Page 1 of Waiting for a Bright New Future

Chapter One

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“How’s Eric?” Lillian from next door was manoeuvring her wheelie bin in only her nightclothes and bare feet, oblivious of the stony ground and early morning chill.

“Hanging in there.”

“When he passes, come for me. You shouldn’t be alone with . . . well, you know . . . before the undertaker.”

“Thanks.” Stuart felt a lump in his throat and, head down, concentrated on positioning his own bin. This was the kindest offer anyone had made him and warmed something deep inside. After caring for his father for twenty-five years, everyone, the professionals and his elder brothers alike, just assumed he could cope. They didn’t understand what it was like to close the front door on the world and be the sole lifeline for an ailing man. He took a breath before smiling at the woman he used to call ‘Aunty’ as a child. “Thank you very much. I appreciate that.”

Lillian smiled and then started rubbing her arms and picking her way carefully back up to the house, as though she’d suddenly become aware of the cold and her lack of shoes.

At lunchtime she knocked on his door and presented him with a steaming apple crumble and a jug of thick, yellow custard.

“Things are easier to tackle after a nice pudding,” she said.

Stuart carried the laden tray into the kitchen and then gave her a bear hug of gratitude.

Later, Stuart’s father asked him to set up a video call with his elder brothers, Robert and George. “It’s about the will.” Eric spoke hesitantly and didn’t meet Stuart’s eye. “I should’ve changed things as soon as you and Sandra were born. But things were a mess back then and too much got overlooked. You’ve had the worst of it all along. I’m sorry. I’ll explain to Robert and George, and then we’ll get Mr Finch to draft a new document.”

The warmth created by Lillian’s kindnesses was replaced by a cold, creeping fear. Stuart had sacrificed everything to look after his father while his brothers, twelve and fifteen years his senior, had married, had families and surged ahead in their careers. They were both comfortably retired with no need for Eric’s money. But if Stuart wasn’t in the will, he would be left with nothing.

* * *

Robert and George sat in their separate little boxes on the screen looking apprehensive.

“I don’t want Stuart to lose his home when I’m gone.” Eric’s voice was too weak to be picked up clearly by the laptop microphone and Stuart had to repeat everything their father said for the benefit of his brothers. It was a slow process.

“He’s going to give me a life interest in the house.” Stuart paraphrased his father’s words. “I can continue to live here as long as I like. If I want to sell the house and move, that’s OK, but the house or its proceeds always remain part of the estate. When I die, the grandchildren will inherit equal shares of the house.”

Robert leaped in with the first criticism. “So, George and I will never see any benefit from the will.”

George was mouthing madly like a fairground goldfish. Eventually he found the button to free his voice. “Agreed. It’s not fair that Stuart gets all the benefit.”

“This isn’t up for debate.” Stuart could barely hear his father above his brothers’ protests. “The new will is being drawn up and I’ll be signing it tomorrow.”

Stuart wanted to wave his arms in the air and shout, “Yes!” His father was finally treating him like a valued member of the family in front of his siblings. He’d still have to generate income to live off when his father died, but he wouldn’t be homeless.

A few minutes later, he clicked the red ‘End Meeting’ button and his brothers’ thunderous faces disappeared into the ether.

The best man won! Good job I’m not around to stake a claim as well. The future is looking brighter, Stuart Borefield. Perhaps you can dig out those old guide books? There might be a middle-aged Dutch lady waiting at the Eiffel Tower. Ha! You thought I’d forgotten about your one and only one-night stand, didn’t you?

Sandra was increasingly voicing her opinion inside his head, just as she’d done when he was a child. Back then he’d clutched at her, desperate for a sibling ally. Even if that sibling had had to be imaginary. “If you’d lived, Sandra,” he said, “none of this would’ve happened. I might have been a famous explorer. Or, at least, the head of a school geography department.”

Damn right it wouldn’t have happened. I’d have got things organised in a totally fair manner so that all of us could have a decent life, including Dad.

The next day, Stuart got up early. He wanted a ride before he woke his father and got his bedroom into an acceptable state for receiving the solicitor. Cycling would clear his head and chase away the tension. He needed to be absolutely on top of what his father was signing with no possibility of giving his brothers any wriggle room.

Attaboy, Bro!

Before leaving he listened at his father’s door. Silence. He thought about peeping in but if the old man was awake, he’d delay Stuart and the ride would be scuppered.

It was spring and the early morning air tasted of positivity and brightness as Stuart breathed in great lungfuls of it. The dawn chorus was well underway and cheered his heart. It was difficult to be downhearted when England’s green and pleasant land was brimming with new beginnings and singing birds. Stuart loved the way that the seasons and the plants and the animals always started afresh at this time of year. Whatever was going on in his own life, nature continued in its own remarkable way.

Afterwards, red-cheeked with fresh air and buzzing with endorphins, he was in and out of the shower in record time before nudging open his father’s door with a tray of sweetened, warmed Weetabix and a mug of tea.

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