Family, After All
Oh, what are you on about with the flats! grumbled the relative, waving a hand dismissively. Emilys already got the paperwork sorted to sell one of them and buy a house out in the countryside. Mums to move into the smaller flat now.
But mums digging her heels in: These are my walls! Im not going anywhere.
Rows every single day. Emily says that if mum wont budge, shell take the child and leave. And me Ive grown used to my son.
Claire listened, hardly knowing whether to laugh or get angry.
So, Emilys decided to flog the inheritance before shes even got it, and is kicking Auntie Jane into a shoebox one-bedroom?
Lovely. And you want us to come and convince her not to spoil your plans for the good life?
Well, yeah, kind of, muttered Martin. You love her, after all. Shes family.
Claire yanked off her rubber gloves, which came off with a nasty, damp snap.
Her fingers were wrinkled from all the scrubbing and bleach.
She looked at her hands, then at the spotlessly clean window reflecting the setting sun, and felt a surging, silent annoyance deep inside.
This was the last window in Aunt Janes four-bedroom flat.
Claire, are you done in there? called a commanding voice. Come to the kitchen, Ive made a list of what you need to pick up from Boots. And the curtainsyou still havent put them back! Theyre collecting dust on the balcony.
Stepping into the corridor, Claire glanced into the lounge.
Jane Wilkinson was ensconced in her favourite armchair, propped up with cushions, imperiously nodding towards the kitchen table.
Auntie Jane, Claire tried her best to keep her voice steady, Ive been at this since nine this morning. First floors, then windows, then light fittings. Honestly, I cant do anymore. My backs in bits.
Oh honestly, scoffed Jane, waving her hand. Youre only twenty-fivewhats this about your back? Shame on you! When I was your age, I did double shifts at the factory, then looked after a whole house. Your mum finished faster last time, I remember. Younger generations are a feeble lot these days
Claire took the shopping list without a word.
First her gran, Janes younger sister, would run over to help, then the honour fell to her mum, and now Claire.
Jane Wilkinson had always been the elder in the familythe special one.
She had two flats in the same buildingshe lived in one, her only son Martin in the other, just next door.
Martin had just turned fifty. Hed spent most of his life as a night guard or a caretaker, scraping by on next to nothing.
Never had two pennies to rub together. Hed pop round to see his mum every day, but only to pick up tubs of leftover dinners.
Cleaning windows or washing curtains? Heavens, no. That wasnt a mans work, Aunt Jane always said.
Martin will drop by tomorrow morning, Jane added, adjusting her shawl. Put together a bag for him with whatever shopping I get, wont you? Cant carry it myself, too heavy these days.
Claire placed the shopping list back on the table.
Auntie Jane, I wont be here tomorrow. Or the next day either.
Jane Wilkinson froze, shocked by such cheek.
And since when are you too busy? Your mum always managed, no matter how much she had on!
Well, Martin has a wife now. Emily, isnt it? Claire leant against the door frame. Let her come round for once. Shes younger than mum, loads of energy, and lives just upstairs. Not even a five-minute walk.
Emily Jane pursed her lips, face wrinkling like a baked apple. Emilys a serious woman. Shes expecting, and shes got a little boy in Year One. Not really the time to be cleaning my windows. She needs to focus on her own nest.
Expecting? Claire couldnt hold back a laugh. Martins fifty, and as far as I know, Emilys nearly forty. She moved in already pregnant, didnt she? Is Martin sure its his?
How dare you say such a thing! cried the old lady. He said its his, so its his. At last therell be an heir! Otherwise it would all go to you lot
Of course. Claire knew this conversation would happen one day.
For years, Jane Wilkinson would hint that, since Martin was childless, both flats would come to Claire and her mum after she was gone. Thats why theyd spent years scrubbing her floors, listening to endless fussing.
So the heirs now are Emily and her children? Claire lifted her bag from the floor. Well then, that sounds fair. Congratulations.
