“Rum do,” was pretty much all that Gary contributed to the admittedly sparse conversation. Dad was resentfully silent, mum cowed, both by the situation and the presence of her disapproving husband, and Sarah, who appeared to regard herself as the most sophisticated amongst us and was certainly the least intimidated, found herself confined to commenting of the ugliness of the portraits as her “Well, I wonder what all this is about. Queer isn’t it?” was met with a curt “We’ll just ‘ave to wait and see, won’t we,” from Dad.
I resumed kicking the wooden legs of the table until a sharp slap across the back of my head and a “Don’t do that, you little bugger,” from mum persuaded me to desist.
The long minutes ticked by.
“They said nine o’clock. It’s nearly ten. Let’s go,” Dad stood up, conveniently ignoring the fact that they had all been late themselves. Mum, taken by surprise, hovered between sitting and standing, Gary lounged to his feet obediently if reluctantly, and Sarah looked to Mum and likewise hovered. I stayed determinedly put. They’d have to drag me out, kicking and screaming every inch of the way.
Luckily the inevitable altercation was averted as the door swung smartly open and the bald man swept into the room, followed by the girl. He deposited a small pile of papers and books at the head of the table and said, “So we are all here. My apologies for the delay. My assistant will serve you with refreshments.”
My father glowered but sat down as did Gary, emptying his full hand into the ashtray that was immediately held out to him. My half-brother then spent the next few minutes, until the girl left the room, adjusting his position on his seat so he could see her bust or her legs, preferably, of course, both.
The refreshments were served efficiently but the cup rattled in my mother’s saucer. The bald man busied himself with his papers and we all waited for the girl to leave the room. Gary tilted his chair back to ensure the best possible view of her legs as she left but, at a different angle, I glimpsed in the corridor the outline of a figure that I instantly recognised.
No one else remarked because no one else saw but my heart started pumping and fingers of dread grasped my throat.
This could not be good.
9
Perish the universe,
provided I have my revenge!
Savinien de Cyrano de Bergerac
I suddenly wanted to leave but Dad was looking stolidly at the table as if resigned to the worst that could possibly happen and Mum, holding a cigarette between trembling fingers, was determined to stay. If they had known who was beyond the heavy door I am not so sure that either would have been so stoic.
“Well,” said the honey-toned bald man, laying his hands flat on the table either side of his papers. “I have to thank you for coming.”
He phrased his thanks precisely and we all knew that he didn’t care whether we were there or not, but he seemed to expect a response. Apart from all of us turning our eyes expectantly upon him, there was none forthcoming.
“Before we approach the crux of the matter which we will do very shortly, I wish to make it very clear that I act in accordance with the wishes of my client and that I have argued very strongly, extremely strongly, against the course of action he has determined upon.”
Mum was confused, Gary didn’t understand a word, and Sarah was nodding sagely but didn’t have much of a clue either. You just couldn’t tell with Dad but, whatever was coming, he didn’t expect it would be good.
“If that is clear,” Baldy looked at each of us in turn and we all nodded whether we were clear or not, “I will commence with the details I have been asked to impart to you and then, again against my strongest advice, my client would like a personal word with you.”
He paused and we all nodded again like obedient school children.
“A sum of money is to be apportioned to each of you. A very large sum of money, I have to say.”
You could have heard a feather drop in that room. Or a mouse fart as mum would have said. The breath had been knocked out of each of us and we didn’t dare to gasp for air.
“There are, of course, certain conditions attached.”
Dad breathed first. He knew life didn’t hand out prizes to people like us. You had to fight for the pittance you got.
“What conditions?” Gary leaned forward eagerly, prepared to agree to anything.
“There is a set amount of equal size to be given to each of you, except for young Master Tomlinson, for whom a different provision has been made.”
Different provision! I let that sink in. It sounded suspiciously as though I was not going to get any of the money.
‘Friggin’ typical,’ I groaned inwardly.
“There are no restrictions set on how you spend the money. That is entirely up to you. My client wishes you to know that you are completely free to do with it as you will, however, you cannot will it or give it to another family member or any other person and if you die within the next fifteen years then the remaining sum, if you cannot prove to have earned funds additional to or because of investment from, must be donated to a charity of my client’s choice.”
Only my father still looked sceptical. All other eyes had brightened at the delicious prospect before them. Baldy, despite his composure, was not relishing the task before him.
“After fifteen years that condition drops out and you may leave whatever is left or whatever additional sums you have accrued to anyone you please.” No one listened to this, mainly because none of them could see much beyond the end of their noses at the best of times, let alone to the end of fifteen long years.
“’Ow much?” demanded Gary, drawing on his roll up.
“One hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”
Even my jaw dropped open and I, apparently, wasn’t getting any of it.
“Frigging ‘ell,” whispered my mum.
“Shit!” exclaimed my dad, rattled despite himself.
“F’Christsake,” choked Sarah.
Gary, caught unawares on an inhalation, coughed until his eyes watered and he gasped for air. We all ignored him.
