by Julie Croft
Jill and lowered his voice. “We got to this massive wall with ominous-looking iron gates set in the centre of it, and Bob made a missed call on his mobile and the gates slowly swung open.” Richard emphasised his story with his hands, speaking as if he were telling a horror story round a camp-fire. “And it took like forever to drive up the driveway. And, when we got to the house, it’s like a frigging French chateau, with tall, narrow towers with pointy roofs and long, Gothic-looking windows all over the place.” He really was enjoying himself, and he smiled as he recalled the adventure. “So, up the twenty-odd steps to the enormous front door we went and this guy’s waiting for us, and he ushered us in to a library with a fireplace the size of my front room and floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled to the brim. It looked like something out of a Sherlock Holmes film, I can tell you.”
Jill was getting impatient as she wanted to finish and get outside for a fag. “Get to the point, please; I have lunch to get ready.”
“Well, this guy sat me in a chair with a brandy snifter and took Bob off somewhere. They came back about twenty minutes later with the boxes, and I can tell you, Jill,” he raised his hands palms forward. “I haven’t a clue where they came from.”
Jill suddenly remembered something. “Hang on; you were the one who told Jackie Bob had to leave as he was in danger.” She pointed at him, relieved she hadn’t made it up. “She told me that, and I don’t think she’d make something like that up.”
Richard looked sheepish again. “That’s what Bob told me to say, but I never said anything about Lola being a Mafia’s daughter, honest.”
‘Oh, girl,’ she thought to herself, quite confused. ‘Leave the Mafia story alone and just be relieved it isn’t true.’
Jill sat back in her chair and stared at Richard for a while, seeing him in a different light from how she’d seen him since she knew him. He was older than Bob by a little over a year, but he was like a small boy following the orders of an idol. From what she could gather by how Richard was talking, Bob had always lived life on the edge, and Richard had always lived life by the book. Bob had lied his way through everything and invented situations and scenarios until Jill doubted that even he knew what was real and what was fiction. Richard, on the other hand, was his brother’s accomplice and side-kick as he didn’t have the guts or the imagination to live his own adventures. The only thing was, it looked like he too had lost the plot and couldn’t distinguish between real life and the fictitious one his brother weaved around himself, and had entangled himself in Bob’s web of deceit.
At that moment, Jill would have loved to have something to report to the police and see Bob prosecuted in some way, and have him suffer the consequences for what he’d put Jackie and their children through. However, she didn’t want to see Richard tied up with Bob, as he didn’t deserve to suffer for what his brother had done. Richard was a gullible and immature man, she could see that now. Although he was ready to admit that Bob was an arse, it didn’t stop him from being envious as well as admiring of what Bob got up to, and it appeared to Jill that he could see no wrong in the way his brother behaved.
Jill sighed as she leaned her elbows on the table and asked, “All that money you made when business was good in Marbella; where did it all go? I haven’t seen any evidence of the good life in Jackie’s house, no flash cars and the like.” She pointed a finger at Richard. “And you don’t have what one would call an extravagant life, either.”
Richard wrinkled his nose and tutted. “We had a bit of bad luck, Jill.”
Jill raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Bob invested all the money into other projects out there, but the Spanish government came up with new construction laws or something and we lost the lot.” He drained his teacup. “That was about seven or eight years ago.”
She raised her eyebrows even further, as she doubted that little tale. She suspected Bob had held on to the cash for himself, being the rotten, lying, scheming little toe-rag that he was. More surprisingly was just how ready and resigned Richard was to believe that little tale, and she felt frustratedly sorry for the man.
“Right.” Jill said as she slapped the table lightly with her palms, not wanting to probe further. She had what she needed, and if they carried on talking about Bob they could be there all morning. “Thank you for that, Richard.” She got up from her chair and pulled her overcoat on. “I’ll keep up the farce for Jackie’s sake, don’t you worry about that. She needs to get on with her life now and learn to live without Bob.”
Richard made a move to get up as well, but Jill pushed an open hand towards him. “No, pet. You stay and finish off the pancakes.” She grabbed her handbag and moved away. “I’ll pay the bill, alright? Give my love to Kathy and the girls.”
