

# A Marriage of Inconvenience

Copyright@2016

Smashwords Edition

ByRay Timms.

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Some historical events and characters have been adapted purely in the interest of literary enjoyment.

Dedicated to: "Jenni, my wife the love of my life. Through her encouragement I got this done."

# A Marriage of Inconvenience.

# Chapter one

Splat–rattle.

On the sagging sofa Sue Tinsley rolls her eyes at the sound of the post hitting the cheap laminate flooring out in the tiny hall laid last year by her Scumlord only because she threatened to call in the council about the beetle infested floorboards.

Still in their pajamas and watching Breakfast TV, late for school again, are her two kids Sean aged ten and eight years old Carla. Single mum Sue can hardly be bothered to go fetch it. She imagines along with the usual flyer garbage it'll be yet more final demands for money she doesn't have, and more County Court Judgments threatening to take away the crap in the house that's not hers anyway, it's her landlords. Last time Ted and Andy, the bailiffs called by, they had a cup of tea, looked around, mentioned something about did she fancy a threesome? What do they think she is, and left empty handed with a flea in their ear.

Sue steps over her two kids sitting cross-legged on the floor eating coco pops from bowls balanced on their knees. She says, 'you two better hurry up or you'll be late for school, again. And of course Mrs Trelawny will blame me.' Whining now, 'Mrs Tinsley, this isn't good enough. Your children keep arriving late... blah–blah–blah.'

Gripping her toast between her teeth the thirty-six years old single mum wraps her cheap nylon, purple and white kimono dressing gown around her and heads over to the door.

In the narrow space out in the hall, she encounters the man coming down the stairs, hair mussed up and tucking his shirt inside his waistband.

'Morning Sue, you sleep well?' He enquires.

Sue stares at him and blinks. She hardly recognised him. In the pub last night the guy looked ten years younger.

Taking the toast out of her mouth with her free hand Sue smoothes back her hair and then pulls the kimono tighter across her breasts.

'Hi Paul, yeah, I slept well. You off?' Sue flattens her back against the wall to let him pass.

'It's Peter.'

'Huh?' Sue says just wanting him out. Bending to collect up the post, she remembers she's wearing nothing under her kimono. He had better not....

'My name... it's Peter... not Paul.'

'Whatever.' Sue mutters opening the front door for him. 'See you sometime.' Sue lets him out, doesn't tell him his fly is open. She closes the front door behind him. 'Jerk.'

Over the past year, Sue has been getting by on payday loans at a zillion per cent interest. She doesn't even have a job. What they can they do? Remove my kidneys?

Keeping the cold toast clamped between her teeth, one at a time Sue flips each envelope to check the return addresses. This lot can join the other unopened letters tucked behind the clock on the mantelshelf. These letters are now beyond being irritating.

The white envelope catches her eye. Sue turns this one over and reads the name. Silas Saxby. Solicitor. 2 High Street. Tawny West.

Hmm? Where's she know that name? Her eyes widen. Jeez, it must be ten years! Why the hell would Olga's solicitor write to her now? 'Oh my God!' Sue needs the wall for support. The envelopes tucked under her arm clatter to the floor. A tension in her chest restricts her breathing. She spits the toast from her lips. Clutching the letter to her bosom she casts her eyes heavenwards and murmurs. 'Please... oh God, please... please, please let her be dead.' In a heartbeat, Sue Tinsley goes from despair to euphoria.

In her minds eye Sue can imagine Police officers smash their way through the great oak door of the isolated Russian styled monstrosity out in the woods. Now tramping through the great halls they come across the semi-decomposed body of her dead aunt.

'Whoo–hoo!'

Back in the lounge hearing his Mum sound happy for a change Sean looks round at his sister who is only half awake.

Sue needs to think. Olga's last visit– when was that– two weeks ago? How had she looked? Not Good! Noticeably worse, she recalls. Feebler? Definitely–but then Olga had always looked like she had just stepped out of a sarcophagus. 'She's dead. Thank God.'

Sue blows through her cheeks. She recalls Olga, her chest wheezing, standing close enough to make her recoil saying, 'my beloved Susan, you have been so kind to me. Ven I die, you vill inherit my Palace and all my vealth.' Olga would then straighten up and giving Sue a look fit to make her blood run cold she'd say, 'do not disappoint me child!

Of course, this will mean Sue will have to go back to Olga's weird Old Russian Palace, "Anastasia's Retreat." The very thought sends shivers down her spine. If there was any way she could avoid going there she would. But there are still the bank accounts and life insurance policies to hunt out. She will need to gather up the cash, most likely bundles of it hidden under a mattress, there always is, and of course she will need to carry out an inventory of all the rooms, make a note of what's there before she has it all auctioned off.

It's been almost thirty years, Sue's never been back, not since that day she went there with her Mum as child. Sue hates the place. Memories of what happened to her that day she and her Mum paid a surprise visit on her aunt still haunts her. Sue was six years old and full of questions when her Mum, Katerina Kipper told her about her Russian aunt who lived far away in a castle in secret woods. The child's imagination became enraptured by her mother's description of the palace with its gold-topped towers and its corridors of rooms filled with of treasure. It was hot on that long bus ride. Olga was enraged that they would dare turn up uninvited. They only got into the house, as far as the parlour, just inside the front door because Sue needed the loo.

She was on her way back from the cloakroom when curiosity got the better of her. Peeking into each room the child was beguiled by the gold furniture, the huge oil paintings in gilded frames, and the cabinets of shiny objects. She had wandered into the biggest room so far, the one she called the "Throne Room". There was a huge gold throne in here, set up on a dais carpeted in red. She was playing at being queen, her eyes fixated on the gold and the silver and the red and purple, her legs swinging, her feet not quite reaching the floor when the giant with eyes as black as a rat's grabbed her.

In the parlour, Katerina and Olga were engaged in a slanging match. Suddenly Katerina heard her daughter's screams. Running out to the hall, Olga not far behind, she saw a huge man has her child slung across his shoulder. Katerina began beating on the giant's back demanding that he put her daughter down. With a sweep of his arm, Olga's manservant brushes the mother aside. Olga was cackling like an old witch. Pointing a crooked finger in the child's face she cries, "Igor, throw da vicked child in da pit viv da the monster. Let him feed on da child's flesh. Let him munch on her bones."

Sue will never forget Olga's parting words, "you stupid nosey people. You had no right to come here."

Twenty years pass and Sue was at her Mum, Katerina's funeral when a wizened old lady leaning on a cane came over.

'Susan my dear, you remember me? I am your aunt Olga. I am so sorry to hear of your sad loss. You know your Muzzer was very dear to me.'

After their father left them, Sean and Carla, having buggered off with Ingrid, last she heard he was now living in Oslo, having someone, however obscure the relationship was a comfort. Sue doesn't remember what kind of reply she gave but she does remember her aunt saying. "Susan, you are now my sole remaining heir. All my vealth vill now go to you. My money, Anastasia's Retreat, the land of course, and all my fine jewellery and antiques."

Ironically, three weeks later Olga turned up on her doorstep uninvited. Sue recalling the treasures and the wealth in that Russian palace set in landscaped grounds invited Olga in for tea. Seeing her off at the door Sue had said, "please auntie wont you call again? Come round for Sunday dinner? We could spend some time catching up, eh?'

Olga took that as an invitation to turn up, last Sunday in the month, come rain, or shine for eternity and never once did she offer a penny for her food. Sue would remind herself, don't let it get you down, look at the state of her, she'll be dead in no time and then Jeez you are going to be rolling in it.

Now approaching her thirty-sixth birthday Sue can at last start to live the life she has always dreamed of. So real is this in her head she thrills at the fine clothes, the shopping trips, the grand five star hotels, owning two houses, one up in town, and another in Cannes, or somewhere equally exotic.

Would she live a life as frugal as her aunts, live as wealthy recluse? Not a chance! Then, there are other benefits to Olga's demise: no more monthly visits–never again will she have to embrace that skeletal woman–never have to kiss her warty cheeks and then gag on the stink of alcohol, algae and mothballs? No longer will she struggle to pay her bills. No longer will she have to scrape enough money together just to treat herself to a bottle or two of wine, the odd box of chocolates, and perhaps a couple of nights down the pub. "Ven I die, my precious, you vill have your revord. All be all my money, Anastasia's Retreat- the land and all my jewellery vill go to you."

With Olga leaning on death's door Sue could never see the point in getting a job. It was only a question of being patient whilst keeping the wolves at bay as it were.

Sue feels the tension fall from her shoulders. After all her fawning and pretending to give a shit about the old bat's pathetic ailments, her patient waiting is about to pay off.

Read the letter. She reminds herself.

Her trembling fingers tug out the single sheet of paper. It was dated three days ago.

The Last Will and Testament of Olga Maria Romanavitch

Dear Mrs Tinsley.

Ms. Olga Romanavitch visited our offices today to instruct me to make certain changes to her Last Will and Testament. Whilst you remain the sole heir to her estate, your great-aunt has made your inheritance subject to one stipulation. For your reference, in particular, the new condition states: It is a condition of my bequest that on the day of my demise my great-niece Mrs Susan Tinsley, the sole heir to my fortune, must be contentedly married. Should my great-niece fail to satisfy this condition I hereby bequeath my entire estate to the Russian Seaman's Charitable Trust.' I should advise you Mrs Tinsley I have reliable intelligence to the effect that you are at present divorced and unwed and therefore in breach of this condition of inheritance. Should you wish to avoid a situation where the Russian Seaman's Mission benefits from your unmarried situation it is imperative that you take steps to remedy this state of affairs. Furthermore, I should advise you that as the executor of Ms. Romanavitch's estate I shall need to be satisfied that on the day of your aunt's demise you are indeed contentedly... married.

You need not reply to this letter.

Yours sincerely

Silas Saxby.

After reading the letter three times Sue slides down the wall and sitting on her haunches she screams at the injustice.

'Noooo! You evil old witch you can't do this to me.'

Hearing their Mother cry out Sean followed by his sister Carla rushes out into the hall. Their Mum is on the floor cradling her head in her hands. 'What's happened mum?' Sean says.

Brushing past her two kids Sue goes back into the lounge. She snatches up the remote and silences the TV. Turning on her two children Sue snaps, 'both of you. Go up to your rooms... now!'

Carla's chin is wobbling when she catches up with Sean stamping up the stairs.

In the lounge, Sue is pacing the room. She is struggling to organise her thoughts. What the fuck! How am I supposed to find a husband before the old bag keels over? Jeez, the woman is already at deaths door!

Snatching up the phone, her hand is shaking when she punches in the telephone numbers. By the time the woman's voice as dry as dust says, "good morning, Silas Saxby Solicitors". Sue is spitting mad.

'Put me through to Silas Saxby.' Sue demands.

'May I have your name please?' The elderly sounding receptionist enquires with a degree of deliberation that only serves to exacerbate Sue's rage.

'Sue Tinsley,' she snaps. 'Hurry up this is urgent.'

'One moment caller.'

Pacing the room Sue is massaging the back of her neck. The woman gets back to her. Sue is convinced Saxby is about to give her the run around.

'I'm sorry caller,' the receptionist croaks, 'Mr Saxby is unable to take your call right now. Would you care to wait, or would you rather that we call you back?'

'Don't you dare ask me to wait,' Sue snarls, 'put Saxby on the line right now.'

Mrs Broom has been Mr Silas Saxby's secretary for the past forty-three years over that time she has developed a skin as impenetrable as a Rhino's. Coolly she replies, 'just one moment caller.'

For an excruciating forty-five seconds Sue is forced to listen to a crackly loop of 'Greensleeves.' Before she hurls the phone at the wall Sue screams down the phone.

'Listen up you old crow. Put me through to Saxby right now– I am not hanging up– and if I have to, I will stay on the line all day!'

The outburst works. The music stops. Sue has never met Silas Saxby. His voice grates like chalk on a blackboard. An image of Ebenezer Scrooge wringing his hands comes to mind.

'Good morning Mrs Tinsley, would it be presumptuous of me to assume that you are calling in response to the letter I sent you?'

'What's all this bullshit about me needing to be married before I can inherit? I demand to know why Olga has suddenly decided to change her Will. Did you have something to do with this you cheap fuck?'

'Please, Mrs Tinsley,' Saxby says sounding hurt, 'If you continue to use bad language I shall be forced to end this call forthwith.'

Before Sue can respond, Saxby hurries on. 'My letter is quite explicit on the subject. As to your aunt's reasons for the inclusion of this clause, I can make no comment. I can however assure you, Ms. Romanavitch was perfectly lucid on the matter in that your inheritance is dependent upon you demonstrating to me,' Saxby says with loaded emphasis, ' that you must be contentedly married on the day of your aunt's demise. Should you fail to meet this condition I will ensure that your aunt's entire estate becomes the property of the Russian Seaman's Mission.'

'This is outrageous,' Sue snarls down the line. 'She can't do this to me. I have fed and cared for that old bag for years... you do know that she is likely to drop down dead any moment? What do you propose I do, go out and grab the first available Tom Dick or Harry, and drag him down the aisle, and marry him? Is that what I'm expected to do?'

'Goodness me, that wouldn't do at all Mrs Tinsley... not at all.' Silas Saxby blusters. 'Such an arrangement would be in clear breach of the clause that clearly states: You must be contentedly married on the day of your Aunt's death.'

'Yeah, I heard that already.' Sue tells him. 'This is bollocks.'

Adopting a preposterous manner Saxby informs the caller, 'Mrs Tinsley, I am not prepared to endure your coarse language. I am going to end this call. In future all further communication between us will be strictly by letter. Good day Mrs Tinsley.'

'Don't you dare hang up on me, you piece of shit in a cheap suit,' Sue yells down the phone.

Silas Saxby is mightily offended by this last remark due to the fact that he is indeed wearing a cheap suit. His wife Winifred Saxby a woman known for her fierce abstention of fiscal waste was the benefactor of his attire, and there is little to be done about it. .

Click!

Sue hears the line goes dead. She stares at the phone for some time before hurling it on the sofa. That old cow is trying to cheat me out of my inheritance Shit! I'm screwed. Sue sits down heavily on the sofa and drops her head in her hands. She is too angry to think straight. That is when she has one of those light-bulb moments. Jeez, I get it; this is about Sean and Carla. Lately Olga has been banging on about me leaving the kids and going out at night. The scrawny old cow wants to clip my wings, stop me enjoying myself. What the fuck does she know about raising kids? I bet she's a virgin. On her tombstone, I'm going to have inscribed: "Returned Unopened".

Well, if Olga thinks me getting married will keep me at home she is very much mistaken. I will do what she wants. I will hunt out some unsuspecting wimp, marry him and then the minute I get my hands on her money, he will be history.

Sue was married before, twice in fact, and both times, she ended up being dumped. Both men were stricken with terminal C.A.D, (commitment aversion disorder.) As a result, Sue always vowed she would never hook up with a feller again, "Use em, and dump em". She might have had that motto hanging over her mantelshelf.

Her first marriage to Roger ended after six months when he explains, "Sue, I need to tell you. And, I know should have told you before, but I'm Gay!" Next thing, Roger is packing his bags. He told her he was heading out to Thailand to live with a guy called Antonio. Husband number two, Grieg, he stayed around long enough to sire Sean, and then Carla before the shocking realisation that family life is a chore hit him. Really! He left a note for Sue, bless him to say he'd fallen in love with someone called Ingrid and he has gone to live with her in Oslo.

Much the same as toilet rolls, or rechargeable batteries Sue regards men as creatures of occasional necessity, for sex, or to fix up her old banger. Why, she wonders, would any woman choose to wash a man's stinking underpants, or, or, to clean the bloody sink after he'd shaved, and, and, why do men never put the loo seat down after them? Urgh!

It's just as well that men are naturally drawn to her. Sue has the looks and the body and she certainly knows how to flaunt it. Seducing men is fun. Sue loves the challenge and she never tires of sex. For Sue, getting laid is more than just the physical pleasure; it is also the means by which she feels okay about herself. Sue worries how she'll get by when her looks go.

This situation, the one Olga has created is serious. Olga is liable to shuffle off at any minute. Sue feels screwed. Where the hell at such short notice is she going to find some jerk willing to take her down the aisle... just like that! This is just not going to happen. Sue tells herself she must not sink into despair. Sue gets her head in gear. Start with your little red book.

Her notebook is a little like a hooker's diary in the sense that written in pencil against the name of every man she ever had sex with is brief annotations on their performance.

Sean and Carla are watching TV in the lounge. Sue is up in her bedroom sitting cross-legged on her bed and sucking on the end of her Biro. Twice now, she has trawled through her penciled notes: married–married–dickless–boring–tight-fisted–weird–cant keep it up– genital warts–prem-ejac–married–mummy's boy– never again–smells of fish.

Beginning to despair Sue is reminded of what's at stake. Now, lowering her expectations to rock bottom, she returns to the first page. Halfway through the book she screams out loud and throws it at the wall.

Lying back on her pillows and staring at the ceiling, Sue prays for divine intervention. What she gets is the phone ringing. 'Fuck! I don't need that.'

Sue snatches up the phone. 'Hello.' She snaps.

Nothing...silence.

'Hello.' Sue yells down the phone in no mood to cope with a heavy-breather that doesn't have the guts to do it properly. Sue was about to let loose a torrent of foul language down the phone when a man finally speaks up.

Brian Fossett finds his voice.

'Oh, er, h... hello, is that Mrs Tinsley? Brian is not good at making phone calls and he is even less happy when speaking to women. Normally, his Mum would make his phone calls, except this isn't normal, because she died of a broken heart just two weeks after Dad died from a heart attack.

'Yes,' Sue says already irritated by the man. 'This is Sue Tinsley. What do you want? And before you ask I don't have any money and I am not buying anything.'

'I'm er, I'm really sorry if I have called at a bad time Mrs Tinsley,' Brian bumbles on, 'I'm Brian... Brian Fossett, a mutual acquaintance... Mrs Cartwright... she gave me your number.'

'Never heard of her,' Sue snaps. For Christ's sake! I am in the middle of a crisis here!

Steadying his voice Brian explains, 'Mrs Cartwright works at the school where your children attend–she gave me your number–said you do the catering at the school– only... I was hoping that you would quote me for providing light refreshments at m...m...my p...parents W...Wake.' His voice cracks.

Sue frowns. The idiot has dialed the wrong number. What do I know about catering? If it doesn't go in a microwave, we go hungry. She was just about to hang up when on an impulse she asks.

'How many people?'

'At the Wake?'

As if she were talking to a five-year old Sue spells it out. 'Yes– how many–people–do you need–me to cater for?'

'Oh...er, I suppose around twenty, but if its too much bother...'

'Two hundred pounds including VAT,' Sue gets in before he can hang up.

'Oh, two hundred pounds... that sounds wonderful.' Brian says relieved. 'You can do it then?'

'For that price don't expect anything fancy.'

'N, no, th... that's fine. I'm sure whatever you can provide will be absolutely fine.'

'Do you want cocktail sausages?'

'Cocktail... oh, er, yeah, sure, that would be great.'

'That'll be an extra fifty quid.'

'Ab...absolutely fine Mrs Tinsley. Thank you so much.'

'Do you want a vegetarian option?' Sue says now pushing her luck.

'Oh, well yes, that sounds good. What do you have in mind?'

'Cheese sandwiches.'

'Well. Yes. Excellent, Mrs Tinsley.'

'Lets see. That comes to three hundred and fifty pounds.' Sue senses him hesitate. 'But as you are a friend of Mrs Cartwright I can give you a ten per cent discount. So now we are looking at three hundred pounds.'

'Wow, thank you Mrs Tinsley, that it is very nice of you.' Brian says thinking best not mention her maths is not that good. 'The Wake is in the Memorial hall. Do you know where that is?'

After hanging up, Sue is feeling a little better. She might not have a husband yet but three hundred quid for doling out a few plates of sandwiches to a bunch of old crusty farts on drugs and plastic replacement parts that'd happily sink their dentures into any old crap. I'm not putting on anything fancy. It's a Wake for fucks sake not a Wedding Breakfast. This'll be money for old rope.

'Unbelievable!' Sue mutters out in the kitchen where she cracks open a bottle of red and thinking a small glass of the old vino, might help her concentrate on the thorny issue of finding a husband before Olga's internal workings decide to pack it in.

Five to four. On the day of the Wake Sue's Nissan Micra is the only car in the Tawny West Memorial Hall car park. Sue parks up near the doors and doesn't bother to lock the car. Standing by the entrance is a dough-faced woman with a set of keys in her doughy hand.

Enid Doughty, the key holder and caretaker takes an instant dislike to the underdressed woman hired to do the catering.

Inside the cold and draughty hall Mrs Doughty reminds her, 'don't touch the room thermostat–don't flush paper down the loo's–there is to be no alcohol–no loud music– and no kissograms... we don't want that sort of thing here, and be sure to clean up after you. I am not a cleaner.'

With Mrs Doughty's back to her Sue flips her the bird. Sue smiles benignly when the caretaker looks round.

'Push the keys through the letterbox when you're done.' Without another word the key holder waddles off.

Losing both his parents in their early sixties within two weeks of each other and Brian only being twenty-nine has understandably left him in shock. The neighbours regarded the Fossett's as quiet unassuming folk, people you'd never see drinking in the local pub. In the summer, should the sun be shining you might have found George and Margaret Fossett with their only child Brian sipping a lemonade shandy outside the Three Crowns, but mostly, they stayed home, Margaret cleaning and cooking whilst George could always find something to do in his shed. The neighbours spoke of Brian as being a shy boy, not one for friends, and certainly not a person to ever be seen with a girlfriend.

Neighbours tend to gossip more about what they don't know about other people than what they do know. That is a human condition. So, time to time, the folk who live nearby might call round at number 42, just to enquire how the Fossett's are doing, that sort of thing. George and Margaret were always welcoming and a slice of Margaret's Victoria sponge's always made the visit worthwhile. Their boy, Brian, might call down hello from upstairs.

"Awfully sorry, Brian is busy. He likes to build things in his bedroom," George would explain while Margaret wore a benign smile. "Shy lad is our Brian." It was never any different.

As an accountant, George worked all his life for the same firm. When he retired, he was presented with a fifty quid brass clock and Margaret got a bouquet of carnations, and a box of Dairy Milk chocolates. Margaret, if you weren't to include the two days a week she gave up helping out at the WVS, never had a job. George was of the opinion that women are less discontent when left to tend to the home.

With no great ambitions aged sixteen Brian left school and straightaway took a job at Precision Pumps Intl, a family run business owned by Lord Curmudgeon. His lordship, and with his wife along their daughter Veronica, live over at Greystone Manor. Lord Fergus Curmudgeon is the Eighteenth Baron. William The Conqueror granted the First Earl, the title.

Having been a loyal and trusted worker for thirteen years it was only fitting that Lord Curmudgeon should attend the funeral. Outside the chapel he told the young man, 'if you need to talk, you know where I live. You're a good sort Brian.'

After it was all over, his parent's cremation, the whole thing felt all too rushed. It was if George and Margaret Fossett never having been a burden to a single soul were now too much trouble; move them on, next please! People, dressed in black, wearing solemn expressions shook Brian's hand, murmured condolences, and moved on like they too were in a line and in a hurry. There didn't seem to be enough time to take it all in. Next thing, he was looking down at the wreaths and bouquets and reading the kind words. To him, leaving all those cut flowers to wilt and die in the chill March wind up against the wall felt much like the loss of his parents; such a waste. He was struck by the thought that the mourners present would go to bed that night, get up the next day, get on with their lives wait their turn.

The mourners stand and shiver in the car park.

Brian Fossett wasn't at all sure what the protocol for these things are. Should he be marshaling people, telling them what they should now do? Then at no particular signal the mourners take it in their heads to head off to yet another Wake.

It never occurred to his neighbours that Brian might have no means of getting to the Memorial Hall other than take the bus, which involved a considerable walk to the bus stop. Waving them off, Brian now wishes that he'd learned to drive. He didn't like to ask any of his neighbours for a lift.

Lord Curmudgeon, nice of him to come, shakes Brian's hand and says, 'Brian, my boy. Dash it all. Bad business eh? Can I give you a lift?'

James Bassett, his Lordship's chauffer nods when he opens the rear door. Sitting right alongside his lordship in a Rolls Royce feels odd. It's as if he has crossed into another social class, one where he doesn't belong. He should have taken the bus.

Lord Curmudgeon is tapping on his seat with his leather gloved when he says to Brian, 'Awfully sorry to hear of your sad loss Fossett. Fraid I can't stay for the Wake got a dashed business meeting. I have to say you losing both folks like that... dashed unfortunate... most unfortunate eh. You should take a few days orf, find your feet, that sort of thing, there's a good chap.'

'That's very kind of you Lord Curmudgeon, but Mr Dodds will be expecting me back at work tomorrow.'

'Nonsense, dear boy! I will have a word with that damn son-in-law of mine. He's far too brusque with you chaps. Leave it to me.'

Entirely appropriate for a Wake, Tawny West Memorial hall is cold, and damp. Sue Tinsley places her hand on the cast-iron radiator by the door. Stone cold! She locates the heating thermostat and ignoring the "Do not touch" sign she turns it up to "max". Way off in the distance there is a noise, sounds like a boiler firing up.

Best she can say about the kitchen is it appears to be clean and functional. The fold-up tables were at the back of a cupboard buried under musty smelling Scouts tents, a broken tombola drum, a tangle of bunting, a framed photograph of the Queen, and a mop and bucket. Hauling these out and setting them up in a line along the back wall by the kitchen incurs some collateral damage to her purple nail varnish.

Sue was annoyed at this Brian Fossett, the man who hired her, Why wasn't he here to help? She supposes he must be at his parent's funeral. That would make sense. Had she known she would be expected to do all the manhandling she'd have stung him for another hundred quid.

The tea boiler is making bubbling noises.

Sue made the sandwiches last night. She wrapped them in tinfoil and left them on the kitchen worktop. No point in putting them in the fridge if it doesn't work. The cold sausages she picked up on the way over when she paid for the half a tank of petrol. The petrol station didn't have a tin of pineapple chunks so it would have to be just cubes of cheese on cocktail sticks.

Sue surveys her fare: triangle sandwiches– white bread–crusts on already, beginning to curl at the edges–fillings: cheese and tomato, or cheese and pickle, or cheese on its own– for anyone who doesn't eat cheese, there are the shriveled cocktail sausages, or the Jaffa cakes–for the more discerning connoisseur, there is the cheese spiked with cocktail sticks. Folk with a dairy intolerance have a choice... they can go without.

Sue's crisp white blouse is a little tight across her bosom and perhaps a little low-cut. Her black pencil skirt maybe a little high at the hem. Already Sue is regretting not wearing something warmer.

The water in the tea urn is cold, and the radiators don't get any hotter than tepid!

Wakes are rarely as gloomy as this one. Sue counts them, twenty people in total. What's she doing with her life? She checks her watch and sighs. Three quarters of an hour she's been here and not one of the old buggers has taken so much as a sausage. Waste of bloody time! Still, can't complain, you're getting three hundred quid for this.

From behind her tables, back of the hall, there was no mistaking the man she spoke to on the phone. Brian Fossett is the only person young enough to be an orphan, poor lamb. She is thinking those clothes must have come out of his dead father's wardrobe. Sue feels irritated by his lack of good manners. He could at least have come over and said hello or enquired can I help?

Watching these old folk Sue can just imagine these old codgers eyeing each other up and thinking, wonder which of us is next?

As long as Fossett pays her in cash and she gets out of here by six Sue couldn't care less that he doesn't want to speak to her. He probably smells of mothballs anyway.

Sue watches the orphan circulate. His hair could do with a cut. Look out! He's coming over. I'll make sure he knows I want cash.

Brian feels embarrassed that he hasn't gone over to speak to the catering lady. You could at least go say hello. He can't help being shy around women. As a teenager when other boys were hanging out with girls where was Brian? He was up in his bedroom assembling Airfix models! Little wonder the girls used to laugh at him and the boys would bully him. He straightens his tie, clears his throat, and then heads her way.

'Brian. So sad for you.' Henry Butters accompanied by his wife Hilda ambushes Brian halfway across the hall. The neighbour from number 39 has his hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets, flared out. The hair sprouting out his nostrils wafts in the draught. His wife leaning on her cane is nodding. 'How are you holding up Brian?' She says.

'Thank you for coming Mr and Mrs Butters.' Brian casts an apologetic look over at the catering lady. 'To be honest I don't know how I feel. It's a bit soon I suppose?'

'It's just you then? Living on your own in that lovely house?' Mrs Butters probes. As far as she knows, and folk will talk, Brian's never even had a girlfriend. There was some gossip, talk that he might be gay.

'Good thing George made provisions for you, No worries about a mortgage eh?' Ex-plumber Henry says sounding like a bank manager. 'If I may say so nice house number 42.'

Moving from behind the table to within earshot, Sue's radar is on red-alert. Sue is beginning to see the orphan in quite a different light.

'Must be hard for you Brian, 'Hilda quizzes, 'you having no other family and all?'

'It is hard Mrs Butters.' Brian says his chin wobbling. 'You get a real sense of being an only child when both your parents are gone.' Brian finds the hankie in his pocket.

'And still no girlfriend on the scene eh Brian?' Henry gives the boy a wink. 'You'll make a catch.'

Brian looks down at his shoes and buffs the left one on the back of his trouser leg. When he looks behind him, he sees the catering lady smile.

'Sorry, I don't mean to be rude but I really must go speak to the catering lady. I will catch you later, and thanks again for coming. Do please have some of this food,' He says to Hilda Butters who looks like someone likes her food.

'No, we're fine,' Mrs Butters says turning the corners of her mouth down.

Acting like she's heard none of this, Sue nips back, gets behind the tables. She smiles when he comes over. A nice house, in the best part of town... and he's a fucking orphan with no family, and no other woman on the scene. Whoo-hoo.

Approaching Mrs Tinsley Brian is fighting his almost pathological fear of the opposite sex. He finds the catering lady scarily attractive. Her smile helps settle his nerves. Mrs Tinsley looks nothing like the fearsome woman he imagined her to be over the phone.

Arm out straight Brian offers her his hand.

'Hello,' he says, 'I'm sorry, I'm Brian, we spoke on the phone... I should have... and you must be Sue?'

Sue watches his eyes scan the plates of food. What do you expect for three hundred quid? Carte blanche ... or whatever it's called?

Brian finds himself quite enraptured by her beauty. His eyes unsettled, explore her curves. They settle on her cleavage. He is mesmerized by the way that her bosom heaves and then falls. He has to force his eyes to look back down at the food. 'Gosh Mrs Tinsley, you are... I mean to say, th... th... thank you so much. Your food is quite... quite... and at such short notice.'

The image she had of him talking on the phone was spot on: beige and boring. Who nowadays under the age of eighty would wear a cardigan like that under a blue blazer for God's sake with grey flannel trousers, brown brogues, and that awful tie! Then she supposes a black tie was the norm at this sort of do.

'I am so glad you approve Brian.' Sue says taking his hand and smiling wickedly. When her fingernail tickles his palm, his eyes widen.

Angling her head, Sue flutters her false eyelashes at him. As if it hard to get her breath she says, 'phew is it me Brian, or is it hot in here? Sue pops another button on her blouse.

The man who hired her seems fixated on her cleavage. He doesn't even blink. Brian Fossett, she imagines would be one of those men who follow her around the supermarket aisles.

Looking away, turning his head all the way, Brian tugs at his collar. It was a Relief to see Mrs Ball, from number 31 is about to leave.

Brian tells the catering lady, 'will you excuse me a moment Sue? Only I'd better go say a few goodbye's.'

Hurrying across the hall, Brian blows out his cheeks. The encounter with Mrs Tinsley has got him hot and bothered. He likes her though. Her flirting with him, that's a little odd at a Wake and all. She makes him feel uncomfortable, but he doesn't mind–not at all.

The last of the mourners have gone. The hall sounds hollow. He imagines a book on his past life has just closed. The future he doesn't even want to think about. His life once orderly is in chaos. Where does he go from here? How does he carry on? What's the point? Brian is dreading going back to the house he once loved, the home where only laughter and love existed. How can he live in a house where the shadows of his parents lurk in every room? Will he always ache to hear his Mum call out when he came in the front door after work, "Chicken hotpot tonight Brian. Go put your feet up." He can smell it now, her Chicken hotpot.

At the door, he looks back. Sue Tinsley is packing away. He goes over to her.

'Do you mind Mrs Tinsley, if help you clear away?'

'Why, that is so sweet of you Brian,' Sue says, 'I hurt my back lifting these heavy tables and please... you must call me Sue.'

'Gosh, and I let you do all that work. I am so sorry...' Brian says, 'in that case Sue you go in the kitchen and sit down, leave me to put the tables away.' Brian squares his shoulders, feels gallant.

Moment by moment, Sue is updating her opinion of Brian Fossett: In different clothes, tidy his hair; in a certain light, he might look quite attractive. Not sexy, God no, but he does own a nice detached house on Acacia Avenue!

Sue reminds herself take this slow. She doesn't want the poor little bunny to bolt back into his burrow. Taking it slow is hardly an option when her aunt who she hasn't seen for two weeks now may already be dead.

Men, all men, in Sue's experience, are basically simple amoebic creatures in that they are genetically programmed to respond to simple stimuli. It would take only a glimpse of a woman's bosom, or just a glimpse of a woman's white thigh to get them interested.

Poor Brian Fossett, like a tethered goat is about to be devoured by a very experienced cougar.

Slow down honey, a cautionary voice in her head demands. Can you imagine being married to him, that dopey looking jerk? A voice from her subconscious reminds her. You don't exactly have any other candidates, and you don't have much time. She thinks about this, he is only the means to an end, and the minute you get your hands on Olga's money, he'll be history.

After collapsing and putting away the tables, Brian goes out to the kitchen.

Sue is sitting on a stainless steel work surface. Her high-heeled shoes are a good eighteen inches off the floor. Her skirt has ridden up.

'Brian, pet,' Sue says her bosom heaving and her fingers fluttering, 'help me down.'

There is a foolish grin on Brian's face when takes her hands.

'Whoops!' Sue giggles pretending to lose her balance and falling into his arms. 'Wow Brian,' she says, squeezing his biceps, I do like a man who works out.'

'Work out! Me?' No, I don't go to a gym nor do I do weights like some guys. At work, I build machines on a bench and each one of those weighs 56 kilos so I guess manhandling ten of them a day is as good as going to the gym.'

'I like that about you Brian. You are strong and yet modest. Gosh, your girlfriend must love you to you to bits?'

'Girlfriend!' Brian hadn't wanted to sound so shocked. 'I don't have a girlfriend.' Brian is starting to feel at ease with this fine looking woman. 'Never had one. Don't suppose I ever will, me being so shy.'

Sue moves in close now, sweeps a stray lock of hair from his brow. Her bosom is pressed up against his chest. She lifts her chin and looks up into his eyes. 'I find you very attractive Brian, and sooo sexy, does that sound shameless? Trouble is I say how I feel, is that so wrong?'

Hot under the collar now Brian starts to unbutton his blazer. 'I... think I'd better t... take my jacket off.'

There is a wicked glint in Sue's eyes when sounding like Scarlett O Hara she says, 'I do de-clayer, a ma-yan undressing before a lady! I swe-yar I can fay-and no place to rest ma ayes.'

'Gosh! Sorry Sue, I... I did... didn't mean to...'

'Stop it Brian, I'm only kidding. If you want you can remove all your clothes!' Sue laughs heartily.

'Gosh! What am I like? I can't believe I just said that! What must you think of me?'

Sue wags a finger at him. 'I blame you Brian Fossett. I swear my heart is fluttering and it's your fault you naughty man. Do you have designs on taking this wench to your bed?'

Shocked Brian blusters, 'God no!' That sounded bad. ' I mean, not at all... it's not that I wouldn't? I mean, Sue can we please change the subject?' Brian hopes Sue hasn't spotted the bulge in his trousers.

She's seen it. This is encouraging.

He only came over to help her pack away, now they are talking about sex. He doesn't mind though. Sue has a nice easy way about her. He likes her. She's certainly a remedy for the depression he was slowly sliding into.

'Sorry Brian I never meant to shock you. I really have no idea what came over me talking like that. Do you think it is because the two of us are both lonely, both in need of a little love and some company? Could it be that we are two lonely planets lost in a cold Universe? Two kindred spirits brought together by the mysteries of fate?'

'I... I... I can see that Sue.'

'Brian, you and I are like two hearts beating as one.' Sue takes hold of his right hand and places it on her left breast. She says, 'can you feel that Brian?'

All his adult life Brian's wanted to know what it feels like to have a woman's breast in his hand. Trouble is he now doesn't know what to do with it. He squeezes it, gently.

'Oo, Brian,' Sue cooes.

Encouraged he squeezes it a little harder.

'Oo... ooo... oooo.' Sue groans. Sounding breathless, the catering lady now takes hold of his buttocks and pulls him close.

'Ooo, did you leave the coat hanger in your trousers Brian or are you just happy to make my acquaintance?' Sue says saucily pressing her groin up against his erection.

'Brian I wouldn't lie to you.' Sue says sounding serious now, 'I am not a deceitful person you know? I must confess. I am a little inexperienced when it comes to sex.'

Brian nods, settles his hands on her hips.

Sue says, 'to tell you the truth Brian, around men, I am usually shy somewhat reserved as you can imagine?'

This was stretching it.

'But with you Brian... I ... I feel feminine, weak, and yet at the same time I feel quite safe.'

Brian's head is nodding foolishly.

'One day,' Sue says as if mortified by envy, 'some lucky girl is going to snap you up and marry you,' Sue allows her voice to trail off, 'and then bear you children.' Her eyes now wistful go out of focus

Brian screws up his face. 'Nah. I doubt that. Women don't exactly find me attractive. I can't imagine what you see in me?'

'How can I convince you Brian?' Sue says breathily and dragging a long red fingernail down his bare arm, 'that I find you very attractive and, very–very sexy?'

They stand that way, her searching his eyes, and Brian trying to keep his erection under control for some time. Brian doesn't want to break the spell. He clears his throat and takes his hands off the catering lady's hips. He looks about him as if checking what else needs to be done. He blusters, 'don't you think we'd better crack on before Mrs Doughty locks us in.'

'Ooh, that might be fun Brian.' Sue quips giggling like a schoolgirl.

They both laugh. Brian is starting to relax.

Brian helps Sue clean up the hall and the kitchen and then helps load her car. They are standing in the car park. Only Sue's car is there. She says. 'Don't you have a car? I can give you a lift home?'

No point in denying it. 'I don't drive Sue.' He admits.

'That's okay. Get in. I'll drive you home. I'd like that. It'll give us a chance to chat. I love chatting with you.'

He buckles up. Sue turns the ignition key. The engine coughs. It takes two more turns to get the engine ticking over. Brian pulls three hundred and twenty pounds out of his pocket.

'Let me pay you Sue. And there is a little extra for you.'

Horrified, Sue looks round at him, 'Brian! Put that money out of sight. Can you imagine what people round here would think, you handing over money to a girl in a deserted car park?'

Brian rolls his eyes, he thinks, you can be so dumb sometimes.

Sue is thinking. The next bit is critical. She had better get it right. Sue says as if it just occurred to her, 'would it be okay If I call round your house this evening to pick it up, then maybe we can... I don't know, chat a while, over a cup of tea?'

Looking out the passenger window Brian is grinning. He was hoping she'd want to see him again. Never in a million years would he have suggested it.

'That would be nice Sue.'

After dropping the nerd off outside his house, Sue pulls over at the end of the tree-lined road. She gives a low whistle. 'Can you imagine living in a house in this road? Very nice!'

It was arranged that Sue would call round his house at seven. She arrives five minutes early. For the occasion Sue is wearing her business suit: a tight-fitting red dress with a side slit, a matching low cut top, and stockings, and a suspender belt.

Sue looks up at the house and then both ways down the street. The gate when she pushes it back squeals loud enough to alert the neighbour opposite. Tonight her long black hair is worn in a cascade over her slender shoulders.

Under the porch over the front door, she remembers to adjust breasts inside her bra. To add a little cleavage she pops another button. With one long painted fingernail, she presses the doorbell. The chimes sound pleasing.

