Inheritance envy - is it the new dirty secret of the middle classes?

As I anxiously fill out an application to cash in an old work pension (worth £1,500) to cover my yawning bank overdraft, a text pings from a friend who’s just booked her third holiday this year. I’m filled with envy – and shame. 

Her parents died within a year of each other. It was terrible for her, but after their house was sold, she’s inherited a million. She’s in her late 50s and barely needs to work again. Her life is now a whirl of art classes and long lunches.

And it’s not the first time family money has helped her out. Her parents inherited legacies from their own parents in their 50s, which helped them pass on ‘living gifts’ to her in their lifetime.

They bought her a London flat and she’s never really had to live on just her salary.

In contrast, those of us who need to wait to inherit any capital (my mum’s very modest house is tied up in a family trust), or have no expectation of inheritance, are running around like mad things trying to keep up. I’m a 62-year-old freelance writer and even though I work seven days a week, I’ve never been so poor.

New figures reveal a huge rise in the number of women over the age of 65 who are staying in work. 

The Office of National Statistics says a record 686,000 in this cohort are in employment – up nearly a quarter in the past year alone. 

On one hand, this is good news. As health improves, people can hold down jobs for longer. But many are really suffering. Women have been hit disproportionately by sharp rises in the state pension age, and many were self-employed or missed paying pension contributions when taking time off work to look after children and family or were simply paid less than men.

I’ll be working flat out until I can even access the state pension at 67 – and I’m not alone. Some can turn to the Bank of Mum and Dad for help, but it can be galling for those of us who lack means. And it does make for an unequal society.

Forget boomers v millennials: I’d argue the real divide in my generation is between people who inherit from their parents and grandparents (often early) and those who don’t.

In her book Inheritocracy, Eliza Filby argues that boomer wealth has turned Britain into a society in which how affluent you are is no longer determined by your talent or effort but your access to money from your parents. 

The property boom has created a new class of unexpected heirs. Families who started out working class now have houses that are worth millions, so their kids are in line for seven-figure inheritances and an easier life. 

Don’t get me wrong, it’s almost impossible for young people to buy a home without financial help. They leave university saddled with loans (whereas we had student grants) and 
house prices are prohibitively high. But when I see Instagram photos of twentysomethings standing proudly on the steps of their new homes, I silently wonder, ‘How?’

That’s because the harder it is to make it on merit in tough economic times, the more inherited wealth grates, making it a toxic combination of guilt, rivalry and, yes, resentment.

In my family, it’s tradition that everything passes down from the grandparents to the parents; younger members of the family wait patiently until it’s their turn. My sisters and I don’t have kids, but we never, ever automatically presumed our parents’ money was ours. Times have changed though.

A wealthy editor friend of mine in her 70s is baffled that my mum isn’t divesting herself of more money now to avoid inheritance tax. She has already provided for her thirtysomething son, staggering the inheritance over a decade to help him avoid SWS: Sudden Wealth Syndrome. And she’s not the only one.

My parents were meritocrats. As teachers, they earned their own money, lived frugally and retired in their late 50s on generous pensions. They didn’t inherit until their own parents died (my maternal grandmother was 92). Modest sums were involved but it gave them a little independence and the chance to travel.

I’m glad they had that time. My father died of a heart attack 11 years ago, at the age of 74. His estate passed to my mum. Her capital will, quite rightly, pay for her care when needed.

However, in many families, an unspoken intergenerational clash of expectations can make inheritance a sensitive subject. When I ask my mum if she minded waiting so long for her own inheritance, she says they were schooled to be patient.

"It was postwar and you couldn’t really grumble about anything because everything was so difficult."

None of us really has a legal right to inherit, of course; it is our parents’ choice. I’ve always wanted to earn my own money but, while I’m struggling to make ends meet, extended family and friends have inherited hundreds of thousands already.

We currently divide into two tribes: those who inherited early (and in some cases lack motivation to work, which can be a problem too) and those who are utterly stressed, exhausted and feel extremely guilty about sounding so avaricious.

I went to state school but I’m proud of that. At university I encountered inherited wealth but naively assumed that talent (and hard work) would ensure an equal playing field in later life.

I worked and played hard. Aged 38, I bought the smallest, cheapest flat in Peckham, south London (which has, yes, increased in value) and watched as others whizzed past on the fast track.

I’ve had huge fun but none of my freelance jobs made me rich or began to yield enough spare income to put cash aside for a pension. These days pretty much all the money I make goes on household bills; I live in fear of huge dental costs or the roof collapsing.

I’ve sold books and clothes, have cancelled Netflix and buy supermarket essential ranges. But I do feel embarrassed that I can’t keep up with friends. If they insist on paying for the tickets to a show, I ask furtively, "Could I put it on a card instead?", knowing I won’t be able to pay them in cash just now.

I adore my friends, but I’m afraid occasionally it’s beginning to sour our relationships. Inheritance is the dirty secret of the middle classes – harder to talk about than sex.

I’m very aware that other hard-working friends have no prospect of family money, especially if their parents remarried, had a second family or changed their will. A sixtysomething friend has been disinherited as her father left his estate to his second wife and her daughters; my friend, her daughters and grandchildren will get nothing. It seems so shockingly unfair. Why would he leave his children without the financial means to remain safe throughout their life?

Another friend, 57, found out after her father’s death that her parents’ farm, plus capital, is tied up in a family trust administered by older relatives, who have no intention of releasing any money, despite the fact she and her partner work round the clock to bring up their teenage boys. She lives on credit to pay for their birthday presents and computers.

It’s an ugly thing to be envious of people who inherited early. After all, we’re the lucky ones if we still have one or both parents alive. Those people got their money and security early – but at the cost of grief.

To be fair, Mum has given me £1,000 every seven years or so (more than she ever received from her own parents). It’s helped pay off my overdraft and continue in the career I love. I can see she’s puzzled that I’m always in crisis. And I do see that an 88-year-old lady shouldn’t need to be worrying about her ageing daughter.

The last thing I want is to be bitter. If you’re a loving parent or grandparent who worked and saved hard, of course you want to pass on your good fortune. But I do ask for some consideration from friends.

If I need to pay for my theatre ticket by card, or blanch at the restaurant bill and suggest that next time we have lunch at my house instead, I only ask for them to be tactful. At this age, generosity goes a long way.