the time, I wanted to tell her. It isn’t the money or the principle. It’s just how he is.
I twisted in my seat the whole of that flight, resenting every galling glimpse through the curtain that closed me off from my own parents. As I picked at a cardboard sandwich and drank my carton of juice, I wondered what was being served in business class. I imagined soft, warm bread rolls, beads of condensation on glasses filled with freshly squeezed orange.
Fortunately, I had Grandma. I spent hours ’round at hers while my parents were working. We watched reality TV and laughed at Nigella making sex faces over chocolate mousse and discussed the merits of Burberry over Hugo Boss. She bought me presents, slipping designer shirts into Primark carrier bags for me to smuggle home. Grandma lived in a massive rectory with its own swimming pool and stables and enjoyed what she called the finer things in life.
“I’m to blame for your mother’s expensive tastes,” she told me over a cream tea one day. “We used to hit Oxford Street on a Saturday morning and shop till we literally dropped.”
“Last weekend, she gave me twenty quid to buy a pair of jeans,” I said miserably. “Twenty quid!”
Grandma’s lips pursed into a cat’s bum. “Well, that’s your father’s influence. Your mother was never mean till she married him.” She snorted. “It’s not as if it’s his own money to begin with. Gold-digging parasite, that’s what he is. He met me and your granddad—God rest his soul—took one look at this place, and had a ring on your mother’s finger quicker than you could say inheritance.” Grandma didn’t mince her words. “Well,” she said darkly. “He’ll see.”
“See what?”
But she wouldn’t tell me, and it wasn’t till she died that I realized what she’d meant. She’d cut them off. Both of them. Her will made it quite clear that not a penny of her vast estate—or indeed her actual estate, swimming pool and all—would go to my parents.
She left it all to me.
Dad went ballistic. “It’s far too much. She can’t have meant it.”
They were in the kitchen, their voices carrying up the stairs to where I sat on the landing, my back against the wall.
“It’s what she wanted,” Mum said. “She really loved him.”
There was a pain in my chest like I’d swallowed too fast. I couldn’t imagine life without Grandma, and the sudden transition to millionaire—insane though it was—wouldn’t make up for losing her.
“She must have lost her marbles. We’ll have to contest the will.”
“She was sharp as someone half her age. You know that.”
“You’re not just going to accept it, are you? That money should have come to us!”
“To me, technically,” I heard Mum say, but Dad didn’t acknowledge her.
“The boy’s eighteen, for God’s sake. He’s completely irresponsible.”
I waited for Mum’s counterargument, but it didn’t come. I swallowed. Fuck them. Fuck them both. I didn’t care about the money—not like I cared about Grandma—but I wasn’t giving it to my parents. I didn’t have to put up with them anymore. I had my own house, enough money to do what I wanted.
Life was good, and not just for me: I wasn’t tight like my parents. For every pound I spent on myself, I spent two on other people. I’d buy spontaneous rounds for strangers in bars, ending the night surrounded by new friends. I showered girlfriends with flowers, chocolate, jewelry, and the more I spent, the more they loved me. I made large, public donations to charity and brushed away the applause that made my insides fizz.
And—of course—I turned left. Always. As Dad said, it wasn’t the money, it was the principle.
There are people on Flight 79 who have never traveled business class before; you can tell from the way they open every drawer and work their way through every button on the control panel, calling the flight attendant to ask how the bed works, whether the movie channels are all included, what time they’ll be serving food… I sit back and let it fall into place around me like a Savile Row suit.
The flight attendants buzz between one passenger and the next, and idly I compare the two female crew members. They’re both attractive, despite the years that separate them. The older one’s clearly the boss, her eyes flitting over every seat, searching out any detail that might detract from our comfort. Her gaze falls on me, and I freeze, suddenly twelve again.
Come on, you…
Fingernails, gripping my shoulder…
She smiles. “Can