Across the road, curtains in an upstairs window twitch.

Looking out the window every ten minutes he'd seen her open his gate and walk up the path. God she looks gorgeous. His heart is pounding and already there is a stirring in his pants.

When he opens the door to her Sue pushes him back inside his hallway. After slamming the door shut with her foot she plants a kiss on his lips, holds it there.

When she releases him Brian blusters, 'c... c... come through to the lounge. It's through here. Erm, can I get you a cup of tea?'

Brian points to an armchair opposite a TV with a set top V aerial. Sue looks about her before choosing to sit on the edge of a floral sofa.

'Tea is it?' Brian enquires tugging at the knot in his tie. 'Milk and sugar?'

'I'd rather a wine, if you have one?'

'W... wine!' He frowns and then remembers the unopened bottle in the fridge. 'Oh sure, white okay?'

While Brian is busy out in the kitchen Sue mentally catalogues the antiques dotted around room. Nice house, she is thinking, but all this crap urgh! It'll all have to go. Should fetch a few bob.

Carful not to spill any of the wine in tall glasses Brian places the Formica tea tray on the G-plan coffee table. Sue smiles up at him.

He was about to sit in an armchair when Sue pats the sofa next to her.

'Brian, please, sit down next to me. You look sad, like you need of a cuddle.'

Brian thought he was all cried out but when Sue pulled him into her arms, he comes apart.

It was all too much for him: her perfume, her voluptuous body, her teeth nibbling his earlobe, the way her tongue teases his lips, and then her hand sliding up his thigh, and then her taking hold of his erection through his trousers.

'I think we need to do something about this.' Sue says, 'come on. Show me your bedroom. We'll be more comfortable in a bed... It's not a single one is it?'

It was.

Undressed, Brian looks quite fit, Sue thinks. Quite muscled actually, must be the work he does.

As a bonus, turns out Brian is quite well endowed, not huge, won't make her cough, but more than adequate. Let's see if he knows what to do with it? Placing a finger on his lips Sue lays him back on his bed.

Brian just wants to pull the duvet over his naked body to hide his, "naughty thingy". Whenever it misbehaved when she dried him after his bath that's what his Mum would call it. Watching Sue get undressed and stand naked before him, Brian loses all sense of embarrassment.

Sue has decided she is getting on top. There is no way she is going to lie on her back looking up at those God-awful plastic planes.

Naked, now Sue climbs astride his waist. Taking hold of his hand, she coaches him in how to please her. He's managing okay. He's not entirely stupid.

Astride him, Sue is making soft moaning noises. Not acting this time, she is actually enjoying this. Then the urgency of her situation hits her, Olga might be dead already, her inheritance blown.

The ex-virgin is lost. He is totally under her spell and fast approaching a climax, one that his right hand could never have accomplished.

Mesmerised by her magnificent breasts bouncing above him Brian listens to his breathing quicken. His head rolls back on the pillows. Stretching his neck, he submits to the sensations overtaking his body. Her perfume and her panting in his ear become almost too much.

He is almost there. He groans louder now. His hips rise to meet her half way. He is coming.... 'Oh my God Sue!'

At the point where he was about to explode inside her, Sue reaches down and tugs him out.

Brian gasps. 'No, please.' Sue has his throbbing naughty thingy gripped tight in her fist.

'What? What do want Brian?

'My naughty thingy,' is all he can say.

'Your "naughty Thingy", eh? ' Sue says keeping a straight face. 'You want your naughty thingy to come all over my breasts, or on my face, or on my tummy?'

'Oh God Sue I am going to explode.'

'No you won't because I wont let that happen. I am in total control. You want to finish inside me, is that it? Do you want me to put your naughty thingy back inside me?'

'Oh please.' Brian begs.

'If I was to do that, what would you do for me?' Sue pouts.

'Anything Sue, just please. I would do anything. God I am going to burst.'

'Anything?' Sue says kissing the tip of his penis.

'Anything Sue, oh my God.' Brian gasps, 'don't do this to me, please.'

'Would you... let me see... would you, for instance, marry me?' There it is, Sue has baited the hook, but will he bite?

'Yes Sue I will even marry you.' Brian wasn't at this moment in a fit state to agree anything; He'd have signed a form to have his kidneys removed.

'That's all very well you saying that Brian, men say these things but they never mean it, are you one of those men Brian?'

'Sue please. I would marry you, scouts honour.'

'What like tomorrow?'

'Yes, Sue tomorrow now please...' He can't tell, the state he's in if she is joking. 'Sue, this is agony.'

'You promise?'

'I promise.'

Later, in his single bed with Sue lying in his arms Brian is unclear about his current status. Did I just agree to marry her? The thought is both exhilarating and scary. Why would Sue, want to marry me? No, he concludes, it was all said in the passion of the moment. She'll not mention it again. A reckless part of him so wants it to be true. Anything rather than him having to endure the gut aching loneliness he's felt since losing his parents.

It's all very well tricking Brian into agreeing to marry her, she now needs to nail him, keep him true to his word. Okay, she got him laid. Her off –the cuff- plans are holding up. The next bit is tricky. Rolling onto her side, she plants a kiss on his cheek and then murmurs in his ear.

'Oh Brian, you are such a wonderful lover. I have never had a man make me feel like that.' When she sits up and leans over to kiss him on the forehead one breast lingers at his lips. Choosing her words carefully Sue tells him, 'Brian you are such a sweet and gentle man. All the men that I have met have been unkind to me, deceitful you know?'

Judging by the way the men at the factory talk, he can imagine it. Brian doesn't have a lot of time for men that talk bollocks and act like morons.

'But I can tell, 'Sue says shaking her head like she can't believe it, 'you are a man if integrity... a man of his word, a man who would never use a woman for his own selfish ends and then discard her.'

'I would never do such a thing.' Brian says fiercely. When she takes hold of his naughty thingy it starts to misbehave.

'I know that Brian, which is why I allowed you to make love to me.' Sue is looking up at the plastic planes strung on wires. 'Do you believe in fate Brian?' Sue, says, 'I mean like comets colliding?' Is it possible two people can meet and fall in love in an instant, and then become soul mates for life? Just like that?' Sue snaps her fingers.

Having never given the matter any thought, Brian says. 'I do actually.'

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Sue is studying her fingernails. She pouts when she says. 'Brian would you think me shameless if I were to ask if I could stay overnight... oh gosh!' Sue acts shocked. 'I can't believe I just said that!' Now, looking away as if embarrassed she says. 'It's just...' Sue hesitates, 'now that we are engaged to be married I don't want to leave you. I want us to stay close together forever. I want to keep you safe. Oh gosh! I am now scared. You don't think we are being hasty do you Brian? I feel all giggly, and so much in love that I could almost burst into song. Please say we are not being foolish.'

With his naughty thingy in Sue's mouth, he doesn't hesitate in his reply. 'I meant it Sue. I want to marry you. I promise I am not like one of those guys that would treat you bad. You just say when, and I will happily walk you down the aisle.'

With a slurp Sue comes up for air and says, 'I was thinking that we could have a Registry Office wedding. They are so much less formal.' And quicker, was more to the point.

Over the coming days, Sue only goes back to her house to feed her kids, makes sure Sean knows they are not to go out and they have to be in bed by nine, and she will be back later, and they are not to worry because she will certainly be back before breakfast.

42 Acacia Avenue is starting to feel like home.

'You may as well move in with me Sue.' Brian says to her around two weeks after they met. 'Seems daft you having to go all the way back to yours when you could stay here.'

'Dya know what Brian?' Sue says looking thrilled. 'That's exactly what I was thinking.' Sue throws her arms around his neck and says, 'I really love you Brian Fossett I'll get the rest of my stuff.'

'You want me to come with you to help?'

Shaking her head, like it's no big deal, Sue says, 'Nah, there's not a lot of stuff, just the usual.'

The usual, he wouldn't have thought would be a ten years old boy and his eight years old sister!

'You never said anything about you having two children Sue! 'Brian says looking down at the boy and girl each with a suitcase standing in his hallway.

'Of course I did Brian. I told you... what, three days after we met. Don't you remember?'

He doesn't.

Good job he has two spare bedrooms.

As a consequence of Sue's arrival, Brian's neighbours stop coming by.

It was a Sunday, the last one in the month and Brian is in bed feeling relaxed when Sue comes into the bedroom.

'I got to go now. 'Sue says bending to kiss him on the lips. It'll be interesting to see how he reacts.

'Do you have to go?'

'Yes, Brian I do. I would much rather stay at home with you, but... I can't.'

Clinging to her hand he says, 'Listen, can I make a suggestion? Rather than you and the kids having to traipse all the way over to your house it would be far more sensible if your aunt Olga came here for her Sunday visits. And it's only once a month, we could easily manage that.'

'That is very sweet of you Brian, but it's... it's complicated, you know.'

'Complicated... how?'

Sue budges him over so she can sit on the edge of the bed. She looks upset.

'What's wrong Sue?' Brian says sitting up and putting an arm around her. 'You know you can talk to me about anything.'

'Its just Olga you know?'

'What about Olga?'

Sue sighs. Acting like this is hard for her to say she says, 'aunt Olga, is a fire-breathing dragon and I'm not joking. If she gets the idea in her head that you and I are living in sin, my God, she'd freak out.'

'And? So what?'

Sue takes both his hands in hers and kisses his fingertips. 'Brian, I feel bad. I should have told you.'

'Told me what?' Brian says.

'About my inheritance.'

'What inheritance?'

Sue pulls up her shoulders. It is as if she needs to find the strength to say this, 'I'll explain. Aunt Olga is as mad as a box of frogs and extremely rich. I am her only kin, and the sole heir to her estate that includes a huge mansion in Surrey. Now Olga, being a rather odd recluse and old-fashioned in her views doesn't approve of people, 'living in sin' as she puts it. She has put a clause in her Will that I can only inherit if I am married on the day that she dies! Mad isn't it?' Sue goes quiet. 'So you see, Olga could never come here, not and see us so much in love and living like man and wife... you do understand?'

'Then why are we waiting? We said we would get married. Lets just do it.'

Sue hopes he doesn't see the look of pure relief on her face. Pulling a tissue from the box on the bedside cabinet, she dabs at her dry eyes and the blows her nose. Throwing her arms round Brian's neck she gasps, 'oh Brian, what can I say? That would be so wonderful. When... I mean, when can we marry?' She giggles.

'Erm, I don't know. Next month?'

Sue pouts.

'Next week then... whenever.'

Sue says. 'Perhaps you and I could pop into town tomorrow go into the Registry Office and book our wedding?'

Caught up in Sue's infectious act Brian blurts out,' we could go in my lunch hour?'

Sue eases Brian on his back and gives him a blowjob.

Back downstairs she gets the kids to put their coats on. They head out the door. By this time next week if all goes to plan she'll be married and her inheritance will be secured.

The following day during Brian's lunch break the couple pops into the Registry Office and book their wedding. The date is set for the following Friday: two o clock.

That night Sue coaxes Brian in sex positions he could never have imagined.

On the Thursday, the day before they get married, chosen by Sue, Brian buys a wedding outfit: a two-piece suit, a pair of black shoes, and a new a shirt and tie. Next, Sue marches him into the barbers and tells the hairdresser exactly how she wants his hair cut.

Next day the Registry Office wedding goes off without a hitch.

Two weeks pass. Sue and Brian were about to have sex when Sue emits a sigh that he's sure to pick up on.

'What's wrong Sue?' Brian says worried.

'Oh,' Sue says as if she doesn't like to say, 'its just me, you know feeling insecure with two kids and all.'

'Yeah but you're safe now. You have me. And we are happily married.'

'I know honeybuns, but a girl can feel you know...?"

'Feel what?' Brian says sitting up now stroking her hair.

Sue sighs deeply, it's as if this is hard for her. She blurts out, 'this house, ' Sue casts her eyes round the bedroom, 'it's lovely, don't get me wrong, but it's yours you know. What if you were to tire of me? I don't have anywhere else to live. I worry that me and my children could end up on the streets!'

Brian goes quiet. He cogitates on this. 'You're right Sue. I have been neglectful.' He smiles, 'but we can easily remedy that.'

'You can?' Fingers crossed she doesn't have to spell out. Better that he comes up with the idea.

The house is nice and once her inheritance comes through, she's probably never going to need it. It would be good to have it as a back up though. She doesn't trust Olga and that sly bastard Saxby. The pair might yet pull another ploy to rob her of her inheritance.

'Of course I can.' Brian says as if he knows what he is doing. 'I will set up an appointment. We can go in together to my solicitor's and I will have your name added to the deeds. Then you will be joint owner. How would that be?'

Throwing her arms round his neck and making sobbing noises Sue tells him, 'Oh Brian I am such a lucky girl.'

It's not that Sue hasn't any empathy for Brian. Occasionally there is that pang of guilt, and then its gone... in seconds.

Two days later Sue's name is added to the house deeds. It's like she is ticking boxes.

When they get home Brian detects a change in her attitude towards him. That night in bed, first time ever, she denies him sex.

'You can have too much of a good thing Brian.' Sue chided him.

In the darkened bedroom, with Sue snoring gently at his side and his new suit hanging on the hook back of the door and the bouquet of flowers wilting on the dressing table it now dawns on him, perhaps I should have waited a while?

Months pass and Brian is getting used to having Sue's not particularly well-behaved kids, Sean and Carla, under his roof. Aunt Olga's been over to dinner a couple of times. Olga seemed happy they got married, asked to see the certificate though!

Before the wedding this is, Sue told Brian that she wanted to be a proper housewife and mother, someone who stayed at home, made stews, baked her own bread, cleaned the house, and waited at the front door for her husband to come home from work. Apart from the bit where she stayed home all day, none of the other stuff happened! Why the hell would she? Brian did the housework, the cooking, (he was better at it) brought home the money–and she spent it. That was always the deal.

Five years pass and to Sue's eternal frustration Olga is still alive. The old spinster seems in no particular hurry to meet her maker.

With Sue denying him any kind of physical contact all that remains of Brian's sex life is an aching reminder of his foolhardy rush into marriage.

Sue feels frustrated too. Not sexually. With Brian at work all day that part of her life is well attended to. His body touching hers a constant reminder of how Olga has screwed her over Sue can no longer stand the feel of Brian in bed next to her. It's not that Brian is unclean, because he showers, and he shaves... every single night; it's just him being... Brian, and still in her life! Why can't he be like other men and go find some other woman to fawn over, to irritate? You'd think he would, being starved of his conjugal rights. Until either Sean or Carla leave home, freeing up a bedroom, Sue will just have to carry on banishing him to the sofa on the flimsiest conviction of some misdemeanor.

One evening, for a change, Brian has Sue at home. Since joining the TWATS, (Tawny West Amateur Theatrical Society) she stays out most evenings at times till after he's gone to bed. In the lounge, Brian plucks up the courage to tackle her about these late nights.

'Sue, I don't like the fact that you are out almost every night, and then you don't get home till really late. You tell me that you are at rehearsals but for all I know you could be with another man. When you come home you wake me up and then I can't get back to sleep, and then I oversleep, and then I am late for work, and you know what my boss is like If I'm even one minute late I'll have him on my back for an entire week.'

Sue turns on him her eyes are blazing. 'So, this is how it's going to be is it Brian Fossett?' Sue rages. 'I marry you thinking you are a kind considerate man... turns out you're like all the rest. You want me at your beck and call. What do want from me Brian? A sex slave is that what you want? Did you only marry me for sex? Is this just about sex?'

Brian is shocked to think that Sue might see him like that. 'No Sue, you know I'm not like that. Why are you saying that? I just...' Brian runs out of words. He now wishes he'd never brought the topic up.

'As for your boss having no time for you, perhaps you should give some thought to why people despise you?'

'Like you do! I imagine?' Brian retorts looking flushed.

Wow, Sue is thinking, better back off. She can't afford to have him bugger off, not while Olga is still alive.

'I don't despise you Brian, it's just that at times you say hurtful things, like just then, suggesting I am having an affair. The very thought is preposterous!' Sue gets into role. She tosses back her head and with a sad clown face says, 'you wouldn't understand. I am at heart, in my very soul, a true thespian. I was an ac–tor when we married and I can no more abandon my calling than I can deny the air that I breathe.'

Here she goes. Brian hates it when she gets started on about her acting. All this arty-farty acting nonsense has gone to her head.

'Acting! Yeah, tell me about it,' he says wryly.

'What's that supposed to mean?' Sue says sharply.

'It means you did a job on me Sue getting me to marry you. That was an Oscar winning performance. Then guess what? You decided that I was beige or whatever, and then, after we are married you tell me you never fancied me.'

'Oh I see, ' Sue's face darkens, 'this is about sex isn't it?'

Too embarrassed to admit that he is frustrated and he would be happy with just a crumb of affection, a flake of her life Brian blusters, 'Yes to a point. Our sex life is a worry but there's other stuff too, like why can I never come with you to rehearsals?' Brian shuts up. What's the point? Whenever he and Sue have words, he doesn't get to use his.

Better get her acting skills out. Turning away from him and dropping her head in her hands, Sue cries, 'I am hurt Brian, cut to the quick, to have you think, that I would betray you, sleep with another man. We don't have sex because of my hormones. But you being a man would know nothing of a woman's hormones, how they can plague her, rob her of her... whatsaname.' Rising to her feet Sue throws the TV remote on the sofa and makes for the door where she turns on him.

Sue, tells him from the open door, 'I cannot abide you in my bed tonight Brian. Until you have control of those filthy thoughts in your head you can sleep down here on the sofa.'

'Good!' Brian says haughtily. 'I already planned to.'

Sue isn't finished with him. 'You want sex Brian go and have a wank.'

Things between them don't improve. They get worse in fact, especially after the New Year's Eve party at the factory.

Each year his boss Billy Dodds would invite the workers and their other half's to a drunken New Years Eve bash. Brian stopped going to these some years back. Watching a bunch of arseholes in his view, getting pissed and then starting on him is not his idea of a celebration. It was Sue who insisted they should go. Sue had already met his boss, a few times, embarrassed him flirting. He never said anything. He thought a night out; just the two of them might rekindle something, him being ever the optimist.

The benches were cleared of tools and cleaned up. Chairs were imported. The rotating disco ball someone hung from the rafters did little to improve the droll atmosphere inside the grey cinderblock walls. A tape across the iron stairs warned revelers the boss's office was strictly off-limits.

He'd been looking for her for almost an hour, not a painstaking forensic search, not wanting her to think he's watching her, just concerned. He asked a few of his co-workers if anyone knew where she was and got the kind of snide remarks he might have expected.

'She's prob'ly up in the office with Dodds getting laid.' Wayne Tester, the most detestable of his co-workers jibed, getting applauded and cheered on by the others.

'Fuck off Tester, Brian snapped.

'Whoah look out. There she is. What'd I tell you Fossett?' Wayne pointed over Brian's shoulder with his can of beer.

Looking round Brian saw Sue, a half empty bottle of champagne in her hand, holding onto the handrail unsteadily making her way down the iron stairs, the same stairs that Mavis Fotheringay had fallen down.

She'd been up in Dodds office. No sign of his boss. Her hair looked mussed up and her skirt was in disarray.

Back home, Brian felt obliged to remind her of his boss's reputation.

'How could you embarrass me like that Sue? I'm never going to live this down, you and Dodds, up in his office, all that time. I just don't buy it; you saying he was only teaching you stuff on the computer. You know what Dodds is like. He will shag anything with a pulse and now I will be the laughing stock of the factory.'

'Brian,' Sue coldly reminds him, 'you always were.'

The quarrel ended badly when Sue yelled at him. 'Stop meddling in my life Brian I can do whatever the hell I want. Now, get over it. Go grow some.'

Rather than stand up to his wife, afraid of being alone and aching for intimacy and a few crumbs of affection Brian simply tried harder.

Six months pass and Sue can't fathom out how Olga could still be alive. She has to be, what? A hundred and fifty years old! She's not sure she can cope with this any longer. Brian is driving her nuts. Billy Dodds keeps telling her to be patient. Then he doesn't have to live with the jerk.

It's like her life is on hold. At times, Sue wonders if Olga might outlive her! How tragic would that be? Ridiculous.

This particular day things seemed unbearable and then Sue gets a call on her mobile. It's Billy.

'Sue I've got some good news for you. How would you like to become my new P.A?'

For a second there, Sue is lost for words, She frowns. Billy mentioned only in passing that he will need to hire a secretary to replace Mavis Fotheringale who tragically was found dead at the foot of the office stairs on the Monday morning after the weekend close down.

It was clearly an accident, the Police Chief said. The Coroner less convinced, recorded an open verdict. In his summation the Coroner said, "There is still the question over why Mavis Fotheringay was in the factory, alone over that weekend."

'Your P.A! Jeez-us I'd love that.' Then Sue says, 'yeah but, what about Veronica? Does your wife know?'

Dodds laughs out loud. 'Veronica told me I could take on a new secretary. She doesn't have to know it's you. Anyway, it's up to me who I hire and fire.'

Her and Billy... 'Wow Billy that would be great'

Sue can imagine it; Brian will go apeshit when she tells him that she is going to be his boss's secretary.

She was right.

It's as if Sue is determined to destroy what's left of their marriage. 'You are kidding me?' Brian says. 'Why? I think it's wonderful. It'll get me out the house and bring in some extra income and it'll challenge my talents.' (It'll do that all right!)

'You can't do this Sue. I mean we don't even know how Mavis Fotheringale died.'

'Yes we do!' Sue shouts back, 'she fell down the stairs. What you saying Brian? That Billy had a hand in her accident? That's ridiculous. Mavis fell down those stairs, the autopsy said so.'

'The Coroner recorded an open verdict Sue,' He reminds her, 'what's that tell you? You aint dumb.'

'Fuck off Brian.'

'You can't do this Sue.'

'I already told him I would take the job.'

'This is about you and Dodds.' Brian now accuses her, 'that's what this is all about isn't it? What happened at that New Years Eve party Sue? Something did! I'm right aint I?'

'Don't start with that again Brian Fossett!' Sue jumps down his throat, 'how many times do I have to tell you, nothing happened between us in his office.' If Olga were dead, I wouldn't even be having this conversation, for fucks sake!

'Even if I believed you Sue, which I don't, you know how I feel about that womaniser. You can't trust him you know? Besides he is a bully.'

'Oh grow up Brian.' Sue snaps disgusted at his weakness. 'Billy only picks on you because you are a wimp, and you don't stand up to him. I am taking the job and that's that.'

Sue hasn't forgotten Brian could easily scupper her inheritance. If he was to walk out on her and start divorce proceedings she'd be fucked. He won't do that though because then he'll lose his house, besides, he doesn't have the gumption.

Thinking it'll keep him sweet for a while that night she gives him a hand job.

Four years pass and incredibly, Olga is still alive. Sean and Carla, they still give him hell. Brian feels that as a step-dad, although he never felt like one, the way they treat him, he may have let them down. Perhaps, if he'd stood up to Sue, acted like a decent role model, encouraged them to do more, they might not have ended up jobless and lazing about all day. He also blames himself for his failed marriage. If only he wasn't so beige, if only he had courage to fight for what he wanted, Sue might have a little respect for him. She might even want to have sex with him again.

Sue and Billy endure no such frustrations.

# Chapter two.

Stretching, on the sofa Brian yawns. The movement disturbs Jock snoring, curled up at his feet. Picking up the remote, Brian switches off the TV. The clock on the wall above the fireplace shows ten past twelve. The clock set in a burst of brass coloured spikes, once fashionable in the sixties is the only thing to have survived Sue's purge of his parent's belongings. Within weeks of her moving in two men, Sue had hired called round when he was at work and raped the house. The clock only survived because they couldn't be bothered to fetch a stepladder to take it down.

'Beddy-byes time.' Brian tells Jock, 'you gotta take a pee buddy.'

Standing by the back door, Brian watches the little Scottie cock his leg up the apple tree. Back in the kitchen, Brian settles Jock in his bed and then locks the back door. He leaves the hall light on for Sue and then he sets off to bed. Feeling tired he only manages to read three more pages of his novel, 'The Upstart." a tale of a Tex McCoy, a friendless cowboy who stands up against the tyranny of his cruel boss. He wishes he could be like Tex.

Brian yawns, turns off the light, and then settles under the duvet. Sleep denies him. Back to worrying about his wife and wondering if she is with another man.

Dumb... dumb... dumb. He has only himself to blame for marrying her. At the time, she had two kids and was living in a grotty rented house and in debt up to her eyeballs. Who could blame her? Then of course there is that business with her inheritance. He feels bad that what she saw in him was the means to get her hands on Olga's money, if she has any, he thinks wryly.

Twenty minutes later, with the house as silent as a grave, and a Jack-The-Ripper fog strolling through the streets of the small market town of Tawny West Brian Fossett is snoring.

It could have been something Sue dropped on the bedroom floor, or perhaps it was the coolness of his wife's body slipping between the sheets that woke him. Brian opens one eye. The red digital numbers on the bedside clock glow 02:08.

He lies as still as a mouse. The duvet gets a good thump. That'll be Sue driving it down in the space between them, God forbid that their bodies should ever touch! Most likely a Capital Offence these days!

Sleeping back-to back is compulsory. So too is the wedge of duvet trapped between them. Sue doesn't want her husband getting reckless notions of impropriety. Not that Sue is prudish; far from it, she loves sex... just not with her husband.

Asleep, post-coital sensations in her groin are making Sue restless. In a dream, she is lying beneath the muscled torso of her lover. She and Billy back in the four-poster bed at their secret hotel. Through hooded eyes, she watches the rhythmic rise and fall of her lover's muscled arms. She is moaning and watching the tendons in his neck stand out like cords of steel. His sweat trickles through the carpet of black hair on his chest. The four-poster bed is making so much noise she fears it might collapse in on them. Sue's hips are making thrusting movements. She wakes with a start and catches the cry that would have woken the house. She has gone too far to stop. Careful not to wake her husband she rolls onto her back and allows her fingers to pick up where they'd left off. Digging her nails in her pillow, she smothers her groans.

On the other side of what Brian wryly calls the, "The Duvet divide", Brian is dreaming too. His jaws ache from smiling. Brian is centre-stage beneath a huge promotional banner. Voices are telling him, "smile Brian," "hold the cheque higher," "look this way Brian". A microphone is thrust in his face. Behind it a man says, "How does it feel to have won the jackpot Brian?" Other voices chime in..."look this way Brian–smile Brian. He is tugging at the cork of a huge bottle of Champagne and watching Joanna Lumley dressed in a chicken outfit cavorting on the stage alongside him. He can't believe it, him winning the jackpot. Hang on a sec, half asleep now, Joanna Lumley... in a chicken suit! This doesn't look good. At the precise moment, the cork pops out the Champagne bottle Brian farts? His eyes shoot open. The other side of the duvet Sue sits up with a start her orgasm snuffed out.

'Bloody hell, Brian what the...'

Sue shuts up when a warm malodorous, fart-like aroma cuts through to her brain. She clamps a hand across her mouth and pinches her nose. Sue uses her forearm to ram the duvet down tighter. This understandable yet regrettable action adds propulsion to the creeping noxious gas.

Brian Fossett, groggy with sleep says, 'gosh, I'm Sorry. Sue. I think I may have put too many kidney beans in the Chili Con-Carne last night.'

'I've had it with you Brian Fossett.' Sue snarls flopping back down and turning her back on him. 'I don't know why I ever married you. My mother was right. You were never going to amount to anything.'

Brian retorts. 'Your mother never even met me Sue. She died long before we met.'

Sue is thinking, over the past couple of months Brian has been getting a bit above himself, making her repeat her instructions, lying when he says he hadn't heard her, or pretending that he didn't understand... blah... blah... blah. Well, he has gone too far this time... a spell on the sofa of say, two weeks, plus a quid off his ten-pounds weekly allowance should bring him to heel.

'I swear you deliberately pushed that one out you filthy beast. I now feel quite queasy.' Sue is waving a hand in front of her face. 'I cannot face the prospect of one more night in the same bed as you Brian. Until my senses are rebalanced you are to sleep on the sofa.'

Brian thinks about a retort but decides what's the point. Tiredness takes over.

Snuggled back down under the duvet Sue sighs. She can't believe Olga can still be alive. How much longer do I have to keep on inventing excuses to banish Brian from the bedroom. Sue takes some solace from the fact that for a few more nights she has the bed to herself. God, I wish Billy was in my bed with me. If it weren't for that fucking clause in Olga's Will! Oh, God don't get me started, and, as for that stuffed shirt Silas Saxby. Wouldn't he just love to cut me out of my own inheritance? There's nothing to be done about it. I'll just have to stay married to Brian, and suffer his irritating ways and pray that Olga buggers off real soon. I've been saying that for nine fucking years. I swear that if it weren't for Billy I would commit a murder.

Six-forty in the morning and Brian can't sleep. This is really annoying because it is Sunday, the one day, in the entire week that he gets to have a lie in. He is thinking, pity, me farting like that. I only got back in my own bed two weeks ago, and that was only because Aunt Olga paid us a visit. Once a month, for a few hours, he and Sue, with the connivance of Sue's kids get to act like a regular contentedly wed couple. Sometimes, Brian thinks, one day he'll lose it, throw a wobbler, right in front of Olga; let her know how things really are. Even tell Sue she can fuck off and cook her own dinner. Tell her I'm off to the pub.

Careful not to wake his wife Brian eases his body back down under the duvet. There is an itch in his nose. He daren't move his arm it will wake her. He opens one eye. Sunlight filtered through the primrose curtains paints the walls a soft yellow hue. The same eye swivels over to his bedside clock. The red numbers glow: 07:04. He closes his eyes and blows through his mouth. In his minds eye a robed Priest is standing at his bedside. The Priest is doing criss-crossy things with his hands. Brian's face is deathly white. Should there not be gathered at his bedside those who love him, those who will miss him? There are none! A trembling hand places cold pennies on his eyelids. In the distance he can hear the peal of church bells. In a moment of shocking clarity, Brian opens his eyes. What he can hear is the good and the Godly being summoned to the first Mass of the day at St Stephens's church. Brian, a man of singular dedication to the faith of agnosticism is nevertheless grateful for the Sabbath, the day that God rested from his labours. This means he gets a day off too.

Now, it is his ankle that has an itch. This is a worry because although Sue is now sleeping soundly she wakes at the slightest thing and she particularly hates it when he is the slightest thing. Gently now, he attempts to reach his left ankle with his other foot. Sue stirs. He freezes. He now tries the distraction technique, tries to fix his mind on anything other than the itch. He thinks about his day off and what he might like to do. That doesn't take long because in due course Sue will tell him what his plans are. Apart from baiting his wife until her patience snaps Brian is limited in his objectives. The itch is now belligerent. Pulling a face and tightening his sphincter muscles makes no difference.

The red numbers on the bedside clock now glow 8.15. Brian is now thinking that perhaps he should get up and carry out the first of his daily rituals. Brian worries that his entire life seems to be governed by inviolate formalities. It would be nice; he thinks, one day to do something rash, like tell Sue to get her own tea.

Not often, just occasionally, when Sue had really annoyed him he might delay taking up her tea. There was this one time when she really got to him and he never took her one up, said he'd forgot. That really was a bad move. Sue really went for him. She called him lazy and said he was a liar to boot. After that incident, he spent an entire week on the sofa. It is enough that he demonstrates his annoyance and his sovereignty by the deliberate act of turning the handle of the mug away from her.

The red numbers on the clock show 8:37. He sighs. He is enjoying the warm sunlight filtered through the curtains on his face.

It might be a lovely spring morning out there, it's a Sunday, and you should be up enjoying it. Stop mucking about. Go and get Sue's tea, then you've got the whole day to yourself. You could go over the park, spend a little more time with Charlie? That prompts a reminder. I must get Charlie to go to the doctors. That cough of his is getting worse. He's had it for three weeks now.

The tickle in his nose is back with a vengeance. He sucks in air and holds it in for a full minute. The urge goes away. He sighs and relaxes. Without warning, he sneezes and sits bolt upright. The reaction from his wife on the other side of the duvet divide is both immediate and startling. Snarling like a provoked beast, she brings her forearm crashing down on the wedge of duvet between them.

Like a small creature in a hedge Brian freezes.

In the Fossett's bedroom, things calm down. Brian sighs... Brian does a lot of sighing. He is wondering, not for the first time how his life got like this, how trapped he feels. Charlie is always telling him that people can always change things in their life and that doing nothing is a choice! Brian doesn't do change, if he could, first of all he would start with his job, get away from Billy Dodds and his bullying. Just thinking about this is bringing on a headache. He has always lacked the courage to make those big life-changing decisions. He imagines he inherited these traits from his Father: "Better the devil you know, than the devil you don't, Brian." His father would caution him.

Don't you go thinking about Mum and Dad again, it'll only make you even more depressed.

On an impulse, Brian slips his head under the covers. He can smell warm fart mixed with Sue's perfume.

Unbidden, from a dark recess of his mind he remembers the silly game that he and his parent's would play. He was six, or seven, around that age. He is hiding under the bedclothes and holding his breath, trying hard not to giggle. He can hear Mum and Dad padding across the carpet. They stop at his bed. "I wonder where Brian is. Do you think that perhaps Peter Pan has taken him to join his gang?"

That's it! You're not going there. Get your ass out of bed. Go fetch Sue's tea.

Recently - well, not that recently - about six months ago, Brian became aware of a rising swell of popular unrest in his being. The signs had been: baulking at Sue's demands, questioning the fairness of her instructions, and challenging her authority to treat him like a serf. He worries what this insubordination hopes to achieve. Is he hoping that he can renegotiate the set-in-stone arrangements that suit Sue but not him, or is he slowly undermining the foundations of their marriage? That is a scary thought. Today he decides he is going to be sweetness and light. For an entire day, he will try not to do anything to annoy her.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed Brian yawns and stretches his arms. While his feet fish around blindly for his slippers a part of his sub-conscious aggrieved at his cowardly subjugation strikes a blow for the oppressed. He gasps when his hand throws back the duvet from his sleeping wife.

This rebellious act might have been shocking enough but the sight of the tiny triangle of red silk nestled between his wife's thighs was as riveting as functionality questionable.

Sue sits up, looks daggers at her husband, and snatches back the covers.

'You moron, why did you do that? You must like sleeping on the sofa.'

'Sue I am so s...'

'Shut it Brian Fossett. Go downstairs and get the house ready for aunt Olga's visit...'

Sue sees his eyes widen. His stupid face gives him away. 'You'd forgotten hadn't you?'

His head moves from side to side and then up and down.

'No!' He lies, 'I know it's Sunday and Olga is coming to today. I am not entirely stupid.'

'You are lying. Look at your face. It's gone all red.' Sue chides him keeping the duvet pulled up under her chin.

He can feel his cheeks burning.

'You had forgotten. How thick are you Brian?'

'I hadn't forgotten.' Brian insists knowing he'd been caught out.

Exasperated, Sue flops back down. 'Just go downstairs and get my tea, and hurry up. The house has to be tidied, and you have the breakfasts and the dinner to cook.'

In the kitchen, while the kettle rattles away Brian hunts around in the cupboard for her favourite mug, the one with the red devil holding a massive penis. 'Sexy Devil', it says. Sue told him it was a gift from a girlfriend. Something in the way she said it he didn't believe her.

Keeping one eye on the kitchen clock, he makes a ham sandwich, wraps it in Clingfilm, and then stuffs it in his coat pocket. Next, he makes a flask of hot sweet tea. Now, he looks round the kitchen and then heads upstairs with Sue's tea.

Sue is under the duvet fast asleep. Just her jet-black hair spread out on the white pillowcase like crow's wings is visible.

'Sue, I've brought your tea.' He places the mug on the bedside table.

A grunt of acknowledgement would have been enough. Nothing.

'I'm off out. I am going round the block with Jock,' he says louder, 'I shall go over to the park to check in on Charlie. I shan't be long.'

By the door, he waits for a response. Nothing. He goes back to her bedside table and turns the handle away from her.

By the time he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he is feeling a little less grumpy.

Out in the kitchen he pulls on his anorak and then grabs Jock's lead.

Jock, woken by Brian rushing into the kitchen opens one eye and then quickly shuts it again. At the age of eleven, he finds his master's enthusiasm for long walks irksome. If he could have articulated it, Jock would have reminded Brian that in human years he is seventy-seven years old.

Brian clips the lead on Jock's faded tartan collar. 'Come on old feller; let's go get our constitutional.'

At the front door, Jock pauses to rock back on his arthritic haunches. His face takes on the focus of an athlete facing the high jump.

Brian waits patiently for Jock to leap over the two -inch step.

'Good dog.' Brian says reaching down and ruffling Jock's head.

Around the time Brian and Jock sets off, on the other side of town five-feet two-inches tall, "Sparrow", climbs out the passenger door of the black van with blacked-out windows and a scanner on its roof. Being a Sunday the factory is deserted. Using a key from the set given to them, he unlocks the gates of Precision Pumps Intl, and then swings them back. He stands to one side to allow Beanie (given the name due to the woolen hats he always wears) to steer the customized Transit van through the gates.

Sparrow closes the gates and stands guard while Beanie drives the van round the back of the factory. He parks up by a back door.

Sparrow hears Beanie in his earpiece. 'I'm going in.'

'Roger that.' Sparrow replies into sleeve.

Selecting one key from the bunch given him, Beanie unlocks the back door. He steps inside the dark factory. He's been here before so he knows where to find the light switch. He waits for the neon tubes to warm up. Now he goes straight over to the alarm panel and punches in the numbers to disable the alarm system. In no hurry Beanie, carrying an empty holdall goes over to the flight of steel stairs. At the top, he selects another key. In the CEO's office, he turns on the lights and gets down to work gathering up the surveillance equipment he installed three weeks ago. Twenty minutes later, he pauses at the open door. Before he turns off the light, he looks about the office making sure it is all as he found it. Satisfied, he turns off the light, locks the door before bouncing back down the iron stairs. He resets the alarm and leaves the factory the same way he came in. Back in the van, he speaks into the tiny microphone in the palm of his hand.

'I'm leaving now.'

'Roger that.' Sparrow replies.

With the van idling out in the road, Sparrow pulls the gates closed and then locks them. He rejoins Beanie in the van and the pair drives off.

They have one more task to complete before they pass the files over to their client.

# Chapter Three.

Either side of the front path, under the startling blue sky the yellow frocks of the daffodils he planted last October nod in a gentle breeze. The Sparrows in the eaves stop chirruping and watch the man that keeps the bird feeders topped up push open the gate listing on its rusted hinges. The leading edge dragging on the ground cuts into the crescent scar on the path.

Mrs Goodbody hesitates when she sees Brian emerge from his gate. He's headed her way She considers crossing the road. After he went and married that awful woman, he was no longer to be trusted. What a shame. He was such nice polite little boy and his parents were so lovely.

'Morning Mrs Goodbody, how are you today, lovely morning.'

Goodbody passes him, head down; she might have been her clearing her throat.

Over his shoulder, Brian watches her broad beam pick up bounce as she hurries to catch up with Henry Butters.

'Woo hoo.... Henry!' Brenda Goodbody calls out to her neighbour five doors down. Butters turns awkwardly on his cane after closing his gate.

With Olga due to arrive at three, he'll have to get a wiggle on. First, he will call in on Charlie. Better make it a quick visit today, he has breakfasts to cook, dinner to prep and the house to tidy. So much for his day off, still... it's better than him having to go into the factory.

Brian joined Precision Pumps Ltd straight from school aged sixteen. Back then, before the closure of the milk distribution depot, and before they were both killed in the car accident up in Scotland, Lord and Lady Curmudgeon were the town's biggest employers. The whole town was relieved to hear that their daughter Lady Veronica was to take over the business. Strictly speaking, it is her husband William Dodds who manages the factory. Monday through to midday Saturday, Brian assembles the "Mighty Mule" lifting pump. This is Fossett's baby. The other workers wont go near this great lump. Fossett can assemble and test five of these in a single day. The work is okay. It is his boss he hates, oh, and his co-workers, but his boss he hates a whole lot more.

