Chapter Fifty
‘Where are we going?’ said Mum.
‘To see a solicitor,’ I said, for the umpteenth time in five minutes.
We were in the bedroom. My mother was still in her nightdress and refusing to take it off. Meanwhile, my father’s temper was rapidly fraying.
‘DEIRDRE,’ he bellowed. ‘Stop prevaricating and GET SOME RUDDY CLOTHES ON.’
‘Don’t you shout at me, Trevor King,’ Mum glowered. ‘Nobody ever tells me what’s going on around here. If I’d have known we were going out, I’d have been ready. Instead, you didn’t tell me, and so I’m not.’ She shot him a defiant look. ‘Where are we going?’ she repeated.
‘To see a solicitor,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘Seriously, Mum, can you just do as I ask and get some clothes on, otherwise Dad will miss his appointment.’
‘What appointment?’
‘The solicitor’s appointment,’ I intoned, moving over to Mum’s wardrobe. ‘We are going to see a solicitor.’ I rummaged within the cupboard. ‘You need to get dressed.’ I flipped through garments and extracted a dress. ‘We are seeing a solicitor.’ I walked towards Mum with determination. ‘You need to get dressed. And you need to get dressed because we are seeing a solicitor.’ I handed Mum the dress. ‘We have a solicitor’s appointment. You need to get dressed. And you need to get dressed because we’re seeing a solicitor. Get dressed. We have an appointment. To see a solicitor. You need to get–’
Mum snatched the dress from me.
‘Shut up, Maggie. You sound like a blithering idiot.’
Hurrah. My repetitive diatribe had penetrated her fuzzy brainbox and fired a neurological pathway. The lights were momentarily on. The action of getting dressed was about to take place.
We arrived at Gardener and Stewart’s offices with literally a minute to spare.
A kind receptionist greeted us. Dad was using two canes and Mum was hanging on to her walker. Together, we moved at a snail’s pace along a carpeted corridor. The receptionist tapped on a door and indicated we go in. Moments later we were greeted by one of the firm’s legal executives.
‘Good morning, everyone.’ A little apple dumpling of a lady twinkled at us all. She was sitting behind a huge desk. ‘I’m Judy Tiller. Do take a seat.’
Dad sat down heavily on one of the three available chairs. However, instead of sitting alongside him, Mum unexpectedly sank down on her walker’s seat. As the handbrakes weren’t on, it shot backwards, and sent Dad’s canes crashing to the floor.
‘Oooh,’ screeched Mum. ‘My chair has wheels. Help!’
I grabbed the handlebars, steered my mother so that she was facing Judy, and deployed the brakes.
‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘Wasn’t expecting her to do that.’
‘No worries,’ said Judy. She looked at Mum. ‘Would you like to sit on a chair?’
‘Whatever for?’ Mum frowned. ‘I already have one.’
The solicitor looked perplexed. As well she might. I caught her eye.
‘Dementia,’ I mouthed.
‘Ah,’ said Judy.
‘What are you two whispering about?’ said Mum, her eyes narrowing.
Oh, how I hated this. How I abhorred this condition. The endless repetition. The moments of paranoia. The whole damned awkwardness and frustration of this ongoing situation.
‘Nothing, Mum,’ I reassured.
‘Nothing what?’ she said, looking surprised. Already her question had been forgotten.
‘Right,’ said Judy. She steepled her fingers together. ‘It’s lovely to meet you all.’ She turned to Dad. ‘Mr King, some years ago you and your wife each made a Power of Attorney. I have the copies here. However, the documents were never registered. This is vital if you want to act for someone in certain legal, financial, personal, or medical spheres of life and’ – she smiled at Mum before conveying a look at Dad – ‘I suggest that time is now.’
My mother was so confused at the pace of the meeting, thankfully, she fell silent. She spoke up again when the receptionist returned with a tray bearing four cups of black coffee, a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar cubes. The meeting ground to a halt while my mother added increasing amounts of sugar to her coffee. After stirring in the seventh lump, she proclaimed the drink still wasn’t sweet enough. I had an overwhelming urge to tip the whole lot into her cup.
The meeting eventually continued. Judy went through the relevant paperwork. She explained that, post-Covid, for some reason registration of the documents would take months rather than weeks. She said we’d have to be patient.
She then turned to the matter of the parents’ Wills.
‘Now then, Mr King. You wanted to renew your Will. That’s fine, but regrettably your wife won’t be able to renew hers due to losing capacity.’
Mum’s head shot up.
‘Who’s lost capacity?’ she demanded.
‘No one,’ I said placatingly.
I then stared at my mother in dismay. She’d been quietly occupying herself by putting the remaining sugar cubes in Judy’s cup. The drink was now a semi-mush of caramel and gold.
‘Let me take that from you,’ I said, removing the cup and its sugar mountain. I set it to one side. ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled to Judy.
‘It couldn’t matter less,’ she said, before turning back to my father. ‘Meanwhile, I took the liberty of reviewing the Wills you both made in 2018. Frankly, I can’t see why you would want to change them. Is there a specific reason?’
‘Well, I thought it prudent. You see, my other daughter, Freya, got married for the fourth time. Her name has changed again.’
‘That won’t affect anything,’ Judy assured. ‘A change of surname doesn’t invalidate the document.’
‘Oh,’ said Dad in surprise. ‘That’s good to know. In which case, we’ll leave things as they are.’
‘I think that’s wise,’ Judy smiled. ‘Before we wrap up our meeting, is there anything else I can help with?’
‘Can I trouble you to take two photocopies of the Wills?’ asked Dad. ‘I’d like my daughters to each have a copy.’
‘Certainly,’ said Judy. ‘Would you like me to post a copy to your other daughter, Mr King?’
‘If it’s no trouble,’ said Dad.
‘Of course we can do that for you.’ Judy stood up. ‘I’ll do the copies right now. Won’t be a mo.’
I’d never seen a copy of my parents’ Wills. Dad had always opined that such a document was private. That it shouldn’t be revealed until the person had demised. I looked at him curiously.
‘Why have you decided to give Freya and me copies of your Will, Dad?’
He shrugged.
‘I’m ninety-two, Maggie. I could leave this planet at any moment. It seems a bit daft to continue being secretive. However, I’ll keep the originals here, with Judy, for safekeeping.’
‘Of course.’ I gave Dad’s hand a squeeze. ‘I appreciate that. And thank you for reviewing your affairs today. It’s a depressing task that none of us particularly like to face.’
Dad grunted.
‘I’ve had my head buried in the sand,’ he admitted. ‘I’m aware of that now. We all think we’re immortal. But, after that business with your Greg, well…’ He trailed off. No further words were required. ‘Anyway.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Our Wills are straightforward. Mum and I have left everything to each other. When we’re both gone, whatever is left is to be divided up between our children and grandchildren.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said softly.
His eyes briefly watered as he smiled at me.
‘Enough of this talk of death,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’m looking forward to our lunch.’
‘Me too,’ I agreed, giving his hand another squeeze.
‘And as the Grim Reaper isn’t calling by today, I’ll have a double gin and tonic to go with it.’