Page 18 of The Quirky Vet

He makes tea. I heat up a few scones from Mrs. Mangle's bakery, throwing on a healthy dollop of cream followed by some strawberry jam from a local farm.

We take the tea and scones into the sitting room.

I'm tempted to make a jab about how at his age he really can't afford to drag things out like this, but I refrain. No jokes, I'm eager to hear what he's got to say.

"Go on," he says, taking a sip of his tea.

"No, you go first," I counter.

"I mean go on and get your lame-arse joke out of the wayabout how I'm an old prick who can't afford to waste any of the precious little time I have left by delaying making an important announcement."

"Gramps. I would never." I take a massive bite of my scone to hide my lie.

He rests his tea on the coffee table and pins me with a serious look. "I've never said a bad word about your mother."

I finish chewing, surprised. I was not expecting a detour into Mumland. "Yeah. I know."

Despite Mum being a complete bitch to him, he's always done everything he could to have a relationship with me. Dad was his only kid, I'm his only grandchild, so you'd think Mum would want us to be close.

Think again.

"And all I've ever wanted is for you to be happy. Whatever that means and however that looks."

"I know."

"Your dad and I had a heart-to-heart the day you were born."

"Oh?"

I didn't know that.

"He was over the moon when you were born. He asked me that should anything ever happen to him, that I'd take care of your mother and you. I assured him that of course I would and that nothing like that was going to happen. But as we know…"

He trails off, the emotion overwhelming him.

I go over and sit beside him and rub his back. "It's okay, Gramps."

He takes a moment to collect himself and continues. "I updated my will after your father was killed to make sure this house went to your mother. I changed that recently."

"Recently?" I frown, not understanding why he didn't change it years earlier. Mum's been a cow to him since pretty much the day Dad died. "Why did you wait so long?"

"Because until I had my stroke last year, I was convinced I was still young." He smiles sadly. "But when I was forced to facemy mortality, it woke me up." He grabs my hand and says solemnly, "I don't want that woman to have my house. I want it to be yours."

"Oh."

Some of Gramps's delusion about his age must have rubbed off on me, too, because, despite all my ribbing about his advanced years, I've never stopped to seriously deal with the very real prospect of him dying.

"What are you saying?"

"I've updated my will so the house goes to you, and I told your mother."

"You did?"

He nods.

"And how did that go?"

"About as well as you'd expect it to. She got mad and started yelling. Told me she'd contest it. Argue that I wasn't in a capable state of mind to make the change."