People regard Brian as a friendless loner which is just not so. There are three people in his life he cares about greatly. There is Charlie Parker, who sleeps rough on the bench over in Chisholm Park; there is also Mille and Nancy, who ply their trade under the canal bridge. Aged anywhere between fifty and seventy, Charlie, has made his home in Chesholme Park for the past six years. He and Brian have been close friends all that time. Most days, sometimes twice a day, Brian will call in on him, take him a bite to eat, a flask of tea just and check that he is okay. They chat about this and that, nothing too serious, unless of course Brian wants to discuss the old guy's failing health. Once a week maybe, Brian goes out of his way on his walks to catch up with Millie and Nancy the two girls he befriended two years back, make sure they are okay. Both girls were brought up in the same Childrens home. They tell Brian they plan to get out of the sex trade. They tell him they are saving hard. They meet their clients under the bridge over the canal. The actual business is conducted in a tiny rented basement flat round the corner. They have a rule: when one of them is working the other, one stays outside the door. It's not that Brian is prudish, or that he necessarily disapproves of their line of work, he can't help worrying about them.

When Millie and Nancy first encountered the man with his little dog, who was telling them that they should go to college, they thought he was some kind of evangelist nutter wanting to save their souls, nowadays, Brian is a true and loyal friend who would never dream of muddying their friendship by taking advantage of their line of work.

Knowing what people would say Brian doesn't talk about his friends to others.

Never quite comfortable with the herd, and always feeling disconnected, Brian can see how his own life mirrors theirs.

He worries about all three of them, the girls for the risks they take, which he can never quite understand, and then he worries about Charlie, because the winter has really taken its toll on his health and no amount of nagging will get him to agree to see a doctor.

'Stop nagging me Brian, you're like an old mother hen, gotta die of something aint I?' He would complain and then laugh through that tangle of a beard.

Brian worries that Charlie doesn't seem to care if he lives or dies. He suspects something in his past has led him to choose to be homeless, because he doesn't drink, and as far as he knows the guy isn't mentally unwell, all he does is smoke his rollies.

Charlie has never spoken of his past but Brian thinks that there are secrets there, something about his manner, that steely look in those bright blue eyes speaks of hidden mysteries. That was the problem... right there... he can't put his finger on it!

The two girls, Nancy and Millie, he'd nag them too. They were never going to convince him that they could always manage the risks they took.

Worrying about other folk keeps Brian from facing up to his own issues, which are about to surface in a spectacular, tragic outcome.

A little after nine, Jock and Brian reaches the park gates. After passing under the arch of the wrought iron gates glistening with dewy cobwebs, they cross the damp grass heading for the overgrown clump of Rhododendron trees and the bench that Charlie calls his home. Up ahead, Brian is relived to see the red glow of a cigarette followed by a thin spiral of smoke. Charlie is awake and thankfully alive.

From thirty paces away, he can hear that hacking cough. Fortunately, it's now late March and the nights are getting shorter and less frosty.

'Morning Charlie,' Brian calls out cheerfully, 'Lovely spring morning.'

'G'morning mucker,' Charlie says sitting up, 'it's enough to warm the cockles of yer heart.'

Another fit of coughing.

To make room for Brian, Charlie covered with blankets and an old army greatcoat, swings his legs off the bench. Both men wince at the loud cracking sound.

Looking at Brian from under his unruly eyebrows the old man laughs.

'Just me old bones complaining, nothing terminal, the damp gets in me 'inges.'

Another coughing fit.

Jock finds a dry spot to settle under the seat. Brian gives his old friend a severe look.

'Did you have a good night Colonel?' the nickname he'd given him.

Charlie blows out a stream of smoke. 'Bloody foxes woke me a couple of times, screaming males fighting over vixens. ' He turns to Brian. 'Take my advice Brian, never fight over a female, there are plenty enough to go around.'

Brian nods, looks unseeing, into the future.

'Wise words Charlie,' Brian says handing over the sandwich and the flask of hot tea. 'Breakfast, ham and mustard, on thick bread just as you like it.'

Gnarled fingers, nicotine-stained, unwrap the sandwich.

'Cheers mucker, you are a good friend.'

Charlie pauses, looks around at his friend. 'What's the date?'

Something in the way he asks makes Brian frown. '28 Th March. Why is it your birthday?'

'No matter.' Charlie says pouring himself a mug of hot tea.

The old guy seems wistful today, almost tearful. No point enquiring. Charlie will never open up.

While his friend tucks into the sandwich Brian shares a thought.

'This business about women Charlie...I mean, confusing aint they?' The question is rhetorical.

Busy eating, Charlie waits for Brian to say what's on his mind. With Brian, it could be anything.

'Men and women pair off, there are rules about who they are supposed to be, what they can and can't do get set in stone as it were, and next thing you know, years pass by, and you look back and you think, what happened?'

Charlie knows where this is headed, been here before.

'I was wondering... we often... I mean some people, they settle for a partner who is... I dunno know... just not suitable.'

Charlie licks butter off the tips of his fingers poking through his woolen gloves. He looks around at his friend.

'Are we talking generalities here Brysie, or are we talking about you?'

Brian looks up at the sky.

'Hmm. Me I guess. This morning Sue and I had words... I mean a proper argument'

'And did you get to use any of your words this time?

Brian grimaces. 'Not really.'

In the ensuing silence that men in conversation seem comfortable with, Charlie ponders on this. He and Brian have visited this topic before. The truth is Brian has got stuck with a wife that he would have shown the door to years ago. He guesses at some level the marriage has to be working or wouldn't he have quit by now?

Unbidden, an image of Helen, his deceased wife never far from his thoughts wife pops into his head. Today, he and Helen would have been married thirty years and he would have given anything for just one more day with her.

'You were saying... you had words...' Charlie prompts.

'Yeah, another argument, the third this week, except this time it was pretty bad and I might have overstepped the mark. I really pissed her off this time. Sometimes I think I have a self-destruct button, d'ya know what I mean?'

'Self-destruct button!' Charlie says raising his eyebrows. 'Oh yeah, I got one of those,'

Patting Brian's knee to get his attention the old man fixes Brian with his clear blue eyes and says, 'at the risk of repeating myself Brysie, you need to hear this until it makes sense... your missus is pissed off with you for breathing! It's time you stopped blaming yourself and thinking that if you try harder Sue will start to appreciate you... because she wont!' Charlie finds himself getting mad. 'That woman and her ungrateful kids treat you like dirt Brian, and you shouldn't stand for it. Tell me one thing you are getting out of your marriage?'

Brian stares at Charlie his expression blank.

'Are you now thinking that perhaps you was a bit hasty in marrying Sue?' Charlie says choosey about his words.

Brian sniffs. The damp air is making his nose run. Jock looks up from under the bench.

'It's a bit late in the day to have regrets Charlie. It's been nine years.'

Charlie whistles through his beard.

'Has it been bad all of that time?'

'No, not the entire nine years, first few months, it was great. Things between us changed after the New Years Eve party at the factory, remember I told you what happened.'

Charlie growls through his beard. 'Damn bastards!'

'What?'

'This was the party where your wife disappears, and then hours later emerges from your boss's office 'looking disheveled', those were your words Brian,' Charlie reminds him, 'and then within weeks of his previous secretary dying, in mysterious circumstances I might add, your missus gets her job.'

Brian's head shoots round. Charlie just put into words his own fears.

'You think my boss had a hand in her death?'

Charlie spreads his hands and tilts his head.

'All I'm saying is the timing of the... accident, was very convenient for the pair of them.'

Brian goes quiet, doesn't want to think about how Mavis Fotheringay bled to death over that weekend and no one ever found out why she was even in the office late on a Friday night alone!

'We don't know there was anything suspicious about how she died Charlie, the police investigated it and decided it was an accident. I... I can't... I don't want to even think about that.'

'If you say so,' Charlie says shrugging his shoulders.

Charlie keeps rubbing the side of his head with his gloved hand. 'I'm probably being paranoid, It's just with the pair of them up to all sorts of shenanigans ... ' Charlie's words trails off.

Charlie's got no time for his wife. He keeps telling Brian that he'd be better off leaving her, throwing her out even. Charlie thinks Sue is a serial adulteress and a cougar.

'I know what you are thinking Charlie, and I whilst I respect your advice, I can't quite believe that Sue is cheating on me.'

Charlie pats Brian's knee. What passes through his mind, he doesn't want to say, all in good time old buddy.

'You are a good friend Brian and I worry that you are a bit too soft for this dog eat dog world – no offence Jock,' He says looking down at the Westie who is not the least bit offended. 'Brysie, you need to toughen up. This is all there is mate.' Charlie says with an expansive sweep of his arms. 'Life can be shit. Life can kill you, and if you don't like what you got then choose to get the hell out.'

It's all very well Charlie saying this. Brian already knows it. He has heard all this before from Charlie, and the two girls. He gets by hoping tomorrow things are bound to improve.

'I hear what you are saying Charlie, and you may be right, I know I should leave Sue, but, how will she manage? What about Sean and Carla? I can't throw them out. And, if I was pack my bags, and leave them, where would I go?'

The hands on his Dad's Timex show eleven o clock. It's always fifteen minutes slow. Brian gets to his feet. He shakes Jock's lead. 'Thanks for the advice mucker. Something to ponder on eh?'

Worried for his friend Charlie thinks to lighten the mood. He says, 'hey cheer up Brysie. It's Sunday. What plans you got for today?'

Closing one eye Brian tilts his head to one side – thinking. His eyes widen.

'Christ! Aunt Olga is coming today. I better get back.' Turning to Charlie, he pleads. 'Let me get you a doctor's appointment? I'm worried about that cough of yours.'

Waving his hand, Charlie dismisses the suggestion.

'Stop fussing over me Brian. I'm a lot tougher than I look. Go home. Get that lazy missus of yours to help. It's not right that you have to do all of the work; after all, it's her friggin aunt...and,' he adds with a wagging finger, 'you do know you'll not get a bean out of Olga's Will!'

'Yeah I know. I think the old girl hates me anyway. Gotto go.' He gives Charlie a salute and says. 'See you tonight Colonel.'

Before he hurries off, he points at Charlie. 'Keep wrapped up you.'

It was difficult keeping from Brian just how ill was feeling. Lying back on the bench Charlie pulls his old army greatcoat up to his chin. He had meant to ask Brian to get him some more Paracetamol. His headache is getting worse.

Ten –thirty, Brian arrives back home. After hanging his coat behind the kitchen door, he settles Jock in his bed, and then gives him a chewy treat, and then he refreshes the water in his bowl. After checking the time he gets cracking on making the breakfasts whilst at the same time prepping the veg for the Sunday roast in honour of Olga's visit. He's already behind schedule. It wasn't Jock that slowed them this time it was something Charlie said. By the time he walks through the front door, he's put all those worries behind him.

He can hear Sue upstairs in the bathroom la-la-ing a song he doesn't recognise. She sounds in good spirits, maybe even approachable. He even wonders if it is worthwhile asking her to reconsider his banishment to the sofa. Doubtful. He groans. It's depressing, the thought of another week sleeping on the sofa in the lounge.

Focusing on more immediate concerns, Brian gets on with his chores. Olga is due at three o'clock, and already it's eleven-thirty. Sue and her two kids will be expecting Full-English breakfasts, which reminds him, he'd better give them a wake-up call.

Brian hesitates at the foot of the stairs. Waking Sue's kids is asking for trouble. He doesn't want to ask Sue to do it because he knows what she'll say: "Oh for Christ's sake Brian, grunt up!"

The alarm on the cooker has him running back in the kitchen to check on the sausages.

The smell of bacon sizzling in the pan makes his stomach rumble. He cracks four eggs into a large frying pan and then flips the sausages that are browning nicely under the grill. He then stirs the baked beans in the saucepan. He checks the clock again.

The veg is prepped and sitting in cold water in saucepans. Brian checks the wall clock. He's making good progress. The washing machine is now clacking through its rinse cycle, the kitchen windows are steamed up, and sweat is beading on his forehead. He checks the time again. Next, he puts the joint of beef in the oven and sets the timer. He wipes his hands down his apron and turns his attention to making his celebrated pudding: Brian's Sherry trifle.

After pouring the correct amount of Sherry over the broken sponge cake, he holds up the bottle – not much left. He pours another slug in the bowl, and then after deciding the amount left in the bottle is not worth keeping he shrugs and empties the remainder over the sodden cake mix.

A short while later Sue pokes her around the kitchen door and casts her eyes around.

'It's all in hand.' He says before she starts.

'Just as long as it is,' she warns him, 'I don't want another visit from mister cock-up.'

Sue leaves him to get on. Seconds later she's back on his case.

'Where are Sean and Carla?'

Midway across the kitchen with a scalding pan of bacon in his hands Brian wipes his brow on his sleeve and glares at his wife. The kettle is screaming. He fails to keep the sarcasm from his reply.

'Er...in bed.'

Sue went on the attack.

'What! Why are they still in bed when they should be up? Have you got their breakfasts ready?'

'What do you think this is... Scotch mist?' He says holding up the pan of bacon. Hurrying to the sink, he drops the hot pan in the soapy water, pulls a face, and sucks his scalded fingers.

'You're useless Brian.' Sue snaps, 'I suppose I'll have to call them myself.'

Above the clatter of pans and dishes, Brian can hear Sue out in the hall yelling up the stairs.

'Sean...Carla, get your arses out of bed. I've done your breakfasts. Aunt Olga is coming today.'

Aunt Olga's visits are a big deal in the Fossett household, Sean and Carla know better than to argue with their mother.

Under a duvet in the larger of the two upstairs bedrooms, Carla stirs. Not quite awake, she grimaces when her tongue explores the inside of her mouth. Through an alcohol-induced fog she thinks, why can I taste penis?

Carla, never the most switched on individual tests several hypotheses before accepting the uncomfortable truth that last night, out with her mates, while her fiancée was down in Wales collecting the car part that he'd won on eBay, she may have done something rash. It was Tyrone's fault of course...He shouldn't have buggered off to Wales. Carla's mental faculties have been turned to mush by the Kamikazes she was drinking last night. If only she could think back, remember what she'd done. Another part of her suggests that temporary amnesia is a better option. Why can I taste penis? What the hell was I up to? Oh my God! Carla has a flashback. She'd been pretty drunk when she agreed to get in that car. She so hopes that Sean hadn't seen her take off with those three men! At this precise moment, beyond her getting in the car her mind is blank. There has to something, I can't have just blacked out!

Turning over onto her bottom, Carla slips her legs out from under the duvet. She stares at her knees... mud! Shit! There it is, another flashback, another uncomfortable, partial memory. On the floor are the knickers she wore last night. With one finger, she picks them up. Bollocks!

Her brain starts to come on line. Neurons crackle into life and a fluttering of images pertaining to the previous evening drift into focus. 'Nooo!' She cries softly. She recalls being on her knees in the back of a hatchback car. She and several men were in some woods. I'm not going there! Her feet find her carpet slippers.

On the stairs, feeling nauseous she encounters Sean. He looks like he has only just gone to bed.

With his shoulder, her brother barges her up against the wall. Laughing out loud he rushes down the stairs ahead of her.

'Ow! You pig.' She cries.

'Tart!' He yells back.

Down in the lounge Carla pokes her tongue out at Sean stretched out on the sofa. She goes over and flops down into an armchair.

In another armchair, taking no interest in their squabble, licking her thumb, Sue is flicking through the pages of her woman's magazine.

Five minutes later Brian, sweating, pokes his head through the doorway. 'Breakfasts are on the table in the dining room... don't let them get cold.'

Brian goes back into the kitchen. His stomach is rumbling. He doesn't have time to eat.

Knife and fork in readiness Carla gazes down at her fried breakfast. Her stomach is making the most extraordinary noises. Puling a face, she rolls her tongue around the inside of her mouth. She decides a forkful of baked beans and bacon might offer her immediate relief. She is thinking she must have gotten pretty wasted last night. How could she get involved in a dogging session for fucks sake! Had it not been for the forensic evidence on her skirt and in her knickers, she might have convinced herself she dreamt it?

Up until around ten-ish, she had been okay, merry, but nowhere near pissed. Memory intact. After that, sod all! Plenty of times she had gotten pretty wasted but never so drunk that she would allow men to take turns with her. Rather than accept the fact that she might have been drinking irresponsibly Carla concludes someone in the pub had spiked her drink!

Worse case scenario: Tyrone, will find out, do his nut, and then call off their engagement. Second worst outcome: Sean will find out, wind her up in knots, most likely in front of her Mum and Brian. Carla sighs. A full English being the best cure she knows for a hangover she gets stuck into her breakfast.

In the kitchen, sweating, Brian hears Sue call out from the lounge, 'more toast Brian.'

Brian sighs. The toast he was just going to eat he rushes this through to the dining room. With his hands on his hips, in his apron bearing the slogan, "slave boy", Brian is pleased to see his breakfasts are going down well.

Sue has something on her mind. Directing her words at Carla, sounding casual but her intent is not, she says,

'And what time did you get home last night, cheeky monkey? Out on the town just because Tyrone is away.' Sue gives her daughter one of those looks that says; don't lie to me because Mum's always know when her kids are lying.

Carla's eyes flick up and then back down again. Without even glancing at him, she can sense Sean's interest. Carla had seen Sean in town last night. For certain he will know some of the men who took turns with her.

'Last night! I don't know, two-ish. I was in town. I had a few drinks with the girls, no big deal,' Carla says this chewing on a sausage, 'why'd you wanna know, you got home way later than me, so you can't talk.' Carla guessed pressing her Mum's buttons.

Sue bristles. She decides to drop the subject. She can't afford to have that come out today, not with Olga due to visit. There is her inheritance to think about.

'Shocking!' Alma Beatridge says looking out her bedroom window across the way at the Fossett's house. Her husband, Bert, having just got out of bed is getting into state with the straps on his colostomy bag.

'I saw her come home. It was a little after six A.M,' Alma Beatridge is telling her husband, 'I saw that Sue Fossett creeping up her garden path. On a Sunday Morning! Can you believe that Bert?'

'Fucking contraption!' Bert curses.

'The comings and goings of those Fossett's!' Alma says shaking her head.

The anguished cry uttered by her husband is followed immediately by a loud crash.

Alma spins around. She gasps, has to turn her face from the sight of her husband's unmentionables, seen for the first time in many years, but never from this particular viewpoint.

His arms and legs waggling like an upturned tortoise Bert curses. 'Bollocks! Alma help me.' He pleads.

Alma feels her stomach churn. 'Ooh Bert, do cover yourself up.'
Chapter four.

The smell of bacon and eggs in the house is making Brian's tummy rumble. He lathers two slices of toast, thinking he will make himself a coffee, he goes over to the sink to refill the kettle, and while his back is turned, Sean steals his breakfast.

Ten past two, Brian finally gets a mug of coffee. He wipes his brow with a tea towel and leans on the worktop. Fifty seconds later, he hears the doorbell. He looks out in the hall. Through the opaque glass panel, he can see two figures. The diminutive one has to be Olga. He hurries back to the kitchen where everything is boiling over or needs to come out of the oven. He clears some work surface by chucking pots and pans in the sink. He hears Sue call out from the sitting room.

'Brian. Get the door. Aunt Olga is here.'

'Ow!' Brian cries when boiling water from the saucepan of potatoes rescued from the hob splashes over his hand. The oven timer has been beeping for the past five minutes and he hasn't even started making the gravy.

'Can't you or someone else get it Sue? I am really busy.' Brian calls back through gritted teeth.

'No we cant. Eastenders is on. Hurry up.' Sue has to yell above the sound of something hitting the floor out in the kitchen. When Brian cries out in what sounds like pain she grabs the TV remote and turns up the volume.

Wiping his hands on his apron, Brian hurries out to the hall.

When Brian swings the door back, Aunt Olga is looking the worst for drink. The cabbie holding her elbow looks really cheesed off.

'About time too,' Olga snaps pushing Brian aside with one arm. Her umbrella nearly takes his eye out. 'I have been vaiting outside forezer.'

Behind her, Brian is straightening up the pictures along the hallway as she bounces from wall to wall.

'Go pay the cabbie.' She barks stepping inside the lounge to a theatrical greeting by her niece.

'Aunt Olga, how lovely it is to see you, my word you do look well.'

Brian turns to the pissed-off looking cabbie holding out his hand.

'It's a fiver mate. It ought to be double-bubble the verbal abuse that old cow has given me.'

'Really! How'd you like to swap places with me?'

The taxi man waggles his fingers. 'Make it four quid then.'

Handing over his last fiver was like leaving a pet at the veterinarian's

The cabbie snatches the note from his hand and turns away,

'Hey!' Brian yells out, 'what about my change? Four pounds, you said.'

The taxi driver stops in his tracks and turns to Brian. Shaking his head, he pulls a coin from the pouch around his drooping stomach. 'Here,' he says tossing it to Brian, 'go buy a lottery ticket. Good luck.'

Brian catches the coin, closes the door, and then hurries back to the kitchen where he is greeted by a cacophony of hissing and beeping noises.

At three o clock, with the exception of her husband who is still in the kitchen, Sue arranges the family around the dining table. As usual, Olga gets seated in one of the carver chairs while sue sits in the one at the opposite end. Carla sits on Sue's right and Sean on her left, and when he wasn't bobbing in and out of the kitchen, so that he can keep an eye on her aunt, Brian is placed next to Olga.

Sue studies her Aunt. Taking on a positive slant, she thinks the old girl looks pretty close to deaths door. Yeah right. Been here before... how many times?

No one actually knows Olga's age. It is speculated that she has to be somewhere between ninety and one hundred and twenty years of age. The old woman is a nest of secrets. When plied with enough Vodka Olga would open up... a little. Mostly this was drunken gibberish, spoken in Russian, mumbo-jumbo really, hints of past glory, tales of Princesses and Russian treasure.

Sue wasn't naïve enough to believe every word of it, although she knew that some of it was true. From her own modest enquiries Sue had learned, albeit in a speculative way, that Olga was hinted to be related to the Tsar Nicholas II. Sue's hopes that some day, when the waiting is over, she will become fabulously rich. When this happens Sue plans to live the life of Cleopatra, her idol. People often remark on her resemblance to this fabulous Egyptian Queen... well, the screen version anyway. Waiting for this to happen, for Olga to bugger off is getting to her. She's been waiting nine years already!

At this moment in time, Sue couldn't have known that her planets were shuffling into a favourable alignment. Before this day is done, someone sitting and chatting around the dining table will shortly to die in a most distressing manner.

'There you go Auntie. Are you comfie?' Sue says sliding a cushion down behind Olga's back. Standing behind Olga, looking over her shoulder, Sue watches her aunt's hands tighten their grip on the handles of her carpetbag.

'Kiss.' Olga demands pointing a bony finger at the folds of skin on her cheek.

'Gosh! Almost forgot, hadn't I?' Sue says with a hideous short-lived laugh. Closing her eyes, Sue stoops to plant a dry peck on the old woman's cheek and then gags when she hit on one of Olga's facial warts that from one visit to the next seemed to wander around her face!

To be fair, just getting down-wind of Olga is an ordeal. Having to lay hands on her skeletal frame is an even bigger challenge for the gag reflex.

Olga is old-school Russian, a complex mix of peasant and nobility. Her attire could be best described as worn-out, threadbare and overdue for a wash. On her feet, mostly hidden beneath the ankle-length black dress, frayed at the bottom, that collects litter, she has on black button-up boots. The heels, worn over, accentuate her bowed legs, and exaggerate her seaman's roll. Clinging perilously to her scraggy neck is her constant companion Krasnij, a long-deceased and very depressed looking fox that might have a touch of the mange. The deceased creature, slowly desiccating with dust, lice, and dandruff seems to bare its fangs at any approach.

Olga's jet-black hair, when she removes her floppy, wide brimmed black hat looks unnaturally shiny. Her eyebrows arch in such a way as to make her look startled. They might have been drawn on with a Sharpie. While one eye randomly circumnavigates the room, the other, like a car headlight stares rigidly in the direction in which she happens to be facing.

Afraid of being infected with rabies Sean and Carla would steer well clear of the fox stole! Of greater interest and intense speculation in the Fossett household is Olga's beat-up old carpetbag.

Dreams of emptying the bag of its secrets will frequently disturb Sue's sleep.

The only thing that Sue ever saw come out of that bag was the bottle of Vodka the sly old woman would take a swig from when she thought no one was watching.

When Brian comes into the dining room with two steaming plates of plates of roast beef he looks across to see Olga swaying in her chair seemingly unable to locate the centre of her gravity. If it hadn't been for the arms of the carver, she would have fallen under the table. Brian prays she's not as drunk as her appearance suggests.

For the Fossett household dinner proves uneventful, normal even. The ambience is convivial. Even the slanging match between the siblings that ratchet up into a brussell sprout fight seems not to dampen the cheerful setting. Sean laughs fit to bust when a poorly directed sprout thrown by Carla, takes a deflection off the nose of the dead fox and lands with a soft plop in Olga's lap.

Brian watching this display of bad manners thought the fox looked shocked, but then the dead animal had always exhibited a, 'what the hell...! I've been shot!' look of incredulity about him.

After clearing away the dinner paraphernalia, Brian ceremoniously places the huge bowl of Sherry trifle dead centre of the table and steps back to admire his hundreds-and thousands sprinkled creation.

Knowing how much Olga loves his trifle, she gets first dollop, and because the trifle this time was bigger than usual, she got a little extra.

Standing by the table, serving spoon in his hand Brian smiles watching Olga slurp noisily. Waving a full glass of wine at him Sue catches his attention.

'Give Auntie some more Brian. Don't be mean with it, just because you want it all for yourself.'

'I think auntie has had quite enough Sue, and as usual, I doubt there will be any left for me.'

When Sue glares at him, he rolls his eyes and tops up Olga's bowl.

He was about to sit down when Sue insists.

'Give her more than that Brian there is plenty and look she loves it.'

Olga is grinning toothlessly at him and swaying in her chair. He remembers how much Sherry he put in the trifle. He doesn't like the look of her pallor.

'She's already had two bowls full Sue.' Brian reminds his wife through gritted teeth hoping Sue wasn't so drunk, she couldn't see a disaster looming.

Sue was giggling at something Carla said. Throwing back her third glass of Beaujolai Sue dismisses his concerns with a wave.

He gets to sit down, takes a mouthful of trifle, and pulls a face. Gosh, that is strong! No wonder Olga looks more pissed than usual.

He watches Olga licking the back of her spoon. Her skin is almost opaque, and her veins appear to be pulsing biro marks. She bangs her spoon on the table. 'More trifle!' She demands

'No more Auntie, ' Brian says gently, 'I think you have had quite enough.'

Getting to her feet, Sue reaches across the table and takes up the bowl of trifle. Now, she comes around the back of Brian. She gives him a decent clonk on the head with the bottom of the trifle bowl when she reaches over to refill Olga's bowl.

'Here you are, auntie, mean old Brian wants to keep it all for himself.'

The minute Sue turns away the old woman produces from her carpetbag a bottle of vodka. Brian looks on in dismay when Olga pours a good-sized slug of alcohol into her sherry trifle.

Sat back down again, Sue picks up her glass. She rolls her eyes at Brian's sideways nod at Olga. Bloody fusspot. Reaching for the bottle Sue pours herself another large glass of wine.

The old woman is now having trouble holding her head up. She might nod off? Brian thinks, Best thing I reckon. When things go wrong in the Fossett's household, firstly: it will be his fault, and secondly, it will be him that has to sort it out.

Preoccupied with the state of Olga Brian can't face eating his own pudding. As if it were on a spring, Olga's head lolls back till her eyes face the ceiling. It then lunges forwards. Krasnij, the fox just about manages to cling on. With some difficulty, Olga now straightens up. She casts her eyes about her. She looks bewildered, as if this was the first time she'd ever been inside this room.

Her painted-on eyebrows look more arched than usual. Her one good eye seems to be struggling to focus. Krasnij clinging perilously to her bony her bony shoulders, like a thief, its glassy eyes appear to scan the room. Brian is thinking: If that sly old fox is going to make a run for it, I'm going with him.

All around him, the agents of disaster appear to be joining forces. Brian gets to his feet He is undecided on what course of action he should take. The air in the room feels electric, and brooding with danger. Seriously worried now, about the state of Olga, he is hardly aware of Sue and Carla, chatting and laughing in the background. Olga's head is no longer lolling about. He assumes that has to be a good thing. Her chin is resting on her chest. Her hands, one holding a spoon, lay flat on the table that seems to be supporting her. He thinks about straightening her up. He could do with some help. He tries to get Sue's attention. Sue is giggling at something Carla is saying in her ear. Sean is texting on his phone.

'Sue!'

'Go away Brian. Don't you have the dishes to do?' Sue says now holding the bottle up to the light looking to see how much wine is left in the bottle. Now, she is laughing at Carla who has a blob of trifle on her chin.

Brian's insides are churning. The last time he'd felt this sick was when he foolishly agreed to join Sean on the Hell-Rider at Margate's Pleasure Beach.

Downwind of a bottle and a half of Beaujolai Sue has lost the plot. Waving her glass of wine at him, she scorns Brian's desperate hand signals.

He sighs. He will just have to deal with Olga on his own. How about, I just leave her be? She's probably asleep anyway. He should check her pulse. How do you do that? Right wrist, is it, or the left wrist– or her neck? Urgh! He couldn't do that. Charlie, Millie, even Nancy, they would know what to do.

Hoping to attract someone's attention, get some help here, he looks at the others at the far end of the table. Sue, and Carla, they look pretty wasted. Sean? Not a hope. As a result of his frequent visits to his bedroom, his eyes are now puffy and red-rimmed. His head appears to be unoccupied and he looks to be on planet Zog. His sister is now swearing into her mobile at her fiancée Tyrone.

'I don't think you should be doing that.' Brian says stepping out of his wife's way.

'Shut up Brian,' Sue snaps, brushing past her husband. 'Have another helping of Sherry Trifle Auntie.'

Brian is waving his hands at her.

The arrival of more trifle in her bowl has a revival affect on Olga. Her spoon clatters to the floor. Undeterred by this small inconvenience, Olga bends over her bowl and like a dog, begins to lap up the trifle making slurping noises.

Brian watches this bizarre spectacle until quite suddenly Olga stops slurping... Just like that!

Brian edges closer to Olga, stooping, holding his breath.

Olga getting drunk on these visits was nothing out of the ordinary, to be expected even, but he'd never seen her this bad.

Sean and Carla were arguing about something or nothing. Their bickering was starting to irritate him. He was trying to think what to do. He felt like screaming at them, shut up.

No match for her brother's verbal insults, Carla is now slapping at his head. Sean's Cannabis induced hysteria only enflames Carla's rage.

Olga, Brian concludes must be sleeping it off. Best leave her like that. That was what he told himself, which is a perfectly good argument for doing nothing. That was when he thinks; actually, Olga may in fact be dead! Her being facedown in her pudding bowl wasn't helping this kind of diagnosis.

What to do?

Get her face out the goo, might be a good idea.

A noisy argument, far end of the table isn't helping him think. Stooping, and inching closer to Olga's inert form Brian is hoping Olga will rise up gasping for air.

'Shush!' Brian shouts at the others. Putting his ear as close to her sparrow-like chest as he dare, he was hoping to hear her wheezing. Nothing! He looks down at her blue-veined hand rested at the side of her pudding bowl. Her other hand, under the table, out of sight, has a deathlike grip on the handles of her carpetbag she'd got wedged between her thighs. He calculates that Olga must have been facedown in her pudding for perhaps a minute and a half. How long, he wonders could someone of her frailty breathe under trifle. She has to be dead, drowned in my Sherry trifle! Shit!

Now, not just speechless, Brian has become catatonic. He remains fixated that way until a piercing scream coming out of Carla startles him into looking round at her. She has one hand gripping her throat, and the other, trembling, is pointing directly at Olga. Getting to her feet she tips her chair over. 'Oh my God... oh my God!'

Sue joins her daughter, their backs pressed back against the wall. 'Oh my God... Oh my God!' they chorus pointing at Olga.

Sue screams at Brian. 'Don't just stand there you moron. Get Olga's face out of the bowl.'

Brian's back stiffens. He is thinking, why is it down to me?

What to do? He moves up behind Olga, gets real close, he doesn't fancy doing any of this. Adopting the kind of speaking voice that you might use when waking someone gently from a nap, he says, 'Olga... can you hear me? Are you feeling a little unwell?' Coaxing Olga back from the hereafter seems not to be having the desired effect.

All of a sudden, he feels cold, like when you walk down the chiller aisle in the supermarket. If Olga were to sit up at this point, he would surely die of shock.

'The trifle... you idiot, get her face out of the fucking trifle.' Sue screams at him.

All this shouting at him isn't helping him think, not at all. No good, him trying to back out, he's just going to have to deal with it. He tries to ignore Sean who is now hooting with laughter.

Holding her wailing daughter to her bosom, Sue screams at him. 'Do something Brian, she wont be able to breathe.'

He'd already worked that out.

'Okay... okay, I got it.' He says yet not at all sure what it was he had got! Brian gulps down a lungful of air. He now moves his arms until the flat of his hands are inches from the side of Olga's stricken head. He now repositions his feet and flexes his shoulders. He turns his face away, cant bear to look. Steeling himself, he brings his hands together until he shudders at the feel of her crispy hair.

'Urgh! He groans. Fully expecting the bowl to remain on the table in one deliberate movement he pulls Olga upright.

He closes his eyes and sighs, done it.

Not quite!

So that she doesn't flop back down again, he keeps hold of Olga's shoulders. When he thinks it safe to look, he opens his eyes. Turns out his relief is short-lived when Sue and Carle resume their screaming and choruses of, "oh my God's."

From where he is standing, behind Olga, Brian can't see what it is they are getting so excited about. It is only when he bends over the old woman that he can see the problem. It's as if he made the pudding with superglue. The pudding bowl is stuck firmly to Olga's face.

'Shit.' He gasps. He lets go of her head, which now falls forwards striking the table with a loud crack.

He shouldn't have done that. Surprisingly the bowl doesn't break.

A deathly silence ensues. Even Sean is no longer laughing.

You could have heard a pin drop. Then Sue rasps.

'Brian, you can't leave Olga like that, with a pudding bowl stuck to her face. What would the undertakers think?'

Sue has a point.

'Oh man...way to go,' Sean yells flicking his fingers. 'Respect man.'

Brian has seen those Bushwhacker trials on TV and this has to be worse.

He allows his mind to retreat to a place of total calm. He needs to think. Taking a deep breath, first off, he pulls Olga upright. He doesn't want her to go smack down on the table again. This time he keeps a hold of her. He has an idea. Taking hold of a hank of her hair in one hand with the other, he gets a grip of the slippery rim of the pudding bowl. Taking a breath, he now pulls in opposite directions. Physics predict his plan should have worked. However, what actually happened was Olga's wig came away in his hand. Two things play a part in the following debacle. One: alarmed to find Olga's hair in his fist, he throws it across the room. This wouldn't have been so bad had it not landed on Carla's head causing her to scream and flee the room wearing it on her head. Secondly: the sight of Olga's skull with its the blue veins crisscrossing under her paper-thin skin proves too much for the sensibility of our hero, who now panics. He shouldn't have let go of Olga who now falls face down on the table again with an even louder crack.

It seems logical to Brian both these collisions may have served to impress Olga's face more firmly into the gooey mess, thereby exacerbating the problem.

Brian decides to apply logic to the problem; after all, he is an engineer with considerable experience in Suction Pump technology. It is, he deduces, a simple matter of applied physics. There are Universal laws that govern physics? First, break the problem down into its component parts: What does he have? On the one he hand, he has a recalcitrant pudding bowl. On the other hand, he has a vacuum. Applying the science of Vacuum mechanics and Archimedes principles of leverage and the ratio of output to input force it should be possible to separate Olga's head from the appliance. Eureka! He has a solution. To be precise, he might have a solution.

'Hmm.' He ponders one hand cupping his chin, the other silencing any interruption from his wife. Leaning close, he examines the offending item. He might just as well be trying to understand the Second Law of Thermodynamics. He is tapping a forefinger on his lips.

Having decided, Olga must by now be, unreservedly, unequivocally, most likely, quite dead, urgency is less of a factor. For sure, he oughtn't leave Olga looking quite so... so, well, undignified. Although to her credit, even with a pudding bowl stuck to her face, she appears to be quite serene, untroubled even, but then wouldn't death account for that? That was just a guess. He wonders if he might be in a state of shock, the way he is handling this. Certainly his mind, his thought processes, feel alien to him.

He has an idea. Although it is not exactly scientific, it does at least show a degree of practical merit. Way beyond worrying about the morality of intimacy, with his left hand Brian takes hold of Olga's left ear and prays this item is better attached to her head than her hair was. Next, using the sleeve of his shirt he gets a better grip of the rim of the pudding bowl. Taking a deep breath, one hand tugs on her ear while the other pulls the pudding bowl. Brian is quite strong, all the heavy work he does, yet still the bowl refuses to relinquish its grisly grip on its victim.

Hmm, this is not going quite to plan.

One hand cupping his chin Brian reappraises the situation. With no better solution coming to mind, he decides to opt for brute force. Placing one foot against the edge of the table, and with his shirtsleeve gripping hold of the rim of the pudding bowl, with a grunt he pulls with all his strength. Now, he's got some leverage. Finally, with a sickening, slurping sound and a very loud "POP!" The bowl comes free and clatters down on the table.

The room becomes silent. In the distance, a lone bell in the tower of St Stephens Church tolls once.

Sue, in a hushed voice states the obvious. 'She is dead isn't she?'

Brian nods. He wipes his sleeve across his eyes. He tries not to cry. He can feel his chin wobbling.

'Bloody hell!' Sue explodes, 'this is like a game of Cluedo.... Professor Brian, caught red-handed in the dining room with the Sherry Trifle. Jesus! I think you may have actually killed my aunt Brian.'

Brian turns to face his wife. He shakes his head.

'What!' Sue snaps. 'It was a joke Brian. She's dead. Get over it.'

He knows Sue well enough to know that at times, she can come across as heartless but her reaction to her aunt's death saddens rather than shocks him. It was not a nice way to die...very undignified.

'I did my best Sue, and she was very old. Olga's departure will leave a big gap in our family. She was a presence.' He says kindly. He feels exhausted. He says to Sue, 'I suppose the next thing; we should call the doctor, or an ambulance, and then the undertakers. God what a Sunday!'

Out in the hall Carla hasn't gotten over the shock of having Olga's hairpiece on her head. She needs her Mum. Thinking it must be safe to return to the dining room she sidles up to her Mum who puts her arm around her daughter.

It wasn't long before she starts up again, fussing and screaming, and hopping up and down and sobbing, 'oh my God!'

He groans. What now? Brian has had enough. What could possibly be wrong now?

He has to step in front of Olga to see what the fuss is about. Using his sleeve he wipes Olga's face to rid it of the mask of yellow custard, red jelly, tangerine pieces, and splodges of multi-coloured, sprinkles.

He should have guessed this wasn't over. He bends, studies Olga's face, not quite able to figure it out. He leaps back.

'Whoah!'

When Brian begins cleaning all that gooey mess from Olga's face, Sue who had to look away. Her head flicks around when she hears him cry out.

'What now?' She says like she can't take any more.

'Nothing.' Brian says hurriedly.

'Nothing!' Sue is wondering why Brian is poking around in the remains of Olga's trifle left in the bowl. 'What are you looking for?'

'Ah, got it,' he says holding it up between his thumb and forefinger.

'Oh Brian!' Sue looks away. 'Throw it in the bin.' Sue almost gags at the sight of Olga's glass eye in his hand. Now she needs to comfort the sobbing Carla.

'I can't throw it in the bin!' Brian says, She will need it.'

'What to find the pearly gates?'

'For her funeral,' Brian explains, 'what would you have us do put a patch on her face, make her look like Lord Nelson?'

After wiping clean Olga's glass eye on his sleeve, he studies the hollow socket it came out of. He can't see a lot, not with it full of trifle! Houston we have a problem. Using his index finger, he scoops out what he can of the goo and then offers the object up to the hole. Using his thumb and finger he presses it home and hears it pop into place with a satisfying 'thunk.'

Brian leans back to examine the results. He frowns.

