‘You haven’t been opening your post for ages and you have to deal with this.’ I unfold the bright red letter and read it, taking in the threateningly passive-aggressive tone, the phrases ‘Notice of Possession’, ‘significant arrears’, ‘proposed payment plan’. Grandma casts the skirt aside and stands up, grabbing to take the letter off me.
I let her take it and watch sadly as she reads.
‘Oh dear. I … I …’ she starts, before plopping back down onto her chair and hanging her head.
Oh dear indeed.
‘Hey, we can sort this, OK,’ I say, swallowing hard. ‘Don’t get upset. It, um, it says that they need you to agree to a minimum payment plan. If you can keep up with it then they won’t take you to court.’
Grandma removes her glasses and sighs, her eyes filling with tears.
‘How on earth has it has come to this?’ she mutters to herself before meeting my gaze. ‘I can’t bear to think about it, Jessica. I … I was hoping that if I didn’t think about it, it would go away. I told myself that I would deal with it all once my books were republished, but these people − ’ she waves the letter about with trembling hands − ‘are terribly impatient. Andveryrude.’
‘Maybe if you just phone them up—’
‘But Jack always handled the finances! It’s the job of a Good Husband to deal with these things.Idon’t know what to do. Whatever will I do?’
Shit. I’m not exactly money-savvy, but my old-fashioned Grandma has no clue at all how to handle this. How can she have been so successful with her books and not have a grip on how to handle money and debt issues?
‘I could get a part-time job?’ I suggest.
I did bar work when I was travelling. There are probably loads of bar jobs in London.
‘No,’ Grandma sobs. ‘We have to focus on our project with Valentina. That’s the best chance of a decent income we have. And I can’t ask you to pay for your Grandfather’s mistakes. I simply cannot. Not when it’s our fault that—’
There’s a noisy crash from the hallway as Peach trips over one of the many pieces of junk in there.
‘I’m all right!’ she calls out. ‘I just tripped over a whisk!’
A whisk? Why the hell is there a … Then I get a brainwave.
‘Grandma,’ I say, sitting down on the sofa opposite her. ‘I’ve got an idea. I think maybe we’re going to have to sell some of your stuff.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘All that junk in the hall and in the attic. We could sell it, you know? I mean, you don’t use any of it.’
‘Those are my belongings! They have … sentimental value.’ She frowns at me as if I’ve just suggested she remove her own leg and sell that.
I roll my eyes. ‘It won’t mean anything to have eight different candelabras if you’re living in a park.’
‘Oh, good grief!’ Grandma dissolves into another round of tears. Shit. I reach across and pat her shoulder.
‘I’m kidding.’Kind of. ‘But sentimentality is for suckers. You’ve got to be ruthless in these situations. Are you honestly telling me that youneedall that stuff out there? There are two bowling balls by the front door. When was the last time you went bowling?’
Grandma looks at her knees. ‘I believe it was 1978. But … I might decide to go again. One day.’
‘You won’t! And what about the old record player? Some muso geek would probably pay a fortune for that.’
‘I have a record player?’ Grandma says in astonishment. ‘I didn’t notice that!’
‘See! You don’t even know half the junk you’ve got. We could even sell all those porcelain dolls in my room too. They’re really cree—’
‘No!’ Grandma interrupts fiercely. ‘No. Not those. They stay put. Under no circumstances must those dolls be—’
‘OK, OK, jeez! Not the dolls.Youchoose what we sell and we’ll put it on eBay. I’m awesome at eBay. Last year I wrote such a good eBay description for a pair of platform boots that there was thismajorbidding war and they ended up selling for sixty quid. I only paid fifteen quid for them at the inside market and that was in 2003.’
‘The Eeebay?’ Grandma sniffs. ‘Is that a jumble sale? Where is it situated? Is it in Zone One?’
