Why Does It Matter Who Looked After Gran? By Law, That Flat Should Be Mine! — My Mum Argues With Me Over My Grandmother’s Home My Own Mother is Threatening to Sue Me — All Because My Gran’s Flat Went Not to Her, or Even to Me, But to My Daughter. Mum Claims It’s Unfair, Insists the Flat Should Be Hers. But Gran Made a Different Choice. Why? Perhaps Because My Husband and I Lived With Her and Cared for Her Those Last Five Years. You Could Easily Call My Mum Selfish — Her Needs Were Always Far More Important Than Anyone Else’s. Mum’s Been Married Three Times, But Only Had Two Daughters: My Younger Sister and Me. We Get On Brilliantly, But Neither of Us Has a Great Relationship With Mum. I Don’t Even Remember My Dad — He Split From Mum When I Was Two. Up Until I Was Six, I Lived With Mum at Gran’s. For Some Reason, I Thought Gran Was Awful — Probably Because Mum Was Always Crying. Only When I Grew Up Did I Understand: Gran Was Good, She Just Wanted to Help Her Daughter Make a Better Life. Later, Mum Married Again and We All Moved In With My Stepfather. That’s When My Sister Was Born. But After Seven Years, Mum Got Divorced Again. This Time, We Didn’t Go Back to Gran’s. Stepfather Went Off to Work and Let Us Stay in His Flat for a Bit. Three Years Later, Mum Married Husband Number Three and We Moved In With Him. He Wasn’t Pleased Mum Had Children, Though He Never Hurt Us — He Just Ignored Us. So Did Mum. She Was Obsessed With Her New Husband, Always Jealous, Always Causing Rows and Breaking Crockery. Once a Month Mum Would Start Packing, But Stepfather Always Talked Her Round. My Sister and I Got Used to It and Stopped Noticing. I Ended Up Looking After My Sister — Mum Didn’t Have the Time. Thank Goodness for Our Grandmothers, Who Helped Us So Much. Eventually, I Left for University, and My Sister Moved In With Gran. Our Dad Always Supported Her; Mum Would Call Us Only at Christmas. I Accepted Mum For Who She Was and Stopped Expecting Her to Care, But My Sister Never Did. She Was Always Hurt, Especially When Mum Skipped Her School Leavers’ Party. We Grew Up. My Sister Got Married and Moved Away. I Was Living With My Long-Term Boyfriend; We Visited Gran Often and Stayed Close, Though I Tried Not to Be a Nuisance. When Gran Fell Ill and Went Into Hospital, I Visited Every Day: Shopping, Cooking, Cleaning, Chatting, Making Sure She Took Her Medicine. Sometimes My Boyfriend Helped Out Too. After Six Months, Gran Suggested We Move In to Save for Our Own Place, So We Did. Six Months Later, I Was Pregnant. We Got Married, Had a Simple Family Do — Mum Didn’t Come, Not Even a Phone Call. When My Daughter Was Two Months Old, Gran Broke Her Leg. Caring for Both Was Hard and I Desperately Needed Mum’s Help, But She Refused, Saying She Wasn’t Well and Would Come Later. She Never Did. Six Months On, Gran Had a Stroke and Was Bedridden. If Not for My Husband, I Don’t Know How I’d Have Coped. Gran Slowly Improved, She Even Got to See Her Great-Granddaughter Take Her First Steps, and Lived Another Two-and-a-Half Years. She Passed Away Peacefully in Her Sleep. My Husband and I Were Devastated By Her Loss. Mum Only Came for the Funeral. A Month Later, She Tried to Evict Me So She Could Have the Flat. Mum Hadn’t Realised Gran Had Left It to My Daughter Right After She Was Born. Naturally Mum Was Furious, Demanding I Give Up the Flat or She’d Sue Me. “Look How Deceitful You Are! You Duped the Old Woman, Took Her Flat, And Now You Live In It Yourself! You Won’t Get Away With This! It Doesn’t Matter Who Looked After Gran — That Flat Should Be Mine!” But Mum Won’t Get That Flat, I Know That for Certain. I’ve Spoken to a Solicitor and a Notary. We’ll Stay in the Home Gran Gave Us, and If Our Second Child Is a Girl, She’ll Be Named After Gran.

What matter is it who cared for Grandmother? By rights, the house ought to be mine! My mothers voice, strident and bitter, still echoes in my memory.