'What's up?' Sue asks sounding like she doesn't want to know.

'Too late now.'

'What's too late?' Sue says, 'What you done now?'

'The glass eye... I put it in back to front.'

Sue comes over, wants to see for herself. 'You fucking idiot. Why did you do that?'

'It's not like I chose to put it in back to front Sue.' Brian says feeling a headache coming on, 'It slipped in my fingers. You want me to take it out and turn it round?

The hundreds and thousands have now dissolved on Olga's face making it appear as if a three-year old child has been practicing face painting on it.

'Just leave it Brian, for fucks sake... leave it!'

'I could close her eyelids?'

'Whatever Brian.'

Carla leaves the room in floods of tears. Brian hears her bedroom door shut with a bang.

Sean wanders over, looks down at the deceased woman and slaps Brian on the back, 'good work buddy... respect.' Sean heads off to his room for another spliff.

'She is dead isn't she Brian?' Sue says lifting Olga's bony arm and allowing it to flop back down on the table.

Brian shakes his head. Words fail him. He could do with a strong cup of tea.

Sue pokes Olga's shoulder, gets no reaction. She prods her harder. Olga rocks in the arms of the chair.

Leaning on the table with one hand, Sue shakes the old woman. She almost dies of shock when Krasnij slides off the old woman's shoulder.

'I'm really Sorry Sue, 'Brian says patting Sue's hand. 'This must be hard for you, come as a bit of a blow I imagine? You must be.?' Sue cuts him short.

'Thank God!'

'Sue!' Brian says like he is shocked. Sue can be hard-nosed at times. What she does next was downright disrespectful.

Taking Brian by surprise Sue wrenches out the dead woman's hand the carpetbag that for so long has been a source of intrigue in the Fossett household. Sue laughs out loud. 'Yay! Got it at last.'

Brian rolls his eyes. How can Sue even think about the bag when the woman hasn't yet gone cold? What is she like?

'What my old love, have you kept hidden inside this bag all these years?' Sue says, 'You have no idea how much I ached to look inside this.'

'Sue what are you doing?' Brian says reproaching her.

'Oh, bugger off Brian this is my inheritance. Nothing to do with you.'

Despite impressing on the call operator he wasn't reporting an emergency the despatcher sends two police cars and an ambulance to the house.

Now the Neighbourhood Watch really does have something to get their dentures into. Soon quite a crowd has gathered outside 42 Acacia Avenue.

Peeking down the stairs Sean sees there are two police officers are in the hallway. Slipping into the bathroom, he exits the house via the bathroom window. Worried the cops may have CCTV footage of her and three men shagging in the woods Carla slips out the house. She sidesteps the questioning neighbours on the pavement and climbs in the passenger seat of Tyrone's clapped out BMW.

Out of sight of the house, Tyrone starts on her. Carla kept insisting it was all bollocks what his mates were saying about her. 'I would never cheat on you Tyrone and I would never go dogging for fucks sake! Oh my God! Don't you have any sympathy for me Tyrone? I just saw my auntie die back there.'

# Chapter Five.

Sitting on the bottom step of the stairs with her knees up, short skirt slid back on her thighs, one of the coppers getting an eyeful, not sure whether to study her cleavage or her thighs, Sue appears to be in a state of shock. Oh, my God, can Olga's really be dead? Sue is struggling to conceal her absolute joy, which is a problem, what with two paramedics, two coppers, and the undertakers boxing up Olga in the house. Sean has skulked off. Last, she'd seen of Carla she'd gone off with Tyrone in his car, and Brian, is in the kitchen drinking tea, talking crap with the paramedics. The idiot is making them all tea when I just want them all gone. Sue is dying to tell Billy, but she daren't, not with all these people around.

She needs air, some breathing space, time to take it all in. Olga shuffling off right out of the blue has got her head in a spin. Nine years, nine long years, she's been waiting for this day, and now that Olga is dead, she can't take in. She tells herself, relax, sweetheart, you are about to become fabulously, obscenely rich, it's all over.

'Are you okay?'

Sue looks up at the young copper whose eyes hardly leave her cleavage. Had she been smiling? She dabs a dry tissue at her eyes. 'It's been such a shock. The poor old thing.'

'Odd way to go!'

'Odd?'

'Yeah, I never heard of anyone drowning in a sherry trifle.'

'No!'

'Porridge.'

'Huh?'

'Bloke in America... found face down in his porridge. Saw it on the telly, one of those true-cop programmes, I watch a lot of them, you learn a lot watching them, as a copper I mean, but then... that's America.'

'I'm sorry but I have to...' Sue points up the stairs.

'Need the bathroom eh? Need a pee eh? That'll be the shock. I saw that on the telly, one of those true autopsy programmes...'

Sue was at top of the stairs. The copper still hadn't shut up.

Locking her bedroom door behind her, Sue goes over to the bed and Olga's old carpetbag unopened, its mysteries intact. She sat down alongside it and then pulled it to her bosom. Closing her eyes, she flops back on her pillows. She can't stop her hands from shaking. The bag must hold all manner of precious things; else, why would Olga guard it like a Rottweiler?

The bag in her arms, against her chest feels heavy. Gold is heavy, she knows that, real heavy. Look inside the bag! She sits up now, on her crossed legs, and takes hold of the handles. She hesitates.

What if there's nothing but crap in it! She pushes it away.

Her head is full of the images she's created over the years wondering. She visualizes gold and diamond rings, tiaras bedecked in jewels, brooches bedecked with precious stones. Perhaps a key to a safe hidden behind an Old Master's painting in the Great Ballroom she went in as a child. Sue imagined Olga was one of those reclusive multi-millionaire, types, the ones you read about in the newspapers, the ones who live in abject poverty and only when they die do shocked relatives discover their wealth. It's true. She's been inside her house, seen with her own eyes the red and gold carpets and furniture and the oil paintings in gilt frames in vast rooms full of antiques? In her minds eye she is back inside the huge, rambling faux Russian monstrosity set in Follys Bottom. A chill runs down her spine thinking about Anastasia's Retreat.

You may not need to go inside it. Sue reassures herself. You can hire people to remove the contents and then get one of those posh auction houses to sell it. When you have emptied it, best thing to do is to pull it down, burn it down if it'll help. Then flog off the land to property developers. Flashbulb memories from her childhood make her blood run cold. She recalls the gold throne, the huge tapestries, the oil paintings depicting clouds, cherubs, Gods and naked women reclining on rocks, and room after room full of the kind of stuff that most people could never dream of owning.

She looks up at the ceiling. Is that Olga's croaky voice she can hear?

"Susan, being vealthy is all vell and goot, but vith vealth comes a great burden. I am the custodian of the past, the keeper of the soul of the Russian people, the real Russian people, not that peasant rabble that run the place now. Vun day, Susan it vill all be yours, don't disappoint me, and don't ever skvonder this gift."

The carpetbag is down by here feet. She stares at it for some time. Sue hesitates. She wonders if this great wealth will change her. Oh God yes. Many things will change, a lot of stuff will go, take this house for instance, it's been my home for the past nine years but I wont need it. I will sell it. Brian can have some of the proceeds, enough for a deposit on a small flat, he wont need a whole house. That'll shut him up.

Sue knows she is not quite home and dry. There are procedures to follow. Sue groans thinking about all the things she will be expected to attend to: There is Olga's solicitor to deal with. Silas Saxby could still scupper her inheritance. So too could Brian. Sue can't afford to have Brian open his big mouth, say the wrong thing in front of Saxby, best keep him well away from the solicitor. The undertakers explained that the funeral is all arranged. Olga had taken out a funeral plan, all paid up front, some years back. will need to empty her bank accounts... bound to be death duty to pay.

Thinking about Saxby, Sue looks forward to playing the grieving niece, convincing the old duffer that she and Brian are contentedly married. I'll take Billy along for support; tell Saxby he is a cousin.

Thinking about Billy causes a stirring down below. She tried calling him on his mobile but he's not picking up and she doesn't want to leave a message, she wants to hear his reaction.

She has a thought: I might employ a chauffer one just like Veronica, Billy's suck up wife. Well, Lady Veronica, you may think that you are Lady Muck, but I am proper royalty... Russian royalty!

It's true, as far as she can tell, her having royal blood. As a member of the aristocracy it is incumbent upon her to conduct herself in a manner befitting her elevated social position. She will choose not to live as a wealthy recluse as her aunt Olga had. Instead, with due regard to modesty she will embrace her wealth and display it!

A dark cloud of caution settles on her mind. It's been nine years since Saxby wrote to you. You don't think Olga ever saw through your sham marriage to Brian. She may already have changed her Will, disinherited you.

Sue can feel her blood heating up. These thoughts rattle her. She wont have... she promised me!

At this point in the narrative, a sceptical reader might be thinking that this, 'fabulous vealth' is little more than the drunken ramblings of an eccentric old woman. So, with that in mind, and with your indulgence, for the time being we shall leave Sue Fossett sitting on her bed contemplating opening up Olga's bag of secrets.

We now journey back in time to another century to another Country, one in bloody turmoil.

Russia 1890. Olga's Grandmother Nikita Tutov aged eighteen in the employ of the Russian Tsar Nicholas II marries the palace groundsman Gustav Romanavitch. Their first child, a boy, dies from hemophilia. This condition known to curse the male bloodline of the royals arouse speculation as to the father. Talk circulates the palace household as to the true nature of the relationship the Tsar had with his teenage wardrobe mistress. As was the way of these things, it was only ever spoken of in whispers. 1895, Nikita Romanavitch gives birth to another child. This time it is a girl. The Romanavitch's name this child Olga. Once more it is rumoured the Tsar is the father.

A servant girl, at the palace at Peterhof, aged sixteen, appointed as personal assistant to Anastasia, Tsar Nicholas's youngest daughter born in 1901 was unheard of. Olga was given unrestricted access to palace life and she lived with the family as if she were one of the siblings.

1917, Russia is torn apart by a bloody revolution. In due course, the Tsar abdicates and for the rest of that year the family are kept prisoner in a succession of royal palaces. In the spring of 1918, the family along with their immediate servants are handed over to a Soviet army Commander and taken to a house in the industrialised city of Yekaterinburg.

When the Commander guarding the family believes the rumour that a battalion of royalist supporters are about to mount a rescue attempt the Bolshevik officer, in the early hours of July 17th 1918, have the family and their servants rounded up, taken down to a cellar and then shot.

At this point, dear reader, things get a little less clear. It is speculated that Anastasia's maid, Olga, overheard soldiers talking about the impending execution. Seeking to protect her ward, Olga contrives a plan to help Anastasia escape. There was a young soldier guarding them who made it clear he was keen to get inside Olga's petticoats. She suggested in return for him turning a blind eye to their escape, he could do whatever he wished to her. Olga, had no intention of allowing the young thug to molest her, she was going to lay him out with a stout length of wood hidden under her clothes. Shortly after ten, that night, the pair creep out of the house and slip into the bushes. Before Olga can strike her man fiddling with her underclothes, she hears a single shot, followed almost immediately by sustained gunfire coming from the house. Fearing she is too late, Olga runs back to the house. Anastasia, in a state of utter shock, meets her at the back door; she was looking for Olga. That may have saved her life. Taking hold of Anastasia's hand Olga tells her mistress of her escape plan and how she has made contact with people who will help them escape.

Through the dark street and alleys of an unfamiliar city, now in her early twenties, and five months pregnant, (father unknown!!!) Olga escorts the eighteen-year old princess to the home of royalist sympathisers. They are given a little food, their rich clothes are exchanged for peasant attire, and given horses the escapees are sent on their way.

A Sea Captain sympathetic to the royals gets a letter asking him to delay his departure from the port of Petrograd. He was to wait for two young women who need to be hidden in the hold.

Several accounts of the daring rescue of Anastasia exist today. The most enduring of these suggests the two girls travelling through violent storms on horseback reach the port of Petrograd, (later renamed St Petersburg) where they meet up with a band of royalist supporters who have with them crates full of treasure removed from various Russian palaces.

Bolshevik agents are everywhere, spies, and informers, scour the wharfs like dockside rats. At one point, the fleeing women were taken from their hiding place in one ship and then stowed aboard the merchant ship Katerina that sets sail for London. Hitting bad weather en-route, the ship almost capsizes. Six days later, the vessel makes into Catherine Docks in the City of London. Contemporary records in the archives of the Port Of London Docks Authorities show the ship berths on 19th August 1918. The Captains log, records one, Olga Romanavitch, along with a number of crates disembarks the ship. There is no mention of any other travellers leaving the rusty old steamer. Perhaps, as some suggest, Olga was a decoy, allowing Princess Anastasia to escape to New York? Anastasia was never seen again and Olga has never spoken of that sea journey.

The question is; could this extraordinary historical event be connected in some way to the present Mrs Sue Fossett, the niece of the deceased Olga Romanavitch? It seems inconceivable that Sue Fossett could actually be a direct descendent of the assassinated Tsar of Russia?

January third, 1919. A baby wrapped in a blanket in a basket is left on the doorstep of an orphanage in Stepney East London. Attached to the baby's wrist is label with the name "Katerina". Curious, you might think, the ship that brought Olga to London had the same name!

1958, Katerina marries one Henry Kipper. In 1976, Katerina gives birth to the couple's only child who they name Susan.

Aged five, Susan's father disappears. Six months later Katerina receives a letter from Australia, it was from Henry. The letter explains how he has made a new life for himself. He says he is sorry, but he wont be coming back, He suggests Katerina should get on with her life. Heavy drinking significantly foreshortens Katerina's life. She dies aged fifty-two.

It was at her mother's funeral that the oddly dressed and bent old woman accompanied by a tall man whose face she had a sinister recollection of approaches her.

"Susan do you remember me? I am your great aunt Olga. I am so sorry to hear about your muzzer. I see you have two young children. You are family, and I vould like to help if I may?"

The old woman and the giant with the black scary eyes she remembers from the day she and her Mum paid a visit to Olga's weird house at Follys Bottom.

Having added a little flesh to the bones of this tale, we must now return to 42 Acacia Avenue where we find Sue Fossett sitting up on her bed.

Sue has been thinking about what this wealth will mean to her. For sure, people will have to show her greater respect. There will have to be certain changes to her lifestyle, where she is seen is important, charity balls, film premieres, that sort of thing, also she will need to think about the type of people she allows in her company. Sue recalls what her Mother would to tell her about the birthmark on her thigh. "That is the mark of the House of the Romanov's and proof of your royal bloodline.' (Sue wasn't to know that her mother had been joking.)

An inescapable consequence of Sue's elevation to the ruling class will impose on her the need to dump all her old associates. Billy Dodds, because he is too damn good between the sheets, he can stay. Sue lifts her chin thinking, things are going to be very different from now on. People had better show me a bit more respect.

Sue pulls the carpetbag onto her lap. She closes her eyes. Just when she was about to open the bag she hears the irritating voice of her husband calling up the stairs.

'Sue, can you come down please? The police need to speak to you.'

Grabbing a few tissues from the box on her dressing table Sue smudges her eye makeup. At the door, she pauses to get 'in role'. Her acting skills honed in the Tawny West Amateur Theatrical Society are proving very useful.

On the top step, Sue looks down at the young police officer. Pressing the back of one hand to her brow, she appears to waver.

Both Brian and the police officer move to catch her.

'I'm okay.' Sue says wearily. 'It's just the shock you understand. I can manage.' She says descending the stairs like Elizabeth Taylor, or so she imagines.

Sitting in an armchair opposite the young PC, Sue crosses one leg over the other. The copper catches sight of her panties. She watches him loosen his tie. He coughs.

P.C Mark Duggan needed to take a statement. He almost trips over his words. 'Y... you say the deceased had fallen face down in the sherry trifle!'

'Yes, and as you can imagine it was quite a shock. My aunt went down like this...' Sue allows her torso to fall forwards giving the young copper a better view down her blouse. 'It was as if she had been taken out by a sniper from behind a grassy knoll.'

PC Duggan frowns. He thinks on this. 'Oh I see, as in the Kennedy assassination.'

'Exactly, I seen it on the telly. That's what they say happened don't they?'

Sue re-crosses her legs. A little more thigh is on display. Duggan almost loses his thread.

'Must. must have been awful.'

'The Kennedy assassination! Oh for sure.'

'No, I meant your aunt dying in that manner.'

'You could never imagine it.' Sue says.

Mark Duggan could not.

'Of course I am now the sole survivor and heir to the Romanavitch's estate? Poor Aunt Olga I shall miss her terribly.'

PC Duggan has the statement he needed. He shuts up his notebook and gets to his feet. He places one hand on the woman's shoulder.

Sue turns a sad face up to his and catches him looking down her blouse.

The cop clears his throat. In urgent need of fresh air and a chance to adjust his trousers, he crosses the room making for the door. Over his shoulder he says, 'I'll be off then Mrs Fossett, I shan't need to trouble you again.'

After hearing the PC, go out the front door Sue punches the air. The paramedics have gone, so too has Olga and the funeral directors. It was now just she and Brian in the house.

Feeling giggly Sue locks the bedroom door behind her and then leaps on her bed. The hairs on her skin are fizzing when she tips the contents of the carpetbag out onto the bed.

A half empty Vodka bottle rolls off the bed, hits the floor with a bang. Sue spreads the rest out on the duvet. Her fingers poke around in a collection of sticky, and grimy items including a jumble of unfinished knitting, a half empty packet of Fisherman's Friends, a huge cast iron door key attached to a piece of gnarled wood, a faded gold-coloured powder compact, a book written in Russian, and a purse containing a few foreign coins, most likely Russian. There is also a business card from Estate Agents. Is that it!

She picks up a faded black and white photograph. Turning this to the light, she can make out a group of people dressed in dark clothes standing on a damp wharf alongside a large sea-going vessel. Sue tosses this aside and feeling a headache coming on she snatches up the only item of curiosity, a rolled up piece of material tied up with a black ribbon. She hefts it in her hand. It is heavy. Instinctively she knows this is what the old woman was guarding. Climbing off the bed, she goes across to her dressing table. With a sweep of her hand, she clears it of her makeup and creams. Her fingers tremble untying the ribbon. When she unrolls the parcel, her eyes widen. She feels light-headed as if she is going to pass out. Lain out on her dressing table is a collection of jewellery. Heavy gold chains with large gold pendants containing huge glittering stones, and gold rings, with large diamond type gems. She can feel her bosom heaving. She gasps at their beauty.

'Oh my God!' She counts them: Four enormous gold rings, each with a single huge gem held in place with gold talon clasps. Four gold pendants on gold chains, each containing a cut stone of, red, blue, white, and the deepest green. One at a time, Sue holds these up to the light. The facets cut in the stones cast star-like reflections on her irises. Sue puts the rings on her fingers and moves across to the window Sunlight, like rainbows flash off the cut jewels. Next she picks up a heavy gold chain, one with a massive deep red stone set in a finely worked diamond-encrusted clasp. She loops this over her neck. She loves its cold kiss in her cleavage. Now she slips her head through another long gold chain. The pendant on this one has a dark blue stone. She leaves the biggest one to last. This has to be the biggest diamond in the world.

In the triple mirror on her dressing table, she can see Cleopatra.

'Phew!' She gasps. 'No wonder that old crow wouldn't let this bag out of her sight, my God! This stuff has to be worth an absolute fortune.'

Sue would love to keep her jewellery on, but there are more pressing matters that she better attend to. Anxious now to get out the house, she plans to call up Billy, have him meet her somewhere. She can't wait to tell him the good news about Olga dying and show him what she found in Olga's carpetbag. After kissing each item of jewellery, Sue returns them to their pouch.

Next, she digs out of the wardrobe her weekend bag. She dumps it on the bed and carefully places the jewellery roll at the bottom. Now, she packs enough clothes for an overnight stay.

With no further need of the carpetbag, Sue gathers up all the crap on the bed and shoves it back. She stuffs the bag in the wastepaper bin and pouting in the mirror she refreshes her lip-gloss, sprays a little Chanel number 5 under her armpits, and as an afterthought, she gives a quick squirt inside her panties. At the door, she looks back and then hurries downstairs. Brian calls out to her but she is already shutting the front door behind her.

'Sue!' Brian calls out from the kitchen. He hears the front door slam.

On the porch, Sue hesitates. She raises her sunglasses to look at the gaggle of neighbours gathered at her gate. At Sue Fossett's sudden appearance, the crowd goes quiet.

As if she were a star at a prestigious film premiere Sue pulls down her sunglasses and hurries on saying, 'no comment!'

She slips inside her Nissan Micra parked at the kerb and races off. A mile out, she pulls into a lay-by. Her hands are shaking when she calls Billy on her mobile.

Chapter six.

Lady Veronica Curmudgeon is pacing her study waiting for her husband to arrive.

The low angle of the sun casts her shadow over her late father's burnished oak desk. More than at any time since her Father and Mother were killed when their car was forced off the road, and later recovered from the bottom of a ravine in Scotland, she wishes her Father were still alive.

Seven years, it's been, and it still hurts like it was yesterday.

Her husband is late for their meeting. Veronica suspects the meeting is going to be nasty and painful.

As if she feels the need to hold herself, together Veronica keeps her arms wrapped around her body. She wishes she'd listened to Father, arrogant, pig-headed woman, why didn't you listen.

Her eyes travel across to the French Ormolu clock on the mantelshelf above the Adams fireplace. Her husband is now twenty-minutes late. This is not unusual. It is a game he plays - a power game. He may not come at all.

Now sat in her Father's Captains Chair, behind his desk, still his desk, she opens a drawer reaches in and takes out the thick, wear-worn manila folder. She opens it and takes out some of the childish crayon drawings. Her Father had kept every single one of them. In her minds eye she can see her as a child bursting into this study waving her newest artistic creation. Daddy would always stop what he was doing to take it from her hand. Adjusting his glasses, as if he was really studying what she had drawn he would frown and say. "My word Veronica, this is truly lovely. You have such a talent." When she got a little older she realised, actually, she has no talent for art.

Veronica takes a tissue from her purse and blows her nose.

After putting the drawings back, she closes and locks the drawer. She is thinking how those cherished memories jar with the A4 envelope locked away inside another drawer.

More recently, due to the burden of her position it takes some effort to keep her spine from bending. "Posture child!' Her governess would admonish her.

The tumbler of iced water she takes a sip from leaves a damp circle on the inset red leather inlay. She looks towards the French doors and the gardens beyond. The late afternoon sun lighting the study ignites tiny flecks of dust floating in the air. Her breath catches. She is a child again making a wish to the dust fairies. She asks them to grant her a sister or a brother she can play with.

Her eyes now moist scan the gallery of oil paintings. Her ancestors look down on her with a mixture of compassion and expectation. Guilt overtakes her. By not producing an heir to the Curmudgeon bloodline, she has failed her Father and her family. Her refusal to heed her Father's warnings is about to bring about the first divorce ever to disgrace the Curmudgeon family. If only she could go back in time, back to her headstrong, willful decision to defy her Father.

In the dead of night, she eloped and married the ex-professional boxer Billy Dodds. In doing this, she broke her parent's hearts. Marrying Dodds had nothing to do with love, she learned to her cost some years later. Most likely, it was her way of showing her Father that she wasn't to be pushed around, or forced to marry some heir to some other gentrified estate.

Subsequently, William proved himself to be precisely the kind of man her Father always said he was.

Going back over those times, what's the point, hasn't she learned all she can? Maybe this is her penance, the price she has to pay? It doesn't seem enough, her telling herself she was young, headstrong and willful, as if that makes it okay. Veronica had been nineteen when she moved into student digs in Oxford. There was always that kind of unspoken implicit expectation that after leaving Uni she would join the family business, that she would then marry someone her parents approved of, a man, with floppy hair, played polo, and shot birds that could barely fly. Life as a student in Oxford, away from the stuffy, cloying, grimness of Greystone Manor, out of sight of her parent's vigilant gaze was liberating, so much so that Veronica couldn't face going back home. Informing her parents that she wouldn't be returning with them to Greystone Manor was going to be tough. There would be a scene. She would feel guilty and then they wouldn't speak for months... probably.

Her fear of going back home was more than a morbid fear of her committing to the lifelong upkeep of the family seat; it was more complicated than that. While she was away, Ginny and Noble had died. The news that her Labradors–come playmates had died had knocked her sideways. How could she possibly go home and not have them bounding up to greet her, their tongues lolling and their stupid tails wagging furiously.

Veronica took out her grief on her parents. "You should have told me they were ill. I would have come home, I should have been there, not have to hear about it weeks later!" She ranted through her tears.

This early lesson in coping with bereavement helped when two years after marrying William, and while he was away on business, both her parents were killed in the car accident up in Scotland.

Whether she liked it or not, Veronica became overnight the head of a multi-national company. She was the head of a board of directors and she had several hundred employees to worry about. After the funeral, when she was able to think straight, despite William's furious objections Veronica sold off all her foreign business assets. Now there is just the assembly plant in Tawny West. She couldn't bring herself to sell the factory that put bread on the table of local folk loyal to the company through generations.

Soon after that, William started acting up. He began spending a lot of time with his cronies in London, and staying out for nights on end. There was a confrontation. Veronica demanded that he must stay home more often. He told her he was bored, and if she wanted him to stay home more often, she should trust him with greater control over the business. Veronica is no fool. She raised his salary and gave him the title, Managing Director. At first, he liked that. Later, he learned that Veronica wasn't going to relinquish control of the company finances. Dodds was learning his wife was not the idiot he thought he married. He was going to have to be far more devious.

Months passed before they have another falling out.

'You are making a big mistake Veronica.' William had shouted, leaning in her face.

Veronica has become accustomed to his aggressive tactics that might work on others.

William's talents stretch no further than being able to get the most out of the workforce, their suppliers, and contractors. When it came to managing the company finances, staff employment rights, and representing her company William was inept and secretive.

'William, you can rant all you want, but Mavis Fotheringay will remain as my office manager and that is my final word on the matter.'

Mavis was her ears and eyes in the factory, Veronica may be a dutiful wife, but she was not his fool.

William is now thirty minutes late. She is standing by the fireplace one hand resting on the top of her father's chair, the chair in which on cold winter nights, in front of an open fire, her Father would enjoy a nip of brandy, and on summer evenings, he would watch the sun setting over the gardens through the open French doors

Veronica starts when there is a knock on the door. She becomes calm when she realizes it couldn't be William. He wouldn't knock. It must be her chauffer.

'Come in James.' She says flatly.

'You wanted the car for 4:30 madam.' Basset reminds her.

'Thank you James.' Veronica says, 'I assume William hasn't arrived yet?'

'Fraid not, madam.'

'I may need the car a little later.'

Bassett nods, backs out, and closes the door after him.

Starting at the French doors, Veronica tours the room pausing to touch or pick up the occasional object that has fond memories for her. Her mother's jewellery box playing Claire de Lune brings a painful lump to her throat. She pauses at the glass case containing Ginny and Noble's collars. She squares her shoulders and dabs a tissue at her eyes. Memories of playing with the two Labradors flood back. She can see them now, dressed in her old clothes lying on the lawn, loyal brown eyes watch her as she chats with them, pours pretend tea out of a plastic teapot into tiny plastic cups on floppy plastic saucers. The tea party usually ends when out of boredom and willful disobedience they take it into their heads to run off into the bushes, returning several minutes later minus much of the attire she had dressed them up in. They would then sit, tongues lolling, tails swishing across the lawn while she reprimands them.

Her eyes fall upon a photograph. It is of her with her parents. She is in her graduation gown. They are on the campus at Oxford. The photo was taken minutes before the argument. The falling out that led to her meeting and eventually marrying William Dodd's. It started the minute Veronica informed them that she would not be returning to Somerset with them.

With hindsight, she might have explained how she was afraid she'd end up becoming like her Mother, judging jam contests at the village fete, and never having a hair out of place.

Her eyes settle on another photograph, one set in a tortoiseshell frame. This must have been taken when she was about seven because she has pigtails and she is wearing a summer frock and sandals. It must have been hot that summer because the freckles that she so hated had blossomed like wild strawberries on her sun kissed cheeks. There is fierceness in her eyes and her smile has an arrogant slant to it that suggests she must have been forced to stand and say cheese.

Veronica always had a strong abhorrence for any form of unfairness, and at the age of eight, when her parents told her she was to go to a boarding school, Veronica raged at this injustice. Stamping her foot, red-faced with indignation, she warned them that if they went ahead with this mad plan she would run away and join a circus or go off with a sea captain. Reluctantly, her father agreed that she could continue attending the local school until she was eleven, after which time she was to attend the exclusive Moorcroft Towers School For Girls. She could be a 'day girl'.

On the lawns of Oxford, in the face of her parents' insistence that she must return to Greystone Manor Veronica backed down. She agreed, at the end of term, she would go back home, but under her own steam, thank you. When they said their awkward goodbyes at the car Veronica could hardly raise a smile. Stewing on this for three days, Veronica's moods shifted through self-loathing for hurting her parents and being angry with them for not understanding. Right up to her last day at Oxford, she wasn't sure she could keep her promise. With her bags packed and ready to leave the student life behind her, out of a sense of duty and respect for her father's wishes, feeling defeated, she rang her father to tell him she was on her way home.

It was on the platform of St Pancras station that she made a telephone call.

'Holly, It's Veronica. You still living in Kensington?'

'Veronica!' Her best friend who had dropped out in year two, cries down the phone.

After hopping out of the cab, Veronica paid the driver. She stood at the kerbside looking up at the windows of the tall white painted Georgian house. She was sure the loud music coming from an open window at the very top had to be Holly's pad.

She pressed the bellpush on the doorframe marked, "Holly. Top floor."

Holly helped haul her bags up the stairs. They passed the shared bathroom on the fourth floor and then climbed one more flight. Giggling they fell into Holly's untidy bedsit under the roof littered with pigeon droppings.

The spur of the moment decision to stop off at Holly's was a chance for the two girls to catch up, spend a few days together, and have a little fun before Veronica gets lost in the shadows of Greystone Manor.

For three days, they laugh and chat till the wee small hours. They live on take-away's and watch no end of weepy DVD's, until Holly suggests.

'We should go out and get whammed.'

"Where?' Veronica says giggling, her head not quite recovered from the spliff they'd just shared.

'I know a great pub in Battersea, in York Road, right opposite the old Power Station.'

'And that's what makes it great?'

'No, but the fellers that frequent this alehouse do, we might get laid. You up for it?' Holly gives her a wink.

'Oh yes!'

After a twenty-minute cab ride and with no idea where she was, Veronica follows Holly into the crowded Alma Tavern. The two girls immediately catch the attention of the local stags. Veronica wanting to sit away from the rather rowdy gang the far end of the lounge chooses a vacant cast iron table just inside the door. With a tissue, she wipes the greasy surface and waits for Holly to return from the bar with two halves of lager. She looks round the drab pub and thinks, Holly what are you like? There are only two other women in here. Holding hands across a table, they stare lovingly into each other's eyes. The men, most of them, work in the nearby Covent Garden Market, except the market has been moved to Vauxhall. They have their sleeves rolled up, to show their tattoos. Veronica sees, the guy, clearly the Alpha male in the pack, centre of attention with his mates, looks like he works out, she suspects, in his silver shiny suit, his narrow tie, his black hair gelled and swept back smile directly at her. She wishes Holly would hurry up.

Holly sits down. 'Chin –chin.' They chorus clinking glasses.

With her elbow, Holly nudges Veronica. She nods at the group of men and says, 'what do you think of the local talent?'

'I am not altogether certain what talent these rogues might possess Holly.' Veronica sniggers.

Holly says. 'Check out the big guy.'

Veronica doesn't want to do that.

'He's coming over.' Holly says tapping her toe against Veronica's foot.

The two girls sit back in their chairs. When he leans on their table a little of the beer slops over. He laughs. His teeth are perfect, and white. When he speaks, it was like he was straight out of, "Only Fools and Horses".

He has gone a little over the top with the Hugo Boss aftershave. Veronica is reminded of a Hollywood mobster, there is something brutally attractive about the way his muscles move inside his loose fitting suit. Dare she think it? He is soooo sexy.

He kisses the back of Veronica's hand, 'bonjour.... may we.'

That was too much like Del Boy, even as a joke. The girls go into fits of giggles.

'Sorry,' Veronica says seeing his tanned face darken. 'Its just, I so love your French accent.'

His huge fist swallows her hand. 'Hi, I am Billy Dodds. Spect you've heard of me?'

She hadn't

'Nice to make your acquaintance Mr Billy Dodds.' She says, 'Should I know you?'

'Light Heavyweight champion, South of England, and contender for the British title?' He says as if all she needed was a hint.

She hadn't a clue what all that meant.

Soon, alcohol, that great lubricant of social mobility, oils the social chasm. Veronica is quite enjoying learning some cockney rhyming slang.

'Apples and Pears... Stairs?' She answers.

'Yep, and your "Claire Rayners?' Billy says.

'Er, trainers?'

'Good, and your "Alan Whickers?" 'He grins.

'Easy, my knickers.'

'Tough one now, "dustbin lids.'

'I have forgotten.'

"Kids, how about a "Melvyn Bragg?'

'No, I cant remember' Veronica says and throwing back another cocktail.

'Fancy a shag.'

Veronica laughs out loud and then presses one finger on his nose. 'You serious?'

'What, about us shagging?'

'No!' Veronica rolls her eyes, 'I meant, does a "Melvyn Bragg" really mean that?'

'Why don't we get out of here? I got me 'addock outside.'

Veronica's eyebrows arch, is he is winding her up? 'Your haddock?'

'Yeah, me 'addock and bloater... me motor.' He says giving her that big old white smile, taking her small hand in his big fist.

Now, five guys surround girls and the talk gets bawdy.

Subsequently the two bottles of wine that she and Holly finish off play a significant part in lowering Veronica's sense of morality and taste.

Holly pairs up with a guy called Leon who looks a little like Al Pacino.

Leaning to whisper in her friend's ear Holly y says to Veronica, 'I'm going to take him back to mine, can you hang out for a bit?'

Veronica arches her eyebrows. 'You want me to keep out of the way while you get laid?' She hisses.

'Please.'

'Go on then.' Veronica sighs, 'I'll be fine. Billy will look after me.'

Holly pecks her on the cheek, gets to her feet, and grabs her coat. 'Stay safe honey.'

At closing time ex professional boxer, Billy Dodds makes a suggestion.

'Veronica, you want to take in a club?'

Veronica shrugs, makes it clear she is not going back to his place, or to some dingy hotel. 'Okay, but just for a couple of hours, I have to get back to Holly's.'

Her head doesn't care for the flashing lights and the deafening music. They do a few lines of coke and drink some cocktails. Still mad at her parents, pretty drunk and without regard for propriety or concern for her own welfare she accepts Billy Dodds offer to go back to his flat in Wandsworth. In the untidy basement flat they have sex enjoy more cocaine and yet more alcohol

Veronica's plans to return to Somerset and Greystone Manor are put on hold. The days spill over into weeks and she and Billy Dodds begin to make plans.

Veronica called home a few times. Those conversations didn't go well. Veronica point blank refused to tell her Father where she was living, or whom she was with.

One week is all it took the private detective hired by Lord Curmudgeon to find out where his daughter was staying. In a doorstep confrontation outside Dodds flat, Lord Curmudgeon made all manner of threats, said He was not prepared to stand back and allow his daughter to get involved with a man he knew to be a thug with a criminal record for violence.

'Veronica, the man is a crook.'

'I am not leaving him Father, Billy and I are in love.'

Lord Curmudgeon was determined he was not going home without his daughter, what, and leave her in the hands of this ex pugilist villain! Convinced this infatuation with him will pass within weeks his Lordship comes up with a plan. Soon enough Veronica will see through him, or this thug will tire of her, one or the other, and the sooner the better, but in the meantime he plans to keep this opportunist villain where he can keep a close eye on him.

'Then I insist that you must both come and stay in Greystone.' Curmudgeon says, 'William can stay in the West wing.'

Arms folded, standing on one leg, leaning against the wall Dodds gives Veronica a nod.

Lord Curmudgeon opens his arms and his daughter folds into his embrace

'Good, that's that settled then.' Her Father says.

Two weeks later, over dinner, in the dining hall, holding onto Billy's hand Veronica informs her parents that she and Billy are to wed.

'Over my dead body.' Shouts her Father leaping to his feet throwing the cutlery down on the table.

'It is my life, and I shall marry whomever I choose.' She yells back.

'You cannot possibly be known as Lady Veronica Dodds – it is unthinkable Veronica – you must at the very least keep the Curmudgeon name,' Her Father pleaded, 'and, he must be called William, and not bloody... Billy.'

Curmudgeon has underestimated the shrewd ex-pro boxer. Dodds hasn't taken off with the silver as he imagined he would, instead three months later, the couple marry. Lord Curmudgeon told his daughter this was the unhappiest day of his life.

Had Billy refused to sign the two documents drawn up by the family solicitor – one an employment contract, and the other a pre-nuptial agreement, the wedding would not have gone ahead at all.

Even though Dodds had no idea what he was signing, he was happy enough just to get a foot in the door of this wealthy family. No telling what he can make out of this nice little earner.

In her Fathers study, Veronica reflects back on those days. It wasn't love, her marrying Billy Dodds; it was some kind of infatuation. She'd become infected by his roguish charm. She found him so very different from all the other men she knew, had been with. Before she watched the DVD of the two of them, in that hotel room, she had some sympathy for him, being out of his depth. What she saw and heard has made Veronica's heart as hard as flint. It is time she put things right. Her only regret is that she never did this while her parents were still alive.

Storming into the study forty minutes late, her husband throws open the study door letting it slam back against the wall.

The manner in which he strides across the room was meant to intimidate her, to keep her on the defensive. Veronica stiffens and then quickly regains her composure.

When he leans his knuckles on her desk another woman, one less spirited might have backed down. He shoves his face inches from hers and curses her through his perfect white teeth.

# Chapter Seven.

"Mr William Dodds. CEO. Precision Pumps Ltd. You are required to attend a meeting with the Company President in her study today at: 4:00 P.M." That was the email he got from her. Who does she think she is bossing him about like that? The tone of the email has him worried. She can be overbearing but she knows better than to order him about, or she ought to.

He reads the email a third time... she's got something on him. Question is what?

Her nosey accountants are not due to inspect the books for another two weeks. My expenses claims then? No, her grilling him over hotel bills and stuff wouldn't be anything new.

It doesn't look good. Worse case scenario she's got something on him about her parents' death? He decides not. He was too careful, besides the police closed that case last year. What about Mavis Fotheringay's "accident" on the stairs? He doesn't think so; he sweated over that for a while until that case was closed too. Could she have found out about him and Sue? No. He concludes he's been too careful.

Whatever it is, this bee she's got up her arse, he can't afford to have Veronica screw up his plans right now.

He'll go to her bloody meeting but boy is he going to give her some shit. He'll bawl her out, Scare the bejesus out of her, and then storm out. He likes that thought. Beneath his Armani suits, and the spray-on tan, he was still Billy Dodds, ex-light heavyweight boxing champion of Southern England. No one pushes him around and backed into a corner he will duck-and-dive and come out swinging.

After making her wait almost an hour Billy Dodds marches into his wife's study, leans right across her desk, and sticking his face in hers he yells at her.

'What the fuck is this Veronica?' He says slamming a printout of the email on her desk. 'In case you haven't noticed I am busy running your fucking business and I aint got time for this horseshit.'

'William,' Veronica says looking pained, 'please, just for once, lets not have all this bad language? Besides, it is Sunday and the factory is closed. I don't see how you coming here today can possibly interfere with my company business.'

He'd forgotten it was the weekend. 'What is it this time, my fucking expenses claim. If that's what's bugging you I will have another look at it okay?'

He's expecting her to tell him to go away, they will talk about this later, when he's calmed down. That's how it usually works and that would suit him fine, give him time to dig around a bit, found out what she's got on him. 'And another thing,' he shouts in her face making her flinch, 'I will not have you going round the benches and talking to my men like you're some kind of fucking Social worker. I run the factory, and not you?'

Looking up at her husband, letting him know she is not afraid her steely eyes don't leave his for a second. Now, her right hand reaches down and unlocks the desk drawer.

