by Lee Wood
“Oh, I think you mean, Martin. I’m sorry, but he was made redundant from our company last week. He doesn’t come this way anymore.”
“Can you tell me how I could get hold of him, please? It’s extremely important.”
“You could ask the manager. He’ll have his address. All I know is he lives on Ramsden Square, but I don’t know the number. The manager will be there tomorrow. It’s the Norwood Building Society on the High Street.”
I could wait until tomorrow and speak with Martin’s manager, but I sure as hell don’t have anything better to do so I walk around the corner into Drummer Street, which is the main bus station of the town, and over to the taxi rank.
“Ramsden Square, please.”
It takes a little over ten minutes and the taxi turns into Ramsden Square.
“Which number?” enquires the driver.
“Just drop me on the corner here,” I reply. I pay the fare with a twenty-pound note and let him keep the change. “Here goes nothing,” I say to myself as I walk up the path to the first house, number twelve.
I knock at the door. “Hello. I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for the house of a young man called Martin who worked at the Norwood Building Society. Can you help me?”
“No, never ’eard of ’im,” comes the reply and the door is slammed in my face.
I’ve done this sort of thing before in my days as a detective and know you don’t try every door so I walk down for ten houses and knock at number thirty-two. All the even numbers are on the same side of the road. This time a lady answers. “I’m not sure, but I think he lives at number forty-eight. You could try there.”
I thank her and walk down a further eight houses until I reach number forty-eight and ring the bell.
A young lady comes to the door.
“Hello. I hope I’ve got the right house. I’m looking for Martin who works, sorry, worked, at the Norwood Building Society on the High Street. A lady down the street told me he lives here.”
“I’m Martin’s wife,” she replies. “He’s popped down to the shop and should be back in a couple of minutes. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“He gave me some money and I’d like to pay him back.”
Before she can answer, I hear footsteps behind me and the young man I now know as Martin appears.
“Martin,” his wife says, “this man says you lent him some money and he wants to pay it back.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t recognise you as a customer of the building society and any money you may have borrowed should be repaid to them. Unfortunately I was made redundant and I don’t work there anymore. I can give you the name of the person to contact if you’d like.”
“You may not be aware, but you gave me some money personally and I’ve come to repay you, with interest. Can I take a minute of your time, please?”
“I guess that will be all right, but I’m not sure how I can help you.” Martin is obviously puzzled and wants to get to the bottom of the matter. “Please come in. We’ll talk about it over a cup of tea.”
We go into a small but very well-presented front room. It is obvious that although it hasn’t cost a lot to decorate and furnish they have taste, and care about their home.
“Please sit down,” says Martin, gesturing to a single chair next to the settee.
“You don’t recognise me, do you?” I ask.
“No, I’m very sorry. I’m usually good with faces, but I don’t recognise you at all.” As he speaks, he’s leaning forward on the sofa. “Could you please explain what this is all about?”
Martin’s wife brings the tea through with a plate of assorted biscuits and sits down on the sofa beside her husband.
“For the past ten months, I’ve been sitting in a doorway on Sidney Street, cold, hungry and homeless. On several occasions when you passed by, you were kind enough to bring me sandwiches, hot coffee, and usually put fifty pence into my hat. A couple of weeks ago, you gave me two pounds and suggested I spend it on a Lotto ticket because it could be my lucky day.”
“Yes, I vaguely remember,” replies Martin.
“I did what you suggested and my numbers came up. I won the Lotto, and so I’ve come to pay you back the two pounds plus a little interest on the money, and to thank you for your kindness. Can I ask what your surname is?”
“It’s Hammond.”
I fill in his name, Martin Hammond, above the amount I’ve already written out and hand him the cheque.
He looks at me, looks at the cheque, and then back at me. After a pause of a few seconds in which his mouth drops open, he says, “There must be some mistake.”
“No mistake,” I reply. “Haven’t you seen the news of the homeless man who won the Lotto? That was me. Without you I wouldn’t have won a penny so I figure it’s only fair.”
Still looking at me, Martin hands the cheque to his wife who turns her eyes from Martin to the cheque.
“It says two million pounds,” she says.
“That’s correct. Two pounds paid back with interest – and gratitude.”
“Is this for real?” asks Martin.
“I wouldn’t kid you. I guarantee this is genuine and you can pay it in tomorrow. I’ll phone the bank in the morning and tell them to expect it.”
“I don’t know what to say, except thank you, thank you so much,” says Martin as his wife begins to cry.
“You don’t know what this means to us,” she says.
“Oh, I think I do,” I reply, “and I want you to enjoy every single penny of it. Don’t go wild. Invest it wisely for your family.”
They both hug me and I leave with a tear in my eye and a warm feeling in my heart.
If this is how good it feels to give money away I think I’m going to be doing a lot more of it from now on.
I’ll start tomorrow – I have two other people I want to thank.
Chapter Seventeen
DAVE
Once a month, Dave travels down to Birmingham and meets up with his cannabis supplier, Mohammad Awan, who drives up from London. They meet at Mohammad’s brother’s Indian restaurant.