Jill paid and left. Before climbing into her car, she lit a cigarette and puffed furiously as she drove home.
The sharp honk of a car horn shattered Jackie’s slumber. She lay there listening to the disgruntled protest of a pedestrian and the equally disgruntled counter protest of the driver, but eventually Jackie pulled the duvet off her head and squinted at the clock.
“Damn!” she growled when she saw it was eight thirty.
Her feet hardly touched the carpet as she lunged for her leggings, hurriedly pulled them on and groped about for the jumper she’d worn yesterday. No time for a bra; she had to get to Grandma Walker’s fast.
Jackie groaned softly as her muscles complained about the jerky movements. She ached from her eyelashes down to her toenails from the strenuous house-cleaning she’d done the day before, but it had been worth it. Everything gleamed and sparkled, the carpets were fluffy from repetitive passes of the vacuum and all the spillage and sticky fingerprints of Mark’s friends from his Saturday night’s party had been successfully eradicated from every surface. Eradicating Bob, however, would take more than bleach and polish, but she’d get there.
Grandma Walker had called Jackie repeatedly the day before, even though she had refused to give her ex mother-in-law any information about what was going on during her first call.
“Look, Barbara,” Jackie had said wearily. “If you want to find out what’s going on, call your son.”
“He’s not answering!” Barbara squealed. “Richard won’t tell me anything, either, and Mark’s just said that Robert’s gone away!”
“Barbara, I’ve got work to do. Keep trying Bob’s mobile.” Jackie said before hanging up on a very irate woman.
After that, she hadn’t even bothered to answer the phone, even though it rang unrelentingly every ten or fifteen minutes. Jackie had put her Queen CD on very loudly in order to drown out the persistent double trills while she’d polished, buffed, scrubbed and vacuumed, and it made a curious combination.
(trill-trill)-cycle, (trill-trill)-cycle!
I (trill-trill) ride my (trill-trill)-cle I (trill-trill) ride my (trill-trill)…
This went on well into the evening, until she collapsed on the sofa in front of the TV, had a glass of red wine and a ham sandwich while watching a repeat of The X Factor, but she eventually dragged herself up to bed before the end of the programme. The calls didn’t cease till eleven o’clock, though, and then she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
She pulled a pair of trainers on to her bare feet, then she raced down the stairs, grabbed her anorak from the perch by the front door and plucked her car-keys out of the bowl on the hall table, threw open the door and jogged to her car. Thankfully, the engine turned over at the first attempt and she pulled a little carelessly out of her driveway. There was fairly heavy traffic, but she got to Barbara’s by ten to nine.
Barbara opened the door and greeted her with a scowl. She was wearing a quilted nylon dressing gown and had two rollers pinned to her fringe. “He’s almost ready, but he won’t eat any breakfast.” She informed Jackie as she followed her all-but-in-writing ex daughter-in-law down the hall towards the kitchen.
Mark was slouched at the small table with a steaming cup of tea in front of him. He didn’t say a w
ord to Jackie when she entered.
“Up.” She ordered him in a dog trainer’s tone. “Fetch your back pack and get into the car.” She walked back out and to the front door with Barbara hot on her heels.
“Why didn’t you pick up the phone yesterday?” she barked.
“Why should I?” Jackie replied sullenly. “I told you to talk to your son, not me.”
Barbara stared at her with her fists perched on her hips. “What did you do?”
Jackie gasped and pointed to her chest. “Me! What did I do?”
“You did something…”
“Your bloody son left me for a Spanish slag that’s pregnant with his child!”
“Because you did something or didn’t do something!”
“Oh, shut up, you batty old cow!” Jackie spat. “Ma-a-ark!”
“I knew you’d be trouble as soon as I met you.” Barbara wagged an agitated finger at Jackie. “My Robert married beneath him, and here’s the proof!”
“Your Robert’s had more women beneath him that you’d care to know about!” Jackie retorted. “Ma-a-ark! Get your backside out here!” she shouted over Barbara’s shoulder.
Mark finally swaggered out of the kitchen with his rucksack slung over one shoulder. Jackie flung the front door open and strode to her car with Mark in tow, and she shouted over his head before she got in behind the wheel, “And I