Chapter 4
Megan was functioning on autopilot, dully going through the motions and trying her utmost to be strong for her mum. Megan had always had a close relationship with her gran, being the only granddaughter, and had played a central role in her life. The quietly spoken old lady had had a gentle air about her and was aptly named Grace. Megan pictured her gran’s cosy cottage deep in the Cotswolds, with its crackling open fire. Often she would sit and watch its flames dance whilst listening to Gran humming peacefully to the radio in the kitchen. Megan remembered being tucked up in the bedroom under the eaves, being read bedtime stories. She had loved staying at Gran’s. It made a refreshing change to be in the heart of the lush countryside, in sharp contrast to the suburbs of the Midlands. It had been a magical hideaway to her as a youngster, where she and Gran would walk along the leafy lanes, through the verdant forests that smelt of wild, earthy garlic, and pick bluebells. Megan smiled, remembering toasting bread on a long fork by the open fire and stacking chopped wood by the front door for it to season. As she grew up, the pull of staying there grew stronger, the cottage acting as a bolt hole in which she could hunker down and pour out her troubles to Gran, who would always listen patiently, nod her head at the right times and then offer sensible advice, which Megan undoubtedly took.
She only once brought Adam to see her gran, cringing at the impatient way he had been desperate to leave, obviously never intending to stay long as he drank his coffee quickly and started to drum his fingers edgily on his knees. They were staying at a nearby country inn for the weekend and Megan couldn’t resist calling at Gran’s on the way. Adam, begrudgingly appeased her, but made it patently obvious he considered it an inconvenience. Grace easily saw behind the false smiles and niceties, as for once his charm hadn’t worked. After that embarrassing meeting, Megan never took him back and in turn her gran never asked after or even mentioned Adam.
Grace’s funeral was desperately sad, yet so poignant. She had lived a long and eventful life, which her family were determined to celebrate. Her ninety-three years had seen her survive a world war in which she had been a land girl. Gran often regaled them with stories of the scrapes she and a close-knit group of girls had had living in their land hut. Megan recalled the sepia photographs of them huddled together on haystacks, laughing, wearing overalls and polka-dot headscarves. Soon after the war she had married Michael, Megan’s granddad. There they had stood, outside on the registry office steps, Granddad in uniform and Grace elegant in a turquoise satin tea dress. Megan’s mum had been born very shortly after, a honeymoon baby, they would proudly announce. Little Molly was their absolute joy. Gran had a habit of hoarding, which interested Megan; she enjoyed searching the memorabilia that evidenced her gran’s life. Grace had had a spell in a cotton mill, in a grocery store, on a farm and, later in life, had trained to be a corsetière. Megan recollected the full-length mirror she used to measure her ladies and often wondered what else it had seen: Granddad in his smart, one and only navy-blue suit standing proudly with his daughter on his arm, ready to give her away on her wedding day; Mum looking radiant in white lace, full of happiness, yet maybe a touch apprehensive at leaving her childhood home and her parents. Perhaps that’s why Mum married rather later than average for her generation, thought Megan, such was her reluctance to part from her doting parents. A fire at the brewery where Granddad worked had tragically cut short his life. The raging flames that had been started so carelessly by a discarded cigarette had soared through the hops store and surged mercilessly through to the brewing room, catching the busy working men unawares until it was too late to escape. The rampant fire had not only robbed five men’s families of their husbands and fathers, but had also devoured their bodies, leaving the bereft without even graves to visit. Megan vaguely remembered the memorial service, clutching her mum’s hand and staring in bewilderment at all the crying people wearing black.
Now here she was again, only this time she was also dressed in black, staring into her fine bone-china tea cup. Gran would have approved of the small country hotel that was hosting her funeral tea.
She suddenly became aware of her brother talking. ‘Megan, they want a word with us.’ He gently tapped her arm.
‘Oh, right.’ She blinked back the tears that threatened and quickly followed Chris into a small anteroom where her parents and an official-looking man in a dark suit were sitting beside a bureau. Megan assumed, from the papers that lay scattered in front of him, that he was the solicitor overseeing her gran’s will. He had obviously spoken to her parents before summoning her and Chris.
‘Please, do all take a seat.’ He ushered them towards the table and chairs. Once they were all seated he cleared his throat. ‘I act as the executor for Grace and I’m here today to explain her will and its contents. Your mother and father were already aware of what Grace wanted for her family, in fact they had previously discussed it together at length, so I am able to inform you both today of exactly what has been agreed.’ He coughed rather piously. ‘Christopher, you are to inherit her shares, to the value of £150,000.’
Chris’s jaw dropped. ‘But I never thought she had…’ he stammered.
‘She didn’t want you to know, Chris,’ Mum interrupted quietly, then glanced towards the solicitor to continue.
‘Megan, you are to inherit Bluebell Cottage.’
‘We’d rather you both have everything. Me and your mum don’t need it and Gran wanted to give you two the best start she could,’ Dad explained.
Megan stared in disbelief. Bluebell Cottage, the beautiful, cosy little safe haven that had acted as a refuge throughout her childhood, was now hers. Megan’s eyes swam until slowly the tears began to tumble down her pale cheeks. It was Gran’s last gesture of love, providing a fresh base, a new future, away from Adam and the office, with all its whispers and gossip and a job that she had gradually grown to hate. Megan glimpsed freedom, the tightening in her chest slowly released and she began breathing deeper. Hesitation mingled with excitement, as she dared to dream about the beginning of a new chapter in her life. A fresh start in the village of Treweham.