Her hand comes up holding a brown package. He watches her place it on the desktop. She takes her hand away as if she can't bear to touch it. The look on her face is like she has a bad smell under her nose. Taking the red silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, he mops the beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. The expression on her face, cold and dispassionate, is like undiluted hatred. He glances down at the folder. Whatever it contains has to be bad news.

Veronica doesn't strike out, slap that smug look off his face because that would be getting down to his level and he'd like that. What she'd seen on the DVD still burns livid in her mind. Is she afraid of him right now? Yes. What woman wouldn't be? He is every bit the thug her father warned her he was. Steadying her voice, she says.

'I have not asked you here to discuss your expenses claims William, although I am certain half of what's on it is fictitious. I have a far graver matter, one that concerns our marriage to discuss with you.'

Our marriage? It doesn't take a lot of working out. Veronica's obviously got something on him, something to do with him and Sue. Most likely, the stupid cow has been gobbing off, thrown it in the face of Fossett. He goes on the offensive.

'Fossett!' He snarls in her face, 'this is to do with that prick Brian Fossett. What's he been saying? You been listening to the men at the factory giving him stick just cos his wife works for me? How can you believe all that crap? It's all rumours and lies, whatever it was you heard. He sees her eyes widen. He's struck a nerve. He presses home his attack.

'That lazy bastard, Brian Fossett, he's been spreading lies aint he? Dya know his wife won't have nothing to do with him. I don't blame her, he's a fucking useless nerd?'

As if in pain, Veronica's closes her eyes. She raises a hand to silence him.

'Yes... this does concern Brian Fossett, and you, and his wife, Susan Fossett.'

William's attack falters. What's she got in the package? Has she had them followed, hired some sneaky photographer to take snaps of them from a car window, the two of them kissing? Dodds needs a little time to get his mind straight, come up with a bunch of excuses. Right now, his brain isn't working. He needs to go some place where he can get his head together. If he stays here, she's going to nail him with whatever she's got in that package. She's got the upper hand here and he doesn't like it. His phone starts chirping. He holds a hand up in Veronica's face and looks down at the caller ID. It's Sue. Shit!

'William, please don't take that call when we haven't...' Veronica doesn't get a chance to finish what she was saying.

'Shut up a minute.' He tells her shutting down his phone, 'I got to go into the factory, there's been an emergency.'

'What are you talking about?' veronica says getting to her feet. 'What emergency? It's Sunday and the factory is closed.'

'An alarms gone off at the factory.' He says right off the top of his head.

'How do you know that? You never even took the call.'

'I didn't need to,' the lies trip off his tongue. 'That was Warren Tate, I made him key holder at weekends. The reason I was late getting here, 'he lied, 'is the alarm went off and he was going in to check on it. I told him only to ring me in an emergency, so I got an emergency, tough. I gotta go.

'So, why didn't you just answer the call?'

'I haven't got time for this Veronica, 'Dodds says throwing his hands in the air and turning on his heels, heading for the French doors that open out to the gardens. Looking back at her he says, 'I never answered the call because it's my job to sort it. It's what you pay me for.'

Before she can protest he's gone, stepped right out the French windows. Veronica watches him striding across the lawns. Why, she wonders is he going down to the lake when his car will be parked round the front?

Watching her husband keeping close to the edge of the lake Veronica loses sight of him when he ducks under the trailing branches of the Weeping Willow. It doesn't take a lot of figuring out. William is going somewhere quiet to return that call. It must have been Sue Fossett that called him.

Veronica drops her head into her hands. Her eyes are closed. She feels exhausted, like she could sleep the rest of the day.

No time for that.

Fully expecting Veronica to be watching him and not caring that much, Billy skirts the edge of lake and then hurries across Chinese bridge that spans waist of the oxbow lake. Through the herbaceous garden, he quickens his stride. He looks back. She isn't following him. She can no longer see him, not from the house. Beneath the Weeping Willow dipping its fingers in among the Water Lilies sitting low in the water alongside the boathouse with its bowed moss-covered roof, is a half-submerged lichen-encrusted rowing boat. The gossamer art of the rarely disturbed spiders is destroyed when Dodds pushes open the sagging the door that leads into the damp interior of the boathouse.

He closes the door behind him. He can barely see out the windows. He makes a hole in the grime-covered glass with his finger and peers back the way he came. No sign of her coming after him, he takes out his phone and punches in the Last Caller button. After two rings, Sue picks up.

'Billy what happened? You cut me off.' Sue is parked up in a layby a couple of miles outside town. She was mad at Billy, him hanging up on her like that. 'I rang to give you some fab news.'

'I told you never to ring me.'

'I know but this is important. Don't you want to know my fab news?'

'What's so important you would risk my wife finding out about us?'

'Olga's dead.' Sue was expecting him to get all excited. When he doesn't say a word, not a thing, she feels hurt. He just says,

'Dead?'

'Yep.' Sue says, 'extinct, as in a Dingo.'

'Dodo.'

'What!'

'The expression is, "as dead as a... " Oh, never mind. So, Olga's dead, at last eh? You must be pleased. You've been waiting a long time. Tell me–how–when?'

'It came as such a shock, the way she went, so sudden and all, Just a few hours ago... I'm still in shock here Billy. Olga flopped face down in Brian's sherry trifle. By the time he got her face out of the pudding bowl she was quite dead.'

'In a trifle!' A broad grin appears on his face. Whoo hoo. He punches the air! This could be the break he needs, but was there any truth in all that talk about her aunt having all this money and her leaving it to Sue. He used to groan whenever she went on about the Russian gold, fabulous jewels, a palace in the woods and a long-lost princess, yet, he found these stories curious enough to have them checked out and to his surprise most of it was true. The house does exist, Olga is a spinster, but when he dug into Olga's past his inquiries hit a brick wall. It was as if she didn't exist. He had to conclude there was some truth in it. Some day Sue was going to become very wealthy. After learning all this he made it his business to keep Sue sweet, she became more than just a good lay. Olga's death now changes things and whatever it is that Veronica has on him; he couldn't give a flying fuck.

'Exactly! In a freaking trifle! Can you believe it?'

He could. He's always regarded those Fossett's as mad as a box of frogs. 'How'd that happen?'

'It doesn't matter how it happened Billy just long as the old bat is dead. Think about it, you and I can now have everything we ever dreamed of. I am going to be rich. Whoo hoo!'

'I will call you back.' He hits the 'end call' button.

'What!' Sue stares at her mobile, gone quiet.

William is pacing the creaking floorboards of the old boathouse thinking hard. He calls her right back.

'It's me. Tell me what happened.'

Sue was annoyed he'd cut her off. 'I just told you, were you not listening?'

He could tell she was pissed off at him. He can't afford for her to take off, dump him now, not when there is very god chance Veronica is on to them. He better treat her with kid gloves. Sue gets rich, she might make me redundant.

'Sue, listen to me a minute please. 'Dodds says gently, 'How Olga died my sugar plum is very important.' His voice goes soft now. 'You tell me exactly how she died, and then I will explain what I am thinking.'

Sue's not sure where he is going with this. She shrugs. 'She's dead isn't she? What else matters?'

'Please Sue.'

'Okay.' Around three o clock, Olga arrives by cab for her once a month Sunday dinner. I thought she looked a little pale, but no more than usual. She was pretty drunk, staggered along the hallway. I was thinking God, I hope she's not going to chuck up on the carpet. She eats the dinner that Brian cooked, we had roast beef and veg, and... she seemed fine, well as fine, as a walking corpse might look. Anyway, after three helpings of Brian's sherry trifle... bang.'

'Bang?'

'Yeah, bang! Falls face down in her pudding... quite dead.'

The line goes quiet... 'Billy?'

'Yeah I'm here. Brian must have poisoned her.' Billy states categorically.

Sue frowns. 'What!' Now, she breaks out into gales of laughter. 'Brian! Poison Olga! What are you going on about? You are joking aren't you?' Why would that jerk want to bump her off? What possible motive could he have? I don't think so. That wimp wouldn't hurt a fly, besides he'll not see a penny of my inheritance. This'll be my chance to get rid of him, and then you and I can live together. Oh Billy I am so excited.'

Sue has always admired Billy's ability to, "think outside the box" as he would say, but sweet, mild-mannered Brian would never murder her aunt? What was he thinking? 'No! My sweet, you have got this so wrong... '

'Let me to do the thinking please Sue.' Billy interrupts her. 'Your talents lie elsewhere.'

Sue giggles. 'Thank you Billy, and I have to say that last night was...'

'Yes it was amazing as usual,' Dodds leaps in. 'Listen, you and I, we need to meet up. Let's meet at our hotel, at seven.'

'Can't you get away now? I am aching here.'

'I would love to honey, but sadly, there are a very important business matters that I need to attend to, dealings that are important for our future together.'

Here we go again. Sue is getting annoyed thinking why does he always treat her like she comes second to, his work, his mates and his wife?'

'What business matter?' Sue says getting angry. 'Didn't you hear a word I just said? I am about to become very wealthy, so you're not going to need Veronica, or her sodding business!'

'Sue,' He replies now wearying of this conversation, 'I don't want to overload your pretty little head with matters that would only confuse you, now... it's not long... just a few hours and then we can be together, making love and making plans, celebrating our new life together. Now I really have to get on... meet me, as I said, at seven.'

'Okay, lover-boy.' Sue pouts, 'See you at seven o'clock, mwah-mwah.' Sue kisses down the phone line already dead.

Olga's sudden and most appreciated demise means Dodds can now ratchet up his plans. On his mobile phone, he scrolls down his list of contacts, finds the name, and then hits the call button.

At home, watching TV, the Senior Planning Officer for Tawny West District Council picks up the phone. 'Sidney Tolgate speaking.'

'Sidney. It's William Dodds. You and I need to talk. Meet me in one hour in the same room we met last time, the Tawny Gate hotel, the big mock-Tudor building on the B241.'

Billy sits through a lengthy pause.

'William, its Sunday for Christ's sake.'

'It'll be worth your while Sidney. We are talking enough dosh for you to retire early...maybe buy that boat of yours.'

There was a delay. 'Okay. I'll be there.'

Dodds gets to the hotel room way ahead of the Chief Planning Officer Billy scans the room. It doesn't take him long to have everything in place. His phone goes. It's Samantha.

'Hi Billy. I am in the lobby. You want me to wait here till you come out?'

'Yeah, you got the camera?'

'Hey it's me remember?'

'Gotta go. He's just knocked on the door.'

'Yeah, he walked right past me.'

'He didn't see you did he?'

'Nah, I was hiding behind a newspaper.'

Billy hangs up.

Dodds opens the door to a very nervous looking Sidney Tolgate. A couple of Scotch's'll soon loosen him up.

Filling two glasses from the mini bar Billy, hands one to Sidney and with his arm around Tolgate's shoulders he leads the stick-thin planning chief across to the desk where the corners of his blueprints are held in place with bundles of fifties.

Sidney has seen these drawings before. It was at their last meeting, in this very room. There was no forgetting the young lady Dodds had hired to entertain him. He is hoping she is part of the deal. Taking a white hankie out his pocket the Planning Chief wipes his brow. Tolgate does his best to dismiss his fears, he knows the score, he also knows that his entire team takes backhanders, so why not him? What's it matters, he decides that the odd planning consent slips through the controls that he is ultimately responsible for? Would it be so bad that an ugly old factory gets pulled down to make way for a few hundred houses with nice gardens and landscaped streets, even if there wont be any place to park your car, or a garden big enough to put up a two-man tent. The loss of so many jobs to the town when Precision Pumps Ltd, goes, will of course cause a great deal of hardship to those families. That's not something Sidney's going to get into a sweat about because once the plans go through he'll have been paid off and be long gone.

'William you have to understand this situation is tricky. I am only one vote on the planning committee, and the factory is the biggest single employer in the area. Think about all the jobs lost to the town, not to mention the strain these new houses will put on local resources, GP surgeries, schools, public transport, to say nothing of the increase in traffic. I may not be able to pull it off.'

Dodds grins and chinks Tolgate's glass. 'Sidney, I have done my homework on this and I have paid off the majority of your planning committee. All you have to do when my scheme goes to the panel is raise your hand. As soon as the application goes through you get the other half of the fifty grand. Then you can go retire abroad, that's what you plan to do isn't it?'

Dodds takes hold of Tolgate's sweaty hand. 'It's been nice doing business with you Sidney. Listen, as I have already paid for the room, why don't you stay and enjoy the services on offer?'

Sidney Tolgate catches Dodds wink. He can feel his cock begin to stiffen.

Leaving the planning chief to count his twenty-five g's, Dodds goes out to the hotel lobby to find the attractive young woman is refreshing her lip-gloss.

'You all set?' He says looking around, to make sure no one can hear. 'You got the camera?'

Pointing to small hole in the leading edge of her shoulder bag, Samantha smiles and says.

'When I take out my make-up bag I'll turn the video on. He won't suspect a thing.'

'Be sure to make it real sexy.... I want a shot of his cock in your mouth, and I want you and him doggy style... I want the lot, and don't forget to get a shot of the plans and the bundles of money.'

'Hey! Its me remember.' She says smiling.

Gripping hold of her bottom he pulls her up against him, 'I love doing business with you Samantha.'

Leaving Sidney Tolgate in the capable hands of the talented and very beautiful Samantha, Dodds slams the door of his Bentley and drives off. He's off now to another hotel, the one that he and Sue use on a regular basis, perhaps more frequently than is sensible. He takes the risk because he plans to bed one of the receptionists.

# Chapter Eight.

Driving the Bentley around the back of the hotel there are plenty of empty bays. Dodds spots Sue's Nissan Micra, her outline through the window. When he parks up alongside her car he doesn't notice the black Transit van, one with blacked out windows, and a scanner on the roof parked some way off.

The minute he steps out his car Sue is on him, hugging his neck, almost crying.

'Oh Billy,' Sue cries pressing her lips to his.

Billy picks her up off the ground, spins her around, and then slams the car door shut with his heel.

'You've had some good news then?' He says and then pouts. 'Shouldn't we be grieving for your sad loss?'

'Such a sad loss... Not!' She laughs and then gasps, 'oh Billy, we can now live together, and buy us a nice house, and maybe a villa in Benidorm, have flash cars, and hold grand parties,' She feels swimmy and has to cling to his arm. 'Billy we are going to be soooo rich.'

Nervous now Billy looks across at the black Transit van parked facing him fifty metres away, its black windows a mystery. He takes hold of her arm and propels her away, tottering on her 5-inch heels.

With her heavy overnight bag, Sue can hardly keep up with him.

'That's amazing news Sue, but we should get inside. We don't want to be seen out here. I have booked us into our usual room.'

Behind the reception desk in the hotel lobby Louise Crawford sees the couple bustle through the door. She gives her co- receptionist Naomi a nudge with her foot. Out the side of her mouth she says, 'Here they are again; Mr and Mrs Smith. You'd think they could come up with a more original name.'

'Mr, and Mrs Smith, nice to see you again.' Louise treats the arrivals to one of her smiles. It's only been a week, you slutty pair. 'I have Room 12, ready for you.'

Louise loathes the woman. The guy isn't bad, a bit flash, but judging by what she hears coming out their room, he has to be good in bed. She'd fuck him.

Dodds leans over the front desk, looks down at Naomi sitting on her heels rummaging around in a cupboard looking for a new printer. The receptionist straightens up and flutters her eyelashes.

Signing the register, he smiles lasciviously at Louise. Her eyes seem to smoulder. Words were not needed between them.

'Should you require anything Mr Smith, anything at all,' says Louise biting her bottom lip and spinning the register back to check the names, 'I should be only too happy to oblige.'

Yeah, I bet you would. Sue is thinking narrowing her eyes at the size 8 slut in her tight fitting uniform with her big blue eyes and her pert tits. Sue's fingers curl into fists. She controls her temper.

'Your bag looks heavy, Mrs Smith, can I call a porter to carry it to your room?'

Sue could slap her contrite face. 'You think I can't carry a bag? I can manage perfectly well thank you.'

Sue loops her arm through his. Pulling Billy down the corridor she wants to get him away from that pair of slappers

Dodds risks a glance back over his shoulder and winks at Louise.

Room 12, is handy should they need to escape out a back way. The French windows open out to a courtyard and an emergency gate that leads out to where their cars are parked.

After pushing Billy through the door of room 12, Sue throws her bag in after him and looks back down the corridor.

'You go on in. I shan't be a second.'

Leaning around the open door Dodds, grins watching Sue go marching back to the reception area.

At the woman's approach, both girls step back a pace from the counter.

Pointing a finger at each in turn, Sue hisses.

'I'm watching you two snotty nosed cows, and I don't like your attitude one bit – you two had better mind your P's and Q's.' Sue snarls at them, 'I could buy this hotel, did you know that? I might even do that, and then sack the pair of you. How'd that be eh?'

Having put the pair of them in their places Sue now intends to have a go at Billy about him flirting with the skinny one of the two receptionists.

Seeing Billy lying on the bed, naked like that, and ready for action, Sue thinks that can wait, whereas Ol' Tiger may not.

Kicking off her shoes Sue starts unbuttoning her blouse... slowly.

On her hands and knees now, making purring noises as if she was a cougar and undressed down to the crutchless panties Billy bought her on his last trip to Paris Sue approaches Billy who swings his legs round and sits on the edge of the bed.

When Sue's soft lips engulf him, he tips his head back and moans.

Outside in the corridor, both receptionists have their ears pressed up against the door of room 12. Louise and Naomi hold their breath listening to the rhythmic creaking of the four-poster bed. Louise eyes widen when she hears Mrs Smith cry out.

'Oh my God Billy, Yes, yes, yes, oh, Billy, please... don't stop.'

Louise hears furniture being tipped over, something gets broken, maybe a vase. Giggling the two girls hurry back to their posts.

With Sue beneath him writhing in his grip, Dodds plans to take his time.

Sue cries out. 'Billy I am almost there, don't stop.'

Turning her head to one side Sue admires herself in the mirror. She has become Queen Cleopatra the arch seductress, the woman that a Roman General and an Emperor went to war over. She can imagine her husband and her lover fighting like gladiators prepared to die for her affections, except Brian gets the thumbs down for not putting up much of a fight. .

When it's over, sweat-soaked and smoking a cigar despite the smoking ban in here, Billy watches Sue turn on her side, lean, over the edge of the bed reaching for her bag.

'That's somewhere I could park my bike!' He jokes.

Sue waggles her bum at him and grins. 'If you think my ass is a turn on lover-boy just you wait till you see this little lot.'

Sue sits up on the bed her legs tucked under her. Grinning she waves a velvet purse at him. 'Sit up.' She says, 'let me show you what I got here.'

'What you got?'

'Remember I told you about Olga's battered old carpetbag, the one she never let out of her sight? The minute she's dead I get hold of the bag. I knew there had to be something of great value inside it, the way she guarded it.'

He pushes up on his elbows. He imagines it's going to be crap. 'Go on then. Lets see what you got?'

'The fucking Crown Jewels is what I got.' Says Sue unrolling the purse. Billy sits bolt upright.

'Wow!' He says.

One piece at a time Sue puts on the four necklaces and then the four rings.

Billy gives a low whistle and leans in close. Hefting the pendants nestled between her naked breasts; he stares at them for some time. When he is able, he shifts his eyes from the jewellery. Sue's face is beaming.

'Shit! Sue these are amazing.'

Waggling her breasts in his face Sue says,' 'you love my bad boys?'

'Those too, but I was talking about these.' He says hefting the stones in his hand.

The human mind is no stranger to expectation and Billy wants these to be real, and so he makes no bones about it. 'Sue these are the real McCoy. I can't see any hallmarks on the gold so that makes it foreign gold, and judging by the weight, I would say, 22-maybe 24 carat. The stones? This one, the big bugger has to be a diamond, this one's an emerald, and we got opals, and an amethyst? Are amethysts pink?' He looks round at Sue sees her bosom heaving. 'Jeez Sue, this little lot has to be worth millions!'

'I know.' Sue says flicking hair back over her slender shoulders. ' You know what this means lover?' Billy is shaking his head, 'It means that you and I can live together, be a proper couple. How good would that be?' Taking hold of his hand, now full of her jewels she says dreamily, 'can you imagine it Billy, you and me making a home for the two of us, and never being apart again? It will be heaven, wont it?'

Dodds thinks not. His plans do not include having to live with this dumbfuck. Olga dying is forcing him to rethink his plans. The deal to sell the factory may not come off. It was always a little risky anyway, him throwing his lot in with that fuckwit Sidney Tolgate. That deal has already set him back twenty-five big ones, all gone down the swanee. Fortunately, it wasn't his money. Every penny came out of company funds. He's thinking now that Sue's inheritance is about to pay out he doesn't need Veronica, or her factory, Sue is going to be his gravy train. Ripping Sue off is a lot less risky than embezzling money out of Precision Pumps International. He doesn't care to think about Veronica's bloodhound accountants that will very soon find the gaping holes in the company accounts. Before that happens, so he doesn't end up in prison he needs to find the money to go abroad. Initially he will have to take Sue along, and then once he's bled her dry, he plans to dump her off someplace overseas. Her finding these jewels is a Godsend, almost as if fate is on his side. He'll sell these, and then go into hiding someplace, hang around for the reading of the Will, and then push Sue into flogging off the house, the land and the Aladdin's Cave of goodies stowed inside it.

It occurs to him with Olga gone; Anastasias Retreat is now a prime target for thieves it being isolated out in the countryside! He's thinking he'd better get over there, grab any cash lying around, under the mattress, maybe in a wall safe behind an Old Master oil painting and gather up any small items of great value before making sure the place is secure. That's the plan. He'll get Sue to take him there.

He is thinking that Sue seems a little edgy. He doesn't want her becoming suspicious of his motives. Thing to do is to make her feel like she is running the show, let her think she is making the decisions.

'Sue,' He says casually, ' what do you plan to do with this jewellery only I don't supposed its insured. To do that will cost you a fortune and I'd hate you to lose any of it, get mugged for it, walking down the street. I bet you haven't a clue what it's worth?'

'Thousands?' Sue ventures.

'Millions... not thousands.' He tells her like he knows.

'Oh my God! You kidding me?'

'I am not joking Sue. And, think about it, as well as these you also have Anastasias Retreat, plus all the valuables inside it, and the land which on it's own has to be worth millions. I can't tell you how happy I am for you Sue.'

'I know, isn't it exciting Billy. Can you imagine me being rich? You too of course, ' Sue adds, looking serious.

He now adopts a look of concern. 'You are going to have to be careful Sue; all that money is going to attract the wrong people. They'll come at you from all sides. Before you know it they'll take you for every penny.'

'Oh my God!'

'But that's okay Sue.' Billy says stroking the back of her hand, 'cos you got me to protect you, and I am staying right here alongside you.

'Thank you Billy.'

'You will need to invest your money wisely though, avoid hedge funds, stick with gilt edge bonds and don't buy into commodities.' Billy says like he knows what he's talking about when he knows jack! 'Lucky for you I am an expert in this field. How'd you think Veronica got so rich? It was all down to me watching the Dow Jones and the Yen Sing moving stock around. With me looking after your money I will turn your millions into trillions.'

Sue's brow furrows. She senses Billy closing in on her inheritance.

'I will not be rushed into anything Billy.' She says, 'that's not to say that I don't appreciate your concern, and of course I will listen to your advice, but at the end of the day, I am not entirely empty-headed and I intend to take good care of my money.'

Seeking to reassure her he says, 'I am glad to hear you say that Sue. That is very wise, but then, you have always had a good head on your shoulders, and a very pretty one too. I always say to people, you wont pull the wool over Sue's eyes, she's nobody's fool.'

'And which people would these be Billy, eh?' Sue says grinning at this bullshit, but now wanting the two of them to get back to having some fun. This is all way too serious when they are supposed to be celebrating.

Showing off all those big white teeth, he smiles at her. 'You know what I mean though, see, already, you got me. Sharp as a stick you are Sue.' His demeanor now shifts to worrying about Olga's house. 'Before we get too carried away Sue we should think about Olga's house and all your valuables in there most likely unprotected, most likely uninsured, out in the woods. People, bad people, might get to hear about it, and next thing, they break in and nick the lot. We can't let that happen. We got to get over there and make sure the place is secure.'

'Don't say that Billy.' Sue says waggling her hands up and down.

'Say what?'

'Say I got to go back to Olga's house, I can't... I mean I just can't go back there. I told you, didn't I, what happened to me.'

Fuck! She's off again. Next, she'll be banging on about the place being haunted.

'Sue please, you can't still be scared of the place? It's just a house for fucks sake. Trust me, it's not haunted.'

'Billy, don't say that.' Sue says her face dark and foreboding, 'you've never been there. I have, and I am telling you, evil spirits haunts that place. I know it cos I've felt it.'

'Precisely Sue; you say you felt it, but you saw what? Nothing. How old were you when you went there... five, six years old? You were a kid and kids fantasize about ghosts and stuff. You're now an adult, all grown up. Trust me Sue, we go there, and nothing bad will happen to you. It's just a house.' Billy has her face in his hands. Looking into her eyes gone watery Billy softens his voice, 'listen, we go there together, we take an inventory of what's there, we make sure the place is secure, get locksmiths in or whatever, and then make plans to have every stick of furniture, every antique, work of art, gems, oil paintings, the whole shebang sold off at auction. How'll that be?'

Billy was right of course. Sue frowns. She can't, top of her head, think of a way of backing out. She nods. 'I know... I know you're right Billy, but I am sooo scared, you know?'

Dodds shakes his head. Stupid woman. Dodds patience with her stupidity is growing thin. 'You must stop worrying. I wouldn't let anything happen to you. It's just a house.'

Taking a deep breath, Sue lifts her chin and reflects on this, maybe Billy is right.

'Okay, we go there,' She says.' but only to do this inventory thing, bundle up any cash and bank statements, lock the place up and then we clear out. We can talk to someone on the phone, arrange an auction house to collect the valuables, catalogue it for auction, after that I'm having the place flattened and the land sold off.'

Dodds is holding up his hands. She wants it gone, that suits him. The minute everything is sold, he plans to skip the country anyway. He now puts the jewellery back in the velvet wrap and says to Sue, 'I am happy to help you anyway you want honeybuns. Just as long as you're happy.'

'Billy, I don't want to talk about that place anymore. We are supposed to be partying, what with Olga gone now, okay?'

'Sure,' Billy says with a shrug of his shoulders over by the minibar pouring champagne into two flutes. 'We'll drink a toast to Olga who at last is finally in a box.'

Half-heartedly, Sue chinks his glass, says softly, 'to Olga.'

Dodds is no fool. Could be, all this talk of treasure inside that house might be nothing more than bullshit. Who knows? Olga, who he never met, was supposed to be off her trolley most days, she could tell Sue anything and she'd believe it. He is certain of the jewels though, without a doubt they are kosher, fetch millions in his estimation.

Sue, swallows the champagne in one, wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. She didn't like what he said just then, about Olga being in a box. It's one thing her thinking, or saying something like that because she had to put up with her all those years, almost got disinherited because she didn't approve of her single lifestyle. No, she didn't like that at all. She watches him out the corner of her eye blowing smoke rings up at the celling. Look at him, what's he care about how I feel, he got his end away, and now he just expects me to go back inside that house. Shit! The thought of having to go back inside Anastasia's Retreat terrifies her. What if there really are ghosts in there intending to protect Olga's secrets?

'What up?' Dodds says, 'you gone quiet on me.'

Sitting up on the bed Sue looks down at him. Her smudged mascara make her eyes look hollow.

'You really want to know?' Sue says getting angry, I'll tell you. I am not happy going back there.

'I know that. You said it already. That's okay. You don't have to come along. Give me the keys and I will go over there on my own.'

There he goes again. Billy trying to elbow her to one side, take over, well it's her money.

'No.' Sue says sharply, 'we go there together.'

Dodds bristles. He sits up. 'What's this Sue? You don't trust me?'

Already there are signs that when she is rich there are going to be problems between them. Sue will however need his help to get through this. She doesn't have the confidence to do this alone, certainly not go anywhere near that house.

'It's not that I don't trust you Billy. I have to do this. I have to grunt up, face my fears. We'll go there, together and I will be fine... I expect.'

Nodding his head like he understands, he says gently, 'Sue I feel so sorry for you. It must have been traumatic. I just wish that you would talk to me about it, help me understand, so I can help you.'

'You wouldn't understand.'

'Yes I would, trust me.'

It feels as if his rough hands are trying to prise open that box, way down inside her, and the one she keeps locked, containing all those feelings. If he says the wrong thing... 'If I tell you, don't comment, not a word.' Billy does a zip thing across his lips. Sue takes a deep breath stares vacantly at the far wall.

'I was six, maybe seven when my Mum took me to visit Olga at Follys Bottom.'

'To the Russian palace?'

'I thought you weren't going to interrupt Billy.' Sue says throwing her hands in the air.

'Okay he tells her.'

Sue doesn't feel like sharing this but she does anyway. 'Mum had been telling me how Olga's house was like a fairy castle with great towers and golden turrets. You can imagine what that did to me back then, just six years old, having been raised on fairy stories.'

He couldn't.

Billy nods. 'You were a kid. Carry on.'

Sue doesn't feel like telling him, but she's worked out he is not going to let it go.

'One day, Mum says to me, "Susan, you and I are going on a long bus ride. We are going to pay a surprise visit on your aunt Olga. Won't that be nice?"

'And was it?'

'Was it what?'

'Nice?'

'No, it wasn't nice.'

'Okay, so what happened, you keep saying something did, but you don't say what.'

'I don't want to tell you Billy.' Sue is almost in tears. 'You wouldn't understand. You would just say something, something that would make me feel stupid.'

She's right, he wouldn't have a clue, that's not the point, he wants her to think of him as caring, supportive, and that's not his forte. He was about to tell her what the fuck, it doesn't matter; when she starts off again her eyes looking somewhere off into the past.

'We get to the house, and Mum, she knocks on the door. Then this giant with black, beady rat-like eyes opens the door. He looks down at me like he wants to eat me. He starts talking to Mum in Russian. Mum seems to understand what he was saying. Then from behind him out pops this old woman who scares the bejeesus out of me. I thought she was a corpse, even way back then. Olga goes off on one, screaming at Mum saying we had no business going there, we should go and never come back... and me... I need a wee. I am standing there with my legs crossed and crying.'

'So she let you in then? I mean to use the toilet?' Sue nods; he reaches out catches the tear trekking down her cheek with his thumb. 'You okay hun?'

'No I am not.' Sue says blowing her nose on a tissue, 'I don't want to talk about this anymore Billy. Its too upsetting.'

'That's okay. Sweetie we can do another this time.' Except Dodds can't drop it, he has to know. 'But you saw all the antiques and works of art... inside the house I mean?'

She nods. 'I saw it Billy... I saw the oil paintings, the gold furniture, the tapestries, it was all there, everything that Olga spoke about was there.'

'And, was it like, full of treasure?' Dodds says trying hard not to betray his underlying greed.

'I'd been to the toilet, back of the house behind the stairs. I could hear Mum and Olga arguing back in the parlour at the front of the house. I began looking inside the rooms, curious you know, as kids do. And yes I saw it all, it took my breath away.'

Taking a deep breath, Sue composes herself. 'The pair of them, Olga and that fucking giant servant of hers Igor, was both as mad as a box of frogs.' Sue says ands then goes quiet.

After a bit Dodds says, 'so, did you get to stay long?'

Sue is shaking her head, crying openly now. 'No, Mum and I, we left... well, actually we were thrown out.'

'Thrown out?'

'Oh, yeah, big time!'

'How come?'

'I remember Mum dragging me back up the lane, and her yelling at me, saying how it was my fault, and that if I hadn't been nosey, going inside those rooms, aunt Olga wouldn't have refused to lend my Mum the money, blah... blah... blah!' Sue pauses to catch her breath, 'Can we just drop the subject now please Billy?'

'Yeah of course,' Dodds says with no intention of letting go,' I take it this giant, and he did something to you, something horrible?'

Sue is shaking her head, her long black hair rolling over her naked shoulders. She finds another tissue, blows her nose.

'What'd he do to you?' Billy says it just like that, blunt.

Sue nods. She feels defeated.

'The bastard, I'll kill him.'

'It wasn't like that Billy.' Sue says sounding tired now. 'He didn't touch me. Not in the way you think. It was Olga. She told the giant. "Throw da child in da pit vith da beast. Let him feed on her flesh and crunch on her bones." Looking right at Billy now Sue says, 'I swear to you Billy I thought Olga was the wicked witch that lived in the gingerbread house who wanted to eat Hansel and Gretel.'

If he'd had one, Sue's story might have touched Billy Dodds heart.

'Yeah, but there wasn't a beast, was there Sue?'

'No. Olga wanted to scare us off, make sure we never went back. I was screaming and kicking. The giant had me across his shoulders when he carried me through the house. Now, Mum must have heard me crying, she ran out the room and found the giant carrying me off. She was beating on his back, telling him to put me down and all the time Olga is cackling and screaming, and laughing.'

'What'd he do to you, where'd he take you Sue?'

'Out the back of the house there was this slope rising up through some trees and some bushes. We get to the top and the bastard throws me down into a pit of nettles and brambles.'

'That was it?' Sounding like he was disappointed, 'all he did was throw you into some bushes?'

She knew he wouldn't understand. When she looks sideways at him, he is grinning. Does he think it was funny, or is he just taking the piss? Before she can remonstrate with him for being so fucking insensitive, he says.

'If you want, we'll have the place torn down, flatten it with dynamite even.' He's always wanted to blow up a building. He's got a thing about explosives. Be a shame though to destroy a Russian palace. He's thinking. They could sell it as theme hotel.

'You should at least consider the possibility of selling the house.' Billy suggests, not ready to abandon his idea of turning the place into a Russian style theme retreat with a golf course.

'Did you not hear me?' Sue says turning on him, ' I want it destroyed. There is to be nothing left of it.'

Dodds drops the subject when Sue starts stroking Ol' Tiger now feeling playful. He'd better give her one before making his excuses. He'll tell her after. Of course, she won't like it, him needing to go.

An hour later with Ol' Tiger resting Billy rings reception.

'Reception.'

'Hello is that Naomi? This is Mr Smith room 12, can you have Louise bring me a bottle of Champagne?'

' I could bring it Mr Smith.'

'Did you not hear me? I want Louise to bring it.'

Sue was in the bathroom when Dodds naked under the hotel dressing gown answers the knock from Louise who has a trolley and an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne.

Looking past, Mr Smith into the room, she can see no sign of the woman. She can hear the shower running over in the bathroom. She smiles at Mr Smith.

'I have Your Champagne, Mr Smith.'

'She's in the bathroom.' Dodds says reassuring her, giving Louise a wink, and allowing the front of his dressing gown to flap open. 'Please. Leave it over by the mini bar.' Dodds indicates the far end of the room. He now closes the door and watches the receptionist sashay across the room.

'Just here be okay Mr Smith?' Says Louise, smiling, fluttering her eyes. She sees he has his dressing gown wide open now. He is waggling his penis.

'Will there be anything else Mr Smith?' Louise says transfixed by his cock, adequate, and feeling horny. She pockets the twenty-pound note.

'Perhaps we could meet up later? When are you off duty? I could ring you?'

Louise hears the hiss of the shower stop. Nervous now, she looks over at the bathroom door. Dodds wraps the robe around him. Louise hurries for the door. He catches up with her. 'I'll ring you later.' She nods, slips out the door. Dodds looks round to face Sue wearing a white robe and rubbing a towel through her hair.

'Who was that, you were talking to.'

'Only the porter honey.' He says, 'brought some more champagne.'

Sue is sipping Champagne when she says to Billy, 'did I ever tell you about Princess Anastasia Billy?'

He can't remember, most likely. Before he can tell her, yes, that he's heard it all before, Sue's goes off on one.

'You know I'm not one for history, but Mum used to tell me this story of how, when the Russian revolution kicked off, in nineteen whatever it was, Olga, apparently, helped Princess Anastasia escape Russia on a boat that came over to London, except, Olga came ashore but the Princess never did. She had vanished. Most likely Anastasia never came to London. Maybe she was thrown overboard, murdered by Olga, supposed to be her loyal servant girl... who knows? Anyway, it has always been a bit of a whodunit, one of those tales you don't forget. It all hangs together don't you see, Olga having all this treasure, the big Russian palace, and the money to buy Follys Bottom. I always suspected that Olga had a dark past, a mysterious history she only ever hinted at.'

Dodds shakes his head. The tale is mildly intriguing, but monumentally insignificant to his plans.

'There is more,' Sue says sitting on the edge of the bed, getting going now, fuelled up by her third glass of champagne.

'I thought perhaps there might be.' Dodds yawns. 'Go on.'

'Mum used to say that Olga was actually the bastard child of Tsar Nicholas II, which... ta da... would make me a member of the Russian aristocracy... and... did you know the Romanov's are related to our own royalty?'

'Bullshit!' Billy laughs.

Sue's face reddens.

'This birthmark,' Sue points to her hip, 'that's proof that is. That birthmark is on every girl child of the Romanov dynasty, Mum told me that I got royal blood in my veins, and you, Billy Dodds, lucky old thing, you never knew that you've been screwing a real Princess!'

Billy lights up another cigar. Blows smoke out the side of his mouth, says, 'I am honoured to be in your presence your highness. Should I kneel before you?'

'Oh, yes please,' Sue says glad they are no longer talking about that house. 'And while you're down there, do me a favour.' Sue laughs out loud.

Sue was only half joking. He knew that. He also knew what she wanted.

With her hands behind Billy's head up between her thighs, his tongue working its magic, and her hips writhing, Sue has forgotten all about Anastasia's Retreat. This time around her orgasm comes on quick, catches them both unawares. Billy now slides up her body, pushes his torso back on those big arms. When he enters her roughly, she gasps. She is making soft murmuring noises now and digging her nails in his back.

Going through the motions now, for once Dodds mind is not on sex. He is worrying about Olga's treasure left unguarded in an empty house. Ol' tiger flops out.

Sue opens her eyes, looks up at him. 'What's up Billy? Is poor Ol' Tiger getting tired?'

Salivating with greed, Dodds is thinking about Anastasias Retreat, and the Russian Princess fleeing the revolution with all that treasure. He'd better get some things straightened out. 'We can do this later Sue,' Billy sits up, his back against the bedhead. Sounding serious he says, 'Sue I need your full attention.'

She doesn't like it when he talks to her all schoolmaster-ly. She pouts.

'There are a few things we need to think about, things that we need to attend to.'

'Okay, but does it have to be right away?' Sue complains. How can he just pull out, and act like it's no big deal leaving her pussy trembling. 'We was having great sex just then. Now you want to talk serious to me. Billy, I want you back inside my pussy.... like now!'

'Later bunnykins,' Dodds says pulling the bedsheet up over him. Images of antiques being removed by thieves from Olga's deserted mansion won't leave him.

'We can't leave that treasure unguarded in an empty house Sue.' Billy insists, thinking, she mad or what?

See that's what I mean, already Billy is thinking about my money. 'If you think, Billy Dodds, that I am going over there tonight, you are off your rocker. I'm not sure that I can go there in broad daylight, let alone in the dark.'

'Tomorrow then, we go first thing?'

'I can't say right now Billy.' Sue says, 'I'll decide that tomorrow morning.'

He doesn't see any point in pushing it. All he can do is hope that no one breaks in and steals the lot.

'You going home tonight?' He says checking the time on his watch and trying to sound nonchalant, 'only it's now five o clock and I got a business meeting at six.'

'What!' Sue says now pissed off. 'You never said. How come all of a suddenly you have a business meeting?'

'It was in my diary, I just forgot. It's not something I can wiggle out of Sue. Don't fret. We can catch up later and I promise I will make it up to you.' His hand slips inside her dressing gown, slides up between her thighs.

Pulling his hand away, Sue looks at him, mad. 'And what do you expect me to do in the meantime eh? Go home to that dumbfuck Brian? I thought that now I don't have Olga spying me I wouldn't have to spend another night in the same house with that moron. I might just tell him to pack his bags, clear out.'

Jeez, she can't be serious for fucks sake. There is still the Will reading to get through and the solicitor to convince that she is still contentedly married. She already knows that, so why the hell is she acting like a dumbfuck, idiot. Does he have to tell her every single thing?

