‘Give or take, if they sold the assets and the land. No doubt they’ll be tied up to keep it running somehow. It’s not including the mine though… You don’t want to know how much the mine is worth. That’s assuming there’s any gold left. Let’s hope there isn’t,’ he said drily.
Martha reached over and tapped Callum on the arm, pointing to us, signalling for him to take his earphones out and start listening.
‘What’s happened?’ Martha asked, ‘Why are Grandpa and Grandma leaving everything to them?’
Callum perked up. ‘What’s this?’
I glanced at Miles. ‘It’s better that they hear it from us, otherwise I’m sure the twins will find a way to bring it up.’
Miles considered it for a moment before nodding reluctantly.
‘Grandma and Grandpa told us this morning that Uncle Tristan will be taking over the running of the estate. When anything happens to Grandma and Grandpa, their family will get everything. And if there are any scraps, maybe Uncle Tristan will throw us a bone. But I wouldn’t hold your breath.’
‘And… will they really get a hundred million?’ asked Martha.
‘Yup,’ Miles said bitterly.
‘What!’ Callum exclaimed. ‘Those absolute tools will get a hundred million?’
‘Yup,’ I parroted.
‘Well… do we really need the money?’ asked Martha innocently.
‘No,’ I said, ‘we don’tneedit. But your father and I don’t make that much money, and we wanted it as security for you both. Not for anything other than to give you freedom.Freedomsthat we never had. That’s part of the reason we wanted to go to Australia. We have never felt free to do as we pleased.’
‘And now, because I decided to do one thing for myself and formyfamily, you’re all being punished for it,’ Miles added.
‘Money isn’t everything…’ offered Martha.
‘No, it isn’t,’ I said, ‘but it does open doors that would otherwise be closed. We just wanted that for you both.’
We settled into silence.
‘Maybe the Christmas tree will set on fire and burn the whole house down,’ Callum scoffed. ‘Will we get something then?’
‘Callum!’ I laughed. ‘I dunno… maybe we would.’
‘It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard,’ Martha said as she stared out of the window, lost in thought.
We spent a lovely few hours in the quaint village near to the house. The independent bookshop was one of my favourites, especially when it was decorated beautifully for Christmas. I purchased the kids two of my favourite novels to read while we were here; for Callum I chose Truman Capote’sIn Cold Blood,and for Martha, Agatha Christie’sAnd Then There Were None.
We sat down for coffee and cake at the teashop where I whipped the books out and presented them to the kids. They both looked beyond reluctant, but when I gave them a quick synopsis of each, I felt quietly confident that they would give them a go.
We had almost forgotten about the tension awaiting us back at the house. Winding our way back up towards the stone bridge, tiny splatters of rain peppered the windscreen. Pulling up to the drive, we saw George perched on a ladder, battling with string lights that were flapping wildly about his legs.
‘Need any help?’ offered Miles as he got out of the car. Whatever twisted trials and games Jeannie had subjected her boys to, she had unfailingly drilled manners into both of her sons.
With a row of steel nails perched in his mouth, George moved his lips to the side to speak. ‘Your mother will never let me hear the end of it if I don’t do the one thing she’s been asking me to do for weeks.’ He plucked a nail out of his mouth, retrieved the hammer sticking out of his back pocket and started hammering the front of the timber canopy. ‘Great Grandma Toots is in the front room, you should go and say hello,’ he said to Martha and Callum.
The kids exchanged a grimace. No one wanted to be in the firing line of that cantankerous old bat. ‘We will,’ they said in unison, scuttling inside.
‘You know, Dad,’ Miles said looking towards the horizon, ‘it’s threatening to rain…’
George squinted up towards the grey clouds we’d just driven through and set to hammering with renewed vigour.
We entered the house, the sound of George’s hammer blows fading behind us, replaced by the muffled voices of Jeannie and Aunt Clementine coming from the kitchen. Mrs Harlow had left boxes upon boxes of decorations in the foyer. Miles and I swept our gaze over the pile, then at each other. We hesitated, knowing that we too would be put to work.
‘I should probably get some work done before we get roped into putting all of this stuff up,’ Miles began, gesturing towards the boxes.