After their meal the men walk through to a private office at the back of the restaurant and conclude their business. Dave always takes his second-in-command, Kenny Green, with him, and Kenny drives back to Trentbridge with the drugs so that Dave is never caught with any in his own car.
During the many meals they share, Mohammad tells Dave about his various activities in London and mentions that he has contacts in several council housing departments.
Recalling this conversation, Dave contacts Mohammad and is put in touch with some of his associates in the housing departments.
When the time comes, they are prepared to rehouse London families to Asbury Park. The agreement is that Mohammad and his colleagues will receive ten per cent of the weekly rental income as a ‘consultancy fee’. They can set things in place so the council will pay Dave’s company £300 a week for each family, and have assured Dave that they have more than enough people to fill all of the 880 houses on Asbury Park.
By charging each London council £300 per week, Dave estimates the project will bring in over a quarter of a million pounds a week. After paying out ‘bribes’ or ‘incentives’ to corrupt council officials, it will mean they can recoup their entire investment in less than a year.
Dave is keeping all of this to himself. He hasn’t even told Peter Hogan, but when it goes ahead, Dave has promised Peter will have access to an offshore bank account with £200,000 sitting in it – money he desperately needs to leave his wife and set up home with Monique, who is half his age. The money will fund their love nest.
The Planning Committee meeting next month will discuss the offer and any others submitted before the deadline. Currently, Dave’s is the only bid on the table and so it certainly looks as though the deal is in the bag.
Dave has ambitious plans for the future. If anyone else decides to bid and stand in his way they had better watch out.
THE ALBION HOTEL
The Albion Hotel has been a fixture in the centre of Trentbridge for as long as most people can remember. Located on Trinity Street means it sits on a prime location in the centre of town and even has its own car park. Built in the thirties, the hotel was once the smartest meeting place in town. The outside facade reeks of pre-war high society.
It’s currently celebrating its eighty-fifth year and is still a popular place for people to stay. You can tell it must have been magnificent once, but time has taken its toll and it’s now showing its age a little.
Seven days a week, the staff on the early shift start to arrive just before six am. Most of them enter via the main entrance but there are four people who usually come in through the back door as its closer to their bus stop. I only know two of them by name.
Stella Young is a waitress in the restaurant and bar. She’s on the early shift today to serve breakfast to the guests. Stella is a well-built lady, I would guess in her late thirties or possibly early forties. She’s extremely attractive with natural blonde hair, shapely legs and an ample cleavage. Some people find her a little snooty. I’m told there was once a Mr Young but he found her ‘entertaining’ another man in their bedroom and walked out and has never been seen since.
The other person I recognise is Ronnie Brown. He’s a young lad, perhaps nineteen or twenty years old. Whatever he lacks in experience, he makes up for with elbow grease, and he’s always eager to help and is a hard worker. He’s only been working here for about four months and everyone seems to like him. When you first get to know him, he seems shy but he always enjoys chatting to people.
His main ‘disadvantage’ is he’s a heavy smoker and stinks of cigarettes, although his clothes are always clean and his appearance is usually smart. He obviously spends a lot of time on his grooming. He also appears to be down to earth, never boasting or trying to impress. He gives the appearance of an honest young lad looking to improve his life, yet perhaps held back by his lack of education. The word is that his mother is an alcoholic and his father left home when he was only six. He has an older sister and two older brothers, none of whom work or contribute anything to his life.
Ronnie is a trainee. His duties cover everything from unblocking the toilets to moving beds and furniture from room to room. He never seems to get angry no matter what he is asked to do. I’ve noticed he often works extra time after his shift, which is the total opposite of Stella, who clocks off ‘on the minute’.
It is easy to like Ronnie, but I just hope someone tells him he smells like a chimney (in the nicest way of course). If he can give up the smoking, I’m certain his chances of advancing his career will be greatly improved. He often stops for a chat when he pops out for a quick ‘ciggie’ and is never lost for conversation, which is good because I’m the complete opposite. I don’t have the skill of ‘small talk’ and find it difficult to start or contribute to conversations in an interesting way. I like him a lot (except for the stench of nicotine).
Today is special in many ways. It’s probably the first time I’ve ever gone into the hotel by the front entrance and I’m here to say a massive ‘thank you’ to two wonderful people.
George Leeman, the night porter, starts work at eight pm but I also know he hangs around the hotel from about lunchtime onwards because the tiny bedsit where he lives has problems with noisy unemployed neighbours who spend all day blaring out music while he’s trying to sleep. George then comes to the hotel to grab some peace and quiet.
I’m also hoping young Ronnie Brown is working today as I’d like to thank him as well. He was always friendly and spoke to me in the same way he would speak to his best mate despite the age difference. That means a lot to me.
Chapter Nineteen
JAMES
As I walk in the front entrance, I’m happy to see George standing by the reception desk. He’s chatting to Belinda Grant, the main receptionist. I think he has a soft spot for her. When I’d seen them together they were always laughing and smiling at each other.
