rARsh!

Never have kids. Especially step-kids.

Having texted Grunt that I’d meet him in St Martins at two, I arrived in Perth according to plan at high noon (although I was unaware of just how appropriate that timing would be), collected the floral display I’d ordered over the phone yesterday and headed off to St Martins for some time alone there.

Some time later, I headed off for a drive and found that St Martins churchyard is clearly a coverage-free area for O2/Tesco users - not much demand, I suppose. Thanks, btw, Anni, Rosa and Shazza for their thoughts.

Back at St Martins I met Grunt at the graveside (having learnt from experience the frustration that is waiting for him outside his flat - see last year’s post for a typical example).

He was actually only 25 minutes late - I was wrongly impressed. He was perfectly pleasant (for him) as we chatted for a while and suggested we head into the Fair City so that he could buy me a drink.

“Ah’ll meet ye’ in the Foondry in fifteen minnits.”

He sped off (in Diana’s Clio, I feel I should add) and I pootled off behind him.

I still got “The Foundry” before him and, rather than loiter suspiciously, bought my own drink. With hindsight, I’m glad I did so.

We took a table outside and sipped our ginger beers¹

“So, what’s happenening with the rest of mum’s estate?”

“Pardon?”

“Well, Granny left x thousand and there’s the money mum had in the house in Scoon.”

I was speechless but spluttered: “x thousand!? Where on earth did you get that idea?”

He muttered about Diana having told him that (which I find surprising), and added: “I really need to get out of The Ghetto.”

I counted to ten under my breath, conceding that the tenement in which he currently resides does lack a certain je ne sais quoi

“Ah’m entitled to a third.”

I stared at him.

“Ah’ve got a friend. Who’s a solicitor. He advised me.”

I remained silent.

“Legally, ah’m due a third.”

…

“Legally, mind.”

“So you need more of your Granny’s money now.”

“More?”

“You were given half the money for the flat you’re currently living in. Where do you think that came from?”

“Err no, no. Ah’m no forgetting that. Look - ah don’t want to fall out with yous or ha’ tae go to solicitors or anything.”

A little late for that, laddie. “Ok, I understand.”

Our discussion continued with my answers getting shorter and shorter. For someone who seems to make a habit of getting into ’situations’ he’s appallingly illiterate as far as body language is concerned (although that could well be why he’s always getting into scrapes).

I’m not sure how I managed to keep my temper and avoided raising my voice to my beloved step-son (let alone bouncing his forehead off the table, the flagstones and/or the hefty stone walls of the pub) but let’s just say we parted soon afterwards. I’m going to investigate finances and the like but if I find there is anything that he can have now, he’s only going to get it on the legal binding condition that our paths will never, ever cross again.

Don’t get me wrong - I don’t begrudge him his due share of his inheritance but to choose today of all days to raise the subject leaves me flabberghasted. He’ll get an appropriate share (less any advance) of my own estate but not a penny more than that.

I’d investigate alternatives along the lines of a reliable (and cheap) hitman but, given the company he keeps, “transactions” hinted at in conversations and his demonstrated inability to recognise when his inability to shut up is risking his health, I don’t think I need to bother.

I’ve waited a while before writing this (it’s now a quarter to eleven), but don’t seem to be losing my “fizz”. To say that I am livid is a distinct understatement. So livid that I immediately indulged myself in a short, sharp bout of retail therapy.

But enough about ingrateful little oiks.

This was my third visit back to St Martins and on each occasion I’ve contacted young Croila beforehand to see whether or not she was interested in meeting up for a good auld natter. On each of the previous occasions she’s had to decline the invitation for one reason or another (all sounded plausible enough to me at the time ). I was rather surprised when this time she indicated that a meet was, indeed, on the cards!

Except, of course, we’d not allowed for unforeseen circumstances.

Oh well - maybe next time.