My Nan died completely unexpectedly- to me at any rate- at her home in Cornwall, on a day when the leaves had just begun to turn. The letter I'd received from her solicitor remained tucked away in my camera bag for several months, where I would reluctantly retrieve it to skim read every now and then, purely to quieten my nut's incessant need to try and figure out all the unusual details. It was like trying to piece together one of them jigsaws only to find you get all the way to the bleedin' end and find pieces missing, leaving you wondering why you even bothered. The swirling signature from a Mr Aldridgeson, requesting that I make it a priority to schedule in an appointment at his office at eleven o'clock sharp on the 3rd of May: exactly six months to the day since Nan had passed away. Why Nan wanted a six month time lapse between her funeral and her will reading was anyone's guess, but in all honesty, she'd probably done me a massive favour. I'm all over the shop. I was single and had just lost the only real family I had left. Being alone is easier. Safer. Less chance of being hurt by those who claim to love you.
Well, strictly speaking, that ain't exactly true. Me Mum, Dad and siblings are still around, but have been out of the picture for so long that I might as well class myself as being alone. If I'm being totally honest, I could probably walk past them in the street tomorrow and wouldn't be any the wiser. I'd never really seen eye to eye with my family. Growing up, I'd always felt that little bit out of place, misunderstood; like I never truly belonged. Things were tense between my Nan and Dave. She'd never approved of him, thought he was a bad apple out to ruin me mum's life. She'd tried in vain to get mum to see sense but mum, the stubborn mare that she is, wasn't having any of it and eventually told Nan to stay out of her life. Mind you, looking back, I can see where Nan was coming from. It's not exactly every mums dream to see your daughter give up on university to run away at eighteen to marry some tosspot who spends his days sat on the sofa chugging booze down his Gregory and dreaming up schemes to receive more doll money so he won't have to get off his arse and find a job. My mum was left haggard and wilting like a flower after spending years dealing with alcohol induced screaming matches and popping out more little bleeders than they know what to do with.
Things had gotten pretty bad after that. Not that I remembered much. Only piecing bits together from what others had whispered in hushed tones over the years as if to spare my feelings until the line between fact and fiction forever an uncertain blur. I remember missing a lot of school and on the occasions when I did manage to turn up I'd been unable to concentrate from lack of sleep and looked dishevelled and unkept. Nan, the only person in my life who has ever truly seen and understood me, had tried to intervene; coming up for weekend visits, whisking me away for fun filled weekends wandering the endless gardens, museums, libraries and art galleries across London fuelling my desire and curiosity to know more about the world around me. Nothing and no one else existed in those moments except us two. It was as if I was looking through a camera lense into other peoples' worlds, wishing desperately that they were my own. Those were the bits I remember. Everything else I'd blocked out.
My Nan always was a shrewd thing. She only had to look at you and you felt like she was staring straight down into your soul. She missed nothing. It made trying to lie a right pain in the arse. When I eventually caved and told her the truth, through a haze of tears, she immediately raised the alarm with the school until social services and the courts got involved and Nan fought tooth and nail to keep me, gaining full custody. My memories of my last few days in London have grown hazy, but the angry and bitter words of my Dad promising that if I left I'd never see him or any of my family again still ring through me as clear as a bell nearly two decades later. At eight I'd been terrified of what a life without them would be like, but as Nan gently took my hand and led me down the piss wreaking steps of our flat I knew that as long as Nan was around I'd be fine. Dave had kept to his word. I haven't seen them since. The occasional card at birthdays and Christmases, it was like I no longer existed to them.
In truth, I'm relieved that I don't have to spend hours alone trawling through her study. The thought of attempting to make sense of her filing system so I can terminate a lifetime of paperwork, receipts and correspondences fills me with dread. I'd much preferred to postpone the inevitable and bury myself in work. A six month tour of Afghan or Kenya would do me nicely. To the inquisitive stranger I introduce myself as a photographic journalist. In reality, I'm a photographer who's spent the last eight years documenting a world ravaged and torn apart by war. When I'd first shown an interest in photography, my Nan had images of me traipsing along the Cornish coastline taking beautiful scenic shots of the beaches at sunset in a bid to attract more tourism to the area. She definitely hadn't envisioned me being on the front line photographing devastation and facing death at every click of the lense shutter.