As I walk over to the desk George turns and looks at me. At first, he’s not sure who I am, but then he recognises me.
“Hello, my friend. You look good. I guess these days you can afford to walk in the front door. Welcome to the Albion Hotel. Have you come to stay in one of the rooms or do you want your old ‘suite’ back?” He grins at me.
His last comment brings a big smile to my face. “I’m not sure I can afford the prices here,” I say, smiling. “It’s great to see you, George. I wonder if we could have a little chat. Perhaps we could sit in the bar and have a drink?”
“I’ll take a coffee with you, if that’s okay?” he says as we walk through.
The bar also acts as a coffee lounge. It consists of a dozen circular tables with four brown leather chairs around each of them. We find a secluded table, which isn’t difficult as only three other tables are taken. The waitress comes over and I recognise Stella instantly. She’s not a woman that any hot-blooded male could miss. She says hello to George and then asks what we would like. George orders a cappuccino and I opt for a latte. Once she moves away, I turn my attention to George.
“George. I came here today to tell you just how much having the sleeping quarters at the back helped. I noticed the things you did for me. I want to truly thank you for your kindness and say, from the bottom of my heart that I appreciate everything you did.”
George looks at me and from his expression I can tell that he doesn’t have a clue regarding what I’m about to do. He gave me a home when I needed one, a place where I could feel relatively safe, and his acts of kindness went above and beyond.
Now it’s his turn.
“George, the average cost of a new house in the upmarket parts of Trentbridge is around £170,000. It would probably cost an extra £10,000 to furnish it, so I’ve decided to round it up a little so you can perhaps have a luxury holiday as well. Why not take someone with you? Maybe Belinda needs a holiday? Anyway, I’d really like you to accept this cheque for £200,000 as the only way I can truly thank you for everything you’ve done. To be in the position where I can now repay your kindness means I’m probably going to get more pleasure out of this than you are.”
George looks me squarely in the eyes and I can see tears forming in his. He remains speechless for a few seconds.
Just then Stella comes over with our coffees. She sees the state George is in and looks concerned. “What’s the matter, George? Is something wrong?”
“No, Stella, nothing’s wrong. It’s just this man’s act of kindness has caught me off guard.”
Stella gives him a big smile now she realises everything is all right, and places the coffees on the table in front of us.
Her concern for George surprises me. She’s always seemed a bit of a tough cookie. I obviously don’t know her as well as I thought. Even an ex-detective can get it wrong sometimes.
George takes a few seconds to compose himself. I can see from his face that he’s trying to take it all in. I know that feeling from when I discovered I’d won the Lotto.
After a few seconds, his gaze comes back to me. “This means so much. I can get a place of my own. It’s a dream come true. If there’s anything I can do in the future to thank you, just let me know.”
I beam. “I’m glad you’re pleased. Being able to do this for you, that’s my reward.” I add, “Now I wonder if you could do me a favour? Is young Ronnie working at the moment? He always treated me well, so would it be possible to have a word with him?”
“Yes. He’s a nice lad, and a hard worker,” says George.
He tells me that he’s sure Ronnie is around and goes off to try to find him.
After a couple of minutes, I see them both coming back.
“Hello, Ronnie. Please have a seat. I’m not sure if George has told you but I’m the guy who used to sleep out the back. From time to time, you’d come and talk to me on your ciggie breaks.”
“Hello. Yes, I r
emember you, but you look a lot different now. I heard about your big win. It’s been the talk of everyone here.”
“Would you like a coffee or something to drink?” I ask.
“No, I’m fine.”
He looks a little awkward, uncertain of what this is all about. I decide not to keep him guessing. “Ronnie, I remember your kindness towards me so I’d like to thank you in a way which I hope shows you my appreciation.” With that, I hand him the envelope with his name on. He opens it and I can see the unexpected joy on his face as he reads his name plus the amount of £15,000.
“Blooming ’eck. That’s more than I get in a year. I didn’t expect this.”
“How could you? I’m still taking it in myself, but one thing is for sure; the money I won is going to be put to good use. I have plans to ensure it helps a lot of deserving people and you’re one of them.”
Ronnie gives me a big hug and keeps saying “Thank you.” I tell him that he should have his break and go to the bank and pay in the cheque.
Just then Stella comes over to enquire if we need anything and I ask her for the bill. It comes to £6.20. I leave her a twenty-pound note.
Chapter Twenty
TRENTBRIDGE
I’ve lived in Trentbridge from the age of eight. I moved here with my parents and it’s been my home ever since. And as a police officer who went on to become a detective I’ve always thought it’s a place I know quite well.
I’ve decided the best plan is to use the money and help local people. Therefore, I’m thinking about the different areas that make up the town and where the money might best be used. Like most towns, we have a mixture of rich and poor. The more affluent side is Cherrywood. It enjoys easy access with the motorway just two miles away.