THE DAYS AFTER THE FUNERAL ARE SPENT ON THE administration of the will and sorting through belongings. Dad visits the condo often taking whatever he fancies and putting it into his large suitcase ‘hidden’ on the small balcony outside Aunty’s guestroom. When he’s sure no one’s looking, I watch Dad take items from shelves and cupboards, his expression inscrutable, his selection between priceless figurines and worthless plastic indiscriminate. I don’t mind him taking things, not at all. It’s his sister and his grief, and hoarding as many of Aunty’s things as possible is his way of trying to fill a hole. I totally get it, but his indifference to due process makes Letty’s and Tessie’s jobs hard.
‘Today we’ve received disappointing information from friends in high places,’ Letty says. ‘Before Theresa’s death, your father Francis was already visiting with lawyers to contest the will, and he instructed the legal firms to send bills for services to us!’ Both executors are incensed. ‘Your aunty would not want to pay her brother’s legal fees to contest her own will.’ They’re so exasperated that their tolerance for Francis’s squirrelling away of items evaporates instantly. Tessie and Letty put the apartment and its contents into ‘total lockdown’ and appoint me the sole person responsible to sort through Aunty’s things. ‘Mimi, you are the one Aunty told us we should trust and depend on.’
Letty draws the short straw to inform Francis he can no longer visit the apartment without her prior consent.
Francis is furious. ‘You are the daughter. I am the king.’ His dragon blood boils. ‘YOU women will NOT tell ME what to do. Karen and I are VERY disappointed in you.’
I put down the phone.
Jay parks across from Dad’s hotel. ‘Will you be okay, ma’am?’ His eyes brim with concern.
‘Thank you, Jay. Of course I will.’ I have a paper bag full of things I hope might help Dad feel better, and I ask the front desk to call him. He appears alone, and I can see his scales are still up, the tendons on his throat taut with rage.
We walk down a passage into the hotel’s indoor pool area.
‘You are the daughter and you DO AS TOLD.’ He shakes a taloned wing. ‘You let me INTO the apartment NOW to take what I want or you will PAY.’
‘Dad,’ I say, trying to shift the subject, ‘I have brought the necklace for Karen. I know Aunty would have liked Karen to have it. Could you call Karen down please, Dad? I’d like to smooth things over with her.’
‘Give me that!’ He seizes the pouch, pulls out the necklace, examines it and squints at me. ‘Theresa said to me on her deathbed she wanted Karen to have ALL her jewellery.’
‘Dad, we can only go by what Aunty’s will stipulates. We can’t just make it up.’
‘You will DO. AS. TOLD.’ He breathes fire and shouts.
I am a tiger crouched on the tiles, waiting for the flames to die down. Through tears, I offer, ‘Please, Dad, just give Karen the necklace. I’m sorry for any confusion.’
‘You WILL be sorry. You do NOT tell me what to do. I tell YOU what to do. You will arrange a meeting with the executors, and you will make them let me into the apartment. That is an ORDER!’
A security guard walks in to see if I’m okay. ‘I’m fine,’ I say. I try to breathe and calm myself. ‘There are some photo albums I thought you might like to look through, Dad, to reminisce. Some albums Aunty put together are dedicated to you.’
He snorts. ‘They are ALL mine anyway. I will show you.’ He waves a clenched fist at me, and it would almost be comical if I didn’t feel so sad that it has come to this.
I leave the hotel, dazed, my eyes red from crying. Then Jay says he has bad news: Brigit can’t locate the spare keys to Aunty’s apartment, and Dad is the most likely person to have them.
I arrange for an emergency locksmith to come over, and the building’s security guards pin up photos of Dad in their patrol booths.