Valentine Present and Other Diabolical Liberties

by Lynda Renham

  ‘Maybe he panicked,’ I say lamely.

  Or maybe he didn’t take your car, whispers that inner voice again. Perhaps it wasn’t Julian. Perhaps Alistair is right and they have slit his throat for his phone and that’s why he hasn’t called.

  ‘I think we should call the p-p-police,’ whispers Alistair.

  ‘Why?’ I say feeling panic turning into hysteria.

  ‘B-b-because I’d feel safer.’

  I push the door open and gingerly step inside.

  ‘Julian,’ I whisper, peeking around the door with one eye closed and the other squinted. The living room door is also ajar. I fling it open, deciding I may as well get the vision of Julian’s mangled body over and done with, as frankly the reality can’t be any worse than what I’m imagining.

  ‘Oh my God,’ gasps Fiona, putting on her glasses.

  ‘Holy f-f-fuck,’ says Alistair.

  I stare at my ransacked living room and feel myself wobble. The coffee table has been turned over and the contents of the bedroom drawers have been slung all around the room. I stupidly find myself hoping that Alistair doesn’t notice my holey knickers, and worse still, my dual-pleasure vibrator that is lying on the couch along with the Bound To Tease Suede Flogger. I can’t very well call Alistair a bucking pervert now, not with that lot strewn all over the place can I? Not that Julian and I are into bondage you understand. He bought it as a Christmas present, just for a bit of fun, but I giggled so much every time he produced it that we didn’t get round to all that much flogging, although right now I could flog him well and proper. What is the bugger thinking of arsing if off down the A40?

  ‘What’s that?’ Alistair asks nervously.

  ‘It’s for swatting flies,’ I lie.

  My mobile rings and both Fiona and I scream. I pull the phone from my bag and see it is Julian. Thank God.

  ‘Julian where the hell are you, and what’s happened, the flat is is is …’

  ‘The flat’s fucked,’ finishes Alistair, walking out of the bedroom. ‘The whole p-p-place is wrecked.’

  ‘Do you want your Valium?’ Fiona asks, pulling the bottle from her handbag with shaky hands.

  ‘Of c-c-course not, I’m not a drug addict.’

  ‘You don’t mind if I have another one do you?’ she says throwing two into her mouth and shuddering.

  ‘I’m sorry Harry. I would have phoned but I’ve been terrified to stop. I wanted to get as far away as possible.’

  In my Mini I wouldn’t think that could be further than Clapham.

  ‘Jesus, they’re bloody psychopaths Harry. They were going to cut off my ear and send it to my mother.’

  ‘Shit. I never imagined they could be that aggressive,’ I say, picturing the youths downstairs, while remembering what Alistair had said about them slitting out throats.

  ‘I should never have taken out that bloody loan. Oh Christ, I only missed one payment.’

  Loan, what is he talking about? The buggers downstairs are more likely to nick money off us than lend it? I can hear the whine from my little Mini and grieve for it. My scrambled brain tries to make some sense of what he is saying. We only have one loan. No, that can’t possibly be right.

  ‘Barclays threatened to cut off your ear and send it to your mum? But that’s disgraceful,’ I say. ‘I thought we consolidated our debts with the easy payment terms. That’s what the man said. He seemed very nice. Not the kind of person who would make threats like that.’

  I can picture the man now. He was terribly sweet and went out of his way to get us the best deal possible. I can’t believe that lovely ginger-haired young man would ever cut off anyone’s ear. Mind you, my mum always said you couldn’t trust a man with ginger hair.

  ‘Start a Twitter campaign, that always works,’ says Fi helpfully.

  ‘Or Facebook, name and shame,’ adds Alistair. ‘After all with their big bonuses it is disgraceful. Thuggish b-b-b-behaviour. I’m glad I’m with Lloyds.’

  Fiona shivers.

  ‘God, what will they do to me? My credit card is totally maxed out,’ she moans, wringing her hands.

  ‘What the hell has Barclays got to do with anything?’ shouts Julian over the whining engine.

  ‘I’m not being difficult Julian, but have you got the Pooch in fourth gear? She never whines like that in fifth.’

  ‘I didn’t know there was a fifth on this bloody car.’

  Oh no.

  ‘Jesus Julian, It all seems a bit over the top for seven thousand pounds.’

