The Kicking the Bucket List. Cathy Hopkins

squeezed my arm. ‘Don’t take it personally. Funerals are odd events. Nobody is ever quite themself.’

      I wasn’t so sure. Rose and Fleur had acted exactly true to form as far as I’d seen. Not wanting to hang around any further, I’d looked for Rose to say goodbye and explain that I had a train to catch. She had been occupied serving tea to guests and seemed indifferent to me leaving before the gathering had dispersed. I’d left feeling hollow and sad that I’d found no solace with my sisters. You can choose your friends, but not your family. Who needs sisters? Not me, I’d thought as Anna and I headed for the station.

      *

      Anna poured more wine. ‘I know the funeral was hard for you Dee but it was difficult for all of you. Whatever your mum has planned for the next year is bound to be very different.’

      ‘True but maybe Rose has got the right idea,’ I said. ‘Why put yourself through it?’

      ‘Stop being so negative. Only the other day you were telling me that you wanted to follow your mum’s wishes so that you’d have extended contact with her. I can’t believe you’d give up so easily.’

      ‘I’m not the one giving up, Rose is.’

      ‘You are too if you don’t at least try and persuade her to participate.’

      ‘Rose can be stubborn and unmovable if she makes up her mind about something.’

      ‘So can you.’

      ‘You’re supposed to be my friend.’

      ‘I am and if I can’t tell you to snap out of this defeatist mood and try and get Rose on board, who can?’

      ‘You don’t know her like I do. If she’s decided not to do Mum’s list then there’s little I can do to persuade her.’

      ‘You’re being pathetic,’ said Anna.

      ‘And you’re being horrible.’

      ‘No I’m not. I’m telling you the truth. Call her when you get home.’

      ‘Maybe.’

      ‘Call her. Don’t be such a wimp.’

      ‘I hate you. You’re mean.’

      ‘I hate you more. Now. Would you like another glass of wine to go with your misery?’

       7

      Saturday 12 September

      The agent from Scott Frank came just after breakfast. A young man with rosy cheeks, dressed in a sharp suit. ‘This will be an easy sell,’ he said after he’d been around the house leaving a trail of strong aftershave. ‘We’ll have a buyer in weeks.’

      ‘Are you certain? I thought this was a slow time for the property market,’ I said.

      ‘Oh no. I already have a waiting list of buyers in London looking for properties down here, especially ones as charming as this.’

      *

      Taylor and Knight came just before lunch. A middle-aged blonde woman in a navy trouser suit and silver jewellery. ‘It will get snapped up,’ she said, then sighed, ‘you’ve made it lovely. I’d buy it myself if I could.’

      ‘This won’t be on the market long,’ said the man from Chatham and Reeves who’d arrived early afternoon. He had an old-fashioned manner about him, was dressed in a tweed jacket and corduroy trousers and smelt slightly of burnt sausages. ‘Character, original features and the garden is established, perfect country-cottage style. Just what our buyers are looking for in locations like this.’

      Nooooooooooooooooo, I thought.

      *

      Michael telephoned late afternoon. ‘Just to let you know that I’m going with Chatham and Reeves. They want to send a photographer round the day after tomorrow if that’s all right?’

      ‘I have no choice, have I?’

      There was a silence on the other end of the phone. ‘I am sorry, Dee, but I hope you understand.’

      ‘I understand perfectly,’ I said as I looked at my Greek statue, which was still resplendent on the fireplace. A vision of where I could shove it came to mind as I hung up the phone.

      *

      Anna came over immediately on hearing my news.

      ‘You can stay in my spare room if the house sells quickly,’ she said.

      I was touched by her offer, but I knew she used her spare room to store the vintage clothing she put up for sale on the Internet, and to make the jewellery she sold. Her daughters also slept there when they visited, which was often, plus she had a constant stream of visitors. I’d cramp her style if I lived there with her. ‘Thanks, Anna, but you use that room,’ I replied, ‘and much as I love you, we might drive each other mad if we lived together. I don’t want to run that risk. I’ll find a room in the village when the time comes: that’s my best option.’

      ‘But not yet,’ said Anna. ‘House sales take months, and that’s if there’s a buyer straight away. Come on Dee, buck up, you’re acting like a victim. You do have a choice. We always have a choice.’

      ‘Stop being so positive. It’s annoying.’

      ‘Now you’re talking like Mrs Rowley in the shop,’ said Anna. ‘You know I’m right. You have to fight. Don’t just roll over and accept what’s happening like you have no say in it. Fight to get Rose on board. Fight to keep your house.’

      ‘OK. How?’

      Anna looked blank. ‘I don’t know. I’m just full of lines from self-help books that I’ve read over the years. They never covered specifics. You know the kind – Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway. How To Stop Worrying and Start Living. Kick Your Crutch and Walk Free. Those kind of books.’

      If nothing else, Anna always made me laugh.

      *

      ‘Dear God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference,’ I said to the ceiling when Anna had gone. She was right, I thought. I have to fight for my home. If I can just keep any prospective buyers at bay for a year, I will get my inheritance, be able to stay here and all will be well. In the meantime … My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a text coming through. I looked at my mobile but didn’t recognize the number. It read: ‘Winner or loser? Hero or victim? Your choice.’ Must be from Anna, I thought. She forgot to take her mobile out and is using Ian’s to tell me to call Rose. Well, that’s me told and she’s right, I do have to snap out of feeling defeated and fight, so OK, Anna, message received and I choose to be a winner.

      I took a deep breath, went into the hall and called Rose’s number. Hugh picked up.

      ‘Dee. Oh yes, er … Rose can’t come to the phone at the moment.’

      My stomach tensed. Just as I thought she would, she was shutting me out. ‘I guess you know all about the condition of the will?’ I asked.

      ‘I do,’ said Hugh.

      ‘So why doesn’t she want to go ahead with it?’

      I heard Hugh sigh. ‘She’ll have to tell you that herself,’ he said. He was never one to get involved in family squabbles. ‘I’ll see if I can get her to come to the phone.’

      The line went quiet and I really wanted to hang up. I was too old for this lark, but Anna’s words kept echoing: you have a choice, don’t just roll over. A few minutes later, Rose came on to the line. ‘Dee. How can I help?’

      She sounded so official. ‘This