Bequeath My Estate

Amy was dragged from sleep by the sound of the phone ringing. Still swaddled in the remnants of dreams, she glanced at the clock on her bedside table. 9.30am. She had only got into bed two hours ago after a grueling night shift.

She grabbed the phone. “Hello?’

“Hello, is that Miss Amy Moreton?” the female voice on the other end was brisk and professional.

“Yes, that’s me,” Amy said, sinking back on to her pillows.

“Good morning, Miss Moreton. My name is Julia Hudson and I am calling from the law firm, Jefferson & Peters.”

Amy opened her eyes, a frown crawling across her forehead. “Uh, how can I help you?”

“Firstly, I would like to extend my condolences to you and your family. I am very sorry for your loss. I wondered if you had time to discuss your father’s will?”

Amy jerked into a seated position, the residues of sleep dropping from her like a discarded towel. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You have got the wrong person. My father died 6 years ago. His will was settled a long time ago.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I don’t understand how this has happened. You aren’t Amy Moreton, the daughter of Sandra Moreton and Edward Johnson?”

“No! Well, yes. Sandra Moreton is my mother, but my father was James Moreton and he died 6 years ago. Who is Edward Johnson?”

“Well….” Amy heard Julia hesitate. “Edward Johnson was my client, and he died a few days ago. I am the executor of his will. And you are named as a beneficiary.”

“Beneficiary?” Amy tried to grab hold of Julia’s words, to make sense of what she was saying, but they hovered in the air, just out of reach.

She was suddenly struck by the flash of an image, something she had seen on TV in the last day or so.

“Edward Johnson?” she repeated. “You don’t mean….”

“Yes,” Julia said. “Edward Johnson, the deputy prime minister.”

Thoughts toppled helter-skelter through Amy’s mind, each one crashing into the next like a motorway pile-up on a rainy day.

“Should I call back a little later?” Julia asked.

Amy mumbled her agreement and hung up. She immediately dialed her mother’s number.

“Hello?”

“Why the hell has Edward Johnson, deputy prime minister of the country, named me in his will?”

There was silence on the other end for several long seconds.

“I think I should probably come round,” Sandra said, eventually. “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

Amy got out of bed, pulling a dressing gown around her, and went downstairs to wait for her mother. Her mind fired questions that were sucked into a black hole of confusion. It just didn’t make sense. She placed the pieces next to each other, like letters in scrabble, but she couldn’t make a single coherent word.

Her mother arrived, letting herself in and joining Amy at the kitchen table. Her hair was tousled and her clothes were mismatching.

“It looks like I owe you an explanation,” she said, clasping her hands together.

“It certainly does! What the hell is going on?”

Sandra breathed deeply. “I had hoped you would never have to find out about all this.”

“All what?” Any cried, pinched by frustration. “What has Edward Johnson got to do with us?”

“He’s your father.” The words skidded out of Sandra’s mouth, impatient to be free after so many years of secrecy. She stared after them, as though waiting for them to explode.

“What are you talking about? I don’t understand. What about Dad?”

Sandra looked up at a photo of her late husband that Amy had hung on the wall. He was in the garden, his favourite place, dressed in his tatty jeans and a jumper that was flecked with paint. He smiled down at the two of them, his blue eyes crinkled with laughter.

“I met Edward a long time ago,” Sandra began. “When I was working for the council and he was a councillor. He hadn’t been married long, but he wasn’t very happy and… well, I’m not proud of what happened.”

She paused for a moment, defiantly waiting for Amy’s disapproval. When Amy stayed silent, she continued.

“When I found out I was pregnant, he panicked. He was terrified that if anyone found out it would destroy his career. I promised that I wouldn’t tell anyone. Soon after, I met Dad and well…..”

“Did Dad know?” Amy asked.

“Yes, he did. I told him everything. But we agreed that we wouldn’t tell you, or anyone else.”

“So you lied to me?” Amy said, her words glued together with bitterness. “Both of you? For my whole life?”

“I’m sorry,” Sandra said, her eyes glassy with tears. “I was trying to do the right thing, by everyone.”

They sat in silence for a while. Amy tried to force her mother’s story into her brain, to mesh it with a lifetime of memories, but her brain repelled it like a magnet. She felt disorientated. The landscape of her world had shifted, the map that she had used to guide her had been torn from her grasp. She was lost in her own life.

She looked up at the photo of James, the man she had loved and grieved for as her father. For the first time she noticed that she didn’t share any of his features. His nose was longer, his face was rounder, his brow was broader. His eyes were blue, hers were brown. There was no DNA, no blood, to link them, only the profound love of a man and the child he raised as his own.

“If you haven’t spoken to Edward for 25 years, why has he now mentioned me in his will?” Amy asked, after several minutes.

“I honestly don’t know,” Sandra said. “Who knows, maybe he felt guilty. He’s been ill for a long time, and I guess that sort of illness makes you question everything.”

“I suppose I ought to call that lawyer back.”

Amy left her mother in the kitchen and went upstairs to call Julia. She explained, briefly and formally, that she had discussed the matter with her mother and now understood that she was indeed Edward Johnson’s daughter. Hearing her own words as she spoke, it felt like she was listening to a tape recording of herself, that same jolt of shock at that strange sound of her own voice.

“Thank you for calling, and I’m sorry for any confusion I caused,” Julia said, gently. “But I’m afraid things are not going to be simple for you. Mr Johnson included you as a beneficiary to his will by way of codicil, several months ago. His family were not aware that he made the codicil. They have found out now, and they are…. unhappy.”

“So they know about me? They know who I am?”

“They do. It seems that Mr Johnson told his brother about you and his brother has now told the rest of the family.”

“So what’s going to happen now?” Amy asked

“Mr Johnson’s wife is going to challenge the codicil,” Julia said. “She will claim Mr Johnson was not of sound mind when he made it. She will try and say you are not entitled to your inheritance.”

“Oh, well I don’t want to get into a fight. I don’t need the money anyway.”

“You might want to think about that. Mr Johnson was a wealthy man. Your inheritance would be substantial.”

“How substantial?”

“Over £1 million.”

When Amy didn’t reply, Julia continued. “I suggest you get your own lawyer, Amy. Mr Johnson’s wife will be acting quickly. Oh, and I’m afraid you should expect some publicity. It won’t be long before this is leaked to the press.”

……..


A couple of days later, Amy arrived home from a night shift, just as the sun was beginning to smear yellow and orange across the sky. She threw her bag on the kitchen table and flicked the TV on while she made herself some breakfast. Exhaustion pressed down on her shoulders. The revelations of the last few days had left her thoughts water-logged, her emotions saturated. She couldn’t wait to go to bed.

The sound of her own name had her spinning round to face the TV. Her face was in the corner of the screen, above the news presenter, a smiling photograph taken from a social media profile.

At the bottom of the screen, in angry black capitals, were the words “Deputy prime minister’s illegitimate daughter makes a claim on his estate.”