  ‘B-b-bastards’, growls Alistair. ‘Just look at this place.’

  ‘Harry, don’t be so bloody ridiculous. You surely didn’t for one minute think we were doing that well did you? The restaurant has been losing money from day one. I’ve been borrowing money left, right and centre, and now Jack Diamond wants his pound of flesh. He’s taken my van. God Harry, I really thought they were going to cut out my tongue.’

  ‘Your tongue? But I thought it was your ear?’ I say and find myself thinking how useful it would have been if it had been his kidney. At least we could have sold that. Oh that’s terrible, what am I thinking?

  ‘And who the hell is Jack Diamond?’ I ask.

  He sounds like something out of The Krays.

  ‘They were going to do both. Jack Diamond is a nutter. I didn’t know he was a bloody East End gangster when I took out the loan. Oh Christ Harry, they want thirty thousand pounds in twenty-four hours.’

  I stop breathing. I can barely raise thirty pounds in twenty-four hours, let alone thirty thousand.

  ‘How much? For God’s sake Julian, what were you thinking of borrowing money from loan sharks. I don’t believe this. What are we going to do?’ I say, falling onto the couch and accidentally clicking on the vibrator.

  ‘Shit,’ I mumble, fumbling to turn it off with shaky hands. Any other time the bloody thing won’t work. Isn’t it just Sod’s Law? However, I don’t think with Julian’s body parts being under extreme threat it is quite the time for an earth-shattering orgasm. I sigh, realising my attempts to switch the damn thing off are only making it vibrate faster.

  ‘I can’t come home yet can I? Unless you want them to cut off my ear,’ he says petulantly. ‘And I’m never going to be able to raise that kind of cash in twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Of course I don’t want that. I like your ears. What will we do then? What about the restaurant?’

  ‘I need to sort things out. Don’t worry. They won’t hurt you, some gangster code of honour they told me.’

  Oh well, that’s comforting. They don’t mind smashing up my home and going through my undies drawers or threatening to cut off bits of my boyfriend’s body parts but they’ll leave me alone. I wince at the sound of gears crunching. What does he mean, don’t worry? Is he serious? My flat is totally wrecked. I have men threatening to cut off bits of my boyfriend’s body and they’re not even offering to pay for them. The Pooch is being throttled to death and my best friend is overdosing on Valium as we speak. I’m totally broke, apart from my tuition savings of course. Oh God, the savings. I drop the mobile with a clatter and dive into the kitchen, stepping over bits of broken crockery. A birthday cake sits on the table, a huge slice out of it and what looks like a shopping list at the side of it. I pull the lid off the biscuit tin and stare into the empty barrel. The bastards have taken my savings and eaten my birthday cake. I snatch up the shopping list and read it.

  Two chicken breasts, a tin of tomatoes and a pint of milk.

  What the hell? If Julian thinks he can leave a bleeding shopping list before buggering off then he can think again. I turn it over and feel my blood curdle as I read the words in red ink.

  ‘24 hours punk and I’m not talking the TV series.’

  I pick up the mobile miserably but Julian has gone.

  ‘They’ve eaten my birthday cake,’ I say tearfully, ‘and they’ve taken the money for my studies, and they're threatening to cut off his tongue and his ear.’

  Fiona gasps.

&nbs
p; ‘Zip your bloody flies up Alistair for Christ’s sake, who knows what they’ll chop off if they come back.’

  I sit holding the buzzing vibrator and wonder what on earth I am going to do. I feel like I’m in The Valentine’s Day Massacre. I don’t think I can ever watch that film again, or The Krays come to that. My mobile bleeps. It is a text from Mum. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.

  ‘Darling I’m sending over some thugs for your birthday.’

  I sigh. A few seconds later it rings.

  ‘Did you get my text?’ she asks.

  ‘Yes, I did and the thugs have been and gone. Thanks for that.’

  ‘I meant things sweetheart. Bleeding predictive thingy. They should arrive tomorrow. What do you mean they’ve been and gone?’

  ‘A man called Jack Diamond came and smashed up the flat and he is going to cut off Julian’s ear because Julian owes him money. Everywhere is a mess and Fiona is here and she’s taking Alistair’s Valium and we don’t know if they’ll come back and cut off Alistair’s cock. They also took the savings for my studies,’ I say in a rush, finally adding, ‘and I think I’m in shock.’

