Today I found myself in the modest office of a solicitor on Abbey Road, my blue hair almost as conspicuous as the nervous tapping of my foot against the polished floor. He asked politely what had brought me there, and I replied, Im here to put my will in writing. He nodded, and I settled more comfortably into the worn leather chair, ready to dictate the particulars of my last wishes.
I told him, in a clear voice, that after my death I would like my brain donated to a research institute. If the institute declines, they should return it to the care of MrsClaudiaPeterson. All of my cats that are still alive at that moment should be given to my friends. Should no friends remain, the cats will become the property of my son, Tom. Any books I own that no one wishes to keep are to be handed over to the local library, though I do hope at least a few pages will be leafed through. I confessed that three years ago I misplaced the envelope containing the savings I had tucked away in one of those volumes.
I further instructed that my ashes be scattered on a hill in the Lake District, a place whose open skies have always seemed to lift the spirit. The solicitors eyebrows rose in surprise. The Lake District? Thats quite a journey, he said. I smiled wryly. The difficulty lies not in the distance but in the routinefivetotwo shifts and a strict lunch hour. My late husband never left the office for a holiday; he was all work, all the time. I was the same once, and now I regret it. He still has his whole life ahead of him, but travel brightens a mans outlook. It changes a person. He wont return to the man he was. Let him cross half the country; Ill watch him come back to his desk, and Im certain nothing will drag him back in. He needs to see there is another way of livingthat is my task after Im gone.
I added, Id rather not rot in a grave. A flight to the Lakes is far more appealing. The solicitor pursed his lips, clearly contemplating the odd request.
Continuing, I told him I wished my beloved cat, Milly, to be cremated with mein the ancient style, I joked. Just kidding, I laughed, but your solemn expression made me think you might need a little shakeup. He asked if I meant to frighten him, and I replied, Just a little jolt, flashing a smile that seemed to do the trick.
He then inquired about my movable and immovable assets. I said, Give the flat on Camden Road and the motorbike to Tom. I havent bought the motorbike yet, but Im enrolled in a course and intend to purchase one soonplease note that as well. I also declared that my trusty scooter should go to Stephen Nichols, provided he is still breathing. He has been eyeing it for ages; the last time we rode together it toppled over into a hedge, breaking his leg.
When I left, the solicitor announced a short break. I could still see my bluehaired silhouette in his mind as he reread the will, his eyes scanning each line to verify its authenticity. He stared at the towering stack of papers, then reached for his phone. Megan, love, fancy a getaway? Ive always dreamed of a safari in Africa he muttered, halftohimself, halftothe person on the other end.
I smiled to myself as I walked out onto the bustling street, feeling a strange mixture of relief and melancholy. In setting these plans, I am not just arranging my own end but trying, in my own stubborn way, to give my son a glimpse of a life beyond the office walls. Perhaps that is the most honest legacy I can leave.
