27April2025 Diary
The old cottage in Norfolk greeted Poppy with a stale draught and a heavy hush. She flung the sash windows wide, letting in the earlyMay sunshine and the scent of lilacs. It had been a month since Grandfather passed, and only now had she found the strength to travel back and sort through his belongings.
Grandfather Michael Steadman had been more than just a grandfather to her. When her parents died young, he stepped in, raised her, and gave her a foothold in life. In recent years they saw each other only rarely his work at the county council kept him busy, the daily grind left little time for visits. Now, standing in the sittingroom where every piece whispered his name, Poppy chastised herself for every day they had not spent together.
The silence was broken by a ring.
Poppy, have you started? Aunt Gillians voice sounded unusually caring. Victor and I will be there tomorrow to help with the furniture. Dont touch anything valuable until we arrive, alright?
Of course, Aunt Gill, Poppy replied, eyeing the grandfathers sideboard that held a collection of sea shells. Im only going through the things and the papers.
Good. After the reading of the will there was an awkwardness, you know Dont be upset that Grandfather left you only his books and the piano. He simply wanted everything distributed fairly.
Poppy tightened her lips. At the funeral the solicitor had read the will, which split the house and the bulk of the estate between his children Aunt Gillian and Uncle Victor. Poppy received only the books, an old upright piano and a set of engraved pocket watches dear to her heart but of modest monetary worth.
Everythings fine, Aunt Gill, she said. I dont need anything.
Exactly. You have your own flat and your own life. Victor and I need the cottage for the summer holidays the gardening season is about to start. See you tomorrow.
She hung up and let out a heavy sigh. Grandfather had always said the house would be hers. Who else would I leave it to but you, my dear? You alone understand what a family home means. He must have changed his mind at the last minute. It was his right, after all.
The whole day Poppy spent poring over the books. Each volume held a memory a battered fairytale collection he used to read to her at night, school textbooks hed once used to teach her maths, some volumes tucked with dried flowers, old photographs, marginal notes in his neat handwriting.
By evening she reached his study. The small room with a massive oak desk and floortoceiling shelves had always felt special. As a child Grandfather would not let her enter without knocking my creative laboratory, hed joked. Here Michael wrote his memoirs, kept diaries, and sorted archives.
She gently rifled through folders of manuscripts, old notebooks, yellowed envelopes. In the lower drawer of the desk she found a bundle of letters tied with twine letters from her grandmother, a woman Poppy had never met. Beside them lay a worn leather journal.
Opening it, she saw an entry dated the previous year: Call S.P. about the new will. Destroy the old one.
Her heart lurched. A new will? At the solicitors hearing only one document had been presented.
She kept searching, methodically checking each drawer and folder. Behind a stack of old newspapers in the filing cabinet she discovered an envelope stamped: Will. Copy. Original with solicitor S.P. The date on the envelope was a month before Grandfathers death.
With trembling hands she pulled out the document and began to read. In this version Michael left the entire cottage, the land and all valuable items to Poppy. His children, Gillian and Victor, were to receive monetary compensation only.
This decision isnt driven by favouritism, the note read, but by the wish to keep the family nest intact. Poppy is the only one who values the house as a repository of our history, not as mere property. I trust she will preserve it for future generations.
Poppy sank into Grandfathers favourite armchair, unable to grasp what she was reading. Why hadnt the second will been filed? Did the solicitor know about it? What now?
The night passed without sleep. She tossed in the old bed that had once been her mothers, weighing every possible course. Presenting the will would spark a huge scandal. Gillian and Victor had already begun planning what to do with the cottage; theyd never been particularly close to Michael, visiting only on occasion. Did that give them any lesser right?
At dawn, just as she was sipping a weak coffee, the sound of a car pulling up on the drive broke the quiet. Aunt Gillian entered first, filling the hallway with her booming voice and brisk movements.
Poppy, weve arrived with Rachel, she said, nodding toward her daughter, who shuffled in looking rather displeased. Well see what can be taken straight away. Victor will bring the removal men later.
Good morning, Poppy managed a strained smile. I havent finished sorting yet
No worries, well help! Gillian swept into the rooms, eyeing the furniture. Ill take that sideboard and the bedroom chest. You dont mind, Rachel?
Rachel shrugged. Its fine, Mum. Im mainly here for Grandfathers coin collection, you promised.
Of course, of course! Poppy, wheres his numismatic collection? He collected those all his life.
A surge of anger rose in Poppy. The coin collection had been Grandfathers pride; hed shown each new piece to her, telling the story behind it. And now it was to go to Rachel, who had turned up at the funeral with a sour expression, as if shed been robbed of something important.