  ‘I d-d-don’t know why we-we-we’re staying,’ mutters Alistair.

  I wipe my face and try to steady my voice. There is silence for a few seconds.

  ‘What’s that buzzing noise?’ asks Mum.

  ‘My vibrator,’ I say, exhaling heavily.

  ‘Your what?’

  ‘My vibrator,’ I repeat, massaging my temples.

  ‘Harriet love,’ she says sternly, ‘I hardly think this is the time for that. Your dad and I are on our way.’

  Chapter Five

  Ten Days Earlier

  Margarita surveys her family. Couldn’t her grandson sit up straight for God’s sake? His laziness was becoming legendary and she was tired of it. She blames Sebastian for spoiling his son. Too much money and not enough sense was his problem. Her eyes travel to her son. His bent head reveals a bald patch at the top. She’s never noticed that before. He doesn’t get that from his father she thinks proudly. He had a full head of hair when he died aged eighty-nine and all of his own teeth. Melanie fidgets with her Stella McCartney handbag, her new diamond ring sparkling brightly. I’m probably keeping her from some society lunch Margarita thinks gleefully. This is the most time my son and daughter-in-law have spent with me in three years. She snorts and everyone looks up expectantly. The buggers thought I was dying. She hides her mirth behind tight lips. They’re wondering how much longer they have to sit here before they can make an excuse to leave. She takes a shuddering breath and Sebastian jumps up and leans across the sterile white sheets.

  ‘Mother, do you need something?’

  ‘Sit me up,’ she barks.

  He gestures to his son and meeting his vacant stare she sighs.

  ‘Help me up you useless lump,’ she barks.

  He jumps from his chair and fumbles under her armpits. Melanie plumps the pillows in an ungainly fashion.

  ‘You won’t chip a nail fluffing pillows you silly woman,’ Margarita growls.

  The smell of Melanie’s Chanel perfume is suffocating. There is silence in the room and all that can be heard is the droning of a lawnmower outside.

  ‘I’ve got a few things I want to say,’ Margarita says evenly.

  Oh yes, as soon as they think I’m going to discuss money they’re all interested. She snorts with derision and turns her attention to the lawnmower. Her gnarled hands grasp the bed linen and she pulls herself up.

  ‘I’ve got about six months left … maybe less; the damn doctors won’t commit themselves.’

  Sebastian jumps from his seat and fiddles with the curtains.

  ‘Don’t be silly …’

  ‘Sit down,’ she snaps, ‘and don’t tell your eighty-five-year-old mother not to be silly. You might be Sir Sebastian in everyone else’s eyes but you’re still my son. If you’ve been doing your maths, which I’m sure you have, then you’ll know what you’ll be getting when I’m dead …’

  ‘Mother …’

  ‘Let Grandmother speak.’

  Her eyes fall onto her grandson and he fidgets uncomfortably. You’ve bucked up she thinks. It must be that magic word money that did it.

  ‘I’m the majority shareholder in our company and I’ve had to think long and hard about those shares and what happens to them when I’m dead. Your father worked hard to build up this company and I’m not prepared to let it go to the dogs just because you lot can’t get your act together.’

  They all hold their breath.

  ‘I’ve decided not to leave them to you, Sebastian.’

  He opens his mouth to protest.

  ‘I’m leaving them to my grandsons.’

  Sebastian’s shoulders relax slightly and she sees Melanie’s hands twitch in her lap.

  ‘On certain conditions,’ she adds slowly.

  ‘Conditions?’ echoes Sebastian, glancing at his son.

  An evil grin crosses her face so quickly that for a moment they all wonder if they actually saw it.

  ‘The company has become a laughing stock, Sebastian. Your father would turn in his grave, if he was in one. Anyway,’ she adds wearily, ‘no one in this family is responsible enough to take over the family business. Look at you,’ she points to her grandson. ‘You probably don’t even know what the business does. Well, do you …?’

  A small fluttering in her chest causes her to lay a hand on her heart and breathe deeply for a few seconds. They all lean over her attentively and she waves a hand.

  ‘I’m not dying yet you will be sorry to hear. But if I am, then it is from inhaling Melanie’s atrocious perfume. Well do you?’ she asks again of her grandson.

