Conditional Love by Cathy Bramley Read Free Book Online Page B

picture what he looked like. I used to probe my mum for information: Where did he live? Did he have another family now? Why didn’t he love us? Mum’s reaction went one of two ways depending on her mood: either a clam-like refusal to answer or a torrent of anger. I quickly learned that life was far more pleasant if I avoided the subject altogether.
    When I was about thirteen, I went through a phase of really hating him. For about six months, all my teenage angst was aimed at my absent parent. I used to plot how I would track him down and force him to face up to his responsibilities. My mum had been so relieved when Take That had arrived on the scene to distract me. Then, of course, I was filled with hormones of a different kind and just as tormented.
    I sat up on the bed and felt a stirring of those old angry emotions.
    Why did you leave me, Dad? What sort of man walks out on a pregnant wife and then never bothers to get in touch. You knew you had a baby, weren’t you even the slightest bit interested?
    I wiped a few stray tears off my face and heaved myself up.
    And you, Jane Kennedy, what were you thinking, putting that condition in your will? You must have had your reasons, but I wish you were here to give me a clue.
    I shook my head and sighed. Whatever she was up to from beyond the grave, it was beyond me.
    The sound of Jess and Emma’s laughter echoed through the wall. I scurried off to find them, grateful to escape from my own thoughts. All these questions were giving me brain-ache.
    They were in a tiny galley kitchen. Jess was demonstrating how impossible it was for a woman with a generous figure to move about.
    ‘I can’t even open the oven without squashing my bum on the cupboards behind me!’ she said indignantly. ‘I wonder how your great aunt managed!’
    ‘Perhaps she was very skinny,’ I suggested, thinking back to her wedding picture.
    ‘Or perhaps cooking skills run in the family and she never bothered,’ Emma said with a sly smile.
    Run in the family. I shivered. I’d never even considered that we might share family traits.
    ‘Oh, look at this!’ Jess held up a hand-knitted tea cosy. ‘How cute! She was a tea drinker, like you.’
    ‘It’s a real home, isn’t it?’ I sighed, feeling close to tears again.
    ‘Oh babes,’ Jess squeezed her way along the kitchen and folded me to her in a bear hug. ‘I expect you’re feeling over-whelmed with it all. Well, you’ve seen it now, so we can go if you like.’
    Emma opened a door at random. ‘Wow, there are at least ten tins of red salmon in here! And tinned ham, fruit cocktail… Ha! Perhaps she used to do three-tin-surprise too!’ she cackled.
    I frowned and closed the cupboard door. Emma yelped and snatched her fingers away. Despite having been given a set of keys, it still felt as if we were prying.
    ‘So what do you think you’d do with the place?’ asked Emma, rubbing her hand.
    I extracted myself from Jess’s protective arms and shrugged. ‘Oh, I dunno. Probably knock down a few walls, open the whole place up, put a power shower in…’
    Whoa, where did that come from? I’m not actually planning on going through with this, am I?
    Jess was staring at me, wide-eyed.
    Emma’s eyebrows had all but disappeared over the top of her head. ‘Bloody hell. You’ve changed your tune,’ she spluttered.
    ‘Theoretically speaking, of course,’ I added, weakly.
    I patted my jacket pocket for the car keys. ‘Anyone ready for that drink?’ I asked brightly, with all the avoidance tactics of a politician.
    We all piled back into the car. This time, with Emma folding her long legs, origami-style, into the back seat.
    I glanced at the two neighbouring bungalows, wondering which one Great Aunt Jane’s friend lived in, the one who had found her.
     
    The car seemed to be much calmer now that we were homeward-bound. Or maybe that was just me. Either way, I was able to drift out of the Piper sisters’ debate about the benefits or otherwise of