'Hang on Sue!' Dodds says sounding serious now, 'you're forgetting that you and Brian are supposed to be contentedly married. If you throw him out now, how's that going to look when you meet with the solicitor to read Olga's Will? Don't go blow your inheritance when you are so close to pulling this off. What's another night or two when you have stuck it out for nine years?'

'I guess, 'Sue says sounding defeated.

Already Dodds grip on reality is loosening. Anyone ever get the better of him had better watch out, and that's how it's always been, except, this time he's lost everything and it's all down to Brian Fossett. Him thinking about Fossett fuels a rage burning away in his gut. Dodds always hated Fossett and now him blabbing to Veronica, spilling the beans about their affair has just turned this hatred of him into a revenge obsession. Not figuratively... physically, he could actually kill him. That's when he thinks maybe there is a way he can Sue get to do it, the betrayed wife, kills her husband in a fit of jealousy? He dismisses the idea as unworkable. Fossett, have an affair? Not a chance he hasn't got it in him. Money then? Sue might do it for money, if there was enough of it?

'And don't forget, when you divorce him,' Dodds thinks to inform her, 'Brian will get half of what you inherit.'

Sue's eyes widen. Her cheeks inflame. 'You are fucking joking? No way is he getting a penny of it. It's my money.'

That's got her going. Dodds shrugs. 'That's the law. He'll be looking for a fifty-fifty split.'

Sue is shaking her head. 'If that's the case, when you and Veronica get divorced you will get half of Veronica's estate? The mansion, the business, her money?'

'Well yeah,' he lies, 'of course I do.' Except, the pre-nup Veronica had forced him to sign before she agreed to them getting married means he won't get a bean.

'We'll see about that.' Sue says, 'I'll hire a team of top lawyers. I'll stand up in court and tell the judge how he used to beat the kids, and me and how he was a drunken, abusive adulterer. Knowing Brian he won't have the guts or the money to make a case of it. I'll tell you what though... ' She suddenly has a thought. 'I can legally chuck him out the house since the idiot signed the deeds over to me years ago. I bet he won't even remember. Imagine his face when I remind him.'

'Er, well, that could be tricky Sue, because in law, he may have rights of residence. To throw him out you would need a good enough reason.'

'Such as?'

'Erm, l dunno, like if he threatened you, or if your life was in danger, that sort of thing.'

'Well he did kill Olga.'

Dodds laughs out loud until he stops short, 'hang on,' He says having just had a thought, 'you might have a point there Sue.' Dodds is now thinking on his feet, and once more he goes shooting off his mouth without first getting his brain in gear. 'What if the people that live up your road, your neighbours, and your friends were to get the idea that Brian had poisoned Olga, that he'd put something, I dunno, rat poison, in her food? That would give you a good enough excuse to throw him out the house.'

Dodds is thinking it might be a good thing to have the worm out the way while all this is going on. He's just as likely to go shooting his mouth off again, perhaps to the solicitor this time, fucking things up? He'd kill him first.

'Sorry.' Sue says shaking her head wondering where the hell Billy is going with this. 'You lost me soon as you mentioned the word poison. What poison?' She wants to know, 'how? I mean why would my neighbours even think Brian capable of such a thing?'

Slipping his hands inside her dressing gown, this time she doesn't push him away, he says, 'because you, my sweet actress, are going to convince them that's exactly what he did.'

'Yeah?' She can see herself now, playing the role of the grieving niece, weeping and howling, crying out "murder". Oh yes. 'When do I start?' Sue says relishing the thought.

'What I was thinking, using your amazing acting talents you just accidentally let slip out, in the company of neighbours that the Police are investigating Olga's death. They suspect she may have been poisoned and their chief suspect is your husband who had cooked the meal she ate the day she died.' Dodds holds up a hand, stops her interrupting. 'Now the word gets out, around the town, and people start to talk, they pass on the news that Brian Fossett is a murderer. See where I'm going with this Sue?'

She thinks so.

'With Brian being a murder suspect, you would have to throw him out. You couldn't possibly allow him to live in the same house as your children, not after he murdered your auntie?'

'Well I suppose I could.' Sue says frowning starting to wonder if Billy has taken leave of his senses.

'Now,' he continues, 'when the Police get to hear a rumour that your husband has poisoned your aunt, they'll have to take him in for questioning, hold him without bail until the autopsy results come through and that could take weeks. And, of course, you know what people will say. "There's no smoke without fire", Sue and Billy chorus.

Sue is staring at Billy her eyes flicking to and fro across his face wondering what is going through his mind.

'Lemme get this straight Billy. You reckon, when the police get to hear that Brian had poisoned Olga, they will call round our house and arrest him. They will take him in for questioning? They grill him over her death, and they try to beat a submission out of him. Then I can chuck him, and all his belongings out on the street? Did I get that right?'

Dodds is thinking she watches too many TV cop programmes. She's got the picture though.

'Precisely.' He says holding her at arms length. Her dressing gown comes open down the front. God, she's sexy. He can feel an erection coming on. If he weren't planning on meeting up with Louise later, he'd take her back to bed.

'You think when I tell the cops that my husband murdered my aunt they will believe me!' Sue says, angles her head. 'Are you on something Billy? I cant see what possible motive Brian might induce Brian to poison my aunt? Besides, Inspector Clueless, how could he have done such a thing when we all ate the same meal?'

She has a point. However, he knows how he could do it. 'You said that Olga fell face down, quite dead in her sherry trifle, yeah.' Sue nods, 'then that's how he did it. He slipped some rat poison into her bowl when the rest of you weren't looking.

'Rat poison!'

'In the Sherry trifle, that's how she died isn't it? Face down in the sherry trifle that he made?'

'Yeah, but we all ate some of it.'

'He could have slipped it in her bowl when you were all distracted, not watching, how easy would that be? Could he have done that?'

Frowning Sue says, 'Well I suppose. But he never did.'

Dodd sighs, 'Sue, we both know that he didn't do it, that's not the point, what's important, is that other people put it around that he did! He's not going to get hanged, or banged up for life, cos there is no proof that he did it.'

'Because he didn't...' Sue says catching up. 'We get other people to believe that he did it, only we, you and I, know that really he didn't ... Oh! I get it now. I tell other people he did it when he didn't, then I get to chuck him out the house?'

Getting Brian Fossett thrown out of his own house isolated, vulnerable, now that sounds promising.

'Here's what you do.' He starts to explain, 'you go to another town, one where people don't know you, and you buy some rat poison. You pay cash. You then take it back home and you empty some of the contents out, you then put the rest some place where only Brian would go, say like in a shed. Do you have a shed?'

'Yeah, we got a shed.'

'Good. Having done that you now spread the word that the Police suspect Brian of poisoning your dear old auntie. Now, you have the perfect excuse to throw him out, and why not? No one, not even the solicitor would expect you to remain under the same roof as a killer.' Dodds is thinking It would be great if the Police were to call round her house, and with all the neighbours watching, they bundle him into a Police car in handcuffs.'

Sue can imagine her acting the part, wearing a disguise, buying poison, and then with an Oscar winning performance, weeping inconsolably, she tells her neighbours her husband is a murderer.

'I love that plan Billy.' Sue says feeling already she wants to get in role. 'With Brian out the way you can then move in with me. Wouldn't that be great Billy?'

No, it wouldn't. He picks his words carefully.

'Well yeah, of course, ' he says doing his best to sound convincing. 'Wouldn't that be great? It's just that, with Brian only recently been arrested, can you imagine what the neighbours would say if they were to see me move in straight away?'

She doesn't give toss what the neighbours say, and she tells him that. 'Fuck em.'

He'd better explain to her. She won't like it.

'There is also my situation to consider.'

Sue looks up from her nail varnish repairs. Her eyes narrow, she glares at him.

He watches her face darken. 'Now, don't go looking at me like that.' He says knowing where this is going.

'Your situation!' Sue explodes. 'Exactly what situation are we talking about here Billy? Veronica...your rich-bitch wife, situation?'

Billy tries to manage his irritation. 'Hang on Sue I don't want you getting a fur-ball up your arse about this. I know how you feel about Veronica, but I am still married to her, and I've told you many times what a mean conniving bitch she can be. Given half a chance she'll screw the both of us. Even now, I wouldn't mind betting she'll be planning on accusing me of embezzling money out the company accounts.'

Sue doesn't give a shit what his rich-bitch wife does. She is shortly to inherit enough money she could buy the factory and Greystone Manor from her, should she be so inclined, which she aint.

'That's a load of bollocks Billy.' Sue rants. 'It's simple. You tell her about us, she gets mad, the two of you then get a divorce, and you walk away with half the money from the sale of that pile of rocks she lives in, and, seeing as you are an equal partner in the factory, you also get half the value of that too.'

Dodds takes her face in his hands and kisses the tip of her nose. He forces a smile. 'Honeytits, you are so sweet, if only the world was as black and white as the one in your pretty little head. My situation, my darling is a little more complicated. Uh huh! Don't say a word let me finish. In my social circle, divorce is a whole different ball game. There are corporate matters to deal with, guilt edged shares, alimony issues, pecuniary damages, damage limitation, habeas corpus, ipso facto matters, targeted interventions, hedge bonds, white papers, green papers and a whole bunch of legal wrangling that you would never understand. Now, please, be patient my sweet and all will be well.'

Sue waves away his hands. What's he up to? She knits her eyebrows. Her face is livid.

'You telling me you can't get out of your marriage?'

'No, no, no, Sue,' Dodds says on thin ice here. 'I am not saying that.' He knows he doesn't have the means or the grounds to divorce Veronica, Christ; she'd take him to the cleaners.

'Sue, I want to get out of my loveless marriage, but, I have to leave on my terms. I have a plan, one that will ensure that I... I mean we get the best out of this situation but I do need you to be patient and for fuck's sake don't do or say anything rash.'

'Oka... okay,' Sue says waving her arms, I don't want to talk about this anymore.' Sue resumes playing with Ol' Tiger who reacts like an impatient puppy.

Outside in the car park, in the soft glow of the lights of the control console, in the rear of the black Transit van two men twiddle a few knobs and then check their apparatus.

After pocketing a hundred quid cash, the receptionist, Naomi, was very accommodating, even letting them borrow the pass key to get inside room 12 a couple of hours before the people they were hired to film.

A little after five, Beanie Wilkinson moves a joystick and zooms in on the action. The woman is a MILF in his opinion, hot. The guy looks like an Italian mobster, the prick. He yawns. Earlier the action in room 12 had been mildly entertaining, but in his line of work he sees a lot of sex, and this was just another day at the office, only with different players.

'Looks like he is getting ready to leave,' Beanie says to Sparrow, 'we've got all we need, so let's wrap it up. I got bangers and mash on my mind, but I 'spect, the wife's done me another fucking salad!'

The following morning shortly after eleven, Lady Curmudgeon's chauffer approaches her ladyship in the library. She had mentioned earlier she was expecting a courier delivery.

He sees her stiffen when he hands her the parcel marked "URGENT–CONFIDENTIAL".

For two generations the Bassett's have served the Curmudgeon family. He personally, has known Lady Veronica since she was a child. There have been times when he would shake his head at her antics, and there have been times when he could shake her by the shoulders. Petulant, as a child, he would smile at her independent streak. This part of her character he is hoping will help her through this difficult time. One good thing is going to come out of it though, Dodds will finally get the boot, and not before time.

Around the time, Lady Curmudgeon, with her solicitors watches for the second time, the film her agents had made for her, twenty-five miles away in the market town of Cheverton Sue Fossett, wearing a blonde wig, dark glasses and a head scarf, is bustling along the High Street keeping her head down. Sue rarely goes there, thinks the place snooty. Even if she was by chance to bump into someone she knows, in this disguise no one will recognise her.

'Morning Sue.' Shit! That was her neighbour from ten doors down. He doesn't stop to talk.

Unnoticed now, she ducks inside the gloomy interior of the old-fashioned Ironmongers store. It's so dark in here she can't see a thing with her sunglasses on. She pushes them up on her head and goes in search of the rat poison. The store is a maze of aisles with floor to ceiling shelves bowing under the weight of stuff she has no idea what function they serve.

'Can I help you Madam?'

Sue gasps, clasps a hand to her throat. She spins about and comes face to face with an elderly man in a brown overall. There is a sly smile on his face standing there wringing his hands like the character Arkwright in Open All Hours.

'No. I'm fine thank you.' Sue replies sharply, her heart hammering against her ribs.

The store manager peering over the top of his rimless glasses, nods, turns stiffly, and walks off.

'Nosey old git!' She mutters. It was fortunate, her finding the rat poison, on the shelf with the fat balls for wild birds. Through the twisting aisles, she makes it down to the pay desk at the front of the shop. Arkwright is watching her approach.

'Did you find all you were looking for madam?' He says giving her an odd look, her wig gone askew.

After paying in cash in her hurry to get away, Sue forgets her change. Outside in the street with the shopkeeper yelling after her, knocking people aside, left and right, Sue takes to her heels.

With the plain white carrier bag banging against her leg, Sue makes it back to her car. Driving off she almost knocks an elderly lady off of her bicycle.

Back home, Sue opens the front door and only after she has shut the front door does she remove her sunglasses. She was expecting Jock to greet her, when he doesn't she figures Brian has been home and taken him out for a walk. That's lucky.

With the carrier bag pressed to her bosom Sue hurries down the garden path and without looking back she ducks inside the garden shed. She slams the door behind her. Daylight, through the single window, diffused by cobwebs, throws a rectangle of light on the cluttered workbench. She hadn't seen a single one, but she imagines spiders, horrible little buggers, had scarpered into the corners when she burst in. Which is just as well, because had she encountered one she would have fled and abandoned her plan. Now, rummaging around in a drawer that did its best to resist her intrusion she locates a screwdriver that is bent at the tip. The screwdriver does its best to skewer her hand causing her to wonder if the tetanus jab, she had two years ago was still potent. When the defiant lid finally flips off, she looks about her. Taking the tin of rat poison over to an untidy heap of plastic flowerpots she empties a little of the blue contents into the heap. Next, she hammers down the lid and reaching up places it on a shelf between a jar of mixed rusty screws and an old paraffin blowlamp. At the shed door, she looks back. 'Shit!' She returns to the tin and reaching up turns it so the label faces front. Looking back before she shuts the door, Sue feels proud to have created a credible crime scene. Walking back up to the house, Sue composes herself. Inside the house, now giggling like a naughty schoolgirl she races up the stairs and leaps on her bed arms and legs akimbo.

She is giggly happy until she looks sideways at Olga's bag stuffed in the wastepaper bin. She wonders why thoughts of Brian suddenly pop into her head.

Brian will be home soon. She couldn't face him. She calls Billy on his mobile– gets his voicemail. "Billy, it's me. Sorry I had a go at you. I know you have to attend these boring business meetings and I shouldn't complain. I couldn't face being home so I have booked myself into a room back at out hotel. I couldn't get room 12. I will be in room 49, the other end of the second floor. If you get free, it'd be great you could join me only I am feeling lonely and very horny. Mwah–Mwah! Speak soon. Love you."

Brian has hardly slept a wink, he couldn't get comfortable on the sofa was one thing, but he was also worried about Sue who never came home at all. About three in the morning, he had considered phoning the police. He didn't because she would have had a go at him, told him to butt out of her life. He might just as well have defied the banning order and slept in his own bed. Small wonder he slept through the alarm. The bad start to Brian's day was about to get a whole lot worse.

# Chapter Nine.

Waking up with his back aching, twenty minutes to eight, Brian curses and throws off the covers. 'Shit!' He gets to his feet and stretches the cricks in his back. He winces. 'Shit'

He was supposed to be going over to check on Charlie. He is now getting really worried about that hacking cough of his. It's been four weeks now and getting worse, so too has the headaches that he tells him aint so bad. 'Shit!' What to do? If he goes in to work late, he'll most likely get the sack. He's already had three written warnings. All on trumped up charges, two in Sue's handwriting, replete with spelling mistakes. If he sets off now and runs all the way, he may only be five minutes late, and if Dodds isn't in, he may get a stay of execution. He sorts out Jocks breakfast, lets him out in the garden while he brushes his teeth, and runs a comb through his hair. He might have rung in and pulled a sickie if Sue had the good manners to return the calls he made during the night, worried about her. Now, he has to go into the factory just to make sure she is all right. He sets off at a run. Not that it'll make any difference he's thinking he'll only be a few minutes late. Dodds is certain to sack him regardless. He'd made that clear the last run-in they had.

Just lately, Dodds bullying has been relentless. It's as if Dodds is trying to force him to quit, or looking for any excuse to sack him.

Sweating, Brian turns the last corner. His heart sinks when he sees the factory gates wide open and deserted. He hesitates thinking perhaps he should go back home and fix Charlie some hot food and a flask of tea, and then go over to the park. He makes his up his mind. He's going into the factory. He'll face the music because he wants to ask Sue, to her face, why she ignored all his calls last night. If he goes in or not will probably make no difference. According to Charlie, his position in the company is already a FUBAR. Army slang for, "Fucked up beyond all recognition". It doesn't make sense to sack him when he is the only one on the workforce capable of assembling the "Mighty Mule Lifting pump". Brian can assemble and test five of these heavyweight beasts in a single day when the other workers won't go near one. For sure, something's going on! He refuses to listen to the insistent voice in his head telling him that Sue and Dodds are having an affair. It's so much more convenient to think Sue wouldn't do that to him.

In this regard, Brian suffers with some kind of neural dysfunction, not uncommon to be fair. You would have thought, wouldn't you, what with that Sue's spelling being abysmal, and her typing skills non-existent, that her being handed the job as Dodds PA, might have poked holes through the walls of his convictions?

At the clocking-in machine, Brian hesitates. He then slams the card in the machine and waves a hand at the irritating chorus of jeers that greet his arrival in the assembly area. Ignoring the barracking Brian makes it over to his bench. Any minute now he expects to hear Dodds voice echoing around the cinderblock walls.

The layout of the factory is a typical open plan arrangement with benches set row upon row. From the window of the CEO's office sat upon iron girders, Dodds has a panoramic window from which he can spy on his entire workforce.

When Brian tries to open his tool drawer, some joker has screwed it shut. Not one of his mates will lend him a screwdriver.

He was under his bench looking for something to prise open his drawer when the factory goes deathly quiet. He freezes, keeping his head down. It can only mean one thing. Dodds has appeared, most likely at the top of the iron stairs. Suddenly, it was like someone throws a switch and like mechanized robots the workers go back to work. He jumps when he hears Dodds bellow.

'Fossett, get your lazy arse up here, now!'

Coming out from under his bench, Brian straightens up and adjusts the straps on his bib and brace overalls. Looking up at Dodds at the head of the stairs gripping the handrail Brian is reminded of the film Moby Dick with Dodds as the insane Captain Ahab standing on the foc's'le of the Sequad looking out to sea searching for his nemesis. Brian can almost see his coattails flapping in a force ten gale.

With a clang, that rattles the slatted blind over the glass panel Dodds slams shut the door to his office.

'Careful Fossett,' jibes Wayne Tester the most detestable of all his co-workers, 'the two of them might be at it.'

'That's not funny, or even original Tester.' Brian snaps back.

Standing at the foot of the iron stairs, on the very spot where Mavis Fotheringay met her end, Brian wipes his sweating palms on his overalls. He feels like a condemned man standing at the foot of a scaffold looking up at the noose. If he had single religious gene in his body, he would have mumbled something appropriate. He looks up at the closed door behind which Sue lets out a squeal of laughter. At least she wasn't murdered during the night. Halfway up the stairs he pauses and looks back. The guys behind their benches stop work to watch. He doesn't blame them. If it breaks the monotony of their existence, does it matter?

He can hear Sue laughing when he taps on the glass window of the door. Too feeble! They wouldn't have heard it. He can't see through the slatted blind. He raps his knuckles on the glass again. This time it sounds so loud he even flinches. He jumps again, when Dodds yells.

'Come in you worm.'

When Brian steps into the office, it was like he's just stepped into a trap.

'Shut the fucking door.' Dodds snaps getting to his feet striding over to Brian who now has his back up against the door.

'Sue...' Brian pleads, holding the flats of his hands up at his boss closing in on him, looking like some crazed animal.

Curling one finger through her hair and smiling Sue mumbles round the lollipop in her mouth,

'Yeth Brian?'

'Help me out here. Can't you say something to stop him picking on me?'

Sue slurps loudly when she pulls the sticky sweet out of her mouth. Leaning her elbows on her desk and pursing her lips, she cooes. 'Brian, I only work here, what makes you think I have any sway over what Mr Dodds has in mind?'

Standing four inches taller and a foot broader across the chest, Dodds moves to block Sue from Brian's view. The jacket of his suit, shiny sliver, hangs on a hook on the far wall. Red braces bending over his barrel chest hold up his suit trousers. The cuffs of his crisp white shirt, wingback collar, are rolled up, exposing up his thick, hairy forearms. The red silk tie completes the wide-boy appearance that Veronica hates.

Close to Brian's face now he can smell stale cigar smoke on his breath. Then, in a move that takes Brian by surprise, the big man grabs hold of his arm and in a single movement swings him round and sends him flying across the room.

'Ow!' Brian cries out when he crashes into the edge of Sue's desk.

'Get off my desk you fucking moron.' Sue shouts, making a grab to rescue the pink plastic desk tidy full of pens and paperclips.

'Sorry Sue.' Brian says getting his hand swiped away when he tries to help her straighten up her desk.

'Look what you just did to my desk you idiot.' Sue snaps.

Looking round Brian is pleased to see Dodds has now gone back behind his desk. He is writing on a pad.

Turning on his wife, Brian now hisses. 'Sue, where the heck were you all night? Did it not occur to you that I might be worried about you?'

'Fuck off Brian.' Sue says slapping away his hand that is putting her pens back in the desk tidy. 'Where I go, and what I do is none of your business, so just butt out, permanently... preferably.'

'Tell me, 'Brian says leaning in close, studying her eyes, 'are you and him, having an affair?' Brian is pointing across at Dodds.

Sue can hardly believe what she is hearing. She turns to look round at Billy who is grinning. Her mouth forms a perfect oval. Her head shakes in disbelief. 'Huh! Did you just hear that Billy? Brian wants to know if you and me are having an affair.'

'You tell him what you like. I can't be doing with him. The man is pathetic.'

'Are you serious?' Sue says turning on Brian. 'You telling me you didn't know, you fucking dimwit? Course we are. Where the hell did you think I was all them nights when I was supposed to be at rehearsals with the TWATS? Brian, listen to me,' it's like she is talking to a five year old. 'Billy and I are having a full-blown–sexual affair, and it has been going on for years, and before you ask, he and I screw most nights, and sometimes in the daytime. Please understand I only married you so I could inherit Olga's money. You can see where this is going can't you Brian... hmmm? Course you can, because now that Olga is dead, you have become unnecessary. Good word?' She enquires of Billy.

'Good word.' He acknowledges. 'Now tell him what is going to happen.'

'Oh yeah,' she remembers. 'You murdered my aunt, so now you have to go.'

Brian is shaking his head. 'What the hell are you talking about? I never murdered Olga. You know full well she died of a heart attack. What do you mean I have to go? Go where?'

'You did murder her Brian. You see I happen to know that the Sherry trifle that you spoon-fed my aunt was laced with rat poison.' Sue pouts, 'you do understand that I could never live with a murderer Brian, and now you can never come back home. Your belongings will be packed up and left in the hall. I would appreciate you collecting it in the near future. I wouldn't want to throw it out for the bin men.'

'Tell him that he is sacked Sue, and make it official. Write him a dismissal letter.' Dodds says like it's no big deal.

Taking up her pen, the one with the purple fluffy top, Sue makes a note of this.

It feels as if this can't possibly be happening. One minute Brian is worrying about being five minutes late for work, the next thing, his wife is telling him that she and his boss have been having an affair for years. His job has gone, and Sue is suggesting he murdered her aunt! How could he have lived with Sue all these years and not known about their affair?

'You can't sack me without good reason.' Brian says thinking he's got nothing to lose, so he might as well make a stand. 'I have employment rights you know.' Brian stops talking when he sees that neither of them appear to be listening. Perhaps this'll get their attention. 'Mr Dodds, you wont get away with this. I will cause you trouble.' Turning on Sue he blusters, 'I inherited that house from my parents so you can't throw me out.'

'That's right Brian. You did at one time own it. Do you not remember signing it over to me? It was shortly after we married.'

Could I have been that stupid? Yes, he could.

Now, he turns on his boss, 'I will go to Lady Veronica. She will override you. She might even sack the both of you?' The look he gets from Dodds Brian shuts up.

Dodds is reminded of the folder, the one that by now Veronica will have locked away in her wall safe. I knew it! Fossett has been blabbing about us. I'll kill him.

Not once, did Brian ever stand up to Dodds but now he juts out his chin and says, 'I...I...I will take you to an industrial tribunal.'

'That does it!' Pointing at the door Dodds snarls. 'Get out, now, before I come over there and throw you down those fucking stairs.'

Dodds bites his tongue. There's that memory of him pushing Mavis Fotheringay down those stairs. He shouldn't have said that. He detects an awkward tension in the room, as if people always wondered?

Brian hasn't quite finished digging the hole he is in. Rather foolishly, he points a wavering finger at his boss and he gives him fair warning.

'And as for you, you womanizing, wife-thief, I have a good mind to punch you.'

Now, Sue absolutely loses it, and while she is laughing like a drain, Dodds face goes crimson with rage.

If Brian thought that he'd just gotten away with threatening his boss, he was way off the mark. What happens next takes him by surprise.

Dodds gets to his feet, strides across to a metal cabinet, flings open the door, and then drags out a cardboard box. Dodds now reaches inside it and produces two pairs of boxing gloves.

Brian feels his blood chill. He looks back at the door.

Dodds turns on Brian.

'Okay Fossett, you want to take a pop at me? I'm going to give you that chance.'

Brian is shaking his head. Saying something is one thing, but acting on it is not quite the same. Of course, he would like to hit him, he wants to smash his face in actually, but Dodds is an ex-pro boxer and he is a wimp! No one was more surprised than him when he says. 'Mr Dodds, you shouldn't push me. Everyone has a breaking point. I will not be held accountable for my actions or what happens to you. I would advise against.' He doesn't get to say any more, because Dodds slams a pair of boxing gloves into his chest, which instinctively Brian grabs.

Dodds now moves fast. Leaning into Fossett's face he snarls.

'We will do this properly, Marquis of Queensbury rules. You and I are going down to the factory floor and I will round up a few spectators. It'll be a fair fight, and who knows, you might even get in a sneaky punch, but I doubt it, now get the fuck down those stairs.'

Before he can protest, Brian is out on the landing and being pushed dangerously down the stairs ahead of his tormentor.

On the way down, Dodds yells out to his workforce.

'Shut the doors, clear a space, Fossett here has challenged me to a boxing match.'

He has on a pair of old brown boxing gloves. Dodds has on a pair of bright red pro gloves. He should have pulled his gloves off and walked out. Now this sensible suggestion may have held sway had it not been for the reckless voice in his head demanding that he do no such thing. The same voice suggests with any luck he might even give Dodds a bruise. Next thing, he finds himself centre of a ring of jeering men facing Dodds who has taken to thwacking his gloves together. It's as if he is to be sacrificed in some kind of tribal ritual.

Wayne Tester having taken it upon himself to act as Dodds corner man is waving a towel in the face of his boss and telling him, 'go beat the shit out of Fossett.'

Dodds has stripped off his shirt. His read braces are hanging down over his narrow hips. Dodds now pulls a bodybuilder's pose. A couple of men whoop.

With his arms hanging uselessly at his sides and turning through 360 degrees, Brian is getting giddy trying to keep track of his boss who is, bobbing, weaving, sidestepping, shuffling his feet and circling round him.

Making him flinch, Dodds hands flick out, the blows stopping an inch from his face. All Brian can do is keep circling on his heels and getting giddy. The spectators are now making bets: 'Brian will go down in two.' I'll take one,' says another, punches that is, not rounds!

'Lift your hands. Protect your face you fucking idiot.' Dodds snarls, bobbing, weaving, and teasing him like a cat with a mouse.

'I... I... have changed my mind. I don't want to fight you Mister Dodds.'

'Too late Fossett, you should have thought of that before you challenged me. You said you wanted to punch me, here's your chance, go on hit me.' Dodds stationary now, bending at the waist, thrusts out his jaw. 'Go on then you wimp, take a pop at me.'

He is tempted to throw one, land one on that arrogant jaw, but, he daren't, he'll come off the worst. He's getting out of here. When he tries to push through the ring of men they close ranks and push him back in the centre.

Dodd's ringcraft taught him all he need do is to watch the opponent's eyes. He'd been hoping to use Fossett as a punch bag. Instead, the wimp is just standing there. 'Come on,' Dodds jives him, 'be a man for once Fossett. Take a swing at the guy who's been screwing your wife, or aint you got the guts?' Dodds was hoping that Fossett would throw the first punch that way when he beats the shit out of him he can legitimately claim he was acting in self-defence. He's got enough witnesses should anything come of it, which it won't.

Inside the boxing gloves, Brian tightens his fists. The tension on the shop floor builds. Both men stand eyeball to eyeball, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

A voice in Fossett's head is goading him: hit him; hit that arrogant bastard while he still has his chin stuck out. Give the bastard a good one, and then run for your life.

He is tempted.

Some of the encircling workers, press-ganged into Dodds audience now begin to shuffle their feet, a few at the back, who don't like what they see in their boss's eyes, slip away, go back to their benches, not wanting to a be party to what's about to happen.

To Brian it's as if he is standing in the eye of a storm. Something was going on inside him. Dodds goading voice, the grinning, perfect white teeth and his maniacal eyes recede into the background of his consciousness. Visions flood his mind now. Flashbulb memories of every humiliation Dodds ever inflicted on him fuel a rising tide of anger. Every, tendon, every muscle and every nerve ending are fired up with adrenalin. Brian takes in Dodds sculpted body, honed in the private gym back in Greystone Manor. Brian is not that impressed. Years spent lifting the Mighty Mule Lifting Pumps on a daily basis has given Brian a decent physique, one that people never saw.

In the past, Dodds yelling at him would have had him quaking in his boots. Now though, there is an inner calm, one that allows him to think. He feels like he is a man with a purpose. He is going to silence this goading oaf and boy is that square chin an inviting target.

Normally Brian doesn't approve of swearing, not even inside his head. Fuck it, an inner voice says, lets do it.

He's seen a few boxers, on the telly. He's seen how they shape-up to their opponent, eyeball them. Brian raises his hands. A rising murmur of startled voices brings the scene to life. Brian can feel his chest swell.

Watching this from the top of the stairs Sue yells out, 'hit him Billy. Knock the bugger out.'

The demise of his marriage is not that big a deal. It never was any good. He supposes it never worked for either of them. What's it matter that Sue takes sides, shouts out for her man in this unequal contest. For Brian, this is not about Sue, and it has nothing to do with the two of them having an affair. This is about him, and how he sees himself. His own sense of self-worth is at stake here. Brian glares defiantly at Dodds who now resumes his baiting strategy, circling around Fossett and flicking out his fat red gloves that stop inches from Fossett's face.

'You're a wimp Fossett –don't it get under your skin, the thought of me fucking your wife?'

No longer paying any attention to Dodds, Brian is listening to his Dad's advice. "The thing about bullies Brian, is they don't expect you to fight back, so what you do is you fix your eyes on the button on the end of their nose and you then hit it... good and hard."

Unblinking, Brian's eyes settle on the end of Dodds nose. He squares his shoulders, tightens his biceps, and rotates on his heels, tracking Dodd's movements. He's gonna do it. He's gonna smack that fucker good and hard.'

Brian was more surprised than anyone when he threw that haymaker punch, coming round in an arc from way back. It would have knocked any man to the ground, put them on their back... except this one it didn't.

It was the bucket of cold water thrown into his face that shocked him back to a painful consciousness. Brian is hurting in places he never new existed. Tentatively he feels his jawbone that seems out of alignment. He winces. His hand comes away with blood on it. He looks down at his clothes. There is quite a bit of blood, on his shirt, on his trousers and then more dribbling from his swollen mouth. Through his one operational eye, familiar faces swim into focus. Brian senses rather than knows that he is sitting on cold concrete. When he moves his legs back under his bottom, tries to get to his feet, he sits back down again... hard. 'Ow' He mumbles and then sucks blood and saliva back through his cut and swollen lips. It's as if every part of his body is crying out in pain. His head feels as if it is swirling around in a goldfish bowl. He groans and allows his chin to drop to his chest. His one working eye studies the red gloopy substance dripping into his lap. When he tries to turn over onto his knees he cries out and falls back on his haunches. He turns his head slowly. That hurts. Faces, staring, come into focus. Four of his workmates looking worried look down at him. He hears a voice, too foggy to recognise. 'Are you alright mate?'

He nods. He shouldn't have. 'I'm fine fankoo.' He says dribbling blood and not recognising his own voice.

There is another voice. 'Should we call an ambulance?'

'Better not.' That was Tester talking.

Satisfied that Fossett is at least alive, those workers, who carried Fossett out to the street and propped him up against a wall nod to each other and then troop back inside the factory, go back to their benches, get back to work.

With the help of the wall, Brian gets unsteadily to his feet. He closes his one good eye until the world stops spinning.

It was a good few minutes before his sensory systems come online. With his legs threatening to buckle under him, he staggers back into the factory. A part of his brain is now set on a suicidal mission. His befuddled brain has decided that Dodds caught him with a sucker punch. Still uncertain of his own contribution to the contest, Brian is convinced he'll do better in round 2.

Men at their benches stop work when they see Fossett stagger in and stop at the foot of the iron stairs

Holding onto the handrail, Brian looks up at the office. He angles his head and listens.

'Yes...yes...yes...Oh my God...Oh my God.... give it to me... Billeeeeee!' Sue cries out against a background noise of furniture being rattled.

Fixing his one good eye on the office door, now driven by a deep sense of injustice and clinging to the handrail Brian begins to pull his pain-wracked body up the stairs. Halfway up he pauses, and turns on his heels unsteadily. Looking down he sees he has an audience. His co-workers having downed-tools are creeping closer. Giving them a wave, he resumes his slow ascent of the stairs.

Inside the office, her short skirt up round her waist, spread-eagled on her own desk, with Ol' Tiger doing the business, Sue is in the throes of an orgasm.

His hand is on the office door handle when his face registers surprise. He looks about him and wonders why he outside Dodds office. He shrugs and turning awkwardly, he wavers on the steel stairs. If it wasn't for the handrail, he might have suffered the same fate as poor old Mavis Fotheringale. Slowly, he makes his way back down. At the foot of the stairs, the assembled workers line up like a guard of honour.

He makes it out to the clocking-in lobby. He takes his time finding his card. Like a drunk, he slams the card in, looks at it, can't see the time on it shoves it back in his slot and then turns and walks out. It feels a little odd, after sixteen years, this being the last time he'll ever have to do that. Turning to his workmates, and dribbling through his damaged lips, Brian mutters. 'Should Mr Dodds ask. I have gone home. I feel a little unwell. Would he please sign me off sick.'

The chilly air outside the factory helps clear his head. After a hundred yards, his one good eye catches sight of something poking out the breast pocket of his overalls. Before he falls over, Brian sits on the low brick wall of a neat front garden. He tugs the envelope out of his pocket. He can hear the rattle of loose change. He tears open the flap and shakes into his hand a five –pound note, and four twenty-pence coins. He now unfolds the enclosed note typed up by Sue... obviously:

Dear Mr Fossett.

Enclosed is your sevrance pay. After stopiges, we have payed you two hundred and fifty four pounds eighty pee. After deductions of two hundred and forty eight pounds for my housekeeping, you are left with a total of six pounds eighty pee. I have subtrakted the twenty pee you borrored from me last week, leaving you a total of six pounds - sixty-pence.

Your imeddiate dismissal follows your asort, witnissed by others, on the Cheif Exec, who was forced to defend hisself.

In view of your long-standing employment with this company providing that you leave the premeses immeddiately and make no attempt to contact the CEO's wife, or make a fuss, the CEO will not have you arrested and charged with asort. In adition, the CEO advices you that in light of your criminel actions today, and the mis- de-meaners in the past, the company will not be able to provide you with a refference for any future employment.

Yours siserely.

Mrs S Fossett.

Company Secretary.

P.S. You will be on the sofa tonight. I haven't decided what I am going to do with you.

S.

A passer-by pauses to stare at the man sitting on a garden wall looking at a piece of paper. The onlooker thinks the man may have been in a pub brawl, or at the very least, probably had a bad day.

Sue approaches Dan Taylor, the supervisor, at his bench. Dan stops work to see what she wants.

'You seen Brian?' Dan gives her a queer look.

'You joking?'

'No,' she says offended.

'Last I saw of him he was propped up against a wall outside. Did you not see us carry him out?'

'Carry him,' says Sue, 'I never saw what happened. I... I had to go back in the office... I... had some stuff to do. I don't have the time to watch stupid men fighting.' Sue looks over at the exit, 'doesn't matter, I'll see him later. Get on with your work will you.'

Initially she thought it a bit of fun, standing at the top of the stairs about to watch two grown men fighting for her affections. She'd been cheering for Billy, saw Brian swing a punch that went well wide, must have had his eyes closed or something, then Billy punched Brian. At that point, she had to turn her head away, rush back inside the office. When Billy came into the office about ten minutes later He didn't say a word, just put the gloves back in the box. He was breathing hard, looked a little deranged she thought. She said to him. 'You okay? You don't look like he beat you up.' It was supposed to be a joke, lift the mood in here, but he didn't laugh.
Chapter Ten.

The walk home from the factory is taking Brian like, forever. He gets a few stares on the way. No one offers to help. People don't like to approach someone who looks like he has just been involved in a pub brawl.

At the characteristic scraping sound of his front gate, neighbour's curtains in windows opposite twitch.

The house sounds hollow when he steps inside the hallway. He wonders if his hearing has been permanently damaged. Most likely, he has a bit of concussion? When he pokes his head around the dining room door, he sees the table that Olga died at, the place where he laid her out until the undertakers took her off. Heading off into the lounge, he flops down on the sofa and gently lowers his head back on the cushion. The room starts to swirl. He closes his eyes. Tells himself he daren't go to sleep; concussion can be dangerous, better go check your face in the bathroom. He sits up. The room does a cartwheel. A wet nose nuzzles his hand. It hurts when he grins. He opens one eye sees Jock, his ears flat, his brown eyes looking worried. 'Hello Jock.' Brian mumbles. 'Sorry I never got you out this morning. I wish I had now.'

Taking his time and wincing at the pain, Brian makes it up to the landing. He pauses to look in the kid's rooms. No sign of either. He takes a pee in the bathroom and then puts the lid down. His face in the mirror looks like he was in a train wreck. Turning the mixer tap to cold, he washes the blood off his hands. It stings when he splashes cold water on the cuts to his face. Using cotton swabs, he cleans up the injuries. Studying them, he thinks he'll live. He has to hold onto his ribs when he coughs. Probably got a few cracked. The closed eye looks bad; it's just a puffy slit. His swollen bottom lip explains why he keeps sucking up saliva. He rinses his mouth under the tap and watches the blood-red water spiral down the plughole.

Brian looks inside the bathroom cabinet. 'Typical!' he mutters painfully, 'never any paracetamol when you need it.' Thinking that perhaps Sue might have some in her bedside cabinet, Brian wanders into their bedroom.

He turns full circle as if taking in his own bedroom for the first time. His one good eye settles on Olga's carpetbag stuffed in the wastepaper bin. Feeling like a thief, he tugs it out. He doesn't fancy poking around in the stuff he can see inside it. Wouldn't be a lot of point he thinks, Sue will already have rifled through it and taken whatever it was that Olga used to guard.

Feeling exhausted now and with every nerve ending in his body hurting, Brian sits on the edge of the bed. He glances across now at Sue's tea mug, the horny devil one. It dawns on him this so-called "friend" supposed to have given her it had to be Dodds. He thinks about throwing it at the wall.

