimely death.
A wave of sadness engulfs me as I recall spending time with my uncle when I was younger. These days, it was more the occasional family get-together, to celebrate a birthday or anniversary, but back then he would always slip me some money ‘for sweets’. It became ‘for a night out’ as an adult, even though I would protest, especially when I began earning a good wage, but his generosity prevailed.
‘Oh, Claudia, I can’t believe we won’t see him again. I was only dancing with him at his birthday party a few months ago. I feel bad that I hadn’t spoken to him for a couple of weeks,’ says Mum.
That’s what we do when someone dies, isn’t it? Start with the regrets and ‘if onlys’. We always think we will have more time with our loved ones, as the alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.
‘Oh, Mum, don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m pretty sure a lot of families see less of each other as they get older. You were a good sister to him, especially after Auntie Kathleen died.’ I sit down next to Mum on the couch.
I remember Mum inviting Uncle Jack around for Sunday lunch, and her and Dad including him in their shopping trips, or drives out to the countryside. Whatever they did they included him if he fancied joining them.
‘Thanks, love, that makes me feel a bit better.’ She pats my hand.
‘And don’t forget, Jack didn’t like a fuss, just as you say. He would never have told anyone he was ill, you know that.’
‘You’re right, I know. It was just such a shock when the hospital called though, identifying me as his next of kin from the contacts on his phone. Thank goodness he had it on him. He collapsed in the supermarket apparently. We got there last night and sat with him all night. He was conscious for a while, you know, slipping in and out so at least he knew we were there. I am glad he wasn’t alone when he…’ She blows her nose loudly.
‘Exactly. That’s something to be grateful for,’ I say gently. ‘You should have called me though, Mum.’
‘No, it was the middle of the night. You have work to think about, me and your dad don’t,’ she says, dismissing the idea. ‘I’m fine, we had a bit of a lie-in this morning. Poor Jack.’ She shakes her head and stifles another sob.
I remind her that Jack had a good life and that at least he didn’t suffer. ‘He packed a lot into his life and always did the things he enjoyed.’
‘That’s very true, I suppose. You always manage to say the right thing.’ Mum smiles.
‘I must take after you then,’ I tell Mum, a lady of tact and infinite wisdom.
‘One thing I do know is that he left a will,’ Mum tells me. ‘It’s with his solicitors, who say they will be in touch when the reading is scheduled. You will come, won’t you?’
‘Yes, if you want me to,’ I reply.
‘You must do. I’m certain Jack has left you something,’ Mum informs me. ‘Your brother will be coming up too.’
‘Of course. And, in the meantime, I will help you organise the funeral.’
It will be nice to see my brother Josh and my gorgeous nephew George, who I absolutely adore but don’t see nearly enough of. No doubt it will be a whistle-stop visit though, as Josh has a busy life and a pretty high-pressure job in sales.
‘Oh, thanks, love. I must confess I don’t really have a clue where to start with all that. It’s been a long time since we planned a funeral for your grandparents. Everything is different now.’
‘Not really, although a lot of stuff can be done online these days. Don’t worry about a thing. First call is to the undertaker. Pop the kettle on, Mum, I’ll do that right away.’
‘Use Hamiltons on the high street. The number should be in a book near the phone,’ she informs me, so I look up the number. ‘Brian Hamilton is a lovely man. Make sure you have him when me and your dad pass,’ she shouts through from the kitchen as the kettle starts to boil.
‘Mum! You’re both as fit as fiddles, you will probably outlive him,’ I tell her as she returns with the tea, not wanting to think about the day that happens to either of them.
‘You know what I mean, it’s a family business, his son already works there,’ she tells me.
Just as we sit with our mugs of tea, Dad reappears from his greenhouse, clutching a bag of tomatoes. Always one to avoid any emotional talk, he slipped out to his greenhouse when I arrived, after an awkward hug and a pat on the back. Dad is a fixer though. ‘Every problem has a solution,’ is what he always says firmly if any problem in the family seems insurmountable.
‘That was good timing,’ says Dad, eyeing the tea tray. ‘Any of that lemon drizzle cake left to go with it?’
‘I was just going to bring that in,’ says Mum. ‘Do you think of anything other than food?’ She rolls her eyes and my tall, slender dad, who could probably eat a whole cow on a sandwich and not put on an ounce of weight, grins.
My family are Uncle Jack’s only next of kin, as he met my auntie Kathleen later in life and they never had any children. I’m pleased to be included in his will and hope he may have left me the silver owl I often admired that sat on a bookshelf in his lounge. There was a globe too, that I used to spin, and ask my uncle to test me on capital cities, which resulted in me being the top of the class at geography in primary school. Maybe playing with that globe nurtured my lust for travel, along with the world picture atlas on the bookshelf, as so far I have been to Thailand, Greece, the East Coast of America, and countless European cities, usually on long weekend breaks. Oh, and Cuba. How could I forget visiting Havana and marvelling at everything about the city, including the cool American cars. But there is just something about Greece that always pulls me back to its islands.
Later that morning, having dealt with the funeral and all the other legalities, I squeeze my mum in a goodbye hug and Dad hands me a bag of tomatoes and a yellow pepper.
‘Make sure you eat properly,’ Mum reminds me as she does every single time I visit.
‘Course, Mum, promise,’ I reassure her.
‘I’ll be in touch when the solicitor arranges the meeting,’ she says, before closing the red front door with the pristine hanging baskets outside.