  He looks embarrassed.

  ‘Exactly, and as for your cousin, he has a good heart but no interest whatsoever in the business, which is a shame as he has good financial sense. No, I’ve made up my mind: unless one of you can show me that you have every intention of settling down, carrying on the family name and making the family business respectable once again then I’ll have no choice but to sell my shares to Lord Wilmington and accept his takeover bid.’

  ‘But you can’t, Pa would never forgive you,’ gasps Sebastian.

  ‘You burnt him remember, so I doubt he’ll know little about it.’

  ‘He was already dead,’ snaps Melanie. ‘Anyone would think we burnt him at the stake the way you talk.’

  ‘Oh, so his being dead entitled you, did it?’ barks Margarita. ‘There’s a clause in my will so you can’t burn me. I’m coming back to haunt you.’

  Sebastian sighs. Christ, why does she always make it sound like they had a funeral pyre instead of a cremation?

  ‘It’s called cremation Mother.’

  ‘God give me strength,’ mumbles Melanie. ‘She’s out of her mind.’

  Her handsome grandson leans towards her.

  ‘But I am thinking of settling down Grandma …’

  She scoffs loudly and gestures agitatedly to a bottle of water by the bed.

  ‘Don’t raise my blood pressure boy. If you’re talking about Phoebe Montague then you’ll be making the biggest mistake of your life. I will never endorse such a marriage.’

  ‘But she …’ begins Melanie.

  ‘Is a gold-digger and so is that father of hers. He has no business sense whatsoever. What man with an ounce of sense bankrupts himself not once, but twice? Of course he wants to see our families connected. You’re a fool, just like your father.’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘Montague enterprises are doing very well,’ says Melanie, sticking up for her son. ‘I personally think Phoebe would make a lovely daughter-in-law. Her fashion business is …’

  ‘Your opinion is of little interest to me Melanie. Now, marry Phoebe if you wish but you’ll inherit nothing from me if you do.’

  ‘It’s not Phoebe. I’ve actually met someone. I think you’ll like her Grandma. I’ve known her for a few months now and …’

>   ‘What?’ snaps Melanie. ‘You never said anything?’

  ‘The boy doesn’t have to tell you everything does he?’ snaps Margarita. ‘Now, I suppose my daughter knows I’m ill. Too busy in Florida no doubt. Does her son know I’m in hospital?’

  ‘Victoria is making every effort to get here,’ says Melanie, ‘and we’ve emailed him but he is in a remote location, you know how difficult it is …’

  ‘Yes well, I don’t want to hear any more excuses. I’m sure he’ll be back once he gets the email. Why he wants to be in the damn jungle I’ll never understand. Now, I’ll be coming home. Melanie, I want you to get rid of those baroque chairs in the west wing, and those ghastly silk curtains …’

  ‘But Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen …’

  ‘I don’t care if Lawrence of Arabia hung them. I want them gone. I’m moving back to Hepworth Hall …’

  ‘But they were a hundred pounds a yard and …’

  ‘I couldn’t give a fig. I don’t want some queer’s curtains in my wing anyway …’

  ‘It’s not politically correct to use the word queer mater,’ says Sebastian, hunching his shoulders. ‘One refers to them as gay now.’

  ‘Laurence Llewelyn isn’t gay,’ says Melanie.

  ‘I know, but …’ says Sebastian with a sigh.

  ‘I don’t care if he’s miserable; get his curtains out of the west wing and that ridiculous Hungarian painting that hangs in the hallway. I also want my chaise longue from the London apartment. You’ll need to organise a room for Lionel too.’

  Melanie turns her eyes pleadingly towards Margarita.

  ‘But the east wing is much nicer and more paisley, and that’s where you usually stay when you come to the house.’

  Margarita glares at her.

  ‘Do I look like I’m a fan of paisley? And besides, this is not a holiday. I’m giving up the London apartment.’

  There is a guilty silence.

  ‘I have organised a chairlift to be fitted and Sebastian, you will collect me on Friday. Lionel will organise my things.’

  She reclines back onto the pillows.

  ‘Right, that’s all settled then. It’s time for us all to go to Glenwood. I need some Scottish air, and bring this new girlfriend. I want to meet her. You can all leave me now.’