Love, loss and learning

The envelope sat untouched on the kitchen table. It had been there for the best part of a week and Alice could not even cast it a sideways glance without filling with fury. How could it be that losing her mum had meant this job passed to her as well?

“Alice, I’m going to take the kids out for a bit; try to stop them from murdering each other! Maybe just open up the packet and take a quick look at what you’re facing? Then pop out round the block for a breath of fresh air?” Alex’s words were meant kindly; he was a wonderful husband and he’d been holding her upright for the last 4 months since her mum passed away. But she still wished he wasn’t giving her time to get on with the dreaded task at hand.

“Take pictures. I want to see evidence that they can be civil to each other when they’re being entertained!” As an only child, Alice had never understood the fights between siblings. Her two girls could be gossiping about the newest hunk on their favourite Netflix show one minute, then screaming about a stolen pair of jeans in the next breath. Her mum had always called them the “sunbeams”, but most of the time, Alice thought they embodied dark storm clouds!

She heard the front door close behind them and eyeballed the sizeable envelope from behind the kitchen counter. It was like she was protecting herself from an emotional bomb. She waited for the kettle to boil, grabbed a couple of chocolate biscuits (a treat to see her through the torture) and walked purposefully over to the table.

It was time to see what she had to do to sort out the estate of Robert Thornton. Evil Uncle Robert. Grandma’s brother. A man that even her mother, the kindest woman in the world, could not bear.

She could remember her mother sharing the handful of stories about him and his unstoppable disregard for the feelings of others, never mind deliberate plans and plots to hurt and damage his family. Grandma would openly scathe about his unusual behaviour and how damaging that had been for the family’s social standing; she told tales of his cruelty to animals and absence of friends through childhood. But he was asked to leave and never return when he set a series of traps around the house to cause injury, and Alice’s mum, who was just a small child, was caught out. Her hand was so badly injured that she could never properly move it again. She struggled with writing and was terribly badly bullied. Although her mum said it made her stronger in the end, Alice knew that she could never forgive him for his aggression.

How could it be that this man, this awful human, could have had 23years longer on this earth than her wonderful mum? And why, oh why, did she have to be kind and responsible and try to sort out the mess?

She grabbed her letter opener and slipped it under the lid, prizing the package open. She tipped out the contents on to the table; reams of paperwork, solicitor’s covering letter, and a small, battered, black notebook. Just the effort of doing that had aged her 10years; how would she get through all this?

The solicitors letter was addressed to her, but referenced her mother as Robert Thornton’s “next of kin” until “very recently”. That was like a dagger through her heart. Very recently? Time had stood still since she lost her mum; what she wouldn’t give to have her mum beside her to look over this stuff together…

There was a very simple request in the initial cover letter. “Before reviewing further paperwork in this pack, please read the enclosed handwritten note provided by Mr Thornton. The letter was meant for your mother, but Mr Thornton gave no different instruction as to what to do if she pre-deceased him”. As Alice flicked over the page, she found a weathered looking letter, with exquisite cursive handwriting, addressed to “Jean”.

Dearest Jeannie

Well that’s wrong to start with; she’s been J to everyone for over 40 years. Momma J, Grandma J. A beautiful swathe of flowers atop her coffin in the shape of a J. She was never Jeannie to us.

I hope this letter finds you well.

Alice could feel her heart shattering in to a thousand pieces.

In whichever ways I could, I have tried to follow the story of your life and it strikes me that you have achieved such a great deal.

Stalker.

I know little of your personal life, although I’m aware you had a daughter. I send love to you all. Your kindness and commitment to your community is the stuff of legends. When you were awarded your MBE, it was one of the proudest moments of my life. Never stop Jeannie; you’re making the world a better place.

Alice couldn’t see the letter through her tears. This was not what she imagined, but was it better? It was gut-wrenching, that’s for sure. Remembering Alex’s kindly words, she took a step back from the table and opened the kitchen door to take a lung full of cold, crisp air. This was the good sort of unexpected; an unforeseen ally observing from afar, seeing her mum in all her wondrous glory.

“Let’s not get ahead of yourself, Al” she said to herself in to the misty morning air. 5 lines in and the man has managed to be pleasant and congratulatory; he’s hardly addressed a lifetime of absence and hurt.

Grabbing the letter on route, Alice went to sit in comfort on the sofa. She shrouded herself in the blanket her mother crocheted for her some 8years before; it smelt of her daughters. She felt safe to continue.

