For ten years, I cared for my husbands grandfather, the way people in London say you dream in a fog of grey drizzle that never lifts. We rented a cramped flat on the edges of the city, our childrens laughter always muffled by thin walls. My husbands sister, Charlotte, was living in the old mans flat back then, threading through those winding corridors as if she were only a visitor in her own life. None of them really cared for himnot his daughter, not his grandchildren; he had become invisible in his own lineage.
My own path forked in odd directions, never leading to the grand avenuesno university gown for me, as I was swept into motherhood, and career was a word that just floated overhead, like a kite I could never reach.
Days slipped by in a blurred carousel: tending to the grandfathers constant needs, punctuated by nappies, scraped knees, and lullabies. My husband could never stand the air of unease at homehe liked to vanquish it with bottles and boisterous nights, only to stagger back with the dawn. Other women werent bothered with him, a man with no prospects and children in tow, so he always returned. I let him, not out of love, but so hed at least leave some pounds for the children and the old mans care.
Charlotte breezed in only on rare occasion, usually for one reason: to ask her grandfather for his pension money, or to complain of her own circumstances. But truth be told, her family didnt live too badlythey paid no rent, and could treat themselves to holidays abroad while we were counting coins for the bus fare.
Five years ago, the grandfather called me to his bedside, as if in a lucid moment amidst a muddy dream, and told me: Youre dearer to me now than the whole lot of them. My grandsons a soft soulhell give this flat away to his mother or to Charlotte. Let your children, my great-grandchildren, have it. Consider it a small reward for all your efforts. Perhaps then you wont curse me for taking your years.
No one else knew this: the will tucked away, a secret in the wardrobe. When his health began to truly fail, both his daughter and granddaughter materialised out of the haze, suddenly full of tears and concern. But the old man saw through themhe knew who was really mourning him and who mourned only what he could leave behind.
When he passed, the claws came out at once. My mother-in-law and Charlotte pressed my husband to give the flat to Charlotte, since it had always been her home. He, resigned, agreedunaware of the paper folded between the pages of an old Bible in the bottom drawer.
The next morning, my husband packed his worn suitcase and told me, as if standing on a foreign railway platform in the fog, that he had another woman. Hed only stayed with me for the grandfathers sake. He left, and I felt my soul exhale in relief.
Word of the will spread like a rumour in a crowded pub. The family started their barragecalls, letters, threats ringing in my ears at night.
Youll never have that flat! I dont know what tricks you played on Granddad, but you wont get away with it. Youre a proper con artist and well have our day in court! Leave my son be, let him have his new chance with someone pretty for a change.
But my words came out light and clear, as if from a sunbeam slicing the rain: You know what? I can afford to send the lot of you packing, at least for a while. So get out and let us live.
Their words didnt sting; they rolled off me like mist sliding along the Thames. Now, I had work, a home, and most of all, I was freeno longer orbiting that cold and broken family.
What would you do, if youd walked through dreams like mine?