No need to pout! Jane thundered. Family is family. I promised Martin Id sign both flats over to him, so the family wouldnt be crowded. And you lotsince when were you helping just for a place to stay? Show some decency!
I do, Auntie Jane. Which is exactly why Im going now. No more window cleaning. If you need something, message Emily. Shes the new mistress of the future inheritance.
Claire left, not waiting for an answer. Curses followed her down the hall.
***
A week later, there was a full-on family conference at Claires flat. Her mum, Helen, was sitting in the kitchen, sobbing quietly.
Claire, she called me. Yelled for three hours! Said we abandoned her, left her at their mercy. Martins always off at the lock-ups, Emilys worn out with morning sickness. She says the smell of dust makes her ill!
Mum, get a grip. Claire set a cup of tea in front of her. Morning sickness stops you from buying a loaf? Emilys been living there half a yearhas she ever washed up after Jane, even once?
No Jane says shes just a guest for now.
A guest? Martins already bragged that shes officially moved in. Shes got plans for a full refurb once Jane well, you know.
Helen sighed, dabbing her forehead.
Still, it feels wrong. Weve always helped out. Your granny always said, Dont abandon Jane, shes prickly but shes family.
Families dont treat each other like this, mum. Shes kept us running around for years, like unpaid skivvies. Now some ambitious woman shows up with a bump, and were kicked out. Let Jane ask Emily to wash the windows for a change.
Helens phone vibrated noisily on the table. On the screen: Auntie Jane.
Dont answer, Claire said firmly. Come on, mum. Just this once. Dont pick up.
Shell keep ringing till the battery dies
Let her.
Two hours later, the phone finally went quiet. But Claires own phone chimed immediately.
Text from Martin: Oi, Claire, mums been calling, why arent you picking up? Shes got sky-high blood pressure, nothing to eat. Get over there sharp or Ill come round, and well have a different kind of chat.
Claire quickly replied:
Martin, youre a husband and now a father. Youve a healthy wife right next to you. Do the shopping yourself, or send Emilyfresh air does pregnant women good. Were done running errands for your lot. Goodbye.
***
Three months passed. Claire and Helen had stuck to their principles, never setting foot in Jane Wilkinsons place. Helen would occasionally waver, but Claire always put her foot down:
Back to scrubbing for Emily? Be my guest!
Martin himself finally deigned to visit. He looked a mess, stubble and a stained jacket.
Well, youve finally bothered to turn up, muttered Claire, barring his way. What do you want, Martin?
Claire, dont be difficult, Martin tried to shoulder past, but Claire wouldnt let him. Mums being impossible. Emily cant get on with her. Says the old girls lost the plot.
Whats actually happened? Helen appeared from inside the flat. Come in, Martin.
Mum, dont, warned Claire, but Helen gently moved her aside.
Martin shuffled into the kitchen and slumped onto a stool.
Well, its like thisEmilys given me an ultimatum: her or mum. Weve got a newborn now, always screaming. Mums popping in every half hour, telling her how to swaddle, how to feed him. Shrieking that Emilys bone idle, wont clean the windows, the place is a tip. Emilys in floods, says shes not the helpshes a wife.
Well then, help your wife, Claire shrugged. Grab a cloth. Clean the damn windows.
Me? Martin stared at her, horrified. I work! Im the night watch! Im always shattered! And anyway, men dont do windows. Dont you get it, Helen? Would it kill you to go round, give it a tidy? Shed even give you a tenner. Maybe less
Money? Helen let out a bitter little laugh. Martin, shes never even thanked me in thirty years. And now shes handed the flats over to you. Your turn to look after her.
Oh, come on, help out, Martin whined. Itd only take three hours, tops: windows, kitchen, dusting, mop the floors
Martin, off you go, Claire patted him on the shoulder. Go to your Emily. Were not cleaning up at Auntie Janes anymore. We might pop round for a cup of teajust for a chat. But cleaning? Not happening.