“’Ow much does that work out each, then?” Sarah, the ever practical and newly venal, recovered first.
I would have told her, even my mother’s maths was that good, but the solicitor sighed wearily and said, “No, that is, one hundred and fifty thousand pounds each.”
His manner was insulting but none of us cared about that because it looked like we were going to be very rich indeed. Richer than him probably. Except for me, apparently.
“You will need to pay tax on it, of course.” He added that quite nastily, but we hadn’t been a law abiding, tax paying family up to that point so none of us were too worried. It could be overcome or avoided somehow, we were sure of that.
There was a protracted silence broken eventually by my father. He moistened his lips.
“Who….?” he croaked.
“My client wishes to speak to you himself but whilst that is the main import of what I have to impart to you there is still young Master Tomlinson to be dealt with.”
All eyes turned to me and, because I knew who was behind the door, I shrank back, and my very soul squirmed.
“Master Michael is to be given the very best education money can buy.”
“Oh, bugger…” I remember thinking.
“He will board at one of the best schools where, if you require it, you can have the usual access, parent’s days, prize giving, and such like.”
Baldy raised a sardonic eyebrow as he said that, and I knew he was thinking that a stretch of the imagination was required to think that the parents of Mikey Tomlinson would be required to celebrate any such event as an academic prize-giving.
He glanced at my brutish father and my tarty mother and added, “You may find that it is best to give young Michael a clean break and a fresh start at his new school so that he
can…assimilate and concentrate on his studies.”
He meant, of course, that I would be moving in a higher social stratum and that, if they turned up, I, or more likely the school, would be excruciatingly embarrassed by them. He was right of course but only Dad understood what he was saying. Mum took it at face value and saw instantly that this comment got her off the hook and that her youngest child need no longer be a burden to her. For me the enormity of starting a strange new school was terrifying and I could think no further than that. I had not had much support of any sort from my family up to that point, so it was unlikely that it would be missed in the future.
Baldy continued inexorably.
“He will be granted a suitable allowance which will be managed by this firm until he completes his studies to degree level or beyond. Should he drop out of education at any time the allowance will be withdrawn and there will be no further remuneration.”
“Oh, bugger, bugger, bugger and shit,” I whined. “That’s so bloody unfair.”
It was appallingly clear to me that I had got the very worst of the bargain and had been handed a punishment that I did not deserve.
Mum hit me over the head again and hissed “Don’t fuckin’ swear, Mikey.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, tightened my lips into the widest scowl I could manage and sulked.
My fate was of very little interest to my family, however, except possibly to my father who had turned his eyes on me thoughtfully. The others had hardly heard the explanation of the arrangements that had been made for me so caught up were they in the news of their own sudden wealth.
“I don’t bloody believe it,” burst out my mother suddenly, clasping her cheeks with a joy that belied her words. “I’m rich. Rich!”
At that, my father’s eyes turned from me to her and his face turned ashen. She was free, and he knew it.
Sarah was staring at the ceiling blankly, but I could see the word SHOPPING as clearly as if she had jumped up and written in the air in foot-long letters. Still wheezing, Gary was tapping the table with nicotine stained fingers and beating the floor with the tips of his Doc Marten’s as if he had St Vitas Dance, his acne-scarred face hunched into his leather jacket almost out of sight.
“’Oo ‘as given us the money?” demanded mum, suddenly brash and confident. “Is it a long lost relative?” The tired phrase sounded ridiculous. “Is ‘e dead? Or ‘er, if it were a woman of course.”
Baldy cleared his throat wearily as if we were trying his patience mightily.
“He is not dead. It is not a bequest.”
“Then why?” My dad leaned forward and fixed Baldy with a cold gaze that had made a very large number of grown men quake in their shoes. It had no effect on the suave solicitor.
“You will meet my client once and once only. And that will be today. This is to be made clear to you. You are not under any circumstances, at any time, to approach him for any reason whatsoever. You are never to discuss or disclose to anyone not currently in this room the source of your good fortune. At the end of this meeting, you will sign, in front of witnesses of my choosing, that you accept this most important condition and that you accept all others attached to this…transaction. This offer only stands today and will not be repeated at any time in the future. It also only stands if all five of you accept it, fully and without exception. If any one of you breaks any one of the conditions then legal steps will be taken to retrieve money or property that is still in your possession and, believe me,” a cruel smile appeared fleetingly at the corner of his mouth, “I will take the greatest pleasure in ensuring that this is done to my own personal satisfaction. My client, I repeat, must not be approached in any manner under any circumstances or the agreement becomes null and void and steps will be taken to recover the monies. I would also stress that this company does not act for you, and, apart from ongoing arrangements for young Master Tomlinson, our association comes to an end at the conclusion of this meeting. If you have any queries at any time I would advise that you consult your own solicitors and they will refer them to this office. Our firm will maintain a supervisory role in Master Tomlinson’s affairs until he is eighteen.”
