Читать книгу: «Punch-Drunk Love», страница 4
Chapter 5
Lying there, wrapped so tightly in the duvet it was tantamount to a defensive shield, Tiff remembered the first night she’d stayed at Gavin’s flat. It hadn’t been a whirlwind couldn’t-keep-their-hands-off-each-other night, but one where she’d cried and he’d held her, as she grieved for the family she’d lost. He’d been the perfect gentleman. Whenever Shelby dissed him, those were the memories Tiff replayed.
That night had been very different from this. Then, she’d slipped from one home to the next, now, she lay in limbo. She was sensitive to every creak from the old building, she twitched at cars racing past and doors slamming out on the street. But sleep must have come eventually as she was woken with a start, by a crashing sound from downstairs.
There was no alarm. Blackie had never bothered, said it wasn’t worth the cost. Not that he was a stingy man, frugal as necessitated by the divorce perhaps, but on this he insisted he couldn’t see the point. There wasn’t really much to steal, unless someone was in the market for an ancient ring and old-school PE equipment. Blackie had stubbornly not succumbed to Tiff’s teasing suggestion of filling the building with state of the art kit, and heaven forbid make it something which at least gave a nod towards a modern facility. God (and Tiff) knew the space was there, the place just needed an enormous overhaul and the business would have a new lease of life.
I’m far too old to handle all those shenanigans, was his persistent final word on that conversation. The alarm came under the same heading. And besides, he’d pointed out, who’d be daft enough to break into a club frequented by half a town’s worth of fighters? Even kids looking for larks would steer clear.
And yet, tonight, it appeared someone was exactly that daft.
‘Crap,’ she whimpered. The sounds hadn’t stopped at the initial crash; there was further stumbling and some pretty ripe swearing.
‘Choices?’ she asked herself, scrabbling for a plan. She could stay there, cocooned in the bedding, hoping not to be spotted, but the lamp was on, drying knickers were on display and the duvet cover was scarlet. Hiding behind the sofa was out too, it being backed against the wall and heavier than a heavy thing.
She was contemplating crawling under it, when there was an almighty thump from downstairs followed by eerie silence. What if the intruder had been hurt? Didn’t she have a moral obligation to help someone in need? No, she reasoned, not if they were breaking in and about to harm her, though she’d read about homeowners being sued by injured burglars. But what if it was a kid? Scally or not, if they were hurt, she couldn’t lie there doing nothing. Yes, your Honour, I appreciate the teenager slowly bled out one floor below me, but weighing up the options, I thought it best practice to go back to sleep…
Peeling herself from her duvetpod, Tiff assumed her night-wee ninja guise as she slid across the floor in her bed-socked feet, pausing only to grab her electric toothbrush. True, she’d have preferred a crowbar, but the Oral-B without the toothbrush head on its spike would have to do. Holding it like a dagger boosted her courage. Something was stirring with a groan as she stepped carefully down each of the stairs, trying not to think how this scene –her murder – would be reconstructed on Crimewatch. Hopefully they’d dress the actress in better pyjamas.
Reaching the bottom she could make out a human shape heaped on the floor. Should she launch herself at them while they were down, or should she hang back and watch their next move? Which would the wise Crimewatch viewers judge as the most foolhardy – beyond having ventured down the stairs in the first place? Given the clear size difference, Tiff decided against the launching. On the spur of the moment, she flipped the light-switch.
‘You!’ she accused, with an angry hiss. Pulling himself up to his knees, surrounded by the disarray of her bags was a dazed Mike Fellner. By the looks of it, he’d been felled by a Quavers box of Mills & Boon.
‘You!’ he accused right back.
‘How did you get in here?’ She looked around for any damage, but found none.
‘I used the key,’ he hissed, indignantly.
‘What key?’ Only she and Ron had keys. Leonards had Blackie’s.
‘The hidden key.’
‘What hidden key?’ she said in an insistent whisper.
‘Why are we whispering and hissing?’
‘What hidden key!?’ she screeched. The adrenaline was mixing with relief now. Recognising him made her feel better, but owning countless true crime books she was well aware seventy per cent of murder victims knew their assailant. That was printed fact. Ink on paper.
Mike sat back and looked at her.
‘The key Blackie obviously had hidden in the same place for the last fifteen years, but chose never to tell you about.’ To illustrate his point, he held up a key.
‘Where?’
A grin spread across his face. Now, for the first time, she recognised him properly. That grin had bewitched her once. It gave her exactly the same thought then as it did now. Cocky beggar. Only this time she wasn’t charmed.
‘Not telling,’ he said, blithely. ‘I can’t betray Blackie’s trust.’ His tone was rich with mock piety, as he shook his head regretfully.
‘Blackie is dead,’ Tiff hissed.
‘He is,’ Mike nodded solemnly, ‘and he took his secret from you to the grave, so who am I to cross him? By the way, you’re hissing again.’
