Have you ever been handed the leftovers as if it were a charitable gesture, only to realise that whats dismissed by others can turn out to be the most valuable of all? My family thought it would be amusing to leave me with a patch of muck and silt. Yet, sometimes, theres gold hidden in the mud.
In my family, ones worth is measured by the make of your watch or the model year of your car.
Im Julian. Ive always been the black sheep, or as my relatives liked to call me, the hippie. Im a biologist, most at home tromping about in muddy boots, out in marshes and woodland, studying ecosystems. To my mother, my brother Simon, and my sister Harriet, that simply meant Id failed.
Simons a corporate solicitor, Harriet runs her own boutique and Julian Julian plays with frogs, Mum would remark at every Sunday roast as the others chuckled behind their wine glasses.
The only person who ever really understood me was my dads fatherGrandad Arthur. Down-to-earth, an old farmer, he owned fields not far from the coast. When he fell ill, I was the only one who moved in to care for him.
Simon and Harriet rarely showed face, popping round just to check how much longer there was.
Grandad, have you signed over the beach house yet? Simon would prod, eyeing the will with vulture-like anticipation.
Grandad would simply smile and wink at me.
All in good time, children.
When Grandad passed, the family mourning lasted precisely as long as it took to arrange a meeting with the solicitor.
The reading of the will was something out of a dark comedy.
To my son Simon, I leave the main house and the bank accounts, said the solicitor.
Simon grinned ear to ear.
To my daughter Harriet, I leave the city flats and your grandmothers jewels.
Harriet all but squealed.
And to my grandson Julian, whos always loved nature more than money, I leave the property known as Marshgate.
Silence. Then laughter.
The marsh?! Simon roared. Julian, hes left you nothing but boggy ground and mosquitoes! Congratulations, youre now the landlord of the frogs!
Harriet piled on:
At least youll have somewhere to play. Just dont come asking us for a loan.
Mum shook her head:
Thats what you deserve. Grandad knew you never wanted for more.
I signed, wordless.
They didnt know what Grandad and I knew.
Months before he passed, Grandad and I had hosted some engineers. It turned out that the useless marsh held the only possible access to a pristine bay where an international hotel group was planning to build a luxury eco-resort.
Without my bit of land, the project was at a standstill.
That patch was the key.
Grandad told me before he died:
Theyll always chase after whats pretty. You take the ugly. Its ugly land that feeds you.
Barely a week after the will, Simon was already frittering away the inheritance, Harriet was flogging the jewellery.
I signed a contract.
Seven figures.
In pounds sterling.
Ten times the sum they both received put together.
And I insisted that the resort be named Arthurs Reserve.
When the news broke, Simon rang me up. He wasnt laughing any more.
Julian is it true?
Yes.
How much?
Enough to buy your house five times over.
Before long, they all showed up.
Mum was in tears, going on about family and making joint decisions.
I remembered every sneer.
Frog landlord.
Ive already donated a portion to wildlife conservation, I said. The rest is invested. Untouchable.
Selfish! snapped Harriet.
Youve got the house and the jewellery, I replied, calm. Enjoy it.
I got into my new car and left.
Today, I live easily.
Just me and my frogs.
Sometimes, the last laugh isnt only the sweetest
its also the most lucrative.
