The Importance of Being Married (4 page)

In the event, we eloped. It just seemed like the easiest solution. Grace was upset, of course—she’d wanted to come to the wedding—but not when I told her that it had been Anthony’s idea to forgo a big wedding so we could give the money to charity instead, and that our little register office affair had been exactly what we’d both wanted—intimate, low-key, private.

The next week I went back online and bought myself a wedding ring (silver, twenty-five pounds), and every week when I went to see Grace I’d put it and my engagement ring on, and would make up stories about my married life to my own Prince Charming.

And now she was gone. Now it was all gone.

Chapter 3

IT WAS GRACE’S LAWYER
who told me she had died. He turned up unannounced to give me the news. It was the one Sunday I hadn’t been able to visit because of a work deadline. He told me that she’d died in the morning, and so I wouldn’t have gotten there in time anyway, but it didn’t help much.

I’d arrived home that day at 6
PM
to find Helen in the sitting room, watching
Deal or No Deal.
As I poked my head around the sitting room door, she held up her hand to stop me talking. “No deal!” she shouted at the television.
“No deal!”

Helen and I had met at university where we’d found ourselves next-door neighbors in our first-year hall of residence. I’d never had a best friend before—I told myself I didn’t have time for one, but the truth was that Grandma had scuppered my chances at female bonding very early on by refusing to let me watch television, buying me only extremely unfashionable clothes, and imposing a strict curfew of 8
PM
, all of which meant that I could only ever be an embarrassment to anyone who gamely attempted to befriend me for any length of time. She’d made a mistake with my mother, Grandma used to tell me constantly, giving her too much freedom, allowing her to become fixated by clothes, by makeup, by boys and television programs, and she wasn’t going to make the same mistake with me. By the time I got to university, I saw it as a good thing: it meant I had more time for work, more time to focus on getting straight A’s.

But Helen, I soon discovered, wasn’t like other people. Wasn’t like me, either. In fact, she was the opposite of me in almost every way—she was beautiful, rich, impulsive, and sociable—but for some strange reason she didn’t dismiss me, or befriend me only to dump me a few weeks later. Instead she took to storming into my room on a regular basis to tell me about her latest conquest or agonize about an essay that was invariably several weeks overdue. She thought it was funny when I rolled my eyes and told her that I’d never heard of any of the bands she listened to; she made me spend the whole weekend watching
Friends
DVDs when I told her I’d never seen an episode, and didn’t even seem to mind when I sneaked away from parties early to catch up on my studies. We were an odd couple, but despite my best attempts to show her just how inappropriate I was as a friend, we were still close years later. Not just close—roommates.

Helen worked in television as a researcher, which meant that she worked very intensively on a program for several weeks, then had a few weeks off “resting” before she got her new contract. Recently her “resting” period seemed to be extending rather longer than usual, which meant that the only income she had coming in was my rent (the flat had been a “gift” from her father. I’d have been jealous, only she invited me to move in with her and charged me far less than I’d pay elsewhere, so instead I was just hugely grateful), which nowhere near covered her living expenses. But whereas I fretted on her behalf, it didn’t seem to worry her too much. Instead, while she rested, she considered it her duty to watch as much television as possible so that when she finally got around to applying for a job she’d be clued up on whichever program she was potentially going to be working on.

The contestant said, “Deal,” and Helen threw her arms up in despair. “Idiot!” she yelled, then turned the television off. “Can’t bear it,” she said, shaking her head. “I just can’t watch these people. So, what’s up with you?”

I didn’t get a chance to answer—at that moment the doorbell rang and I got up to answer it.

“Jessica Milton?” a man’s voice asked over the intercom, and I jumped slightly.

“Um, who is this?” I asked tentatively. I didn’t tend to get many visitors. Not male ones. Not on Sunday evenings. And certainly not ones who called me “Milton.”

“It’s Mr. Taylor. I’m Grace Hampton’s solicitor. I have some bad news, I’m afraid. I wonder if I might have a word?”

“Grace Hampton?” I said, curious, then reddened. She’d found out about Anthony, I thought with a thud. She’d found out it wasn’t true. Then I kicked myself. She’d hardly send her lawyer around, even if she did find out. “Um, come up.”

As he came through the door, the credits were rolling for
Deal or No Deal,
and Helen evacuated the sitting room, telling me that she was going to make a chili for supper. I smiled gratefully and ushered Mr. Taylor in.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “Please, sit down.”

The sofa and chair were strewn with Helen’s magazines and my work projects, so I hurriedly cleared some space for him, then sat down myself.

“So, is there something wrong with Grace?” I asked tentatively.

Mr. Taylor looked at me sadly. “I’m sorry to tell you that Mrs. Hampton has…passed away.”

It took me nearly a minute to digest this information. “Passed away?” I gulped eventually, and my eyes widened.

“Last night. In her sleep. I’m very sorry.”

I stared at him openmouthed, then I felt myself stiffen. “I think you’ve made a mistake,” I said quickly. “Grace is fine. I saw her just last week.”

He gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Sorry?” My throat caught as I spoke. “Well, you should be. Because this isn’t happening.” I turned away from him like a petulant teenager. People were always dying on me—my mother, my grandmother, my grandfather (even if I never met him I still went to the funeral, so I figured he counted), and I wasn’t going to have Grace die, too. I just wasn’t.

He nodded sadly. “I’m afraid it is. I believe the situation took a turn for the worse quite suddenly.”