“Oh, up yours,” I mouthed at him. I really was very fed up with my side of the bargain.
“Yes, but who the hell is he, this client of yours?” snapped my mother who just wanted to sign the damn paper and be off to the pub where she could celebrate by drinking herself senseless.
“This cannot be real,” stated my father firmly. “No one would give us the time of day, let alone this sort of money. It’s a con.”
“I can assure you it is not,” replied the solicitor calmly. “Unbelievable, I grant you. My client has his reasons and they are…unusual, but I can confirm the veracity of this arrangement. My firm would not be involved in anything that was not completely above board. The money can be transferred to your individual accounts by the end of this week.”
There was a pause lasting a few long moments, presumably to allow us all to absorb the information we had been given.
“Am I to take it that you are all interested in the arrangements as I have detailed so far and wish to continue to the next step?”
“Well, I ain’t,” I protested, but mum clouted me across the back of the head again and she, Sarah and Gary chorused, “Shut up, Mikey.”
I sat down heavily, lay my chin on the table and wished them all dead.
“Serves ‘em all right,” I thought, brightening as I remembered. I knew who was coming through the door. What I didn’t know was what the hell he was playing at. Was this some sort of apology for haunting us for the last year? He had stopped appearing about a month or so ago it was true. Or was it some sort of restitution for believing my dad and brother to be guilty when he now believed them to be innocent? That didn’t seem likely and it was a remarkably inflated sort of apology if it was. Perhaps it was some sort of nefarious scheme for revenge and the money did not exist at all. I could only sulk and retain the seat next to my mother if I were to have any chance of finding out. So, I did.
“Mr. Tomlinson?” Baldy turned to my dad with thinly disguised contempt.
My dad met his eyes steadily. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew that there was something very wrong in all this. Not wrong in a legal sense. This wasn’t a setup or a sting or a con. He now believed the affair to be legitimate and the conditions were as generous as the amount of money on offer. You would have to be some sort of idiot to turn it down, but there was a hidden and insidious danger here. He’d lived on a knife edge long enough to know when there was imminent peril and he was on a knife-edge now. Beyond that door lurked something that he could not fight, that his connections could not protect him from and that might well destroy him. This he knew.
Mum wailed in angry frustration at his hesitancy, Sarah puffed, and Gary said “Dad!” with sharp insistence. My father’s supremacy was waning already. Oddly he looked at me before he spoke, and I was the one who was secretly wishing he would tell Mr. Baldy to shove his contracts up his arse.
Dad nodded shortly.
“I’ll meet your client.”
He managed to say it as if he were granting the favour and the solicitor looked at him with less contempt after that. Mr. Baldy rose with dignity, pulled down his waistcoat over a flat stomach, admirable in one of his age, straightened his immaculate tie and, with maddening and probably quite deliberate leisureliness, he went to the door and pulled it open. With immense respect, he said to the person outside “They are ready for you now, Mr. Freeman.”
10
To see an enemy humiliated gives a certain contentment, but this is jejune compared with the highly blent satisfaction of seeing him humiliated by your benevolent action or concession on his behalf. That is the sort of revenge which falls into the scale of virtue.
George Eliot, ‘The Mill on the Floss’
I don’t think that
anyone but me had any idea who was going to walk through the door even when they heard the name. It just hadn’t been in anyone’s mind.
Bert entered wearing a tan overcoat, his usual flat cap and the suit he had worn at Peggy’s funeral. Not that anyone knew that either, except me. I had watched the funeral cortege set out. Bert had always been spare and slightly stooped but since that day he had been even sparer and his long back was bowed as if he carried a heavy burden on his thin shoulders.
Mum gasped audibly, and Sarah said a very common “What!” Only Gary and my father said nothing but if you believe that people have auras then imagine theirs turning a very sickly green-black and you will have the idea.
You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife as Bert Freeman walked feebly into the room. Baldy gestured to his own chair and swiftly pulled it out for him. Bert took the place at the head of the table, but he did not sit. He did not look at any of us but raised his head and put his two gnarled hands on the desk in front of him, fixed his eyes on the centre of the table and began to speak in a dry dispassionate monotone. I found my hands gripping the wooden arms of my chair until the knuckles turned as white as my mother’s face.
“The police have told me that it is unlikely that there will be any prosecution in the foreseeable future in the case of my wife’s murder.”
Mr. Baldy turned his face to Mr. Freeman’s ear and whispered.
“Forgive me, Mr. Freeman, for the sake of accuracy, the charge would most likely have been kidnapping or manslaughter.”
“Murder,” Mr. Freeman repeated. “My wife suffered and died through the actions of two men. Murder.”
Mr. Baldy shrugged very slightly. He had made his point and had probably done so before, albeit to no avail.
“I believe,” Bert raised his eyes from the point in the middle of the table to meet mine. Not I think because he felt any connection with me whatsoever, it was just that he must look at someone for his next few words and he would not, could not, bear to look at any of the other members of my family.
A Patient Man Page 9