The Legacy by Caroline Bond (e book reader for pc .TXT) 📕

inadequate and defensive. Noah was far less involved – turning up at the house unexpectedly, then dropping off the radar for weeks on end, but at least his contact seemed to bring Jonathan some pleasure. If nothing else, Noah seemed to be able to make his father laugh. And then there was Chloe, whose presence in the house was no help whatsoever. She obviously loved her father, but in terms of making a positive contribution to his care or even to the general running of the house, she was as good as useless.

No, the person who made the real difference was Lisa, and for that Megan was grateful.

Until that gratitude was tainted.

Megan had been out for a run. She’d been reluctant to go at first as Jonathan had had a bad day, but Lisa had encouraged her, saying it would do her good. She’d been right. After ten minutes of wheezy, breathless effort Megan had got into her stride. The sun on her face, the fresh air in her lungs, her arms and legs pumping: it all reminded her that she was still young and fit. For a glorious hour she’d enjoyed the blankness of her mind and the simplicity of putting one foot in front of another. By the time she’d returned home, sweaty and tired, she’d felt lighter, more positive. As she came in through the back of the house she’d been pleased, and surprised, to hear laughter coming from Jonathan’s room. He must have continued to pick up. She pulled off her trainers and padded into the hall in her socks. The door to his room was ajar. There was another chortle, a noise that, though distorted by his condition, still contained joy. Instinctively Megan drew herself up onto her toes and crept the last few steps across the hall to his room. She wanted to hear him laugh again. She missed his laughter.

‘Show me another one?’ Jonathan’s voice.

‘Would you like to go modern chic, eco-friendly or tasteless bling?’

‘Oh, eco, I think… In death as in life, et cetera. But not wicker, that always strikes me as a bit girly.’

‘Okay.’ There was a pause. ‘How about this… the Diamant Fourteen: A wooden coffin with fourteen facets. Available in silk matt-black or white, with six painted solid-birch handles. Constructed from Nordic birch. Apparently’ – there was laughter in Lisa’s voice as well – ‘the Diamant series marks a break from the traditional use of valuable hardwoods and offers a more sustainable approach. The coffin interiors are upholstered with a modest butterfly-patterned organic cotton, inspired by the wild surrounds of the Jacob Jensen Design studio in Hejlskov. Price – ooh, very reasonable,’ Lisa added sarcastically, ‘nine hundred and ninety-nine pounds, including VAT.’

‘It looks like something you’d pick up flatpack, from Ikea.’

‘You said you wanted something environmentally friendly.’

‘Why not a cardboard box?’

‘You might as well. It’d certainly be cheaper.’

‘But where would we find one big enough to accommodate all this brawn?’ There it was again – the sardonic humour he used to share with Megan.

‘Oh, trust me, you can find anything you want on comparethecoffin.com.’

‘You’re making that up!’ There was another spluttery chuckle, more of a cough than a laugh.

‘I am not. Look!’ Lisa’s voice, in contrast to Jonathan’s, was strong. ‘Let me see if they do a cardboard range for the truly stingy.’

Megan was frozen by the tone as much as the content of their conversation, the fun they were having – discussing Jonathan’s death. The elation from her run drained away, replaced by an uneasy mix of shock and jealousy. She crept away, leaving them to continue their ‘jolly’ conversation.

When she raised it with Jonathan later that evening, after Lisa had left for the day, he paused and put his glasses on his lap. ‘We were just having a laugh.’

‘About coffins!’

He took a breath, coughed. ‘Yes. About coffins.’ Though his hands were shaking, his voice was steady.

‘It upset me.’

‘You weren’t meant to hear.’ He studied her. ‘I’m sorry if we upset you.’ He wiped his mouth. ‘But it helps.’

‘What helps?’

‘Being able to talk to Lisa about stuff like that.’

That hurt. The admission, and the use of ‘we’ – there wasn’t supposed to be a ‘we’ that involved the paid carer. ‘You can talk to me.’ But even as the words left Megan’s mouth, they both knew they weren’t true.

Jonathan’s expression softened and he reached out his hand – asking her forgiveness but also her permission. ‘We were messing about. Lisa has the same black sense of humour that a lot of doctors and nurses have. Not Liv, obviously.’ Megan knew that the jibe at his daughter was designed to placate her. It did not. ‘I suppose being around illness and death full-time toughens you up. That’s one of the reasons Lisa and I get on. Nothing fazes her.’

Megan knew it was unreasonable to be jealous of Jonathan’s relationship with Lisa, but that didn’t stop her feeling excluded. ‘Do you not see how upsetting it is that you find it easier to talk to her than to me?’

He looked concerned. ‘Megan, I’m sorry. I love you. I truly don’t want to cause you any more pain than I already am.’ He lifted his chin, with difficulty. ‘But Lisa is a person with some very specific, very relevant experience, and she has a way of looking at life, and death, that is… helpful to me in the current circumstances. The way she is. The way we talk. It relieves the pressure, and I think, in the long run, it’s good for both of us.’

Megan couldn’t argue with the fact that Lisa had made a positive difference to both their lives, but that still didn’t mean her presence wasn’t a mixed blessing. But because she loved Jonathan and because what he was saying was true, she said no more. Instead she went and sat on the arm of the chair, taking his hand in hers. In this position, touching, but unable to look into each other’s eyes, they made their peace