Tiff remembered the teasing. He’d loved teasing her, and apparently he hadn’t grown up at all. Once she’d have laughed, but right now, in the middle of the night, after a crappy day in a crappy week, having been scared witless, her appetite for being teased was scant. And then she remembered how angry she was with him, how deeply furious she was that he’d brought his face into her eye line again.
‘Fine. Keep your secret,’ she snapped. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I could ask you the same thing,’ he countered, and stared at her PJs. They involved flannel and baby unicorns. Tiff sat in a predicament; she could admit she was trespassing too, or she could bluff this. Standing as proudly as baby unicorns would allow, she told him primly the first thing that came to mind.
‘I’m holding a vigil.’
‘A vigil,’ he repeated, pulling himself up to his feet. He wasn’t sounding convinced.
‘A vigil,’ Tiff confirmed as slickly as possible. ‘Following the wake, I’ve decided to stay the night to make sure he’s moved on.’ Mike did that thing again with the eyebrow. Nope, definitely not convinced. ‘He died here, you know,’ she persisted. ‘Upstairs in the office. I was there. I want to know his soul has passed over.’
Mike ducked his head at this, digging his hands in his pockets in a gesture of reverence to the dearly departed. He walked to lean against the wall before looking up at her calmly.
‘So, in spite of your killer headache you’ve decided to put yourself, alone, in what might be a haunted office for the night, for Blackie.’ Tiff nodded vigorously.
‘For Blackie,’ she reiterated firmly. The sides of his lips began to rise, but he reined it in.
‘And what, out of interest, will you do if Blackie’s spirit is knocking about?’
‘Well, obviously I’ll have a chat and encourage him to pass over.’ She was out on a limb here and decided to curb the subject. ‘But I’m not the one breaking in. What do you want?’
‘I’m not breaking in if I have a key, am I?’
‘What if there’d been an alarm?’ Tiff asked indignantly. Mike rolled his eyes with a pff. Tiff cocked her head, set her jaw and gave him her best ‘I’m waiting’ stare. He scratched the back of his neck considering his answer, as if he hadn’t actually been sure of it until now.
‘I just wanted to come back and have a look.’ A simple little reason, but one which hurt her more than she’d expected. After ten years, of silence, having walked out on her, he just fancied a nosy? At a building? Really? That couldn’t be right.
‘In the middle of the night?’ She watched police shows. The facts didn’t stack up. Maybe she could push him into a confession of why he’d left her. She wasn’t going to ask him outright – how desperate would that be? She couldn’t afford to lose any more dignity this week. She wasn’t sure she had any left.
‘Without other people being here,’ he corrected. ‘I thought I’d have a little nostalgia tour without being bothered by anyone. Remember how things were. How they began. Who I was then.’ Something in that riled her further, that he could have forgotten. And still no mention of her. He seemed wistful, then he remembered himself, snapping back into teasing mode. ‘Obviously I hadn’t counted on Ghostbusters being here. Nor all the baggage it apparently requires.’ Tiff looked around at her baggage a.k.a her life, but Mike did not. He was gazing at her. Perhaps she hadn’t fooled him at all. ‘You were never a very good liar, Tiff,’ he said, quietly.
‘And you never knew when to shut your gob,’ it exploded out of her. Who the hell was he to throw her lie in her face? That was it. The bleeding limit. She had reached the precipice of her self-control after days of utter awfulness and this, from him, was the final straw that flicked her deftly over the edge. The anger she felt in the pub had merely been a warm up compared to the rage now surging through her. She gripped the banister both for support and to tether her down.
‘How nice for you to be able to swan in here and ponder how life used to be, to cast your eye over us poor underlings who never escaped, who never got their chance at international stardom. How very nice that must be. Did you give your heat magazine dolly-bird a tour of the stepping stones to your global success?’ As the words seared off her tongue, Tiff didn’t want to think about all the hours they’d lain on her bed, daydreaming a future, together and far away from Kingsley. The travelling, the mansion, the yacht. They hadn’t got down to the small details – like how they were going to fund it all – but they’d been firmly agreed on the plans. God, she really hoped he didn’t have a yacht. ‘How gracious of you to think of it, to bestow a visit on the old place, to peruse your humble beginnings. How blessed we surely are. And what do you see Mike, anything good? No. It’s still a shithole. You could have Googled it, saved yourself the effort.’
Mike was looking at her like she was totally off on one. She wished her left leg would stop shaking with the raging; it undermined her poise.
‘Calm down a minute—’
‘No! No, you calm down,’ she cut him off, faintly aware he was perfectly calm, which wound her up even more. She was beyond stopping. Without the pub crowd to witness her making a fool of herself, she had nothing left to lose. And much as she would’ve chosen root canal treatment over seeing Mike again, he was the perfect target upon which to unleash the ten years of bile roiling around in her gut. Boy, it felt good.
