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That’s about all, really. Bernie and I went home and we both tried to forget all about Valerie and Jane. They, in their turn, did not attempt to get in touch with us again. That is, until, a few months later, a card arrived at Bernie’s college, simply informing us that Valerie had died and giving the time and venue of the funeral. Needless to say, we did not attend.
Then, the following week, a solicitor called the police station wanting to speak to me. It turned out that Valerie had made a new will – after our first meeting in Manchester and before the final one in Stockport – making me her executor and joint residual legatee with Jane, the estate being equally dived between us. It seemed, from what the solicitor said, that Valerie did not consider the role of executor to be appropriate for a woman. (You can imagine what Bernie said about that when I told her!) That, apparently, was one reason why she had been so pleased to have found her long-lost son.
Naturally, I wasn’t prepared to accept her money. That would have been the case even if I had been her only surviving relative but, as things stood, it was clearly impossible for me to take my share because it would have forced Jane to sell up the family home where she was living.
Jane was ridiculously grateful when I refused to act as executor, renounced the inheritance and handed it all over to her. I don’t like to think that she thought I was hypocritical enough to have taken her mother’s property after everything that I (and Bernie) had said; but, I suppose a lot of people do change their attitudes when there’s money at stake. As far as I’m concerned she’s welcome to my thirty pieces of silver as well as her own share. She’s earned it, living with Valerie all those years and putting up with her moaning about how she wasn’t able to provide her with any grandchildren and, no doubt, indoctrinating her with all sorts of bigoted ideas.
Jane did suggest that we might correspond occasionally. I suppose she thought she ought to make some sort of gesture to show her appreciation of what she clearly viewed as my Grand Gesture. I declined politely. I think Bernie was probably a bit more direct in her response to Jane’s final email correspondence. Anyway, the message finally got through and we haven’t heard from her since. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to know that I can get on with my life without worrying that some long-lost relative might suddenly turn up on the doorstep. And I am infinitely glad that neither Hannah nor Eddie ever found out about the existence of their so-called grandmother.