Unsettled Ground Claire Fuller (grave mercy TXT) 📖

that we could stay in the cottage rent-free even after our mother died.” She emphasizes the rent-free.

“Your mother—” Mrs. Rawson says mother as though she is about to complain about Dot letting Maude shit on the Rawsons’ front lawn—“has been paying for the cottage for thirty-eight years. More or less. She started a year after your father passed away. I’m surprised, although of course it’s nothing to do with me that she didn’t tell you.”

Jeanie wants this woman gone. Filling up the kitchen with her perfume. She wants to say that she has more important things to do than to discuss this stupidity. The chickens need gathering in, there are plants in the greenhouse and polytunnel that need watering. She has to work out what to cook for tea. Without electricity, the fridge in the scullery is starting to smell rancid even though it contains only half a packet of butter, half a pint of milk, and a small lump of cheddar. She can make an omelette, bake a couple of the old potatoes. She must finish dressing her mother. Her dead mother. A day or so dead and here they are discussing ridiculous debts which aren’t due.

“That’s just not possible.” Jeanie folds her arms.

Mrs. Rawson laughs as though she is the most good-natured person imaginable. “There’s a receipt book if you’d like to see it, back at the farm, with your mother’s initials beside every payment. She hadn’t paid fully for at least a few months because of her illness, or so my husband tells me.”

“How much is it you think we owe?” Jeanie has picked up, again from overhearing Bridget’s conversations with Dot, that Mrs. Rawson does charity work, organizing fundraisers for a premature baby charity, and has nothing to do with the farm’s finances. Their money—including a large inheritance—is managed by Rawson.

“Two thousand,” she says quickly, as though it is a figure she simply made up that moment.

“Two thousand pounds?” Jeanie can no longer keep the shock out of her voice.

“Yes,” Mrs. Rawson says. “I was surprised too when I found out how behind she’d got. It’s unfortunate, but of course, if you want to stay on in the cottage . . .” She takes her car keys from her bag, jangling them. “I’m sure you can work something out with your brother.”

When Julius gets home, again there is no tea cooking and no hot water on to boil for his wash. Jeanie is sitting in the same chair as yesterday, head down over her guitar, playing. Only Maude looks up to greet him. This time, rather than the surge of sympathy and sorrow he felt yesterday, he has a burning irritation that she hasn’t done anything with her day while he’s been working, earning them money. Why is it she hasn’t ever had a job?

Jeanie says something too quiet for him to hear.

“What?” he says, sitting on the sofa, pushing Maude along roughly. The dog’s eyes widen and Julius bends to put his forehead to Maude’s as an apology.

Jeanie stops playing, looks up, and he sees that her face is flushed. “Caroline Rawson came this morning.”

“Again?” He’s confused.

“She said we owe them rent.”

“What rent?” He rests his elbows on knees.

“You know—rent, rent.” Her voice is rising.

Julius holds his hands up to calm her. “What do you mean?”

“For the cottage.”

“It’s ours. There’s no rent.”

“I said that to her, but she said Mum had been paying rent since the year after Dad died.”

“You must have got it wrong.”

“I haven’t got anything wrong. You weren’t here.” Jeanie is shouting now.

“Well, it’s a lie. What about the agreement? Rawson gave us the cottage in return for . . .” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t understand what Jeanie is saying. Or he understands it, but it doesn’t make any sense.

“Caroline Rawson knew that Mum had been ill. Just like Bridget and Dr. Holloway. The whole bloody village probably knows our business before we do. She said Mum couldn’t keep up with the payments. She was horrible, Julius. So horrible and frosty. Like a different person.”

“Calm down, Jeanie.” Julius sits on the edge of the sofa and takes off his boots and then his socks. He loves the feel of the cool floor on the soles of his feet after a day’s work. “It’s not good for you. Please. Rawson didn’t say anything about any rent when I used his phone. There’ll be some mistake.” He chucks his balled-up socks at Maude and they bounce off the top of her head. She doesn’t stir.

“I don’t think so. She said we owed two thousand pounds.”

“Two thousand pounds!” Julius shakes his head. “None of this is right. You think Mum’s been paying rent for what, thirty-eight years?” He laughs sarcastically.

“I don’t think it! This is the Rawsons, not me.”

“Well, if Rawson thinks I’m going to give him any money, he’d better think again.”

“Don’t shout,” Jeanie says.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” He sweeps a hand through his hair and blows out his cheeks.

“You’ll have to go and speak to him,” Jeanie says.

Julius stands. “What?”

“Have a word with him.” She puts her guitar down and lowers her forehead onto the kitchen table. Her voice is muffled. “You’re right. It must be some misunderstanding.”

“Why should I go?”

She snaps her head up, her voice sharp now, impatient. “Because you’re better at these things. Talking to people.”

He sighs. He’s just got in, taken his boots off, he’s not going to go out again now. It’ll just be a stupid mistake.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Jeanie says.

“What?”

“Throw your socks at the dog.”

∙

The electricity is still not working, despite Julius fiddling some more with the fuse board. Jeanie lights two oil lamps and carries them through to the parlour. Maude is again shut in the kitchen.

“I can ask Bridget,” Jeanie says.

“No.” Julius stands the other side of their mother’s covered body. It’s good that it’s the two of them doing this, he can manage, it’s his duty. Still, he can hear his pulse in his ears and his mouth is