Since my father passed away, my brother decided that I should take care of everything, without asking questions.
After the funeral, my brother simply left the keys to Dads flat on the table, right in front of me.
Mum was sitting silently on the sofa. I was clutching the folder full of paperwork, feeling quite lost as to when Id become the person expected to sort everything out.
Dad went so suddenly. There was no time for talk, for arrangements, to share out responsibilities.
My brother lives here in Manchester, just like me, but hes always claimed that his job keeps him far too busy. I work at an accounting firm and have my own deadlines, but apparently that didnt matter much.
By the third day, my brother said I was more organised and calmer, and that sorting out documents was just my sort of thing.
So I started running around offices and agencies. I carried copies, originals, certificatesstood in queues, ticket in hand, waiting.
My brother would ring, only to ask if everything was going smoothly, but rarely came with me.
Mum would cry in the evenings as I tidied Dads wardrobe. I folded his shirts one by one, placing them carefully in boxes.
My brother said he couldnt bring himself to enter Dads room. That it was too much for him.
I too would come home after dark and sit in silence. But every morning, I got up and carried on.
Eventually, it was time to decide what to do with Dads flat. My brother thought selling was the best option, so it wouldnt weigh anyone down.
When I asked where Mum would live, he said she could move in with me, since my house in Stockport is bigger.
Mum said nothing and just stared at the floor.
Right then, I realised hed already made up his mind, without asking Mum or me.
At our family meeting, my brother spoke of prices, estate agents, deadlines. I spoke about Mum waking up in the night, searching for Dad.
He sighed and said, We have to be practical.
That word has been echoing in my mind ever since.
I am practical. I pay my bills on time. I budget my expenses carefully. But I can’t accept that Mum should be nothing more than a figure in the accounts.
A few days later, my brother brought a contract from the estate agent and laid it out on the kitchen table, offering me a pen.
I asked if hed spoken with Mum about it. My brother said Mum hadnt the strength for these things.
So I looked at Mum. She was gripping the edge of the tablecloth.
I pushed the contract back towards my brother.
I told him I wouldnt sign anything until Mum said what she wanted. My brother got annoyed. He said I always complicated matters.
I didnt raise my voice. I simply repeated that this was Dad and Mums home.
After that evening, my brother stopped calling daily. Now he only sends terse messages about bills and deadlines.
Mums been staying with me, just for now. I make her tea in the mornings and place a cup beside her. She sits quietly, staring out the window for ages.
Dads flat hasnt been sold yet. I keep paying the electricity and water bills in pounds, so nothing gets shut off.
Sometimes I wonder if my brother really sees me as his sister, or just someone meant to carry his share.
I don’t want to argue with him. I don’t want to let Mum down either.
I stand between them both, with a folder full of documents, aware that if I stay quiet, everything will be decided for me.
Am I doing the right thing, holding off the saleeven though its causing tension between my brother and me?
