What does it matter who looked after Grandma? Legally, that flat should be mine! My mothers shouting so loud the neighbours are probably preparing the popcorn.
How did I end up here? With my *own* mother threatening to drag me to court, of all things. Her big grievance is that when my dear nan passed away, her lovely London flat didnt go to her, nor even to me, but straight to my daughter. My mother finds this deeply unjust, as if its the biggest outrage in all of England. But lets be honestNan had her reasons. My husband and I lived with her for the last five years, actually looking after her, not just sending the occasional Christmas card.
Now, my mum has always been what you might call self-focused. Her wants and wishes were always top priority. Shes been married three timesno time to be outdone by Elizabeth Taylor!but had just two children: me and my younger sister. Sis and I get on famously. Our relationship with Mum, on the other hand? Not exactly Do Not Disturb material.
My own dad is a myth to mehe made a disappearing act when I was barely out of nappies, divorced and gone before I could remember his face. Until I was six, Mum and I lodged with Nan. Back then, I somehow thought Nan was a proper dragon. Probably because Mum always seemed to be weeping in the loo. It wasnt until much later, being a parent myself, that I saw Nan for the good soul she really wasjust trying to steer her daughters life out of the ditch.
Mum tried married life again and I moved in with Stepfather Mark. Thats when my sister Alice was born. Seven years later, Mum parted ways with Mark, and this time, we didnt head back to Nans. Instead, Stepfather Mark went off to some job up north, letting us stay in his old flat for a bit. Three years on, Mum married yet again, and off we went to live with her new husband.
As you can imagine, Husband Number Three wasnt thrilled to inherit stepchildren. To his credit, he never shouted or threw anythinghe just largely ignored us, as if we were a pair of armchairs he wished hed sold. Mum was no better; she was completely absorbed with her new husband, glaring at any woman who so much as breathed in his direction, and smashing the occasional plate to make the point.
Once a month, she’d pack her bags, threatening to flounce off for good. But hed always sweet-talk her into staying. Alice and I got so used to the drama, wed just switch on the telly and ignore it. With mum checked out, I took charge of my little sister. Thank heavens for our grandmothersthey were the rescue team. Then uni called and I moved into the halls. Alice landed at Nans, and her dad was actually quite helpful, while Mum mostly called for birthdays and Easter.
I accepted Mum as she wasdetached, preoccupied. Alice didnt. She always felt hurt, especially that time Mum skipped her school-leaving party altogether.
We grew older. Alice married and moved off to Manchester. Id been dating Tom for ages, but neither of us were fussed about wedding bands. We were sharing a rented flat, dropping by Nans whenever we could. We were close, but I tried not to invade her space.
Then Nan fell ill and landed in hospital. The nurses said she needed proper care, so I started popping in dailybringing groceries, cooking, tidying, mostly just chatting. Crucially, I kept her meds on schedule. I kept it up for six months, sometimes dragging Tom alonghed fix leaks or hang shelves, happy as you please. Eventually Nan asked if wed move initd save us rent, and shed get the company.
We agreed on the spot. Nan adored Tom and we had a wonderful set-up. Six months later, I discovered I was pregnant. We decided to keep the baby, much to Nans delight. We had a modest little wedding, cutting cake in a café with close friends and cousins. Mum didnt bother coming. She didnt even text congratulations.
When my daughter was two months old, Nan took a nasty fall and broke her leg. Suddenly, juggling a newborn and an immobile grandmother left me desperate for help. I phoned Mum, asking for just a bit of support. Her reply? Im not feeling great; maybe later. Later never turned up.
Six months pass, and Nan suffers a strokebed-bound, unable to move. Those were really tough days. Tom was a hero. Gradually, Nan regained her speech and could shuffle around again. She managed another two and a half years, even saw her great-granddaughter take her wobbly first steps. Nan slipped away quietly in her sleep. Her passing left Tom and me utterly guttedwe adored her, and the flat felt hollow without her.
Mum only showed up for the funeral. Then, a month later, she came storming over, trying to kick us out and claim the flat for herself. Shed waltzed in, assuming shed bag it with no contest. Little did she know, Nan had transferred the flat to my daughters name right after her birth.
Cue the fireworksMum hit the roof. She demanded we hand over the flat or face court. Fancy that, swindling a poor old lady out of her home, now squatting there yourself! I wont let you get away with this! Who cares who looked after Grandma, that place should be mine!
But she wont see a pennyor more precisely, a poundout of that flat. I checked in with a solicitor and the local notary. Its all rock solid. Well stay right where we are, as Nan wanted. And if our next baby is a girl, shell have Nans lovely English name, for sure.