“A turn for the worse?” I shook my head, incredulously. “She’s dead and you’re calling it
a turn for the worse
?” I regretted saying the word
dead
as soon as it came out of my mouth, as though saying it made it real. I could feel tears pricking at my eyes, tears of indignation, of anger, of sadness. And of guilt. Because I hadn’t felt like this when Grandma died. When Grandma died, I listened to the news with an attitude of resignation, kept my voice low and somber because that’s what you did in these situations. I hadn’t felt like my world was breaking into two; hadn’t wanted to rewind time to make it untrue.

“Perhaps I can get you a drink of water?” Mr. Taylor offered. I shook my head.

“I don’t want water. I want Grace.” I rushed to the phone and dialed Sunnymead’s number. “Yes. Grace Hampton, please. I’d like to speak to Grace Hampton.”

“Grace Hampton?” The voice was uncertain, preparing itself to give me bad news.

“Yes, Grace Hampton,” I said impatiently. “I want to talk to her please.”

There was a pause. “I’m…I’m afraid to tell you that Grace…”

I put the phone down before the woman on reception could finish, before she could repeat what Mr. Taylor had already told me. Grace was dead. I wasn’t going to see her again. Ever. Slowly, I walked back to the chair I’d been sitting on, eased myself onto it, pulled my legs up and hugged them into my chest.

“I understand that the two of you were very close. I’m truly sorry to be the bearer of such bad news,” Mr. Taylor was saying.

“Yes, we were close,” I said. I was angry suddenly. Angry with this man who dared to come into my flat on a Sunday night and tell me that there would be no more little chats with Grace over tea and biscuits, no more Sunnymead. And no more fantasy love affair. From now on it was just me.

“Very close.” I felt tears in my eyes and wiped them distractedly. “I should have been there,” I heard myself say, anger suddenly being replaced by sadness, emptiness. “I should have known.”

“I’m very sorry.” The lawyer didn’t seem to know what else to say. I looked up at him and realized how badly I was behaving. It wasn’t his fault. None of this was his fault.

“No, I’m sorry,” I managed to say. “It’s just…well, it’s a bit of a shock.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Taylor said sagely.

An image came into my head of Grace on her bed, just like Grandma had been when she died, her skin almost translucent, her spirit ebbing away. I saw her being taken out of her room, her things being packed up, someone else taking her place, as though she’d never existed in the first place. Forcefully, I pushed it out.

“Do…do you know when the funeral’s going to be yet?” I found myself asking. “Do you need a hand with anything? I mean, I know what her favorite flowers were, if that helps? And she loved ‘I Vow to Thee My Country.’ You know, if you’re wondering about hymns…” I trailed off, trying to keep my voice level.

“Thank you, Mrs. Milton. I mean, Jessica. That’s very kind. In actual fact, Mrs. Hampton had very…specific ideas about her funeral. All written down. They don’t allow me much leeway at all.”

I managed a rueful smile at that, imagining Grace detailing her requirements like a shopping list. She had a wonderful way of coaxing people into getting her exactly what she wanted without ever seeming to impose herself—the nurses brought her not just tea bags but Twinings English Breakfast, and I brought her not just apples but English Coxes, and only in season.

“Okay,” I said, nodding awkwardly, not sure what I should be saying or doing. I wanted to be on my own. Wanted to feel angry and sad in privacy. “Well, thank you for coming to tell me. And you’ll let me know where and when, won’t you. And if you need anything else…”

I waited for him to stand, but instead he gave me a funny sort of smile.

“Actually, there is something else,” he said, clearing his throat. “There’s the matter of Mrs. Hampton’s will.”

“Will? Oh, right.” I sat down again with an inward sigh. I knew all about wills. Grandma’s will had been read to me two days after she died. I hadn’t expected anything—I knew she’d sold the house to pay for her care at Sunnymead. What I hadn’t banked on was that wills worked both ways—that instead of inheriting money, I was inheriting all her debts.

“Mrs. Milton,” Mr. Taylor said seriously, pulling out a folder and handing it to me. “You are the primary beneficiary of Grace’s will, and you’re going to be inheriting her estate. I can run through the details now, if you’d like, or if you’d like to come to my office one day next week, we can sort out the paperwork then and there.”

I put the folder to one side. “Okay. I mean, I’ll look at this later, if that’s okay. When I’m…better able to…you know.”

“You’re not interested in the contents of the estate?”

I looked up. “Contents. Yes, of course. You mean her personal effects?” I sniffed, forcing myself to concentrate. She hadn’t had much in her room—a couple of pictures, a few books. Still, it would be nice to have something to remember her by.

“Ah. Yes, well, I suppose that I do,” Mr. Taylor said uncertainly. “But it’s the house that forms the largest part of the legacy.”

“The house?” I looked at him blankly.

Mr. Taylor smiled at me as if I were a small child. “The house has been in her family for several generations. I know that she was very keen for it to come to you.” He handed me a photograph of a crumbling stone house. I say house, but really it was a huge mansion, surrounded by land. And suddenly I knew what it was; could see Grace as a young girl tearing along the corridors with her brothers, spilling out into the garden.

“Sudbury Grange?” I gasped. “She left me Sudbury Grange?”

“So you know the house? Well, that’s good,” the lawyer said, nodding. “In addition to the house there are some not insignificant investments, along with various paintings, jewelry, and so on. Obviously you’ll be wondering about death duties and I’m happy to tell you that Grace also provided for those, with a trust of one million pounds that should be ample to cover all your taxes.”

My eyes widened, then I grinned. “Oh, you’re joking. For a moment there you had me. A million pounds for taxes. That’s good. That’s very good.”