A gift from the past to anchor me in the present

After receiving a bequest from a late client, returning every painting he had bought to her, Frieda Hughes navigates the unedifying maze of probate

Inheritance

The solicitor’s disembodied voice informed me

That my client died in Africa,

Grasping the last of his life among lions.

His bequest was to give me back

Everything he’d bought from me

Since the watercolour fruit bat

From my first solo exhibition in 1993.

I sent ID as instructed, and waited, patiently.

But you could tell by the silence and stillness of air

That nothing was happening. Over months

I wrote her emails and left messages. But February

Morphed into June and July before I received a reply

To tell me she was waiting for a delivery date.

I could smell a lie; no action

Stirred the dust motes between us. Finally,

I emailed her the company undertaking of estate solutions

As an example of her underachievement,

And suddenly, eight months after probate

Nine paintings arrive, the unexpected gift of evidence

For the years I’ve been alive.