Gift: A Son's Story (extract) - Settling Up (ii)

A couple of days later, he came over again. He'd brought his copy of mum's key, so I now had them all.  Four door keys in total, plus two for the back door, plus the ones for the side gate and the shed.  That was it.  We still had a week left, but I thought it made sense just to hand them over and be done with it.

            I offered him a coffee, which he declined.  He then sat down and pulled out a wad of receipts, plus the two Walsh's invoices, plus another sheet full of calculations. 

            "I've got everything here.  I went through it all last night.  I've taken account of the thirty quid you spent on renting the van, plus something for the diesel.  Then there was the flowers and the catering.  We had a case of wine, which..."

            I put up my hand to stop him.  I couldn't believe he was doing this.  Maybe it was in reaction to what I'd said before. 

            "Russell... I don't need to know about every little penny.  I trust you.  Just tell me what figure you've come to."

            He looked at his calculation sheet. 

            "Okay.  Well, believe it or not, once all your side and all our side is added up and put together, the difference is that you owe seven pounds twenty-six.  So... we won't worry about that.  We'll just call it even."

            Seven pounds twenty-six.  I let that sink in.

            He gave me a piece of paper with his bank account details and I said I'd transfer the half of what was left before the end of the day.  We were done with that.

            Throughout this time, his demeanour seemed different.  He was back to being, as I saw it, apprehensive.  Like something was on the tip of his tongue and he couldn't figure out how to say it.  He looked at the floor.

            "By the way... I had words with Nicole about what you mentioned."

            "Oh, yes.  What did she have to say?"

            I can't remember the exact words that he used.  Maybe because I wasn't really listening.  That was because they were pretty much as I expected.  Something about misunderstandings - but that she basically thought that she was right to say what she'd said.  No regrets about it.  No apology. She was justified after all.  She was right.  Just like her mother always was.  Which was probably a part of how it all got watered down and moderated in his head.  Either that or he wasn't really saying what he felt - but rather, what he felt he had to say.  Or, more like, what Lynn had persuaded him to say.  He didn't look at me once as he spieled it out.

            "So, that's it," I said, when he'd finished.

            "Pretty much."

            "And what do you think?"

            He shrugged.

            "I suppose I can see her point.  Emotions were running high that night.  Things get said under those circumstances.  I think it's just all unfortunate that Lottie had to go through it."

            Unfortunate.

            I sat forwards.  "I'll tell you what I think, then.  I think 'How the fuck dare she say anything like that?  How the fucking fuck dare she?'  That's what I think."

            He nodded.  "Okay.  Well..."

            That was it.  There was nothing at all further to say on it.  Not as far as I was concerned.  I wasn't quite finished, though.

            "There's another thing, too, that I wanted to mention.  Mum had specified 'no squabbles' at the funeral."

            "That's right," he said, looking sheepish.

            "So, why did someone try to pick a fight with Joanne?  Two people, in fact?"

            He sat up, bristling.

            "Who?"

            I'm sure he knew, anyway.  Who else?

            "It doesn't matter.  It happened."

            "That's the first I've heard," he said.

            I had no reason to doubt what Joanne had told me, so I stretched the truth a little to him. 

            "Well, I heard it.  Comments that were completely uncalled for.  And even if they weren't, it went against mum's express wishes."

            He seemed affronted suddenly.  "I'd still like to know who?"

            I looked at him.  Was there any point in stirring up any more trouble?  I decided not.  It could wait until some other time.

            "Let's not discuss it now.  I just thought you should know."

            He didn't press me on it.  If he took it away, anyway, it would just come back as another 'misunderstanding' - and Joanne would probably suffer more for it.  Maybe she would broach the subject herself with him, given time. 

            Misunderstandings.  That's what it always boiled down to - all of those spats over the years.  Me, and others, misunderstanding what Lynn meant.  Her comment to me after dad's funeral.  Her comment, years later, that if she worked in care as I did, she'd end up slapping people if they misbehaved.  Not provocations or digs - of course not.  Just innocent, factual remarks - misunderstood.  Because she could never be wrong.  She always spoke plainly, too.  What was there to misunderstand?  Why were people so unreasonable in persistently misunderstanding what she meant?

            We sat in silence a moment.  Uncomfortable silence.  It was clear that he was itching to go.  There was no other reason for him to stay, anyway.

            "Regarding Nicole," I said, finally.  "I think it's best that she stays away from me for the time being.  Tell her not to contact me, unless it's to offer an apology.  Other than that, I've no desire to speak to her right now."

            "Okay."

            "And one more thing.  On that subject, I'd really prefer not to have any contact with anyone at all for a while.  You can get in touch, of course.  But I just want to be left alone.  I want to deal with all of this on my own terms.  So I'd just like everyone to respect my wishes with it."

            "Alright," he said.  He sounded a little relieved.  And I'm pretty certain he knew who I was mainly referring to.  "Well... I suppose, if that's it, I'd better get on."

            I saw him down to the door again.  He turned as he left, and I shook his hand.  It seemed like a token gesture.

            "Maybe," I said, "when all of this is over and settled, we can meet up for a beer sometime."

            He didn't look at me. 

            "We'll see," he said.  Another token gesture.

            "I'll be in touch."

            "Okay."

            And he was gone, without looking back.

            It was only afterwards that it fully struck me.  That side of my life was probably all over now.  And there hadn't been any acknowledgement from him at all about what I'd done in those final months - ensuring that mum's last wish, to die in her own home, was kept.  Not that I did it for praise or anything.  But still.

            Not a thank you.  Not a gesture.

            Seven pounds twenty-six.

            The words of that medium came into my head then. 

            Who's Russell?  Ooh... I've gone cold.  Why's that, I wonder?

            Who's Russell indeed?  I wondered if even he knew. 

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