His head feels like it is going to explode. Paracetamol, he remembers. Now beyond caring that Sue won't like it he pulls open her bedside drawer. Third drawer down he comes across a curious black silk bag. Inside this, he finds a rubber and plastic appliance with a series of rubber protuberances. His engineering brain concludes this lurid pink implement must be some sort of sex aid. He can't work out what the buttons do so he presses one.

'Shit!' He ejaculates when the eel-like thing begins buzzing and thrusting and wiggling in his hand. Shocked, he drops it on the floor where it promptly escapes under the bed. Getting painfully down on his knees, Brian reaches under the bed. It wasn't easy getting hold of the whirring, writhing appliance. Sitting up on the bed, he examines it and still can't find the off button.

He's worried Sue might walk in see him with it in his hand. Randomly, he starts pressing buttons. The dildo now goes through a series of increasingly vigorous activities and then shuts down. Thinking he shouldn't put it back covered in fluff, he takes it into the bathroom and runs it under the tap. Hoping the thing is waterproof; he takes it back to the bedroom and puts it back as he found it. This little escapade has made his headache worse. There are no painkillers in the bedside cabinet, so he goes in search of some in the kitchen.

On seeing Brian come into the kitchen, Jock gets up off his bed and wagging his tail goes say hello to his master.

Bending to ruffle the dog's head it hurt his ribs. Brian now opens the back door and says, 'you got to do a pee-pee Jock.'

Jock steps outside, sniffs the air, and checks out the sky for any sign of rain, then shakes his collar.

While Jock searches out a suitable place to do his business Brian notices the shed door isn't quite closed. He frowns. Has somebody been in the shed?

Going inside the dusty old building that over recent months became like a sanctuary for him he remembers how his Dad used to spend hours in here, "tinkering", Brian and his Mum would tease him, "working," his Dad would insist. Sadness seems to ameliorate some of the pain. Brian casts his eyes along the dusty shelves taking in the rusty old tins, the jars full of the kind of things that men keep for that one occasion, that one job... such as that piece of wood, useful for stirring paint, some galvanised nails, useful for repairing the shed roof. He sniffs the air and along with the smell of paraffin, and mower oil he can smell... perfume? It smells like Sue's perfume! She would never come in here, she'd be too scared of the spiders. and what is that new tin of rat poison doing on the shelf? Reaching up he takes the tin down and then rattles it. Just one of life's mysteries, he supposes putting it back where he found it.

It was in the kitchen cabinet, he now remembers where they keep the mugs that he'd put the Paracetamol. He takes two with water catching the dribbles out the side of his mouth. Going through to the lounge he lays down on the sofa and waits till his world stops doing backflips. Lying there, waiting for the painkillers to kick in he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, he can at least see a little out the other eye. The room seems a little dark for this time of day. He imagines he'd nodded off for no more than an hour. Shit! He sits up too fast, the room spins, and a sharp pain stabs him in the ribs. 'It can't be ten to five? Shit, did I sleep all day? Christ I might have died.'

Trying to drink a cup of warm tea through the side of his mouth, catching the dribbles, was no fun. For the next half hour he is kept busy changing out of his blood-soaked clothes, which he stuffs into the washing machine, he'll sort them out later. He then makes a flask of hot sweet tea, and a couple of bacon sarnie's. His one he starts to eat... slowly, painfully. The other is one for Charlie. He wraps it in tinfoil and then shoves in the pocket of his winter coat.

Outside in the street, under a slate grey sky with Jock on a lead Brian hopes the flecks of snow on the cold wind doesn't mean that bad weather is heading in. With Charlie camped out on that bench in Chisholm Park and clearly quite unwell, that would be very worrying. That prompts him. At the end of the Acacia Avenue, he goes right instead of left. Oaks Road will eventually get him to canal where he is hoping the two "Street Workers", as he prefers to call them, and not "sex workers", might be hanging around under the bridge touting for business. He visualises them now, those two kids, young enough to be his daughters, thinly dressed and standing in the dim light under bridge, mostly likely freezing to death in this March cold snap. He shakes his head and despite the pain, he steps up the pace.

Although Nancy and Millie are not as close to Charlie as Brian is, they do occasionally pop over to the park just to have a chat with him. Hopefully, Brian is thinking, if they got the time, they could maybe go see him, try and talk the stubborn old coot into going with him into the A&E to get his cough checked out, and while they're at it, get those headaches that Charlie insists aint so bad looked into.

The canal towpath, being muddy and out the way and is often shrouded in mist means not a lot of people use it. This he supposes is a good thing in their line of work. Brian hates what the girls do. Not in a condescending way, he just worries for their safety, if they were his kids...

They got a place nearby, a basement room they rent, where Nancy and Millie would take clients.

Looking at his watch, he is thinking, it might be a bit early for them, but you never know.

It doesn't feel at all odd, him having two hookers and a tramp, as his only friends. Other people say this is weird, especially Sue, who thinks he is barking. He supposes Charlie, Millie, and Nancy whose lives mirror his own are, like him, social misfits, friendless victims of whatever history has taught them.

Brian, Nancy, and Millie have been friends almost two years now. He knows nothing of their past, but he knows enough to recognise that somewhere back in their past, maybe in their childhood, some things have happened to them that shouldn't have, and that during that time, some things that should have, didn't. Not all kids get the loving nurtured upbringing he enjoyed.

The girls have a golden rule: they never allow the other out of their sight. A couple of years ago thankfully Tony, their money-grabbing pimp, was given a ten stretch for living off immoral earnings and running a brothel. Good riddance they said, better this way, being self-employed. They now rely on protection from the local beat officer on account the Chief Inspector calls round occasionally for a freebie.

Up ahead in the gloom under the bridge he sees the red glow of cigarettes. That's another thing he wished they would quit doing. Brian now remembers his injuries. They are certain to quiz him and then get mad at whoever did it. Edging over into the shadow of the wall running the length of the canal, Brian waves back at them.

'Millie we got a punter.' That's Nancy joking. She's seen Brian with his little dog approaching, looking a little stooped oddly, and keeping in the shadows!

Crushing her cigarette under the heel of her boot Millie steps into the splash of orange light given off by the bulkhead lamp that doesn't do a lot to light the footpath under the bridge.

Brian is always a welcome sight. His visits are usually brief, only because he always has to get back home to do the housework, or the cooking, something his lazy wife doesn't help with. They never did get to meet her, they wouldn't want to, either one of them might slap her lying, cheating face and tell her she's a fucking idiot and she don't know what a treasure she is married to. He doesn't always nag them about the risks they take, or to stop smoking that skunk shit, as he calls it. They don't mind him worrying about them; they never had a man do that. Most times they meet up the talk is about what they been up to, or the girls joke about one or other of their clients. They used to tease Brian a lot, but not so much these days.

It was two years ago, when they first encountered this old-fashioned looking guy. He wasn't looking for business; he'd just stop for a pass-the-time-of-day chat. At first, they thought he was some kind of pervy odd-bod, wanting to help them find redemption. Back then they would tease him about the way he dressed, or his new haircut, or how he spoke. At other times, just to see his face register shock, and see him blush, they would say something outrageous. Over time, the girls discover the gentle nature of this man who has a real compassion for downtrodden folk. Now, of course, Brian is regarded as a true and loyal friend, one they would do anything for.

Brian is now thinking it was a dumb idea to come here letting them see his face all beat up. Nancy calls his name. He can't turn back now.

'Hey Brian.' Nancy's voice echoes off the walls of the bridge.

'How's tricks Brian, and how is my favourite dog, Jock?' Millie calls out to Brian who seems to walking strange, slightly stooped.

When he replies his mouth doesn't work so well. 'I'm good. And you two, you all right?'

He even sounds odd. Millie thinks closing in on him. Tenderly she moves his face into the light. She recoils in horror. 'What the fuck!'

Brian turns his head away.

Nancy closes in now. She too grimaces. 'Who the fuck did that to you?'

'Shit! Brian, what the fuck's happened to your face?' Millie leaps in.

Brian waves his hand. 'Oh that. That's nothing. Can you believe it? I walked into a door.'

'Like fuck you did. What, like a revolving door with fists?' Nancy's eyes are ablaze and her face crimson. 'Bullshit Brian.' Nancy rants, 'do you really think that Millie and I would believe that crap? Have you ant idea how many times we both looked like you do, huh? You think we haven't been there?'

He feels like shit now. How could he be so crass? Those poor kids, he should have known better. What he's going through right will be nothing compared to anything they will have know. 'Christ, I'm sorry,' Brian says mortified at his own idiocy, 'I didn't mean to...' He shuts his mouth.

'I know.' Nancy says not wanting to blame Brian. He's not to know how she and Millie have both been beaten almost to death, nor can he know how many friends of theirs never made it through their addictions or have managed to escape violent partners. Nancy turns full circle with her hand pressed to her forehead. 'Sorry Brian, 'Nancy says calming down a bit. 'Its just men you know.'

'We just want the names, that's all.' Millie says, 'you don't need do a thing. Millie and I we got friends, coppers, who owe us a few favours.'

Favours eh? Brian can imagine. Easing himself down onto the graffiti blighted bench Brian sighs. He hadn't planned on opening his heart to the girls. Christ they got enough on their plates. Then it just came out of his mouth in a torrent. Everything, that is: Sue not coming home, him sleeping on the sofa, her not returning his calls, then the pair of them laughing, boasting about their affair, and then Dodds forcing him into a fight, beating the crap out of him, getting the sack and then Sue telling him he has to get out his own house.

The girls hearing this nod at times, other times they curse, and then they kick the bench, tear at their hair, getting madder all the while. When he stops talking Nancy and Millie go quiet. It's as if the wind had been knocked out of them. He doesn't like they way they seem to be taking this.

'That does it Brian. You and Jock are coming home with us and no arguments.' Says Millie.

Shaking his head, it hurts. Brian gets to his feet. The movement wakes Jock sleeping under the bench.

'Sorry,' Brian whispers. " I shouldn't burden you with my stuff. I only came here to ask a favour. I'm really worried about Charlie, who's got a really bad cough and headaches and he wont listen to me when I tell him I will go with him to the A&E. He's so stubborn. I was hoping that you might pop over to the park and have a word with him, see if you can get him to agree to go the hospital.'

'We can do that. Nancy says, 'but what we going to do about this Dodds feller? D'ya want us to have him sorted?'

No doubt in his mind they got friends who could have Dodds "sorted". He says. 'No. I don't want you do to do anything. I will sort him out, all in good time.'

'What you going to do about your wife who wants to throw you out your own house?' Nancy says, 'you should throw her arse out on the street?'

He is shaking his head. There's no way he could do that? 'Where would she go? What about Sean and Carla?'

'Jesus! Millie yells in his face making him jump, 'Brian buck up.' She is thinking she might hunt down this cheating wife and beat the shit out of her. As petite as she was, she was easily capable of that.

Millie lays both her hands on Brian's shoulders and looks directly into his one bloodshot eye.

'Brian, look at to me. You looking at me?' he nods. 'My old Nan, bless her; she used to tell me, "Millie, If you spend your life worrying about the cracks in the pavement, you won't see where your life is headed". Brian seemed to take this in.

'You mean, like I should look up, and face whatever lies in the future?'

'Exactly.'

Embarrassed at the attention these two friends are showing him, Brian looks at his watch. 'Listen, thanks, both of you, for listening, only I had better get back home. You will remember to call in on Charlie. Only I am really worried about him. I don't understand why he just wont listen to advice?'

'Bloody men eh?' Millie says implicating Brian, 'they never listen to do they?'

'Hang on.' He protests. 'My circumstances are...'

'Not that different Brian,' Nancy interrupts him, 'you men are all the same. If you listened to women more often, it'd save a lot of wars, and international fuck-ups.'

'We'll go talk to Charlie.' Millie says gently. 'Don't worry; we'll get him into the A&E, get him looked at.'

Brian looks relieved. Both of them have got old heads on their young shoulders. If any one can talk sense into the old codger, it'll be them. He forces a smile. 'I better get going. I got Charlie some hot tea and a bacon sandwich. I will mention to him that you plan on visiting him but I won't tell him why.'

When Brian looks back along the towpath he can see a fog is closing in. Turning to both girls, he says, 'get yourselves home now. There wont be any punters out in this.'

'Don't worry, 'Nancy says silencing him, 'we're off already.'

'Brian!'

He turns to look back at Nancy. 'Hmm?'

'Don't be offended, but you oughta go get your face fixed, sorry, but it looks a mess.'

'Yeah I will.' He grins. 'It's not as bad as it looks, anyway, stop fussing over me.' He waves at them. 'Take care you two, and go home, get in the warm.'

Millie surprises him when she runs over and loops her arms around his neck.

Careful not to hurt him she plants a kiss on his forehead. 'Even though you're a boring old fart Brian, I love you to bits.'

Feeling his cheeks heat up he removes Millie's hands. 'Thanks Millie.'

She knows he won't want to, but it will cheer him up. 'Fancy a freebie Brian? Millie and me and you, in a Thai sandwich– a threesome, a lot of men like that.'

He grins and rolls his yes. Was she joking? He doesn't think so. 'You know I that would never do such a thing. Stop it.'

Looking at them both, feelings of sadness almost overwhelm him. They look so young, so emaciated; both poorly dressed for this time of year, behind their eyes what he can see is the pain they have carried all their young lives. This makes him angry. His hurting will pass in a few days. He doubts theirs ever will.

'When are you getting out of this work?' He says sounding cross with them when he's not. 'You promised me you was giving it up, said you'd get a proper job.'

Nancy knew this was coming. Anyone other than Brian she'd have told to fuck off. She strokes his arm through his thick coat. She does her best to sound sincere. She even wants to believe it. 'And we are. Aint we Millie?' Nancy says looking round at her friend. 'We plan to go to college. Millie wants to do a beautician course, and I want to do hairdressing. First, though, we need to save up the deposit for a flat, so's we can register and at the moment we don't have a proper address.'

'It's taking us longer than we thought,' Millie agrees, 'saving up for the deposit for a flat.'

If only he had the money. Without hesitation he'd give it them. He doubts they got a penny in the bank, and he doubts they even got around to looking at the courses. Judging them this way, he feels bad.

Millie seeing the look of dismay on his face says zipping his coat up under his chin, 'don't worry hun, we are coming off the game, only we just need a bit longer, for the deposit, you see.'

'Give Charlie a hug from us.' Nancy says.

He detects a quaver in her voice. 'Yeah of course.' He does his best to sound upbeat. 'You will go see him though?'

'Tomorrow okay? Now, shoo!" Nancy tells him waving her hands.

After reminding the girls, they need to go home, Brian and Jock set off at a brisk pace, with Brian thinking about Charlie.

'Don't forget what my Nan used to say,' Millie calls out to his back now wiping tears from her eyes.

'Oi, you crying?' Nancy says giving Millie a look.

'It's him,' Millie says now crying openly, pointing, 'daft old git, damn stubborn... sweet man. Letting people just walk over him.'

'Come here softie.' Nancy says pulling her friend into her arms. 'I thought you and me agreed we'd never shed another tear over a bloke!'

'I know,' Millie says wiping her sleeve across her eyes,' but it's Brian you know. He's not just some bloke?' She allows Nancy to dab a tissue at her eyes, 'Nance,' Millie says gripping hold of her friends hands, 'we will get out of this business wont we?'

'Course we will honey,' Nancy says trying to sound like she believes her own words. 'Soon as we got the deposit eh?'

What brought this on was, a few weeks back, Millie had a bad time with a rough client. Since then the subject of them getting out of the sex-business has been playing on both their minds.

Nothing bad happened because Nancy threatened to blow the guys balls off with a handgun. He wasn't to know it was a replica. He won't bother them no more.

Heeding Brian's advice, arm in arm, they head off home. Nancy says, 'I liked that Millie.'

'You liked what?'

'That, what your Nan used to say.'

'What, that bollocks about the cracks in the pavement?' Millie says stepping around a muddy puddle, 'I never even had a Nan. Most likely I read it someplace.'

Heading over to Chisholm Park, the weather has turned a lot colder. It's twenty past six, already it's dark, and the grass is starting to go crispy white when Brian hurries through the gates. Charlie's bench is a hundred yards from the entrance, the other side of a sweeping lawn, tucked beneath a Rhododendron tree; it's evergreen leaves keep off the rain and snow. Brian is anxiously looking for any indication that Charlie is okay under the huddle of blankets. When he sees no smoke, no red glow of a cigarette Brian's heart begins to race. Sensing something's wrong, he lets go of Jocks lead and breaks into a sprint.

Reaching the prostrate form of his friend, he can see ice has formed on his beard and on his eyelashes. Snatching up Charlie's hand, lying limp and cold on the frozen grass with tears coursing down his cheeks he tries to rub some heat into Charlie's frozen fingers.

'Charlie...Charlie,' Brian pleads willing the old man to open his eyes. He begins shaking his friend, gets no reaction. A painful lump in his throat is making it hard for him to breathe. 'Don't you dare die Charlie. Please Charlie, please wake up.'

Pushing back the old mans sleeve he feels for a pulse, He can't find one. He isn't even sure he knows where to find one. Upright now, he turns full circle looking for help. The park is deserted. Panicking now, he can hardly think straight. I got to get to a phone. Why the fuck am I the only person in the world who doesn't own a mobile? Looking down at Jock now, whose tail is hardly wagging, his ears are lying flat, Brian tells him, 'Jock, you are to wait here and look after Charlie.'

He'd guessed that. Jock promptly sits down and begins licking Charlie's frozen hand.

'Good lad, 'Brian says, 'I wont be long.' Brian can't bear to look at back Charlie when he sets off at a run, back through the gates. The people have seen the sky go black. They have felt the bite of the sleet driven on a sharp Easterly. They are staying out the cold. He could go three ways outside the gates, then he remembers there is a phone box on the corner of Coulson Road.

He is panting when he throws open the door to the phone booth. He snatches up the receiver and punches in the emergency numbers. Holding the receiver to his hear he frowns and then looks down at the cut cord swinging from the handset. In a rage, Brian slams the receiver down on the cradle until it is in pieces in his hand.

Rushing out onto the street, he turns full circle while trying to get his brain to remember where there's another phone box.

'I got get home.' He tells to himself and then sets off at a run, Twenty yards on he stops in his tracks when he sees coming out of the rain a man with a German shepherd dog on a lead.

Seeing this stranger, looking agitated running towards them, the dog growls, and the man hesitates.

'Please,' Brian begs breathless now. 'My friend back there in the park is dying,' Brian points back the way he just came. 'I need to get to a phone box?'

'There's one back there,' the dog walker says pointing back the way he'd come, 'you must have passed it.'

'It's busted,' Brian almost shouts, causing the dog to growl, 'it's been vandalised.' 'Do you know of another one?'

The man rubs his chin and looks around him. Brian feels like shaking the information out of him.

'Well, there's one over on Butler Street,' the stranger says, 'I'd say about halfway along. Of course, there's no telling if that one's working? But if it helps I have... '

Before the man can finish what he was saying, Brian is off at a sprint. Of course, now he remembers the phone box on Butler Street. He'd gone about ten yards when the stranger's final few words force their way through his panic... 'a mobile you can use.'

Skidding on the wet pavement, Brian runs back and snatches the mobile phone out of the man's hand.

Back at the bench, on his knees and oblivious to the icy cold and the mud, Brian is rubbing Charlie's ice-cold hands. He doesn't think Charlie is alive.

He was still cursing himself for neglecting Charlie when strobes of blue light slice through the rain now turned to sleet.

# Chapter Eleven.

After the mauling Sue got last night from the shoe salesman in his hotel room, short guy, could lose a few pounds, small dick, but then they try so much harder, Sue left around eleven and got home around midnight, took a shower and went straight to bed. It was just before sleep overtook her that she wondered why she hadn't seen Brian on the sofa snoring his head off with Jock at his feet. She knows Brian is not one to stay out this late. This got her wondering if the guys at the factory were right, and Billy had hurt him bad? She figures, he can't be in the hospital because he has Jock with him. Sue yawns, wonders if perhaps he's got the message that he's not welcome, and decided to move out already? Good. That'll save me the trouble of repeating myself.

Snuggling under the duvet, Sue is still annoyed at Billy sodding off to London without her. What's he mean she can't come? She had been looking forward to the two of them celebrating Olga's demise in luxurious surroundings, maybe a posh hotel where they'd feast on a flash meal, book out a suite of rooms, have champagne and chocolates brought up to their room, and then fuck till they fell asleep. She sighs and resigns herself to another night sleeping without his arms around her. That is when she remembers she couldn't have gone off with him because the TWATS are meeting in Lavender & Lace tearooms at ten in the morning and she has to be there to hear Mavis Gribble announce she is to get the starring role in this Summer's production of "Cleopatra Queen Of The Nile." It's a forgone conclusion of course, her being given the role. She worked her butt off in the auditions, and my God, she looks so much like Elizabeth Taylor they could be twins. Olga's sudden demise and Billy buggering off to God knows where, and most likely been screwing some tart, does not diminish her excitement at the thought of her playing Cleopatra, her dream role and one she has cossetted the past ten years.

Going through her clothes, pulled out of her wardrobe, laid out on the bed and wondering which outfit to wear Sue is thinking, when Brian's stuff has gone she'll have some more space for even more outfits and shoes, and once Olga's money comes rolling she plans to do some serious shopping. A little after nine thirty, looking, she thinks ultra-glamorous and sexy, a fake blue Hibiscus flower hairpin in her hair quaffed up like Elizabeth Taylor, Sue goes downstairs wanting a word with Brian about when he plans to move out. She is thinking two weeks notice would be fair, time enough to go find some digs. When she goes into the lounge, he's not there, and there's no sign of the dog. Indications are he never came home at all last night and Brian never stays out all night, he never even stays out past his bedtime, which is rarely later than eleven! Sue couldn't care less where he was. After a breakfast of cereals and a cup of tea, before leaving the house, in the hall mirror Sue checks that her teeth have no bits of cornflakes stuck to them. Dragging the listing gate that Brian always said he would fix across the scarred brick path Sue notices her neighbour's curtains twitch. Nosey old farts. When she is rich, after she cashes in on Olga's convenient demise, she'll buy a huge, white Rolls Royce and park it right outside her house taking up two parking spaces. That'll give them something to gawk at. People round here better learn to show her more respect.

In the sunshine the walk to Lavender & Lace Tearooms takes Sue about ten minutes. Pushing open the door, the bell overhead clangs to gain everyone's attention. Looking like the cat that got the cream, five fashionable minutes late Sue sashays in waving her hand in the manner the Queen does. Of the five women seated in cane chairs with padded flowery cushions watching Sue's grand entrance only the producer Mavis Gribble and Lizzie Font who some speculate is a spy in the camp without elaborating on who she might be spying on glare suspiciously at Sue. In that fleeting moment, just before Sue takes her seat, she picks up a look from Lizzie, one that says we need to talk. Sue is across a table from Mavis who is looking worried and drumming her fingers on the closed manila folder. Sue is already thinking this don't look good.

Elizabeth Font is wearing her ubiquitous black and white, business outfit. Her fine, fair hair is heaped up and clipped on top of her head in an immaculate mess.

Sue waits while Justin and Trevor, the two gay guys who own the place set down the teapots, and mismatched bone china cups and saucers, and the plates of gorgeous looking muffins that Trevor baked only this morning. Sue is checking out the opposition. Straightaway she dismisses Emily Walker who claims aged ten, she was understudy, to one of the girls who played in the stage play Oliver. The woman has no tits. You can't possibly play a sexy Nile Queen if you don't have any tits. If you want tits, Mrs Haystack, that's what people call her behind her back, Tansy Carpenter, the Greenpeace warrior who smells of horse bedding, has a rack big enough to suckle a rugby team. Christ, she's no chance surely?

Sitting directly opposite Sue, as usual her face looking like she is sucking on a wasp, Maud Overlocker has decided to wear a ridiculous nylon black wig! Does she really think such a cheap stunt will help her get the part? And that outfit, for Chrissake! What's she thinking, all that red and gold satin, has she no mirrors at home. Exchanging smiles now with the wispy, dreamy, Jennifer Sweetwater Sue could shake her head at the string of plastic daisies strung across her forehead. Sue is reminded of those old Woodstock videos showing half-naked dope-heads cavorting around to loud music in a field. The only one she might have to watch out for is Claudia De Stanza, only because she has hates Sue with a venom befitting the asp that killed the love-struck Egyptian Queen.

The Producer Mavis Gribble was going to tell them straight out that she had decided to give the part of Cleopatra to an outsider, that is, someone not exactly a TWAT. She has already offered the leading lady role to Miranda Gardner, who some may remember in a few TV Ads. Miranda's credits also include a provincial tour of Shakespeare. Now, the Producer picking up on a brooding silence in the tearoom is worried. At the last minute, she bottles it. She'll tell them one at a time, that'll be safer.

Mavis Gribble clears her throat. 'Ahem, can I have your attention please.' When the side of the mouth mutterings cease she announces to a sea of open mouthed faces, 'having reviewed the auditions for the part of Cleopatra I'm afraid I am undecided on a leading lady.' Mavis waits for the chorus of groans to subside. 'I plan to hold a second round of auditions to which you will all be invited to attend at some time in the not too distant future.'

Now pandemonium breaks out. Voices are raised and accusations fly.

'Ladies,' Mavis shouts above the din, 'please...' In the ensuing chaos, chairs get pushed back; hands get slapped down on the tables, threats, and spittle fly. With women, jabbing fingers in other people's faces, and the language... oh my, Mavis decides to make a run for it. While the TWATS are still arguing over who is the better actor, saying, 'sorry,' Mavis squeezes through the chairs and the tables, and the handbags on the floor, then without a backward glance she slips out the door.

Sue and Lizzie remain seated waiting for the others leave. They wait until the arguments raging outside in the car park cease and the cars roar off. Surprisingly Sue doesn't feel too cut up about not getting the Cleopatra part. In the back of her mind is the constant reminder that very soon she will become obscenely wealthy. Why would she want to get all het up about some two-bit Am-dram production playing to a dozen or so old farts in a draughty Memorial hall when she can go buy her own theater if she so chooses?

Getting up from her chair keeping her voice down Lizzie says to Sue, 'can we go sit in the snug, I don't want to us to be overhead.' She is thinking of Justin and Trevor, arguably the biggest gossips in Tawny West. The "snug", when the place was a cottage, before it became a tearoom, and before the separating wall got knocked out had been a dining room.

Taking a seat opposite Lizzie, Sue is picking up a sense of intrigue. There's something's afoot. Gone now, are all thoughts of the auditions fiasco.

Two years after they got hitched in a Civil Wedding ceremony, Trevor and Justin quit their jobs as cabin crew and taking out a business loan, the boys bought the vacant tearooms directly opposite St Stephens's church. The tearooms set back off the road, has a lawn out front, ideal for white plastic tables and chairs. It took all their savings and a lot of hard work to turn the place into the quaint chintzy tearooms they named Lavender & Lace. Best thing they ever did.

Trevor and Justin had been so looking forward to the TWATS coming here today. They use the place once a month as a meeting room, ten o clock, the third Tuesday in every month. What the boys love about these gatherings is the gossip and the vicious backstabbing.

There is a look of dismay on Justin's face when he turns to Trevor. 'Well that was a bit brief.'

'Very disappointing.' Trevor agrees. 'I didn't pick up on a single word worth passing on.'

'Yes but did you see how Mavis Gribble rushed out of here, oh my God, it was like her tail was on fire.'

'Hey Justin, look,' Trevor says indicating with a sideways nod of his head the two women slipping into the snug. I reckon those two are plotting something and we need to get close enough to hear what's going on.'

'Here's a plan. You go over and take their order,' Trevor says looking over to the snug. The two seem keen to keep out of sight. 'I will then casually walk past them and pretend to be wiping down the tables, potter around a bit, you know, and act like I'm not interested in whatever they have to say.'

'Good plan.'

'Can I get you ladies anything?' Justin enquires sweetly, having sidled up to the table the two women have settled at. 'More tea, or perhaps one of our freshly baked, chocolate and salted caramel muffins?'

'Pot of tea for two please Justin.' Lizzie says flatly, not wanting him hanging around. She'd chose a table by the window with a view out a window that overlooks the path, allowing her to see who comes and goes.

Sue waits until Justin is out of earshot and then smiles across the table at Lizzie. 'So, come on Lizzie, tell me, why all the cloak and dagger stuff?'

Lizzie looks around the room and then casts a quick glance out the window, leans forward and lowers her voice. Looking deadly serious Lizzie says. 'Sue you must promise me that what I am about to tell you will never leave your lips.'

'Hey come on Lizzie. It's me okay?'

Lizzie thinks, yeah right! 'Not a living soul.' Lizzie says with a stern look.

Sue does a zipping thing across her lips, thinking this sounds juicy, She says, 'Lizzie. You know I can be trusted.'

Looking around her like she was some kind of spy, Lizzie says to Sue. 'I was wondering if you might be interested in an arrangement that might profit you greatly.' Had Lizzie known that Sue was about to inherit this reputed vast fortune from her recently deceased spinster aunt she wouldn't have bothered.

'Go on.' Sue says looking askance at the woman and wondering what's going to come out her mouth.

'It is in regard to both our husbands.'

This is even more intriguing. Sue doesn't know too much about Lizzie's husband, only that, he's mostly retired now after selling the huge mobile phone company he set up in the eighties.

'What do you have in mind Lizzie?'

'Well,' Lizzie says hesitant, 'you and I have spoken a few times about how unhappy you are with your Brian.'

Unhappy, Jeez, there's an understatement. Sue knows to be careful what she tells others about her unhappy marriage to Brian. If Silas Saxby, Olga's scrooge-like solicitor gets a sniff that she and Brian are not the contentedly married couple required to inherit Olga's estate, the crusty old bastard could really fuck up her life. She trusts Lizzie though. The thing is, now that Olga is dead, and as long as her and Billy's affair remains a secret, all Sue need do is keep to her head down and play the grieving niece for a few more days and then bury the old girl, and then sit mopping her eyes through the reading of Olga's Will. It's a forgone conclusion her getting the entire estate. The thing is, Brian is no longer her problem. He'll be out of her life within days. Nodding, Sue shuts up. She is anxious to hear what Lizzie has in mind. Before they can get into the nitty-gritty Trevor arrives with a tray loaded up with teacups, saucers, and a pot of tea for two.

'Here you are ladies.' He says, 'I'll just leave it there. I just need to tidy up round here. I wont disturb you.' Following Justin's suggestion, so he can to listen in Trevor starts to wipe down the tables behind the two women, who are no longer speaking, waiting for him to go away.

'Can't you do that later Trevor?' Sue says as anxious as Lizzie to get rid of him.

Charming, Trevor thinks and thrusting his head nose in the air he walks off in a huff.

'You were saying.' Sue says turning back to face Lizzie.

'No one else knows this, and keep this to yourself but Percy and I haven't slept with each other for over twelve years. We each have a bedroom opposite ends of the house and we can hardly be bothered to talk to each other.

'I'm sorry to hear that Lizzie, but what's that got to do with me?'

'Think about it Sue, there's you who's married to Brian and really unhappy about it, and then there's me, married to Percy and very unhappy about that...'

'Hang on a sec, ' Sue jumps in, 'are you thinking that perhaps I might be interested in taking your Percy off your hands, and you have my Brian?'

Lizzie quickly strangles the laugh that escapes her lips. 'Goodness me, of course not, my word what a suggestion... actually yes... well sort of, except I don't want Brian thank you very much. I already have another man liked up, one that I am very keen to marry, like real soon, actually.'

This is gossip of the gold standard. Lizzie has a lover. My God! Sue's first instinct is to tell Lizzie, no way. She has Billy, and in any case, why would she want to have this Percy, who she's never even met? Sue is already risking her inheritance by taking a lover, why would she want another one, who is most likely crap in bed. Just for the fun of it. Acting like she might be interested, she says rather casually. 'I don't know Lizzie, does it not sound, just a bit immoral, you and I discussing swapping our husbands like they are castoffs?'

'What's morals got to do with it Sue? I am talking about you and me, our lives, which is not a dress rehearsal. If you don't take your chances when they come along you could spend eternity wondering, what if?'

'Hmm,' Sue murmurs acting as if she is mulling this over when she was just having a bit of fun here. Sue is thinking give it a couple of minutes and then tell Lizzie, sorry, she's not into husband swapping. Sue is however; intrigued by this new man that Lizzie casually mentioned and then shut up about. 'This sounds mildly interesting Lizzie, but do tell me who this new chap is. I imagine him to be suave, a James Bond type eh?'

'Actually no,' Lizzie says thinking she'd rather keep Arnold out of this conversation. It's tricky, because she wants Sue to think this is a partnership. 'Arnold is nothing like that. He's eighty-two years old next birthday and he is incredibly wealthy and he has no family to leave his money to when he dies.'

Sue is starting to get the picture. 'So,' Sue says leaning back in her chair fixing Lizzie with a look. 'You have found yourself a nice little sugar daddy who is very old... and I bet quite ill... not too long to live eh?'

Ignoring the cheap taunt Lizzie says, 'Arnold loves me madly and he is now insisting that I divorce Percy and marry him.' Lizzie is biting her bottom lip, her eyes pleading. How will Sue will react? Probably burst out laughing. She wasn't expecting this!

'So you're not getting any sex then Lizzie? Sue says and watches Lizzie colour up.

'I hardly think discussing my sex life in here is appropriate Sue, besides, this is not about sex.'

'But you aint getting any?' Sue persists.

'Sue... I am not discussing my sex life... in here, with you... end of. Let me lay my cards on the table and see what you think.'

'Go on.'

'You are right. Arnold is quite frail and his doctors say they don't know how he keeps going. You are also correct in thinking if he and I were to marry then I stand to inherit his incredible fortune.'

'Don't you get it either way?'

'That's the problem. Arnold is Jewish and he says unless we are married I don't get a shekel He's very old fashioned in that way.'

'You're in a rush then, I take it?'

'Let's just say, timing is an issue.'

'And sex? Is that not an issue here? Only I am thinking, you aren't getting any at home and it sounds as if you aren't getting any over at Arnie's place.'

'Sex is so overrated, don't you think Sue?'

'Not if it gets you were you want to be Lizzie.' Sue reminds her.

Lizzie nods. 'I guess so.'

'So, okay, let's say I am mildly interested in your little scheme,' Sue says now thinking that maybe there is something in this for her, a lot of wonga being discussed here. Sue is now thinking, if, God forbid it, anything was to go wrong with her inheritance, say, if Saxby was to screw her over, then it might be a good idea to have a backup plan. 'I need to know how you want to play this, what you have in mind.'

'It's simple,' Lizzie says, not sure herself how to proceed. She knows she needs a lure to get Sue hooked but what? Feeling her way now, she says. 'I have seen how men ogle over you, and I have watched them get distracted by just being in your presence, and, several times you have mentioned, with due modesty, that you could seduce any man that you choose to. Do you really believe that?'

Sue will not have anyone question her seduction skills. 'Yes, I stand by that. What, are you thinking that I couldn't seduce your Percy?'

'I'm just saying, that, some men may not fall for your charms, which I freely acknowledge are formidable and enviable.'

'I could have your Percy in a heartbeat.' Sue says perhaps a little too loudly.

'Weeeeel. Perhaps.' Lizzie says dangling the lure and feeling Sue is about to bite. It was a genius ploy, her poking the woman's overinflated ego.

'You want to see?'

'I am not just talking about you and Percy having a quick one, a dirty fuck, I am talking about love, infatuation, I want you to take my Percy, have him want you so bad he can never get enough of you. I don't think you could pull it off and I'll tell you why.'

'Go on.'

'Twice now, eighteen months apart I hired really pretty girls, young things, highly professional, and at great expense to seduce him, and guess what, they both failed. Oh, Percy was very polite, very friendly, but he wanted nothing to do with them. Now what man would do that?'

'These girls, I bet they had snake hips, luscious lips, botox'd I imagine, and pert tits, eh?'

Lizzie thinks back. 'Yes, both of them, why?'

'Right there is where you went wrong. Someone of Percy's age wouldn't be interested in a young girl, could be his daughter's age, he'd want a mature woman, a woman with curves in all the right places, a woman with charm, and sexy with it.'

'Someone like you then?'

'What can I say?'

'You could say you'll try.'

'Try, my God, I could have your Percy on his knees eating out of my hand.'

'You'll do it then?'

'Course I will.'

Lizzie is hoping the sense relief on her face isn't too evident, she doesn't want to appear too needy.

Sue is thinking, she won't go as far as having full-on sex with this Percy; she doesn't need the complications that go along with the territory. Besides, she's got Billy, and whilst he may not be the best lover she ever had, bless him he does try.

'What I am thinking, Lizzie says, 'is you come over for dinner, and the three of us will have a nice meal, get the wine flowing and you start flirting with Percy, doing all that sexy stuff that you are so good at. Later on, I will feign a headache and then take myself off to bed leaving the two of you alone.'

'You want me to have sex with your husband in your home!' Sue says raising her eyebrows. 'I was thinking of a hotel room.'

'That wont work, 'Lizzie says, 'other than when he goes down to his boat to smoke weed Percy rarely leaves the house. What a waste, I shouldn't think that hugely expensive boat has ever left the jetty at the bottom of our garden.

'He has a boat... at the bottom of your garden!'

'Yes, we have a river at the bottom of our property. Sue you would just adore the house, and if you can pull this off you will get to live in it.' There was that teaser again.

Thinking ahead now, Sue can't shake off a nagging worry that something nasty regarding her inheritance lies up ahead in which case she ought to consider adding Percy's name to her little black book of conquests. To Sue's way of thinking men are little more than commodities. Sue is happy to use them at her convenience and then discard them when they no longer serve a purpose.

'Okay,' Sue says having made up her mind, 'when do you want me to come over?'

'Tonight? Say around seven?'

Tonight! My God! This Arnold must be in a bad way. 'Okay, should I bring a bottle?'

Lizzie laughs. 'God, no, we have a cellar full of the stuff.'

Sue just had to know. 'So, your Percy, what's he like in the bedroom?'

'Oh he's great. Very tidy, never leaves his clothes on the floor.'

'That bad eh. You know what I am talking about?' Sue watches Lizzie cringe.

'Truthfully Sue, I couldn't say, it's been so long sine he and I had sex.'

'And he isn't getting it somewhere else?'

'No.' Lizzie says flat out, 'in the past I have had him followed. He is one of those men who would never stray, and that's why, no disrespect intended, I don't think you can pull this off. Sue you are a very attractive and sexy woman, but Percy... well I don't know.'

'You could just pack your bags and leave Percy, get divorced?'

Shocked at the suggestion Lizzie says. 'No way am I going to be the bad guy in this. I am not taking the blame so that my two daughters will never speak to me again. My God, they adore their Daddy and they both love me a whole lot less. My fault I know. I was never what you might call terribly maternal. Their Father and a succession of child minders raised the girls.'

'Uh huh,' Sue says nodding, 'and you get to inherit a vast fortune, and I get what, your cast off husband who is wealthy, and generous, but most likely shit in bed? Does that sound like a fair deal to you Lizzie? '

'I never said that he was shit in bed.' Lizzie protests. 'I said, I didn't know, it's been so long. Besides, this is not about sex Sue. Have you no notion of love?'

'Oh, so you plan to marry this Arnold out of love?' Sue scoffs. 'Come on Lizzie, we both know what this is about, we are both grown women, been around the block a few times. The bottom line is, we both use men for what we can get out of them.'

Lizzie can't deny that but in her head, she really doesn't feel quite as cynical as Sue Fossett who sounds like a predator. 'I can't deny Arnold's money is one motive, but I do love him, in a way.'

There is a look of doubt, almost distrust on Sue's face. She isn't buying this bit about love. She knows how it works, you find a wealthy man, you give him what he wants, which is sex, and then you keep him happy by letting him have his end away, now and again, not so much he gets used to having it whenever he chooses, and then you milk what you can out of him. Fuck em. Haven't enough men used and abused her in the past? Not anymore though. Sue cant help thinking about how old this Arnold is, eighty something, jeez that's old. So, what's Lizzie doing for sex? Sue can't help but ask. Completely at ease with the subject, Sue says straight out.

