Maame(101)

I hear her quote marks. “That is what happened, at least on my end,” I tell her. “It wasn’t orchestrated.”

“You sure?”

“Why would we do that?”

Jo returns her attention to the sun. “What you do is your business, Maddie. I suppose it’s convenient you’re leaving; it would piss me off having to hear you fucking him from across the landing.”

The last bit of what she says draws my head back; the flippancy and lack of emotion behind it makes it seem like that’s who she thinks I am. That I’d date Sam to upset her or because I’ve got nothing better to do.

Because I’m tired, I say, “Sorry.”

When she looks at me I’m reminded of the Jo I met for the first time. It’s strange that she looks so much older now, tenser and a little tired. Is that my doing? My presence in the flat and in her life? I forget that people don’t just affect me, but that I affect others—that I even can affect others. I assume people meet me, I leave, and their world carries on like it did before I arrived. I’m suddenly curious to know how Ben is doing. How Alex is doing.

“Can I be honest?”

I hesitantly zone back to Jo. “Of course.”

“I don’t see us being friends when you leave.”

“Are we really friends now?”

Her sad smile throws me. “No, and I guess we never were. We were always just … flatmates.”

We look at each other until she gets up and walks back into the house. A little lighter, I notice.

I wonder if she’s right. There was a time I’d assumed we were friends—or at least, that she wanted to be my friend. I have her number saved in my phone. We had dinner out together; she picked what I wore for my first adult date; we went to a club where she asked me to stay when I said it might be time for me to leave. But maybe the prerequisites for making friends, real friends, aren’t that simple.

I look at Jo’s empty seat and accept that whilst her confession was sad, it doesn’t break my heart.



* * *



An hour later, I answer Mum’s call.

“Maddie, you need to come home,” she says. “Can you come right now?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Your father’s solicitor is here.”

“What?” No. There can’t be more debt. I don’t have any money left. “Why? I paid the last council tax arrears earlier this year! I wrote the date and reference number down somewhere. Tell him there are no more outstanding bills; I checked with everyone.”

“Maddie, the solicitor is here to read your father’s will,” she says. “It’s not about bills. Come now, please, and he says bring ID. Jump on the first train.”



* * *



Mr. Ackah, Dad’s solicitor, is a tall man with graying hair, oval glasses, and a dark suit. I’ve never seen him before in my life. He offers his condolences and takes a seat on the sofa opposite where Mum sits. James is sat at the dining table.

I’ve chosen to remain by the door. “I didn’t even know Dad had a lawyer or had written a will.”

“You didn’t?” Mr. Ackah says.

“No, I … I don’t think he has anything.”

“He invested some money a decade ago, and it’s been growing in interest since.”

Mum sits up straighter.

“You’ll be splitting that with us,” James says quickly.

“Will I? Maddie will get a little bit, of course—she has spent a lot of money on this family, but I’ll need the rest. I need financial help in Ghana,” she says. “It’s not free to live and work there and you are both financially secure enough.” James’s jaw locks. “What?” she says, looking at us in turn. “It is only money; you both should not be so attached to this Earth’s material things. Matthew six, verse nineteen.”

Un-fucking-believable.

Mum turns back to Mr. Ackah. “So, how much is there?”

He looks at me. “Can I confirm your name is Madeleine Wright and you are the daughter of George Wright?”

My tongue feels dry. “Yes, I am.”

“Did you bring some form of identification?”

I give him my passport.

“Good, good.”

“What’s going on with the money then?” Mum asks.

Mr. Ackah looks at her over the top of his oval glasses. “He’s left it all to Madeleine. Fifty thousand pounds.”

The room begins to spin and both Mum and James look at me.

“What?” Mum says. “All of it?”

“Yes, all of it,” he answers. “Now, Madeleine, due to the amount, you need not pay inheritance tax. If you need further help regarding what you’d like to do next, you can contact me at any time. Your father was very fond of you. I’m sorry that he is no longer with us, but I hope you know that he wanted you to be well taken care of.”

I pull my jumper away from my neck. “But I don’t understand,” I tell him. “Isn’t the money for everyone?”

“Your father was adamant it was left solely in your name,” he says. “I chose not to ask any questions, and I suspect you all know why he might have done this better than I do. He was well enough, according to his doctor, a Doctor…” He checks a piece of paper. “Emmanuel Appong, who declared him of sound body and mind when he drafted this will. I believe it had been a year after his diagnosis when he signed it and his condition was still stable.” Mr. Ackah removes his glasses. “Madeleine, you can of course do as you please, but this money is now yours. Your father didn’t have anything else.”