I nodded, Vic and Vanessa made some comment that agreed. Jackson said nothing, which was noted.
“Jacks?” I looked at my brother. He didn’t seem concerned. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s great. I think we have very spoilt children though so Teddy’s going to have to do something to realise how lucky he is.”
That was a fair point. “What are you thinking?”
“They need to buy a present for the charity that asks for donations for kids whose families can’t afford gifts – from their pocket money. They can choose it and wrap it themselves. Isobel can do it too. She’s old enough.” His arms were folded, and he looked fierce about this. “There’s an old people’s home near us too. I’m thinking they can write cards for some of the residents and hand deliver them.”
“Lucy can join you.” Vic said. “And the twins.”
“Agreed.” I was happy with that because Jackson was right. They could easily become spoilt.
“Trust funds.” It was my dad who brought this up. “How do you feel about that. I know they have one set up already, but we were thinking a second for when they’re thirty, which will be about the time they’re settling down. Maybe.”
“It’s your money,” this was me now, as I’d had thoughts about that. “But I think there should be a caveat to it, that a certain percentage is for a charity of their choosing, or they have to have done so many hours volunteering to be able to access it.”
“I like the volunteering. And if they know about it early on, they can get involved in more. Let’s face it,” Jackson said. “Our kids aren’t going to need to worry about money, unless they piss it up a wall, which we won’t let them. They have to work for the first trust fund to be accessible or be committed to a long term programme of study. We’ve caveated it up pretty well.”
It'd been Jackson and Claire who’d set the ball in motion for this, then all of us had used the same model.
My dad looked at us all and then Marie. “We’ll put something together for you to approve. Do any of you need anything?”
“You both to stay healthy and live for a lot longer.” I said the words before I’d even thought about them. “That would be nice.”
“No promises, son, but we’ll try.”
MEMORY SEVEN
MARIE
“So you date solicitors now? Well isn’t that a fecking turn up for the books?”
My sister Bernadette, two years younger than me and twice as wild, was trying not to suffocate with laughter after hearing all about Grant Callaghan and his magic penis.
“I have sex with solicitors. A solicitor. One who’s going back to London in a few days, never to be seen again.” Actually that wasn’t true. There was a good chance I’d be in London in a few months time on a case that spanned the Atlantic.
There was a bang from Ireland where Bernadette was, participating in our weekly phone call even though she was massively hungover. “Fuck. Twatting foot. Never mind, I’ll live, but in case I die, why don’t you tell me the truth? I could die of a broken toe with the last conversation I had with you fecking lying to me.”
“What do you mean?” I knew exactly what she meant.
“You like him. Not just his penis.”
“Of course I like him. I don’t think the sex would be as good if I didn’t like him.” Which was true.
“Then it’s more than like. How much time have you spent without him?” This was why I never wanted to live near my sister again. She could find out about an affair in a nunnery.
“A lot. We see each other at work and I’ve been showing him New York in the evenings.” We’d found reasons to spend time together during the day as well, when we should’ve been working.
“And what about the mornings? Spent many of those together?”
“One or two.”
“Liar. How many kids does he have?”
That was a quick change of subject. “Four. Three boys, the youngest is two, and a girl. They’re all under eight.”
“And they need a mammy.” My sister sounded like she was about to tell a bedtime story. “And we all know you love looking after people.”