Aunt Gillian, Poppy began cautiously, did you speak to the solicitor after the will was read?
Gillian froze, turning sharply. With MrPavlov? No, why?
Because I think somethings off about the will.
What do you mean? she asked, narrowing her eyes.
I found a reference in Grandfathers papers to another, later will.
A heavy silence fell. Rachel stopped examining the sideboard and turned toward them.
What nonsense is that? Gillian snapped, though her voice wavered. There was only one will, the one they read.
I think we should call MrPavlov, Poppy said firmly. I have a copy of another document.
Gillians face went pale.
Poppy, listen why stir this up? Father made his choice, he divided everything fairly. You got the things he loved most the books, the piano. He knew you love music.
Its not about the objects, Aunt Gillian. Its about Grandfathers final wish. If he changed his mind, we ought to respect it.
Changed his mind? Gillian laughed bitterly. He thought of you all his life! Your parents died, thats tragic, but why did he always put you above his own children? Were we strangers to him?
Poppy was taken aback by the sudden accusation.
I never asked for special treatment
Yes, you never asked! You were always there. We have our own lives, our own concerns. We cant spend all our time with him.
Enough, Rachel, intervened Rachel. If there is another will, let the lawyers sort it out.
The front door opened and Uncle Victor stepped in, a broadshouldered man whose face bore an uncanny resemblance to Grandfathers.
Whats all this about? he asked, scanning the tense faces.
Poppy has found another will, Gillian blurted. Says Grandfather left everything to her.
Victor walked slowly to a chair and sat down.
Is that true?
His tone was tired, not surprised.
You knew about it? Poppy asked.
Victor sighed.
Grandfather mentioned wanting to change the will. He said the house should stay whole, not be split, because only you truly love it.
So you kept quiet? Gillian shouted. Traitor!
Dont shout, Gillian, Victor replied wearily. I didnt know whether hed actually draw up the new document or just was thinking about it. In any case, the cottage is old, it needs constant upkeep. Its an asset for us to sell, not a memory for you.
Then youre on her side? Gillian snapped, waving her arms. Wonderful! Well just give it all to the girl and be left with nothing!
Mother, calm down, Rachel said, rolling her eyes. Victors right. We dont need the house anyway. You said youd sell it and buy a flat in the city.
Poppy listened to the backandforth, feeling detached. To them the house was a piece of property, a financial instrument. To her it was an entire world of smells, sounds and recollections.
I propose this, she said finally. Well call MrPavlov and confirm the documents. If Grandfathers last wish truly was to leave the cottage to me, Ill pay you both a fair compensation for your shares, over time. The house will remain, but Ill live here and maintain it. You can visit whenever you like summer, weekends, holidays just as a true family home.
What do you gain from that? Gillian asked. Why share when the law could make it all yours?
Because Grandfather wanted us to be a family, Poppy replied simply. He feared inheritance would tear us apart, and he was ready to alter his final wishes to keep us together. I want to honour that.
Victor looked at his niece for a long moment, then nodded slowly.
Alright. That seems fair.
Gillian hesitated, her face a battle between greed and something softer.
Who will cover the running costs? she asked.
Ill take the main expenses, Poppy answered. Youll have a readymade, wellkept house to come back to. The only condition is that nobody ever pushes for a sale.
What if I need money urgently? Gillian pressed.
Ill buy out your share, gradually if needed. The cottage stays the cottage.
Rachel laughed unexpectedly.
You know, Grandfather would have liked this. He always said I was the wisest of the lot.
MrPavlov, who had arrived earlier, observed the settlement.
I can draft the appropriate agreement, he said. It will be legally clean and reflect Michaels wishes.
By evening the papers were signed, the tension eased, and they all gathered on the veranda with tea, swapping stories of days gone by. Victor recounted how he and Grandfather built that very veranda, Gillian reminisced about her mothers pies, Rachel giggled over Grandfathers childhood antics.
Poppy watched them, realizing she had gained far more than a house or a few heirlooms she had reclaimed a family. If a compromise was required, so be it.
When the relatives left, she stepped into the garden. The old apple tree Grandfather had planted years before was in full blossom, shedding a carpet of white petals. Birds sang overhead, and the cottage seemed to breathe.
Thank you, Grandfather, she whispered, looking up at the sky. I understand now the real inheritance isnt in walls or objects. It lives in the people who remember and love each other.
She slipped the copy of the second will into her coat pocket, thinking that one day she might show it to her own children, but not today. Today the priority was clear: to preserve what truly mattered the family home, the shared memories, and the peace between those who mattered most.
Lesson learned: wealth is fleeting; the lasting legacy is the love we keep alive.
