Had those traditions held in my absence? Given how comfortably everyone descended upon the furniture, I assumed so. Mum claimed the wing-backed chair, Fae curled up on the love seat, Uncle Marlowe and Aunt Lettie spread out on the sofa, leaving just enough room for Amelia to squeeze in between them.
The only empty spot was the squashy armchair Grandad favored, still sunken with the impression of him, as if his ghost still weighed it down.
Nobody sat in it, and I didn’t feel comfortable doing so. I didn’t like the way everything here reminded me of the things I’d missed out on. The house had grown out of whatever meager impression I’d left in it, so I no longer fit anywhere.
I took a seat on the throw rug in front of the fireplace.
“Pull up a dining chair,” said Mum.
“It’s fine.” I just wanted this over with as soon as possible.
Mum sighed. “Should we light a candle?”
“That’s a nice idea,” Fae said, getting up to search out matches.
“It will take the rest of my lifetime to find anything in this old house, dear, and I have tea with Fern this afternoon,” Aunt Lettie said. “Shouldn’t we get a wriggle on?”
“There’s a candle just there on the mantle, Mum,” Amelia said.
“And the matches?” Lettie gestured to all the old, dusty clocks, many of them made of wood. “Let’s not burn the place down.”
“It was just a thought,” Mum said, stern except for the wobble in her chin. “To honor him and show he was loved.”
“Oh, Jean, you know I meant nothing bad by it,” Lettie said.
“Mum, seriously,” Amelia chided. She’d risen with difficulty from the quicksand of the middle crack in the sofa, pulling her cigarette lighter from her pocket. “This’ll only take a second.”
Lettie huffed. Amelia lit the candle on the mantle, and Mum said, “Thank you, darling.”
She took a thick envelope from her handbag and laid it across her knees. With neat precision, she slit it open with a nail file, unfolded the papers, and laid them flat in her lap. She did not immediately read outloud, eyes scanning ahead and lips moving to the words. Lettie’s knee jiggled impatiently. Marlowe put his hand on it to still her.
“To my daughter, Jean Ashborne, my son Marlowe Ashborne, and my three grandchildren, Taliesin, Fae, and Amelia, I leave each the sum of one thousand pounds.”
Lettie whispered, “Well, that isn’t very much.”
“Mum. Shut up,” Amelia said.
Lettie looked deeply offended, but Marlowe squeezed her knee, and she subsided. Though Lettie’s sentiment was rude, it was curious that Grandad, after the spring’s surge of magic, hadn’t amassed any savings.
My mum took a deep breath and continued.
“To Amelia, I leave my Volkswagen Golf four.”
Amelia said a quietly triumphant “yes” under her breath.
“To Fae, I leave all my kitchen supplies and Grandma’s cookbook.”
Fae’s eyes welled up again.
“To Taliesin, I leave …” Mum paused. “My entire archive of clocks. May he make sense of them as I never could.”
I’d never had the most expressive of faces, but perhaps even I looked shocked. Everyone stared at me, as if hoping I could illuminate what he meant. I didn’t have the faintest clue. Though I didn’t want to look ungracious, I couldn’t think of anything I’d want less than a collection of aggressively ticking clocks.
I only listened with half an ear as Mum continued listing the possessions and whom they’d been left to. A tension had begun to mount in the room, awaiting the declaration of who’d been left the most, perhaps the only, valuable possessions Grandad had.
This house and the spa.
Mum flipped to the final page of the will, reading aloud. “Finally, I leave the property of 37 Culpepper Avenue to—” My mother’s expression spasmed, her voice breaking, though I couldn’t name the emotion until she’d finished. “To my grandson, Taliesin, so that he’ll always have a home in Shearwater.”
