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I made them a promise, so you must give them the campervan. Don’t tell your mother, but promise me you’ll look after them. They are—
Callum frowned. The writing had descended into a scribble. It looked like a toddler had scrawled over the page.
‘Damn!’
The door to the study opened. ‘Everything all right?’
Callum hurriedly swivelled in his chair, hoping his mother couldn’t see the wallet and envelope on the desk behind his back. ‘Yeah – sure.’
‘I thought I heard you call out?’
Callum shook his head.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Maybe later.’
‘All right.’ She stared at him a long moment. ‘Did ... did he say anything when you visited?’
‘What about?’
‘Um, nothing. I just wondered – that’s all.’
Callum stared at her. He didn’t want to mention what he’d found in the desk until he knew what it was all about. He was about to ask her if she knew anything about a bookshop when it occurred to him that the room was filled with bookshelves full of books. It was obvious his father had been confused. Poor Dad. He was leaving Callum his books and bookbinding equipment – that much was true – but in his mind this was no longer just a room, his study, but an actual bookshop.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to sort through his things.’
Callum watched his mother close the door before he swivelled back round in his seat and picked up the envelope on the desk. He unsealed the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. Callum pulled it out and looked at it. ‘What the—?’
They were title deeds to a property with his own name on. Callum stared at the official document. ‘This can’t be right.’ As far as Callum was concerned, his dad had never owned a bookshop.
He was about to call out for his mum when he caught sight of the old wallet and note his father had left him about givingthe girlsthe campervan and that he must not tell his mother.
Callum glanced over at the door. The conversation with his mother could wait until later. He stared at the title deeds. There was paperwork countersigned by a solicitor.
Callum looked at the old laptop on the desk. He opened it, surprised that after all these years it still worked. He searched on the internet for the solicitor’s website, and then phoned their number. As luck would have it, the woman who had apparently dealt with the transfer of ownership was in her office, and could take his call. Callum still felt like it wasn’t real, and was just a figment of his father’s imagination, even though the title deeds were right there in black and white.
‘I understand you transferred the title deeds of a property from my father’s name into mine.’ Callum gave his name and his father’s name. The solicitor asked him some security questions to confirm his identity before she confirmed that it was indeed the case.
Callum asked, ‘When was this?’
They responded that he’d visited their office just recently. It sounded as though it was around the time that he’d gone missing from the care home.
Callum didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. He had a property in his name that he’d had no idea his father even owned; he could sell it and make money. But he had to say something. ‘Are you aware my father has dementia? I would have thought that he wouldn’t be able to sign legal documents.’
The solicitor informed him that this was a misconception. ‘As long as it is only in the early stages, and people can still sort out their own affairs, understand what they are signing, and convey what their financial wishes are, then there is no reason why they can’t sign legal documents, make a will, or transfer property deeds. In fact, it is best that they sort out their affairs sooner rather than later, before … well, before they can’t, before their ability to make sound judgements and decisions declines.’
Callum thought of his dad, standing there in the care home with no trousers on. Just how long had he had dementia? He’d only been diagnosed recently, but his forgetfulness had been going on for some time. Had he really understood what he was doing when he had visited the solicitors? Despite his scepticism that his dad was really competent to make these sorts of legal decisions, Callum wasn’t about to argue with the solicitor; after all, if it was his father’s wishes that he had this property, then so be it.
‘If I may say so, your father seemed perfectly capable when he visited our office to organise his affairs. I am aware that dementia sufferers’ capacity can vary day by day, hour by hour even, but I was satisfied with his capacity on that day, otherwise I would not have acted on his behalf.’
He’d obviously visited on a good day. ‘When was this? Did he visit you alone, or was he with my mother … his wife?’
‘He came alone. Let me see. Ah, here we are. I’ve found the date of the appointment.’
Callum made a mental note of the date to see if his mum remembered when it was that his dad had made an impromptu visit home. It seemed likely that it would tie up with the visit to the solicitors.
‘Do you do conveyancing? Will you act on my behalf with the sale of the property?’
