The Legacy, Caroline Bond [popular books to read txt] 📗

think it’s weird there’s no mention of Mum? Nothing at all? Or Megan?’ Chloe said.

‘Yet there’s five thousand pounds for this Lisa Browne character.’ It was obviously still niggling Noah that such a large sum had been set aside for someone who didn’t even register on his radar.

‘She’s not “a character”!’ Liv made air quotes. ‘She’s the carer who has been helping to look after Dad.’

‘Which one?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Noah. The one who’s been virtually living in the house for the past few months. Since his last fall,’ Chloe said. ‘You must have met her.’

Noah nudged the indignation back a notch. ‘Oh, yeah.’ He made a show of looking like he was remembering. ‘Now I come to think about, I did meet her once or twice at the house.’

‘On one of your rare visits.’

Noah didn’t react to Liv’s dig. He was still worrying away at the bequest to Ms Browne. ‘It’s a lot of cash, for someone who was only doing her job.’

‘Noah! Don’t you think the money for the carer is less of an issue than the conditions of the will itself? Why has Dad left it to us to decide?’ Liv asked. ‘And Chloe’s right. Why hasn’t he made any specific provision for Mum, or for Megan? What the hell is that about?’

‘How should I know? He never really talked about money with me.’ Noah had a habit of taking personally questions about his relationship with his father.

Liv was trying to think logically rather than emotionally. Their father had liked to be in the driving seat. Being in control had always been important to him – sometimes more important than was good for him, or for those close to him. The will, and the bizarre accompanying statement, was completely out of character.

Unless…

Liv’s brain ticked.

Unless the will was their father’s reaction to the decline in his mental and physical powers. A rational, if atypical, recognition that he was no longer able to make clear, coherent decisions. Intelligence and confusion were uncomfortable bedfellows. The thought saddened Liv profoundly. ‘Maybe he was worse than we realised. Maybe he was worried that he wasn’t well enough to apportion his legacy appropriately.’ She began to warm to her explanation. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. ‘Maybe he came to the realisation that it was better to let us decide.’ It was possible. His health had been deteriorating. The will could be his solution. Perhaps their father’s last act of self-determination had been to allow them to negotiate their own inheritance.

‘So he left it up to us,’ Noah stated.

‘Looks like it,’ Liv agreed.

‘You’re not suggesting we do it now?’ Chloe asked, shocked and scrambling to keep up.

‘No, of course not,’ Liv snapped. She regretted her tone when she saw Chloe wince. She made a real effort to keep her voice level and soft. ‘But we are going to have to start getting our heads round it – and sooner rather than later. There’s a lot to think through. We’ll need to get together again.’ The thought of that made Liv feel claustrophobic, but there was no avoiding it. Her mind started clicking through her schedule, working out what could be moved, what covered by Angus, what would have to be sacrificed. Family logistics: yet another of her areas of expertise and responsibility. She was so focused on her thoughts that she didn’t hear Noah’s comment, only Chloe’s response.

‘Noah! Don’t! I can’t bear to think about him like that.’

‘Like what?’ Liv asked, forcing her attention back into the room.

Chloe had her hands up to her face, as if shielding herself from Noah’s words. ‘Lying somewhere on his own, waiting for us to make a decision.’

Liv shot Noah a look – he really should know better than to bring up their dad’s ghoulish edict not to bury him until they had divided the estate, especially not in front of Chloe. She steered the conversation back to practicalities. ‘What about getting together Thursday this week? I’m not working. We could meet somewhere halfway, a hotel or somewhere.’

‘Thursday’s not good for me,’ Noah said.

‘Or me,’ Chloe added.

Liv had to bite her tongue. It couldn’t be that hard for a part-time sales assistant to swop a shift, surely. ‘Well, the rest of the week is impossible for me,’ she countered. ‘What if you two came over to ours one evening?’

‘I can’t. I’m already away two nights next week, as it is. A last-minute job in Malaga. Josie will have a dicky fit if I say I’m coming to yours for a night, on top of that.’

And on it went.

After fifteen minutes of fractious discussion about which date would fit into everyone’s schedule, and the best venue for their meeting, the only issue that was clear was that Jonathan had been absolutely right about one thing: getting the three of them to agree on anything was virtually impossible.

Chapter 7

MEGAN DIDN’T wait to say her goodbyes. She turned down Ms Hewson’s offer of tea and sympathy, wanting to put as much distance between herself and Jonathan’s offspring as possible.

In the taxi she caught her breath.

She wondered what was going on back at the solicitor’s. She imagined their surprise, and delight. Jonathan had cut her out of his will and given them free rein. She wondered what they would do with it.

She looked out of the window and watched the world pass by. The rootless feeling that had haunted her since his death intensified. She was heading back to a home that was effectively no longer hers, to a life with no purpose, to a future that was hard to imagine.

The taxi turned onto Ramshill and headed along The Esplanade. The tide was fully out now, revealing a wide band of gleaming smooth sand. On a whim, she asked the driver to pull over and drop her off. His concerned, Are you sure, love? It’s blowing a gale out there was appreciated, but ignored. She paid and watched him swing the car around and