Its hard to believe, looking back, that my own mother once threatened to take me to court. All because the house my grandmother left behindher quiet haven at the end of a tired street in Cambridgedid not go to her, nor even to me, but to my daughter. My mother insisted it was a grave injustice. She reckoned Grandmas house had always been destined for her. Yet my grandmother had chosen differently. I suspect it was because my husband and I had lived with her and looked after her for the last five years of her life.

Truth be told, my mother was always the self-centred sort. Her wants and ambitions had always overshadowed anyone elses. She married three times, but had only two children: myself and my younger sister. My sister and I grew up close, but neither of us could claim more than a cordial understanding with our mother.

I can hardly recall my own father. He parted ways with my mother when I was scarcely more than a toddler. Until the age of six, Mother and I lived with Grandma. For reasons I only grasped later, I thought Grandma was a cold, stern figureno doubt because Mother spent her time in tears. With age, I realised Grandma was merely trying to steer her daughter onto the right path.

When Mother married for the second time, we moved in with my stepfather. My sister was born into that marriage, which lasted seven years before collapsing. We didnt return to Grandmas; instead, my stepfather granted us temporary leave to stay in his flat while he took a job in London. Three years on, Mother wed again, and so we moved with her new husband.

He was never pleased to inherit another mans children, but he never mistreated ushe simply ignored us. Mother, too, was caught up in her infatuation, so absorbed by jealousy and tempestuous scenesoften ending with a mishap of crockerythat she could spare us little attention.

Every so often, Mother would pack her suitcase, intent on departure, only to be persuaded to stay by my stepfather. My sister and I grew accustomed to the commotion and gradually learned to disregard it. I took it upon myself to look after my sister, for Mother had neither the patience nor the inclination. We were fortunate our grandmothersboth my mothers and fathers motherslent us their support. Eventually, I went off to university lodgings, and my sister moved in with Grandma. Father always looked out for her. Mother, meanwhile, would only ring us when the holiday bells tolled.

Over time, I accepted my mother for who she was and learned not to expect concern where there was none. My sister, though, held a grudge, especially after Mother missed her school-leaving celebration, an absence she never forgave.

As we grew up, my sister married and followed her husband to another town further north. My beau and I, while together for many years, were in no hurry to wed; we lived quietly in a rented flat and paid regular visits to my grandmother. We got on exceedingly well, though I always aimed to avoid burdening her.

But then Grandmother fell ill and was taken to the hospital. The doctors said shed need attentive care. From then on, I visited every daybringing food, tidying her rooms, making her meals, or simply chatting. Most importantly, I made sure she took her medicine. My fiancé often came with me, lending his hand to odd jobs and repairs about the house.

Not long after, Grandmother suggested we move in with her to save money for our own place, rather than pour pounds into rent. We didnt hesitate to accept; she had always been fond of my partner, and our relationship was warm and full of easy trust. Half a year later, I discovered I was expecting our child, and we were delighted. Grandmother was over the moon at the prospect of a great-grandchild. Our wedding was a modest affairjust close family at a nearby tea room. Even so, my mother never attended, nor did she so much as ring to wish me well.

When our baby daughter was only two months old, Grandmother had a fall and broke her leg. It was terribly hard to manage both her recovery and a newborn. I called Mother in the hope of help, but she claimed she wasnt well and promised to visit latera promise that, like so many others, was never kept.

Six months on, Grandmother suffered a stroke and was bedridden. The care was exhaustingwithout my husbands help, Im not sure how I would have managed. Gradually, her condition improved; she spoke a little, learned to walk again and could feed herself. She lived for another two and a half years, just long enough to see her great-granddaughter learn to walk and laugh. Grandmother passed away quietly in her sleep. Her absence left an ache in our hearts.

Mother only returned for the funeral. A month later, she arrived in force, intent on turning us out and claiming the house for herself. Shed been convinced the house would be hers by right, but never knew that Grandmother had changed her will after my daughters birth. There was nothing left for her.

Outraged, Mother demanded I sign the property over, threatening legal action if I refused. Look at her cunning ways! she raged. You tricked that poor old soul out of her house just to keep it for yourself. This wont end well for you! It matters not a jot who cared for Grandmother. The house is mine by right!

But my mother will get nothing. I have been to the solicitor and reviewed the will with proper counsel. We will remain in the home Grandmother left us. And if our next child is a girl, shell bear my grandmothers name, so that her memory will find its place in our family once more.