The Inheritance.(Short Story)

When I got back from Europe I moved in next door to Mum, and because of that, a lot of people think we must be really close. Either that or they think there must be something wrong with me. Which is the line the brothers and sisters usually take. They all thought I was crazy and kept on telling me I'd been away for too long and had forgotten what she was like and would never have a moment's peace, but Mum's no trouble. I like living next door to her. And not because of any of that mother-daughter crap but just because she's a nice woman and, as far as neighbours go, could hardly be better.

That may seem like a pretty short yardstick to lean against your own mother, but that's the point. That's the difference between me and the rest of the family. I have an objective point of view. Sometimes I wonder if the brothers and sisters were ever properly weaned, or if there was some secret trauma that passed me by just because I was the youngest girl, but whatever the reason, I'm not like the others. I don't expect anything and I'm not bearing any grudges. I live next door to Mum and it's not difficult, not in the slightest.

When she came over, it only took one look and I knew someone had died. Mum's not supposed to be very expressive and her in-laws (and those under their influence) are always complaining about her being shut off, but it's all there. You just have to be a bit sensitive and familiar with her ways of saying things. She was standing at my back door looking shrivelled and curled in on herself. That meant she'd lost something, something important. And she was stiff, frozen somehow, as if rheumatism had hit her in every joint at once and the slightest movement was going to send pain shooting through her whole body. That was betrayal by life. At least that's how I understood it. Fear of moving, of going on, of being hurt again. Her face was blank.

"What is it?" I asked and Mum swallowed to control herself. All at once it occurred to me that I should be worried too, that it was only the vanity of youth that was giving me a feeling of security, that if someone had died it could be anyone, even one of my nephews or nieces.

"It's your grandfather."

"Oh, Mum!" In a rush of relief and sympathy, I stepped forward and hugged her. We're not big on hugs in our family and they always tend to the clumsy, but Mum was glad of one then. She hugged me back, and when I let her go again, she was sniffing away tears and looking embarrassed.

"Shall I make a pot of tea?" I asked and she smiled slightly and nodded.