Richardson nodded. ‘That would be about right. Shall I begin?’
‘Please,’ said Rose. Answering for all of us, I thought. Nothing ever changes.
Mr Richardson began to read.
‘“My dearest girls, for girls are what you will always be to me.
‘“I’m writing a few things I want you to know when I am gone.
‘“First of all, remember me but don’t be sad. I’ve grown weary of late and am ready to go and be with your father, who I am sure will be waiting for me. Remember me but think of me with you as I used to be when I was in better health and let those memories bring you comfort.
‘“Secondly, don’t feel guilty about my last chapter. It’s a waste of time. I tried to tell you all but you were all so wrapped up in it that I don’t think you heard. Guilt is an indulgence and – like anger – it eats away at you. Let it go. Hear what I have to say next and take it in. I was happy to go to the retirement village. I made good friends there, had good care and maintained my independence, which was important to me. Much as I love you, I think we’d have driven each other mad if I’d come to live with any of you. We’re all grown women and each have our own way of doing things. To sell the family home and move was my choice. Mine. I’d outgrown that lovely old house in Hampstead. It was way too much for me to manage. I wanted to simplify my life and my responsibilities and had felt that way for some years. So despite all your thoughts about my best interests and where you thought I should have been, let it go. I was where I wanted to be.
‘“Daisy, you especially. What would I have done in Cornwall? I don’t know anyone down there, apart from you. It would have been like living in a foreign country for me, and I’d have missed my dear Jean and never have met Martha, who has become such a good friend these last few years. It turned out for the best.
‘“As I write this, I don’t know when I’ll go or which of you will be with me, if any of you so I wanted to say, so all of you can hear this and take it in, that most of us can’t choose the time or circumstances of our passing. Don’t feel bad if you don’t make it to my side. I have a lifetime of memories with each of you, as you do of me. Remember and cherish those and don’t cling on to my final weeks or months. They are only part of my journey. Remember the whole. I’ve had a good and full life. Let me go. Just as with birth, none of us can predict how the end will be. Remember, Daisy, you had your plans for a home birth with Lucy. You had the birthing pool, your CD of that god-awful music with dolphins squeaking in the background (heaven knows how that was supposed to relax you) and your aromatherapy oils, and Andy was supposed to be there to support you and rub your back. Hah. Remember? Then you had to have a Caesarean in a hospital and not a dolphin in sight. Rose, you’d planned it all too, practical as ever, and booked into that lovely private hospital – and what happened? You gave birth in the back of a taxi. I wonder if the driver ever recovered.”’
I glanced at Rose. This was the perfect moment for us to acknowledge each other and our past with some affection, but she kept her eyes on Mr Richardson, her back and posture stiff.
‘“Whatever got us down here when we were born,”’ Mr Richardson continued reading, ‘“will get us out; but, like with birth, it might not be the smooth transition or perfect time we have planned or hoped for. I believe some force or power will be there to guide me out just as it guided me in. So don’t worry if you’re not with me, or stress over the circumstances if it appeared to be a bumpy exit. When it’s my time, it will be my time.
‘“Remember I love you and am proud of you all, my dear independent, individual flowers. Be proud of who you are and what you’ve achieved and don’t compare yourself to each other. Each flower has its own beauty. Know that and be who you are. Be yourself.
‘“And so, I know you will have come expecting to hear my will. As I always said, whatever I had will be divided equally. No arguments. I know Fleur that you’re comfortably off but circumstances in life can change. The rich become poor, the poor become rich. And Daisy, you never know, an agent might discover your wonderful paintings, sign you up and make you a fortune. And Rose, you and Hugh have your jobs and your family and might not feel you need the inheritance that I will leave, but it is yours by right. Long before your father died, we had agreed. Everything we have will be divided equally between you, a third each. But not until a year after my death.”’
‘A year?’ I gasped.
Mr Richardson looked up. ‘Do you need a moment?’
‘Did you say a year?’ I asked. ‘From now?’
Mr Richardson nodded. ‘Yes.’
I groaned inwardly. Unlike Rose and Fleur, I was struggling to make ends meet, work teaching art was sparse where I lived and the sales of my paintings had decreased, mainly due to the fact that I’d felt uninspired of late.
‘Shall I continue?’ asked Mr Richardson.
Rose gave a curt nod.
‘Please,’ we chorused.
Mr Richardson went back to the letter.
‘“In that year, I have something I want you all to do. A condition of my will. I’ve thought about this long and hard and am acting in your best interests, although you might not believe me at first.”’ Mr Richardson looked up at us. I stole another glance at my sisters. Rose’s expression was tight, Fleur’s curious. Mr Richardson rustled the papers on his desk, then began to read again.
‘“Dear ones, my friends, Martha and Jean, and I all know we are in our last chapters. We talk about it a lot. What we’ve done with our lives, what we believe about death. Some of the elderly people here at the village talk about bucket lists – what they would have liked to have done if they’d had the time, or what they managed to do before they had to come and live here. I’ve had a happy and full life. I got to do everything I wanted. I had no need of a bucket list. I’ve had many experiences, known joy, love, as well as sadness, which is part of life; but I do have one regret and that is that you, my girls, are no longer in contact with each other and that I, your mother, didn’t do more to remedy that. Don’t think I don’t know that your visits to me were separate by design so that you didn’t have to see each other, and not, as you all claimed it was, because of geography or just life taking over. I might be in my late eighties but I’m not daft. At first, I didn’t know how to get you back together again. I know how stubborn you all are, but then, talking things over with Jean and Martha, a plan began to hatch in my brain. A kicking the bucket list! A bucket list is something you do while you still have time. A kicking the bucket list is for when you don’t. I may not have much time left, but you three do. So I have devised a list that I want you to follow. I’ve made this request a condition of my will so that I’ll hopefully achieve with my death what I didn’t manage in life, and that is to get you all back together. And how is this going to be achieved? Well, first of all, I’m going to ask that, for the next year, you spend one weekend every other month with each other.”’
Beside me, Rose had clenched her fists. Fleur looked over at me and raised an eyebrow.
‘“I’m going to ask that some of the weekends are spent at each other’s houses – so dust off your spare rooms, I know each of you has the space now; but not just to visit each other, no, that would be far too boring. Sitting opposite each other drinking tea? No. I have organized a quest of sorts. I’ll tell you more about it later, but I want you to have shared experiences. Don’t worry, it’s all organized, and Mr Richardson will explain what I want you to do. With this plan, I can rest in peace, knowing that I have done all