I enter the solicitor's office with 30 seconds to spare. The room was filled with a pale light that filtered through moth eaten net curtains, the air musty and stale, the dust dancing across the shaft of soft morning light before coming to rest on the wall of filing cabinets and box files, creasing and folding in on themselves, no longer able to hold the heavy contents within. The entire room held an air of unorganised chaos that I hoped didn't reflect the man I was about to meet. What was is an old Army friend used to say? Tidy locker equals a tidy mind. When Mr Aldridgeson eventually appeared I had to bite back a giggle. He looked more like your stereotypical academic than a solicitor. Wild grey hair, tweed jacket several sizes too big with patches at the elbows. When he stood to greet me hello I couldn't help but notice that he was wearing mismatching socks and missing a shoe. Taking my cue to sit across from him, I let my camera bag slip to the floor, my eyes inadvertently sliding to the door every few seconds. Sensing my sudden tension, Mr Aldridgeson gave me a small friendly smile designed to put me at ease. Clearing his throat he got down to business. My Nan, as it turns out, had left a somewhat complicated bequest.
"Just the formalities to get out of the way first. Are you Molly Dawes of…" he glanced down at his notes, squinting to make out the words hidden under a dark coffee ring. "Flat 12 Market Street, Cirencester?" I give a small nod of confirmation.
"Yes that's right."
"I asked you to bring along your passport as proof of ID. I take it you have it with you?" I reached for the camera bag at my feet. "Yes. Do you need to see it now?"
"No, no," he muttered giving a dismissive wave of his hand, "I'll see it later." He began shuffling papers in the file in front of him. "I'm now going to explain to you the instructions regarding the last will and testament of Mrs Margery Ann Moore of Rose Cottage, Windmill Hill, Cornwall. You'll notice that I said instructions regarding the will- rather than reading the will directly." I give a slight shrug.
"I figured it might be something to do with my parents, no doubt they've been on the phone sniffing around to see if they've been left anything." I stop and pause for a minute, suddenly confused. "Hang on a minute, did you say Moore? My Nan's last name was Morston Mr Aldridgeson, not Moore. "Ah, I thought that might be the case, I wasn't sure how much you knew." He lent back in his chair pulled off his glasses and began cleaning them on the sleeve of his jacket. Placing them on the bridge of his nose where they instantly began to slide down, he began talking again. "Your Nan changed her name some years ago when she took you with her to Cornwall. She didn't go through official channels so any official documents are filed under her real name." He paused smiling kindly at me. "Don't worry, everything will become clear eventually, I promise."
"Thank you….I think." What the hell was going on?
"Now I'm sorry for this Miss Dawes but I'm about to overload you with quite a bit of important information. Some of it may come as a bit of a shock. I suggest you let me tell you everything before you result to any questions alright?" Slightly taken aback at the sudden unexpected burst of assertiveness, I could weakly nod. "Firstly, you are the sole beneficiary of your Nan's estate. She had stipulated that a small proportion of valuables have been left to your aunt and mother but everything else is yours." This hadn't come as to much of a surprise.
"Secondly, your Nan has written you a letter." At this, my eyebrows flew up into my hairline. Nan never was one for putting pen to paper. What was that about? My attention was drawn back to the solicitor as he continued talking. "I'm afraid I cannot give you the details of the will at present as she has left explicit instructions regarding the actions you must carry out. If you meet all of the conditions then, and only then, will you inherit the estate. I also can't disclose the details of the estate, they will be revealed to you at the end." Wait what? To gobsmacked to respond, I could only stare. "She has left a detailed list of actions you must complete-providing proof you have carried them all out- before you are allowed to inherit." From somewhere I was able to find my voice. "Mr Aldridgeson, not being funny but are you pulling my leg? And what do you mean by eventually inherit?"
"No Miss Dawes, I can assure you I'm not. This is perfectly genuine. Your Nan was quite the lady you know." At this I raised an eyebrow. "I visited her at the cottage not long after she discovered her illness. She had hopes that you might be able to put the ghosts of your own past to rest once and for all. Help you to really start living your life. I suppose she feared that after all this time that you felt incomplete. She wanted to try and help fill in the gaps as it were in your understanding. For that to happen, she wants you to go on a journey to places that hold special significance to the both of you. There are five of them. She'd also like you to scatter some of her ashes as you go. This is what you must do Molly if you wish to inherit the estate."
"So your saying I have to go off skipping about the country scattering her ashes if I'm to inherit what's already mine?" Mr Aldrigeson nodded, eyeing me gravely. "I'm sorry Miss Dawes but those were her express wishes. I'm only following orders."
"Well shit," I whispered. This is sure to put a spanner in the works.
AN: I know I probably shouldn't be publishing another story but the idea just wouldn't leave my head. It's based loosely on a book called The Wedding Cake Tree. All rights belong to Melanie Hudson and anything Our Girl goes to BBC and Tony Grounds.