‘What the hell are you really back for, Mike? I can only think it’s to take the piss out of me. You got the hell out of this place without a backward glance, you’re living the dream – our dream – and now you feel the need to return and rub it in my face. Well, I tell you what, you can shove it. You’re the one who’s a poor liar. You can bite me with your nostalgia; I know gloating when I see it, and that makes you the bad person. I do not need your pity, I don’t want you to give me one single thought. Ever.’
‘I wasn’t—’ His forehead was furrowed and for the first time Tiff saw him look anything other than confident.
‘I don’t want to hear it. Not one word. Nothing to come out of your mouth is worth the breath you spent on it. Do whatever lording it was you came here for, but don’t expect me to watch. Then you can let yourself the hell out, and if it’s not too much to ask of your lordship, I’d appreciate it if I never saw your smug battered mug ever again.’
Tiff and the baby unicorns stomped back up the stairs, pretty sure he understood the dismissal. That’d be the last she saw of him.
Job done.
Chapter 6
E.J. Leonards Solicitors was a proper old-school firm spanning five generations. Now on the brink of retirement himself, Leonards had conducted many will readings, yet still approached each with trepidation. On one hand, not unlike when watching Antiques Roadshow, there were joyful moments when he’d surprise the unsuspecting, announcing a windfall they’d never dreamed of. Those were his Fairy Godfather moments – he hoped the deceased wouldn’t mind. There were the cases which baffled him, where fortunes were left to cats, while the relatives gained an ornament bordering on the grotesque. He always suggested Antiques Roadshow in those cases. And then there were the wills he immediately sensed would be contentious. With Blackie’s he had a niggling feeling it might be a mix of all three, and Leonards always trusted his niggling feelings.
Whilst few people had been invited to the reading, the room felt quite full. The second Mrs Black sat with her son Aaron, Leonards felt he’d be reluctant to meet him in a dark alley. He’d seen enough of human nature in this job to not judge a book by its cover, but in this case the package, dirty tracksuit and all, appeared to match the attitude. They sat whispering about the will contents. Leonards’ hearing aid was always turned fully up on these occasions.
Leonards looked steadily at the young man. Mid-twenties with a prison record. He’d been jailed for beating up a girlfriend. Clear-cut case of vicious domestic abuse. Blackie had wanted to clout the boy black and blue, but Leonards had talked him down, convincing him to let the court mete out the justice. That lad had got everything he deserved. Nasty piece of work, that one. Leonards wanted the chair wiped clean once this reading was over.
Then there was Tiffanie Trent of course. She fidgeted at the side, attempting to smooth out the multiple creases in her skirt. A pile of accounts folders sat at her feet.
‘They’re all here and up to date, Leonards,’ she’d assured him on arrival.
‘Oh, I don’t need those, my dear,’ Leonards said cheerily, but seeing her face fall, added ‘however it’s lovely to have them.’
He liked Tiffanie, she was an unassuming girl of whom Blackie had been very fond. Leonards enjoyed the fact she felt her presence was simply to account for the book-keeping. For all her family’s problems, she wasn’t one of life’s spongers, unlike some he could think of. Shrewd as he was, he noted Tiffanie was deliberately ignoring the side of the room where Mike Fellner sat. Her appalled scowl when the boxer had appeared was unmissable and a fair clue of some history there. Old people were often dismissed as unperceptive. Not so Leonards, who recognised that the last week had been difficult for Tiffanie, not just regarding Blackie. While unaware of the details, the solicitor knew a troubled soul when he saw one.
Mr Fellner was accompanied by a much younger woman, introduced as his girlfriend, Verity. Leonards’ hearing aid had disclosed that while she was curious to hear why he’d been invited, she was keen for it not to last long; she was having her eyelashes extended at lunchtime.
‘We’re all here, so we should start. I’m sure you’re all busy people with jobs to do.’ At huge personal effort he managed not to fix Aaron with his beady eye. He had it on Blackie’s authority the lad suffered from chronic laziness, complicated by an acute case of entitlement.
‘Blackie was not without means, in spite of his past divorce, where his funds were significantly diminished.’ Leonards did not look up, although having watched Blackie being fleeced, he would’ve relished the opportunity to have his say on that. His professionalism won out. ‘He was, as we all know, a hard worker and fought to regain his wealth, living frugally, whilst showing a generosity to the youth of this town that I believe is well recognised and appreciated.’ Both Tiff and Mike were nodding their heads. Mrs Black sneaked a sly look at her watch, while Verity drummed her perfectly-manicured fingers on Mike’s thigh.
‘As it turned out, Blackie has a sizeable estate to leave – primarily the boxing club with its buildings, contents and profits – and so you have been asked here today, as beneficiaries.’ He was tickled to see Tiff look confused and Mike surprised, which was more than he could say for Mrs Black and her son, who were sporting a keen shade of smug.