I don’t know what you know of me. I can’t imagine you have followed my journey in the same way I have followed yours, and I know that I’ve been absent for so long that you will only know me by the accounts my sister will have shared. Whilst I can imagine there will be a modicum of truth in her tales, she is prone to exaggeration and miscommunication in her embarrassment. She feared the threat of me to her precious reputation, so I can only imagine what she will have said to distance herself from me.

This seemed only too true to Alice. Her Grandma had instilled kindness and loyalty in her children, but she didn’t have much time for anyone who fell outside of the norm. Grandma grappled with her daughter’s job in social work as it brought her in to contact with people of “all sorts”, and Grandma only had time for “our sort”. After many years of battling, J had simply called truce with her mum saying “your Grandma gave me enough love that I can share it with everyone on her behalf”.

I don’t want to spend time dispelling what she said. She’s your mum, and I’m certain she will have been a doting and devoted mother. Instead, I want to tell you a different story, one that no one else has ever heard.

A deathbed confession? Distressingly, Alice’s first thought was that he would write about his violence towards someone else. That he would seek her forgiveness for something atrocious.

In 1949, I started my National Service at 17. I’d never quite fit at home; always on the outside of the family, and for the first time, I truly felt accepted. Following orders, standing in line, loving your country; it all made life simpler, less confusing. With fewer choices comes less anguish. I felt a sense of belonging. There were lots of great lads in our barracks and a real camaraderie that you just couldn’t get elsewhere in this world.

I’d been in the army for about three months when Stanley arrived. At first I thought he saw right through me, like he’d peeled back the fledgling confidence I’d grown, and could see the son my mother despised, the odd ball from the playground, the studious and quiet boy who no one really liked. He always kept his distance and I would willingly do the same for fear he would tell the world who I really was.

“But who really are you Robert?” Alice mused. Odd ball, loner… even freak… It doesn’t create the kind of disquiet that keeps family apart for over 60years.

One evening, as he and I stood alone together waiting for the bus to take us home for leave, Stanley slipped his hand in to mine, and raised it to his lips for a chaste kiss. Finally, the world made sense. He had captivated and intrigued me in a way that I’d never experienced before.

That’s how our companionship began. It’s a turbulent and troubled secret story, but now you hold it in your hands. I bequeath to you my most treasured possession; the journal of our love. If you feel you can, please read it. Please get to know the forbidden love and delight that two young soldiers found in each other.

You will probably never have been told the whole story of how I became estranged from the family, but it was also how I became estranged from him. During a short stay at your mothers, I invited Stanley to visit. Our passion burned bright but I knew that to get caught would be devastating for the family. We hid ourselves away and set a course of noisy traps to alert us to someone coming. Of course, you were just a tiny child, skirted around all our well laid plans and appeared at the door during our tryst. I jumped up to shut the door to protect you, but trapped your hand. In the following moments, your mother saw Stanley and I for what we really were. Not just friends, but lovers. Her shame overwhelmed her; she told only who she had to, then blamed a lack of remorse for the harm I’d caused as the reason for my ex-communication. I was ashamed; and that shame killed Stanley’s love for me.

Alice’s heart was somewhere in her mouth. Her Grandma could not “understand” any love other than that in a marital relationship; in fact, she often chastised the families mum supported as immoral, unsanctioned and illicit. But to turf out her own brother? To lie about him?

I am sorry to have hurt you; I haven’t seen you since moments after it happened, but I held you and kissed your cheek whilst you cried. I loved you very much. You were a beautiful sunbeam on a cloudy day.

Losing everything has made me something of the man your mother will have described. I am bitter, closed off, unkind, a loner. That wasn’t always me though. Once I was worthy of the love of a great man and I hope reading our story means you love him too.

If you know our love, you already hold everything that my life was ever worth, but there’s likely to be a little money in my estate and that is all for you.

If you can, use some to try to find my Stanley and return this story to him. I haven’t seen him in 60years but I love him every bit as much today as I did in 1949; I want him to know that.

With great love and admiration

Uncle Robert

Was it true? She had no one to ask. Once again, Alice ached in her bones for her mum. She walked across to the mantelpiece and held picked up a photo of Momma J. She was grinning from ear to ear, kind eyes fixed straight ahead on Alice and Alex doing their wedding dance. “What would you do Mum?” she asked aloud. Then she remembered her mother saying “nothing is for certain, and no one is ever wholly in the right or the wrong. Find your own answer”.