The day after Granny passed, I took on the task of going through her phone book and calling anyone that I felt should know. Mum was busy dealing with the shock and her grief while trying to organise a funeral. The house felt oddly empty and so strange. The presence of Granny was all around us in everything we looked at and touched, yet what was missing was her. It was the little things, like the sound of her breath, her slightly strained laughter, or a cheeky comment here and there. It was her essence that was missing, and I suddenly felt like an intruder in her home without her here. On top of that, it was also strange not to have Chilton around, too. I realised just how much we had come to rely on his strong, quiet presence.
He would be back later in the week after the funeral to sign off on the paperwork and collect the last of his things. He had made a point of making sure we both had his phone number and asked that we get in touch if there were any questions or even if we just needed to talk. He was genuinely saddened later that week at her funeral, and I wondered, not for the first time, what toll this job was taking on him. If all his clients got as much of him as Granny did, then it had to be a painful process.
I called as many people as I could think of, and when I finally got to talk to Peter, he was very upset that he couldn't be there for us. It was probably the most upset I had heard him since the beginning of his trial. All I could do was let him know that we were as okay as we could be under the circumstances. I told him that we love him and that we miss him and asked that he focus on getting better and getting out.
When he calmed down a bit, he asked how Mum was doing, and I knew he meant more than just with the news of Granny. I told him all that I could and that, away from Dad, she had become a much happier person. That she was pursuing the lifestyle that she had wanted since she was young, but it did make me wonder just how much he could know. I felt guilty that we were keeping such a big thing from him, but what could I say?
It forced me to think about what would happen when he eventually got out. How on earth do you tell your brother that you are having an affair with your mother? I know there was time to think about it, years in fact, but how would he take it if he found out? I doubt it would go well. I was becoming more and more convinced that this thing between us couldn't be a long-term affair. That it would serve a purpose for us both, but its season would come to an end sooner or later.
I had spoken to Richard, and he apologised that he wouldn't be able to go to the funeral. I asked if it was a matter of transport and explained that I would be willing to come and get him if it was.
"That is incredibly kind of you to offer, Jeff. The thing is, I don't know how well I would cope being there. It broke my heart to say goodbye last week, but I am grateful that I was given the opportunity to tell Liz how I felt about her and to say goodbye properly and in person. I will always be grateful for that. I'm afraid I'm just not up to it."
"That's okay, Richard. I do understand."
He sounded somewhat sceptical as he responded.
"Do you?"
"As much as anyone can understand someone else's point of view. The truth is, I know what you meant to each other. Granny and I had a long talk about it. That's what led to me calling you in the first place."
There was a long silence as he tried to understand exactly what I was trying to tell him. It was with a tremulous whisper that he responded.
"She told you... Everything?"
"I doubt she told me everything, but she told me that she loved you, that you spent some very formative years together, and that, yes, you were lovers. She loved you, perhaps as much as she loved her husband. I know it's not conventional, but I will never judge either of you for being in love. That would make me quite the hypocrite."
It was the closest I came to telling anyone but Susie about the relationship that had developed between Mum and me. I don't know if he put two and two together, but if he did, he had the grace to not say so.
I decided that it would probably be the right thing to do to let Dad know as well. He would know as soon as he talked to Peter anyway, and things seemed to be sewn up pretty tight as far as the will went. I didn't see that any harm could come from letting him know, and, as I said, it just seemed like the right thing to do. I was very nervous, though, because there hadn't been a word spoken between us since the whole "Goldilocks" incident, and I knew that would be eating at him.
My heart was pounding as the phone rang, and I didn't know if it was better if he did or didn't answer. It rang four times, and I was just beginning to think that he wasn't going to answer, knowing it was me calling. I had begun to release a sigh of breath that I hadn't realised I was holding, so it took me by surprise when he answered. I wasn't surprised by the animosity, though.