Leonards then began the preamble that Frank Black, being of sound mind, did leave the following:
‘Firstly, to my stepson Aaron,’ Leonards read, pausing to appreciate Aaron’s triumphant smirk at being first on Blackie’s mind, ‘who I’ve not seen since the day his mother asked me to move out, but who has trusted me enough to telephone whenever he wanted financial aid, I leave all the inspirational posters from the walls of the club. You need guidance lad, and as I’m no longer around to offer it, I leave you the pictures which have inspired and guided many of the young men who’ve passed through the gym.’
Aaron’s face was no longer beaming. In fact, it looked as if it had been smacked with a flat implement. Something cricket bat-like, Leonards mused.
‘Moving on,’ he said briskly, knowing from experience it was best to pass swiftly through the lesser-well-received bequests, ‘To my ex-wife Bernice, I leave my heartfelt thanks. I thank you for our first two years, which were frenetic and flattering for a man my age, and for the following years which taught me age does not equal wisdom and that a man my age can still be a fool. I paid heavily for that knowledge, for which I also thank you, Bernice. In hindsight it was money well spent, and I’m sure you’ve spent my money well. Your almost bankrupting me served to remind me that under the paunch I was still a fighter at heart, and without that I wouldn’t have pulled myself up and worked as hard for my remaining years. I bequeath you my gratitude and the knowledge your avaricious ways did me a favour.’ His hearing aid hurt at the screech and the entire room managed a unified shuffle of awkwardness.
‘To Michael Fellner, I leave a couple of things. I pushed you on early my boy and didn’t you do well? You’ve done yourself proud. You’ve done me proud, as I always knew you would.’
Mike shifted in his seat, discomfited. Leonards ploughed on.
‘Your moving from my club was always a point of sadness, but I knew you needed more. At the time this was hard for you to understand; you felt I was rejecting you and cutting you off. But it was for your own good. I believed that then, and believe it still, although it pains me that our friendship was lost in the process. Michael, I said some harsh things back then and I apologise for that. I said what I said not because I meant it, but because I believed without doing so, you would never have left. If you hadn’t gone, if you hadn’t been able to focus on your talent, you would never have achieved your potential.’
Mike hung his head. Here Leonards wasn’t altogether sure of the story, but Blackie’s words clearly had poignancy for Mr Fellner. Neither were they lost on Tiffanie, who was suddenly watching the bruised boxer intently, though rather confused.
‘You’re a wealthy man now, Michael,’ the will continued, ‘and so I leave you something I wish you’d had at your disposal all these years; the ring. You may sell it of course, but should you have the space, and I suspect you might, then perhaps you’d find it in your heart to use it, and forgive an old man who said some things he regrets in the pursuit of a goal he does not.’ Leonards was used to the deceased being cryptic in their wills. They liked the drama. The relevant people usually understood.
‘Excuse me.’
The solicitor was surprised to hear Verity’s voice. As was Mike.
‘Yes, my dear?’
‘What sort of ring exactly?’ Leonards noticed the young woman’s fingers twitch, as well as a pointed glance she shot Blackie’s ex-wife who appeared on the verge of a conniption. ‘Are we talking about a woman’s ring or a man’s? Just to be clear. And any carats?’ Mike closed his eyes, dismayed.
‘There’s no jewellery listed in the effects I’m afraid, my dear. Blackie wasn’t a man for such items. In fact, I believe he even sold his watch when he needed some capital after the divorce.’ Mrs Black studied something through the window at this. ‘The ring in question is the boxing ring at the gym, an antique if I’m not mistaken, and quite a rarity too.’ Leonards spoke as if educating her, but her expression told him it was information she neither wanted nor appreciated.
‘Miss Trent,’ Leonards turned away from Verity, shuffling the paperwork. Tiffanie sat up straight.
‘Tiffanie, you’ve been through some tough times and yet you’ve persevered. I’ve always respected that. We both know, given kinder circumstances, your future could have been very different, and yet you’ve made a life and business for yourself. You’ve been a priceless support to me these last years, managing the office, the books and my tea intake, for which I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Sharing an office with you has been a pleasure, even though I lectured you about your boyfriend never appreciating you.’ Mike’s eyebrow arched and Tiff’s face flushed, no doubt wishing Blackie could have afforded her some discretion. Leonards thought them both foolish if they were surprised at Blackie’s directness even at this late date.
He continued ‘…but, in turn, you regaled me about the future of the club. So I leave it to you Tiffanie: the building, the land, and the remaining contents, so you can put your money – in fact my money, as you get that too – where your mouth is and make your dreams come true.’
Leonards discreetly turned his hearing aid down so Mrs Black’s response didn’t do him an injury.