***
Another month went by before Claire finally gave in and visited Auntie Jane, mainly at Helens insistence.
Emily opened the door, nearly bowling Claire over with the stench.
The flat reekedno use pretending otherwise. Dirty socks, sour soup, and something altogether more vile hung in the air.
What dyou want? Emily asked offhandedly.
Im here for Jane Wilkinson. Claire.
Oh, the black sheep great-niece Emily smirked. Yeah, Ive heard all about you. Well, here I am. Janes sulking in her room.
Claire walked into the big room. Jane Wilkinson sat in the same armchair as before, but now she looked shrunken, her grandeur all gone.
The windows Claire had once polished sparkled no moredirty streaks and rain spots muddied the glass. The curtain hung lopsided, half off its rail.
Hello, Auntie Jane, Claire set a box of chocolates on the table.
The old lady looked up.
Youve come, she croaked. To see me rot away, have you?
Dont be silly. Youve got family here: son, daughter-in-law, grandson
Family Jane nodded at the door. My family put a new lock on my door yesterday. Told me to stay in here when their friends are over. Martinhe just sits there, shovelling in her microwave dinners. Filthy ones, taste like poison. Place is a midden, cos Emily cant be bothered. Said if I want it clean, Ill have to do it myself, but my hands wont work anymore, Claire they wont
She stared at her twisted fingers and suddenly broke into loud, childlike sobs.
I gave her I gave them everything And yesterday Emily said, Hurry up and pop off, granny, we need the room for a nursery. Martin sat there, didnt say a word. Just watched the telly
Claire felt her old sympathy stirring, but forced herself to keep it in check.
Auntie Jane, shall I put the kettle on?
Only if she lets you. Says I waste the gas.
Just then, Emily poked her head in.
Whats the whispering about? she grumbled. Claire, now youre here, the taps in the bathroom are leaking, Martin cant fix it. And the loo needs a good scrub
Claire turned to her, slow and deliberate.
Emily, youre mistaken. Im here as a guest, not a maid.
Oh come off it! Emily snorted. You didnt care about the flats, did you? Then prove how much you love your grannyput your money where your mouth is. Were both too busy, got a baby to look after.
We dont need the flats, Claire replied, cool as ever. Janes already left them to Martin. So theyre your problem nowleaky taps, filthy loo, filthy windows. Enjoy!
Emily nearly choked on her apple.
Whos going to help, then? The old witch cant even rinse her own plate!
You. Just you and your wonderful husband.
No tea for Claire that dayEmily, already acting mistress of the manor, made sure to shoo her out.
***
Jane Wilkinson now sees out her days in a care home.
Martin, henpecked and obedient, sent his mother there himself.
They sold off one flat to buy a cottage. Now Martin and Emily live at the cottage, happily renting out the four-bedroom flat for a tidy sum.
Claire still visits Jane from time to time. She pities the old dear, who so carelessly managed her own lifeSometimes Jane complains, sometimes she just sits, gaze fixed on the window, frail hands folded in her lap. The last time Claire visits, Jane isnt weeping or cursing, but quietly tracing the shape of a sunbeam on the white linen.
They sit together in the hush of the afternoon. Claire has learned not to bring up the flats, or the past, or even Martinjust the birds outside, or the way the flowers in the vase tilt toward the light.
You always liked things sparkling, Claire remarks, wiping a smear from the window with her sleeve.
Jane nods, a ghost of her old pride flickering in her watery eyes. I did. But it never really mattered, did it?
They share a small, lopsided smile. Neither says much more.
When she leaves, Claire pauses in the hallway, the hush heavy on her shoulders. She feels neither bitterness nor triumphjust a strange, spacious relief. The inheritance never mattered; family, it turned out, was something you could only give, never cash in.
Outside, spring is reclaiming the street. Daffodils bob in the wind. Claire walks away, the late sun on her face, the weight of duty finally, gently, set down.
