I must admit, I hoped Gran might leave me her jewellery. Instead, on her deathbed, she passed me a box with a shaky hand and said,
‘Melody dear, take this to Chris at Hedgehog Aid. Oh, and this is for you.’
Now, this did look interesting. An ornate gilt-edged diary.
Her death was peaceful, or at least it looked that way from where we were sitting, on three wooden chairs dragged in from the kitchen. I was perched between my Mum and her estranged sister Alice, engulfed in their icy silence. The moment Gran passed, a warm glow filled the room, easing the tension and even some of the grief.
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