'Tell me Lizzie, you say aren't getting any at home and for sure you aint getting any over at Arnie's place, so what, you got, maybe a bit on the side, the gardener eh?'

Rolling her eyes Lizzie can't believe Sue. It all comes down to sex with the woman. Is there nothing else on this woman's mind? 'You can understand surely that I wouldn't want to discuss my sex life in a tearoom Sue.'

'Sure, but seeing as we are both being honest with each other here Lizzie, and we want this plan of yours to work, and I don't want to be walking blindly into what could be a sex coven, some sort of orgy with clergymen and politicians. You might be into dogging, I wouldn't know, yet you want me to fool around with your husband.' Lizzie's face registers shock.

How could she even think that? 'Well, you needn't worry,' Lizzie says lowering her voice 'there is nothing of the sort happening, and if you really want to know, and I cant believe that I am telling you this, I have a Rabbit. Now can we please not talk about my sex life in a tearoom for Chrissake.'

Lizzie can feel her cheeks heat up. Worried Sue is not going to let the matter drop she insists, 'this is about love Sue can you understand that?'

She cannot. Sue does a good job of hiding her glee hearing Lizzie admit she uses a dildo. Hey, this is getting good, I'll have a bit of fun with that nugget of information in a bit. For now I'll let her think, I never picked up on it.

'And money!' Sue says nodding and wondering just how much money, Lizzie is talking about. 'This Arnold, you say he is loaded.'

'Yes he is but so is Percy.' Lizzie says anxious to make clear that Sue stands to profit greatly from this mutually beneficial arrangement. What's Brian earn, at the factory assembling pumps, a pittance she imagines.

'There is loaded, and loaded, if you get my meaning?' Sue points out, 'and by the sound of things, I get to do all the work and end up with Percy the pothead while you get the gazzillionaire.'

'That's true,' Lizzie had to admit, 'however, when... or perhaps I should say, if, you manage to pull this off, and when I get my divorce, the minute dearest Arnold shuffles off, I plan to make you a sizeable monetary gift, one that will demonstrate our friendship and my eternal gratitude.'

Sue is thinking why not go along with this. It could be an entertaining evening and a useful distraction from her worrying over the reading of Olga's Will. It might also take her mind off Billy who no doubt will be expecting her to just sit around and be a good girl while he screws anything he can lay his hands on up in London. It was Lizzie cursing, brings Sue back to the present.

'Shit!' Lizzie says, turning her face from the window and shielding it with one hand.

Sue looks out the window and sees nothing. 'What?' Sue now hears the bell over the door clang.

Leaning closer to Sue Lizzie hisses. 'That was the Reverend Tomkins and Mrs. Sweetwater. They just walked in.'

Sue shrugs. 'So?'

'So, I don't want either of them to hear what we are talking about, especially, that nosey, Emily fucking Sweetwater.'

'S'okay,' Sue says acting calm, 'we'll just have to keep our voices down. They wont hear us.'

Under her breath, Lizzie hides her face behind the menu when the Reverend and Mrs Sweetwater pass right by their table and then choose to sit two tables behind theirs. Shit!

Sue smiles at the couple that seems unaware of them when they pass right by. 'It's okay,' Sue says to Lizzie taking hold of her hand, forcing Lizzie to sit back down. Lowering her voice to just above a whisper and somewhat surprised to see the Reverend and his Verger snuggle up Sue says, 'they never even saw us. I reckon the two of them are off with the fairies.' Still gripping hold of Lizzie's hands, unkindly, but not maliciously so, just having a bit of fun with her friend, Sue comments on something Lizzie touched on earlier. 'Lizzie, a little while ago, when we were talking about sex, you told me you have a Rabbit? Sorry but you lost me there. I was asking what you do for sex and you randomly start talking about some pet you have.'

'Shush.' Lizzie says through clenched teeth and glancing back over her shoulder; relieved to see the Vicar and his Verger are in some kind of intimate huddle. 'I am not going to talk about that in here.'

'Sorry,' Sue says acting stupid, 'what are you getting all worked up about, its only a pet Lizzie. We are talking about one of those small furry creatures that dig holes in your lawn and twitches it's nose?' Sue demonstrates this with tiny pawing motions and screwing up her nose. Sue can just about manage to keep a straight face.

Lizzie frowns. Is she having me on? 'You must know what I am talking about Sue, I have a Rabbit.'

'Sorry Lizzie,' Sue says shaking her head, 'is this some sort of a special Rabbit?'

Lizzie drops her head in her hands hardly able to believe that Sue can be this naive. If she doesn't explain what one is, she suspects Sue wont let it go. Keeping her voice down she pleads. 'Sue, you must know what a Rabbit is it runs on batteries.'

'I'm not with you.' Sue says shaking her head.

'It is made of rubber with knobbly bits, and it comes in different colours and sizes, my one is about this long.' Lizzie demonstrates with her hands and immediately wondered why she added that much information. .

'Sorry.' Sue says looking as perplexed as ever and dying to laugh.

'It has buttons... you press... that make it whir and vibrate.'

Sue furrows her brow and shakes her head.

'Look.' Lizzie says thinking she had better change the subject. 'It's a woman's aid for when she gets lonely.'

Sue allows her eyes to widen.' Oh my God you use a dildo!' Sue blurts out loud a moment before Lizzie silences her by slapping one hand over her mouth.

'Shush, big mouth.' Lizzie says indicating with her head the Vicar behind them.

'S'okay.' Sue says looking over at the couple sitting behind. Sue's eyes widen when she notices the Vicar has his hand under Mrs Sweetwater's skirt. The Verger has her eyes closed and one fist clamped tight is quivering on the table. Her sparrow thin chest is heaving. The Reverend looks a little flushed. Leaning to one side as if reaching down, looking past Lizzie, Sue can see Mrs Sweetwater's other hand is inside the Vicar's flies. Who'd have thought it, in a tearoom? Sue straightens up. There is a satisfied grin on her face when Sue says to Lizzie, 'carry on, the Vicar and his verger are a little too distracted to hear us.'

Taking from her handbag a powder compact and pretending to be checking her face, Lizzie looks at the couple sitting two tables behind her. Her eyes widen. She looks at Sue who is grinning. 'Can you believe that?' Lizzie mouths.

Sue has no intention of having an affair with this Percy. She could however, have some fun here, and prove to Lizzie, and to herself for that matter that she can seduce any man she chooses. Sue drains her teacup and as if she is warming to the idea says, 'okaaay, how do you want to play this?'

'You'll do it then?' Lizzie hadn't wanted to sound so surprised, so needy.

'Yeah, why not.' Sue is thinking she will flirt with this Percy, tease him, and get him hard, gagging for it, and then she will leave him aching for her.

'Are you free tonight?' Lizzie says pushing her luck.

'Yeah. I got nothing on.'

'Great.' Lizzie says. 'What I was thinking is that you come over for dinner, say around seven, and after a few drinks, some small talk, I will go out to the kitchen to cook dinner leaving the pair of you alone, and that is when you make your move on him. There are rooms in the house, rooms that you and Percy can use, I burst in and catch the two of you having sex. I act all upset, and you act all coy, mortified, and then I will demand Percy and I divorce on the grounds of his adulterous behaviour. I pack up and leave, and go stay at Arnie's.'

'And what does Percy do?' Sue wants to know thinking this is sounding great. It would make a terrific British farce playing to packed houses in a London, West End theatre.

'Percy will be wracked with guilt... no. ' Lizzie says making this up as she goes along, caught out by Sue agreeing so readily. ' Percy wont care because by now he has you to comfort him. You take him to your bosom and you tell him that you love him and that you want nothing more than to spend the rest of your life with him.'

Yeah right. Sue could laugh out loud at this.

'Percy feels liberated, 'Lizzie adds, 'he cant get enough of you, and with Arnold's money and his influence I get a quickie divorce. You get to leave Brian and then you can move into my house, which I know you'll adore. Do you know we have a heated indoor swimming pool?' Sue is shaking her head. 'Trust me. It's a good plan Sue one in which we both come out happy bunnies.... Sorry did I just say bunnies?' Lizzie cringes thinking about Rabbit's.

The scheme had sounded simple enough; leastways it did inside Elizabeth's head.

Dressed for the part, a short skirt, stockings and suspenders, a tight fitting blouse, buttons opened enough to show an inviting wedge of cleavage, and wearing her trademark red silk panties, Sue leaves her house at six-thirty. Dukes Estate is known for its gated houses, lots of CCTV cameras and regular police patrols. Sue has never been there, just heard of it, who hasn't? Pulling up in front of the huge electronic gates hung between two tall pillars topped with some sort of heraldic shields, Sue gives a low whistle. The gates roll back; someone in the house via the cameras set high on the gatepost has seen her arrive. The house built in the thirties is a huge mock Tudor affair. When Sue steers her Nissan Micra around a bend in the driveway, up ahead, standing beneath a great porch she can see Lizzie waving hello.

They embrace, in the doorway. Sue looks past Lizzie into a smart hallway with herringbone parquet flooring, and a chandelier central light. 'Where is he?' Sue says craning her neck to look inside the house.

'He's up in his room.' Lizzie says, 'I have told him that a close friend is coming over to dinner and he is to be nice to you.'

'Does he suspect anything?'

'God no, he'll be like lamb to the slaughter.'

'I don't plan on killing him Lizzie.' Sue says giggling now following Lizzie into the vast lounge decorated in saffron and blush-pink.

'Please take a seat Sue.' Lizzie says admiring the woman's gall wearing clothes that would give Arnold a heart attack and indicating one of several plump white sofas. 'I'll fix us a drink, and then I'll give Percy a shout, get him down here. I bet you are dying to meet him.'

Dying to? I can't wait. Sue has in mind this roly-poly, nerdy-looking guy, all sweaty with a pimpled nose.

'Wine?' Lizzie says sounding nervous and thinking that this plan of hers is about to go horribly wrong. Sue won't take to Percy, and he may not even come down, she'll kill him.

'White, or whatever you're having,' Sue says watching Lizzie cross the room heading for a drinks cabinet, taking a bottle out of an ice bucket. Looking about her now Sue is taking in the décor and thinking the place reeks of money. The walls are dotted with gold-framed original oils, there are several high-gloss wooden cabinets containing fine bone china figurines, and the carpet is so thick underfoot Sue imagines they must have to mow it.

'Thanks.' Sue says taking a very large glass of Chateau Reserve de la Comtesse, thirty quid a bottle from Lizzie who taking her glass of wine with her now heads off through an arch to call up the stairs.

'Percy, Sue is here. Can you come down, now please.'

The women stay silent for a while but don't hear any reply from upstairs.

'He wont be long Sue.' Lizzie says now worried that Percy might choose tonight to act up and embarrass her.

Five minutes pass and Lizzie is looking back at the staircase out in the hall.' I'll just give him another call. This is very rude of him. Sorry Sue.'

'Percy, what are you doing up there. Sue is here. It is very rude to keep us waiting down here.' Lizzie calls up from the foot of the stairs. Turning to Sue she says, 'he shouldn't be long. Men eh? Can't live with them, and cant live without them.'

'Here's to men.' Sue says raising her glass and draining it in one.

Up in his bedroom, two flights up, over in the West wing, Percy has heard Lizzie calling him. He sighs and thinks, not again, will she never learn that I will not be seduced out of my own house, if she wants to fuck off, with whomever it is she is currently screwing, she can go, she doesn't need my permission, and she is not going to make me out to be the bad guy in this. I'll get rid of this woman the same way I got shot of the other two bony looking bimbos that Lizzie hired to seduce me.

From the back of a closet, Percy digs out the bag of clothes that he bought at a charity shop for just such an emergency.

Meanwhile, down in the lounge, Sue and Lizzie are on their second glass of wine. Lizzie keeps popping out to the hall to call up the stairs and getting no reply. When Percy does finally saunter into the lounge, the two women are left speechless. Sue almost giggles, covers it up with a fake cough. Lizzie could kill him.

Percy takes one look at this friend that Lizzie invited over and now wishes a hole would open up in the ground. She is drop-dead gorgeous. He must look ridiculous in the faded yellow corduroy trousers held up by a pair of braces, grey-looking Y front underpants that he hated pulling on, poking out the waistband. On his feet is a stained pair of carpet slippers with Velcro straps. The cardigan that may have been hand-knitted in an old peoples care home is full of holes. To complete the outfit designed to deter any unwanted female attention he has a smelly old pipe clamped between his teeth. His hair is mussed up.

'What the hell!' Lizzie snaps, enraged at his appearance.

Shamefaced, taking in her cleavage, Percy approaches this very attractive, sexy woman fluttering her eyelids at him. 'Enchente' He says grinning.

'Voila, merci bouquet, senor,' Sue replies not sure she got that right.

'I am Percy, may I get you another glass of wine?'

'That would be lovely Percy.'

It was as if Lizzie wasn't in the room the way the pair of them were flirting with each other. Thinking this is going well, Lizzie says. 'I better get the dinner on. It's nice to see the pair of you getting along.' Taking with her an almost full bottle of Chablis Lizzie goes out to the kitchen.

Maybe, twenty minutes later Lizzie sees out the kitchen window the garden lights come on. Sometimes it's a fox will trigger the sensor. Feeling a little squiffy from the wine Lizzie giggles watching Percy leading Sue down the garden path and holding her hand. Sue has a glass of wine in the other. Her, toddling on those 5-inch high heels, she might easily fall. They are heading for the old shed, the one that ought to be pulled down before it falls down. Percy calls it his "Den". God knows what he gets up to spending hours in there, most likely jerking off to girlie magazines. What's she care? Lizzie could punch the air. Sue has certainly got his attention. She is now thinking that perhaps her little scheme might work after all. The minute Percy and Sue disappear inside the shed shutting the door behind them, Lizzie turns off the oven and the hob, letting the food go cold. Now she runs out to the kitchen and races up the stairs. Turning on the landing, she rushes into her bedroom, then closes, and then locks the door behind her.

Now, hurrying across to the window that overlooks the rear garden Lizzie snatches up the bird watching binoculars that she keeps on the windowsill. Holding her breath, she focuses in on the rectangle of light spilling out the shed window.

Stepping back in time awhile, Lizzie had been out in the kitchen fixing dinner when taking a risk Percy, with a wicked grin on his face came right out and suggested to Sue that perhaps she might like to go down to the shed to see his "Sparaxis Tricolor?"

Sue laughed out loud. Posing as a flirty country wench Sue said. 'Ere, wot you got mind? Oy' ll ave you know I'm a good girl, oy' am.'

'I bet you are,' Percy said lasciviously. Taking hold of her hand, he pulled her up off the sofa and led her over to the French windows that open out to the garden.

Looking out the patio doors Sue cant see a thing. Pulling her hand free, she steps back half a pace. 'Percy I am not going out there. Not in the dark.'

'I have lights.' Percy says stepping outside. Movement sensors pick him up. Suddenly the entire garden is floodlit like a tennis court.

'Slow down Percy, you'll have me over.' Sue complained spilling wine, and being pulled down a winding brick path that ends at the door of an old shed. 'Ere, you'll not be taking me into that thar shed, sor.' Sue jokes in her best wench voice.

Getting into the part, Percy replied, 'if you please me there'll be a shilling in it for you.'

'A shalling you say?' Sue says enjoying the playacting, 'In that case I may be accommerdatin' your desires good sor.'

Up in the dark of her bedroom Lizzie is thinking this wasn't what they agreed. Sue was supposed to trick Percy into taking her into the guest bedroom. Then, Lizzie would burst in and catch them having sex. Lizzie is now wondering if Percy had worked out what she planned and this is why he took Sue down to his shed. Detecting no further activity, the sensors have switched off the flood lamps. The only light in the garden now is the rectangle of yellow light spilling out the shed window. If she tried to approach the shed now, the lights will come back on and alert him. Now thinking, well at least Sue has Percy's attention Lizzie focuses her binoculars on the shed window. The glass is a little fogged with grime but she can see Sue is now quite naked and propped up on the potting shelf. Percy is nuzzling her neck. Now they are kissing. That was when Percy looking over Sue's shoulder looks right up at the window that she is spying down on them from. His accusing eyes seem to leap right down the lens at her. Shit! Lizzie leaps back from the window. That scared the hell out of her. When she resumes her observations Lizzie can feel her heart hammering against her rib cage. She can't believe it... Shit! Fuck! Percy has pulled the curtains. It doesn't matter, she reminds herself. So far, her plan is holding up. Sue has Percy in her grip: literally! By now, he must have done the deed. Which means Percy is now officially an adulterer. What will their daughters now think of their precious, saintly Daddy eh? Catching them at it will be easier next time. She can discuss tactics with Sue later, after she has sobered up a little. Right now, her head is a little too befuddled to think straight. Must be the wine. Although Lizzie can no longer see inside the shed she can imagine what is going on inside it and that is having a surprising effect on her own libido. Biting her bottom lip, Lizzie turns her head away from the window to look over at her bedside cabinet. Guessing that Percy and Sue will be at it for some time yet, Lizzie decides to abandon her observations, and quivering at the thought goes over and lies down on her bed. Now, stretched out on her bed, Lizzie opens her bedside table drawer and keeping her skirt on she renews her acquaintance with her Rabbit.

Meanwhile, inside the potting shed, Percy is reminded of how good sex can be, especially with someone as good as Sue. He is now regretting remaining celibate all these years. It's not Lizzie's fault, he understands, or necessarily his own fault that as a couple they lost their way. After the girls were born, they became, parents and forgot to remain lovers. Quite a common cause of failed marriages he was once told.

Now, like the pile of clothes, abandoned and trodden underfoot, any lingering inhibitions have been discarded. First off, Percy hoists Sue up on the potting shelf that bows under her weight. Then they do it standing up pressed up against the bench, rattling the clay pots on the shelves. As if it was always intended for such use, Percy now leads Sue over to the sofa; the one rescued when they replaced the ones in the lounge. Laying Sue back among the cushions, Going down on his knees Percy discovers he hasn't lost the knack of pleasuring a woman. Soon, he has Sue groaning, writhing in his grip, and crying out. Timing it perfectly he gets on top of her. They make love as if they were always meant to be lovers and then moments before Percy climaxes, Sue cries out in orgasmic bliss.

They'd been gone half an hour. Hoping that Lizzie wasn't waiting in the lounge to confront him, looking flushed and disheveled Percy helps Sue through the patio door. No sign of Lizzie. With luck, she won't even have noticed they'd been gone.

Straightening her skirt and tucking one boob back inside her bra cup Sue is biting her bottom lip and looking cheekily at Percy. Undressed the man looks fit and surprisingly well endowed. Sue was back on the same sofa and sitting opposite Percy when she hears Lizzie coming down the stairs.

'Well, you two seem to be getting along?" Lizzie says amiably. 'I have to go tend to the dinner. If I leave the two of you alone can I trust you both to behave?'

'Is she pissed?' Sue whispers to Percy after Lizzie had left the room.'

'Pretty much.' Percy confirms.' Dinner might be a shambles.'

'That's okay because I didn't come here for the dinner.' Sue says wickedly, reaching across the space between then and giving his thigh a squeeze.

Percy grins, takes hold of her hand.

Sue can't help grinning thinking about how good that was down in the shed. And there was her thinking that Percy was going to be a shit lover. Just a pity it had to be a one-off. She can't imagine any circumstances where she and Percy could ever do this again. She has Billy in her life, and sex with him is okay-ish, not as good as Percy, but does she really want two married men on the go? It wouldn't be the first time. She managed it before. Yes, except in the end it got messy, with both men declaring undying love for her and wanting her exclusively. Sue doesn't do exclusive! More importantly, Sue has to think about her inheritance and that fucking clause that demands that she has to be contentedly married. Who the fuck these days is contentedly married.

Mostly due to Lizzie getting whammed dinner arrived late. It was mostly cold, and in parts uncooked. Not that it mattered because the three of them were getting along like a house on fire.

It was midnight when Sue says. 'I had better be getting home. Let you two guys get to bed. Lizzie you look exhausted,' She meant pissed, 'it was a memorable evening.'

'You cant drive home Sue, 'Percy insists, 'you've had quite a lot to drink, in fact we are all incapable of driving. No, you must stay the night here. That's okay isn't it Lizzie?'

Lizzie is now almost incapable of coherent dialogue. Slurring her words she mumbles, 'Shoo, you musht shtay, do whatever Pershy shays, pleash. I am not feeling too well sho I will head off my bed. You two can do whatever the fuck you like. Goodnight.'

'Will she be alright?' Sue says to Percy who is watching Lizzie climb the stairs hanging onto the handrail. They say nothing until they hear Lizzie's bedroom door close with a bang.

'She'll be fine.' Percy says coming over to sit alongside Sue.

They fall back on the sofa. Percy is on top of Sue when they get into a lingering kiss. Sue can feel his excitement pressing urgently against her groin.

'Not here.' Percy tells Sue getting up off the sofa and adjusting his pants. 'I don't want Lizzie catching us. I think I had better get you settled into the guest room.'

Sue allows Percy to pull her up off the sofa.

'Aw.' Sue pouts being led over to the stairs.

'The guest room is right next to my bedroom.' Percy says giving Sue a wink. 'You need anything at all, any time of the night, you just tap on the wall.'

That night, on two separate occasions, Percy needed to call in on Sue.

Ten the next morning, not at all tired and feeling thoroughly sated Sue goes to the front door with Percy, who is still in his dressing gown. 'Lizzie still unwell then?' Sue says.

'Yes, I'm afraid so. I don't suppose I will see a lot of her today. I'll get her to ring you later. It's been emotional Sue, I loved having you stay.'

'I bet you did you naughty boy.' Sue says feeling genuinely sad. 'I want to be straight with you Percy. We can never do this again. I have enough complications in my life.' Sue shrugs.'

'That's a shame.' Percy says with a sad face. Perking up he adds. 'Still, I have some great memories from last night, ones I will cherish over the years. It's all positive Sue and I wish you well.'

Sue spins the car around the gravel drive. At the gates, she stops to look both ways. Through her rear mirror, she looks back at Percy waving from the porch. Just as she turns out into the road, she catches a glimpse of something red and shiny waving on the end of his finger. Those are my panties you cheeky man.

# Chapter Twelve.

It is five in the morning, and in flat 24 B above the fish and chip shop, on the High street, opposite the bus stop her bedside alarm wakes Nurse Lucy Bedwell who is due back at work after six straight days. She had had a bad night. Today will be the fifth anniversary of David's passing. At the age of twenty-five, no age at all, leukemia took David from her. They had been married just eighteen months Lucy Bedwell had been one year younger. They were married one year and seventeen days.

Together they managed to save enough money for the deposit to buy the tiny one-bed flat that now feels like a millstone around her neck. Lucy has known for some time now that she ought to sell it and move on with her life. She doesn't seem able to let go of the little flat. It wasn't much but it was where her and David had planned their future together?

In most aspects of her life, Lucy regards herself as a tough cookie, which she regards as a good thing. Then why is she being so weak and feeble about selling the flat? She could kick herself. The minute she decides to get an estate agent in and have the flat valued and put on the market an insistent, voice in her head tells her, yes, I will, but later yeah?

She was at their wedding, and Bridgette, her best friend and ward supervisor at Western General Hospital was at Lucy's side at the hospice where David passed away, and she has been there right along. The minute she saw Lucy walk onto the ward looking like death warmed up she took the younger nurse aside.

'What's up Lucy? You don't look at all well.'

'Oh, I'm okay.' Lucy forces a wan smile.' Lucy is not at all sure she can talk about the anniversary of David's death, not without falling apart. Why am I still feeling this bad? Will it never get any better? Lucy says, 'I'm just feeling a bit flat you know.'

'Well you know I'm always here if you need to talk.' That's when she remembers. 'Gosh, I'm sorry Lucy. It's the anniversary isn't it? Its been what, five years?'

Lucy's reply has to fight past a painful restriction in her throat. 'Yes.' Lucy says nodding, her eyes welling up. 'It's five years ago today David passed away.' Thinking in practical terms, what to do next sometimes helps. She tells her friend, 'When I finish my shift, I will pop over to the crematorium and lay a few flowers.'

'I can drive you if you want. You don't want to go on a bus. We could go in my car.'

'Thanks Bridgette; you're a lovely friend, but I'll be fine. Besides, I need to prove to myself that I can get on with my life again.'

Pulling Lucy into a hug Bridgette says, 'I am not going to say it.'

'But you want to say it.' There is some warmth in Lucy's smile this time. ' So go on say it. Say you should sell the flat. Say it's holding you back. And you'd be right, and I will, but after today eh?'

'Whenever. No rush eh?' And if you feel like need to take a few days sick leave that'll be okay.'

Lucy looks horrified. 'God no, I can't stay on my own in the flat, not today, getting depressed and feeling stupid and weak. I'm fine, honest. And I will sell the flat... but in the summer eh?'

The eight hours shift wasn't so bad. It got Lucy through the day. She did agree, in the end, that Bridgette, could drive her over to the crematorium. That was good. It meant she had some company on the way home. At the kerb outside the fish and chip shop Bridgette asked if she should come in. Lucy told her, 'no, I'm okay Bridgette. Already I am feeling better but tired. I am going to get some sleep.'

Sitting up in her bed and sipping a cup of tea, Lucy can hardly keep her eyes open. To David's presence, she often feels hovering nearby as if he was her guardian angel she murmurs, 'I love you David, and I miss you terribly.' Turning off the bedside lamp, Lucy lies down and pulls the duvet up under her chin. As sleep cloaks her consciousness David's face appears as if in a dream. He is telling her, "Lucy you mustn't do this to yourself. You deserve so much better. Have you forgotten the promise you made?"

The promise. How could she forget? With his dying breath, and his grip on her hand weakening, his voice so quiet, and yet urgent, and with tears falling down her face she needed to lean close to hear him. "Lucy, my angel promise me that you will sell the flat and move on with your life, promise me you will find someone to love and care for you as much as I have."

'I promise.' Lucy managed to say through a shuddering sob. Her hands mopping up tears were shaking. She had tried so hard not to fall apart, believing exposing her own suffering to her dying husband was the most selfish thing she could do.

The minute Lucy made that promise, in her heart she knew she could never keep it. Her life was in shreds. The tiny flat was the centre of her universe? It's not as if she had family she could turn to help her though this. Her Mum, who, at least had made it to their wedding, and by all accounts is now living with her new man somewhere in Argentina, had sent a card of condolences. Her Dad, he's a waste of space, had left home to go live in Australia when she was nine. He at least remembers to send her a birthday card but never calls.

Curled up in the dark and cradling the Penguin that David bought her at Great Yarmouth on their honeymoon Lucy says. 'Sorry David, but I haven't forgotten the promise I made you. I will find someone to love. Its just not that easy you know.'

She wants to believe that, she really does, but deep down she suspects that when she dies she will die a lonely old spinster with nothing but guilt for cold company.

The day after the fifth anniversary of David's passing the eight-hour shift at Western General seemed to fly by. Lucy is sitting alone in the staff canteen and not feeling a whole lot better. The coffee in her styrene mug had gone cold and to add to her brooding sense of doom, Lucy only managed to fill in a few blanks in the three-months old, part-finished crossword left behind by someone, better at these things than she was. Just thinking about going home brings on the tummy butterflies that gnaw away at her insides. Lucy returns the smile the hospital porter who just walked in gave her as he waits for the vending machine to fill up a polystyrene mug with warm sludge. After he left, Lucy closes her eyes and like a cat, she stretches out in the hard plastic chair. She jumps when she feels a hand settle on her shoulder.

'I thought I might find you in here.' Bridgette Clancy says pulling out a chair opposite and sitting down. 'Can't go home eh?'

Bridgette knows her too well. Lucy says. 'I was just about to go home.'

'No you weren't.'

Lucy senses rather than knows that her head is down. She forces her spine erect. 'I'm just having a wobbly day that's all. You'll see, tomorrow I'll be fine, back to my old self. I just got to get through today that's all. Sorry Bridgette.'

Her eyes have gone soft when Bridgette reaches across the table gives Lucy's hand a squeeze. 'S'okay. I'm here if you need to talk, you know that?'

She knows that. 'I'm getting there.' Lucy says constructing a smile.

'What we going to do with you eh?' Bridgette says looking worried for her friend. 'What would David be saying to you hmm. I know you haven't forgotten the promise you made him.'

Forget! How could I ever forget that I lied to him?

Taking the tissue from Bridgette, Lucy dabs at her eyes.

Bridgette softens her voice when she says, 'I don't care if it sounds like I am nagging at you...'

'I know what you're going to say.' Lucy interrupts shaking her head.

'What? What was I going to say?'

'That I should go out more, and that I should look for some nice guy who'll sweep me off my feet.' Lucy is shaking her head more in defeat than in defiance. 'How do I do that,' she says, 'when all my friends, not you Bridgette, have stopped asking me to go out with them. How does a girl find a man, when she never goes anywhere?' Looking at the grin on Bridgette's face Lucy is shaking her head. 'Oh no you don't. I am not going there.'

'Going where? I never said a thing.'

'I know what you're thinking. You think that I should go back on the Internet dating site again. There is no way I am ever doing that again. Bridgette, how can you even think that? Don't you remember how awful those dates were? I had every creep imaginable come out the woodwork.'

Bridgette bites her bottom lip and puts her hand on her forehead. 'Gosh yes, weren't they awful. They looked sort of all right on their profiles and their photo.' Bridgette says, 'but didn't I always say you got to kiss a few frogs before you hit on Prince Charming.'

'What like Tony, the milkman, who turned up in his milk float and parked it up in the pub car park. I nearly died of embarrassment.'

'Yeah.' Bridgette nods, 'that wasn't good.'

'Then there was Fred, turns out he was a Fire-eater. In the restaurant, his breath and clothes stank of methylated spirits. I had to douse the candle on the table.'

Pulling a face Bridgette says, 'yeah, that wasn't so good. It was an honest mistake. I thought it said on his bio: "Fire Fighter". And there was you getting excited about having a date with this beefy man who rescues people.'

Now Bridgette laughs out loud. 'What about the guy who turned up wearing a black nylon wig, the Elvis Impersonator, spent the entire date trying to sound like Elvis, except he was about eighteen stone and five foot nothing.'

Lucy grimaces at the memory.

'I remember him all right. I had to escape out the toilet window.' Lucy is laughing now.

'See, you did have some fun on those dates.'

'Then you do them.'

'You know I can't. What would Patrick say?' (Her husband of twenty-six years.)

Already Lucy is starting to feel a little better. Looking fierce now Lucy makes her position perfectly clear, 'I am not going on anymore Internet dating sites... okay?'

'Then how are you going to meet someone?'

'I don't know, but someone will come along,' Lucy had wanted to sound more convincing. 'You know how these things work. When I least expect it a gorgeous hunk of a man will step into my life and steal my heart.'

That was when Bridgette's pager began beeping. 'I'll just get this.' Getting up off her chair the Staff Nurse goes over to the internal phone on the wall.

Lucy looks up when she hears Bridgette say, 'yes, I will get Lucy to pop along.... No she wont mind.'

After hanging up the phone Bridgette turns to Lucy and says. 'If you wont go home, how about you popping down to A&E to help out, only they are short-staffed.'

'Okay,' Lucy says feeling happier and getting out of her chair and thinking this is will help clear her head. 'Call me later, at home. Maybe we can get together, some time, later this week, over at mine, and perhaps after a glass of wine or two I might agree to sign up for that dating thing again.'

Trotting alongside the hospital gurney Lucy is paying close attention to the lead paramedic who is filling her in on the little he knows about the old guy they just picked up in a local park.

'The old boy's H.R is so low I'm surprised he's still alive.' The medic says puffing with exertion. 'Just when you think he's gone, his heart kicks in and then after a few beats, it shuts down again.'

Within minutes, Lucy and Bridgette have the old chap wrapped in foil and wired up to a life support system. Keeping the patient alive artificially is not so difficult, but the chances of him surviving hyperthermia along with any other complications he might have doesn't look good. The two nurses were tending the patient when Omar Bashar the duty registrar, arrives at the bedside.

When she hears Lucy growl Bridgette gives the nurse a nudge with her elbow as if to say behave. Bad news, this particular doctor showing up. Him and Lucy have a mutual dislike of each other and some unfinished business.

Lucy regards the Registrar as an uncaring arrogant oaf. Dr. Bashar thinks the nurse is disrespectful. A couple of months back they had a falling out and it went as far as a disciplinary hearing. Lucy was let off with a caution after telling the panel. "Doctor Bashar shows little compassion for his patients, he has poor bedside manners, and he is disrespectful to the nursing staff."

Wearing latex gloves, Bashar picks up the clipboard and reads through the patient notes. Then, in case he picks up some sort of lice or infection the registrar keeps a safe distance from the patient whom he has already decided is a tramp with an alcohol problem. 'Okaaay.' Bashar announces thrusting the patient notes in Bridgette's hands, 'have him transferred to Ward 2B.'

'What!' Lucy says. Her cheeks go red. 'That's palliative care. This patient may be dying but we don't know that for sure. And we wont know that until we have concluded the tests.'

'That would be a complete waste of time and hospital resources. We need this bed nurse Bedwell. And have you forgotten already how fortunate you were to get off with a caution after your last childish and disrespectful remarks aimed at me.'

'Can we please stick to discussing this patient's care Doctor Bashar.'? Lucy interrupts.' I would like to organise a brain scan please.'

'That is out of the question. He is to be moved to Ward 2B without delay and without further dissent from you nurse Bedwell. Now out of my way.' Bashar was now hemmed in by the nurse square in his way.

'With due respect Doctor Bashar are you suggesting that this man is dying and that there is nothing more that we can do for him?'

'I am saying precisely that.'

'Would you mind then explaining what in your opinion, this patients is dying from?'

'Multiple organ failure, and pneumonia.' Bashar says flatly. 'Now would you mind stepping aside so that I can get past you. I have other patients who are not dying drunks to examine.'

Seeing Lucy's face go crimson with rage Bridgette grabs hold of Lucy's arm.' Can we step outside a second please nurse.' The ward sister says through gritted teeth.

'Happy to when Doctor Bashar allows me to organise a brain scan.' Lucy says not backing off and glaring back at the registrar.

Wedged into a narrow space between the wall and the bed, with the nurse blocking his escape his face darkens with rage. Bashar hasn't gotten over how the hospital disciplinary board chose not to support his demand that this uppity nurse be suspended for her objectionable outbursts towards him. There is now a number of junior staff watching this confrontation.

'Get out of my way Nurse Bedwell. I will not have you questioning my clinical diagnosis and undermining my authority. You will do as I say.' Bashar is glad when the nurse turns her back on him and walks round to the other side of the bed. 'Good that's that settled then.' Bashar says with little conviction.

'If you wouldn't mind, Doctor Bashar, leaving us to get on with our job.' Lucy says dismissively and with some haste is connecting up the tubes and wires that will stabilize the patient's vitals.

Enraged and aware of the audience of junior staff the Registrar loses it. 'That's it!' He shouts, his voice gone up an entire octave. 'Nurse Bedwell, I will not have you overrule me. This tramp is to be moved with immediate effect to Ward 2B. I will not have hospital resources wasted on a smelly drunk, a loafer who is clearly, clinically, almost dead. Have I made my position perfectly clear Nurse?'

Lucy has her back to the registrar when she hears that. She feels like she was about to explode. She feels Bridgette tug at the hem of her blouse. Lucy takes a deep breath and then without a pause in her work says, 'Mr Bashar, did I just hear you say in close proximity of a very sick patient and in front of witnesses that this patient is a tramp, he is a drunk and a smelly old loafer who is almost dead? Because I should think the hospital administrators might take a dim view of those comments.' Bashar had his mouth open. The words he was about to say got stuck in his throat. He can feel a headache coming on. The Registrar thrusts his shoulders go back. Nurse Bedwell may have won this battle. He will settle for getting her dismissed some other time.

The Registrar looks at his watch. 'I am about to go off duty. Mr. Terence Copeland will be taking over. I will be back in twelve hours. If this patient is still on this ward, and there is no discernable improvement in his condition, regardless of any objections, further treatment will be withheld. Have I made myself abundantly clear Nurse Bedwell?'

Lucy nods. Doctor Terence Copeland taking over is excellent news.

It was an hour later, and over at the Nurses station, Lucy, Bridgette, and Doctor Terence Copeland were in a huddle reviewing the patient's test results. Copeland is tapping the computer screen and frowning. 'I'm not sure what is going on with this patient. Where are the brain scans nurse?' He says directly to Lucy.

'Erm, we don't have any. Mr Bashar wouldn't authorise a scan.'

'Really!' Whilst Terence Copeland has no time for this particular Registrar, it wouldn't do for him to be seen to be undermining him. Had it not been Bashar, he would have called him up and discussed the results, asked why no brain scans were authorized, instead, he pushes back his chair, and getting to his feet says, 'well, don't just stand there Lucy get on it. You know what to do.'

A relieved Lucy makes a call and luckily, the radiologist says he can see her patient right away. One more phone call and Lucy has arranged for a porter to collect her patient.

An hour later studying the x-ray results on a computer screen Bridgette and Lucy cant work out what exactly they are looking at.

'What on earth is that?' Lucy says indicating with her finger the black object on the left hemisphere of the patient's brain.

'It looks like...' Bridgette hesitates and then leans closer to the screen. Her eyes widen, 'it is! That is a bullet, and quite a big one.' Turning to Lucy, Bridgette enquires. 'Do we know if this man happens to have a service history?'

'What? Like an army record? You thinking that could be a war wound?' Lucy says frowning. 'You could be right. There is a tattoo on his arm that looks like the sort that people in the armed services might go for.'

Now and again, Trauma nurses come across gunshot wounds but neither Lucy nor Bridgette has ever seen a bullet quite as big as this one.

'That thing,' Bridgette says tapping the computer screen, 'whatever that is, might be the problem. When you think about it, some of the scars on his body could be battle injuries; others look as if he has undergone quite a number of surgical repairs. It would be some year's back, but I bet I am right. This guy has been in a war zone, got shot up too. If we had sight of his medical history, that would help. Working blind, giving him powerful drugs that we don't k now if he can handle is risky.'

Getting to her feet Bridgette says to Lucy, 'I think I better call the duty Neurologist, get him down here.'

At the nurses station things go quiet. This was her chance to nip down to the staff kitchen and make a cup of tea. Lucy is alone now, and it is peaceful in the small staff room located at the far end of the ward. Twenty-pee in the vending machine serves her up a cardboard mug of what tasted like dishwater. Lucy left word back at the nurse's station that she was to be called the minute the neurologist came on the ward.

The vinyl seat on the low and narrow armchair feels lumpy. Stretching out her legs Lucy pushes her shoes off her aching feet. Sipping the hot liquid, she is speculating on how that bullet might have ended up lodged against his brain. If it was in a battle, what battle? More critically, what damage might it have done, and could it be the cause of the man's presenting problems. It would certainly make sense.

If only we had his medical records...' It was light bulb moment. It would be a bit of a long shot and Lucy hasn't spoken to Kellie in over two years. Kellie may not even be on the same number!

Her and Kellie Watson were best friends in nursing college. Lucy remained with the NHS Kellie while left to join the Army Nursing Corp. One time they were really close. Kellie was a bridesmaid at Lucy's wedding and she was there at David's funeral. After that, for whatever reason, they lost touch with each other.

Lucy has heard how the armed forces keep excellent personnel records. If her patient, some time ago, was treated for battle injuries there must be a file on him and Kellie will have access to his medical files. Thinking about how little she knows of her patient, nothing more than the fact that his first name is Charlie, and even that might not true, it's not much to give Kellie to work on. Lucy screws up her face. It wont be enough. Kellie would need more than that. With no other ideas how to proceed she concludes its' worth a try and taking out her mobile phone she is praying that Kellie is still on the number in her contacts list. Lucy listens to the burr at the other end.

'Hey stranger, my God it's so good to hear from you Lucy. I feel so bad that we haven't kept in touch.'

'Me too Kellie, and we must get together soon.' Lucy is feeling bad that she is only calling her friend to ask a favour.

'I am getting the sense this is not just a social call.'

Hesitant, Lucy sighs and then says. 'It's both. I feel bad that I haven't called you before but I need a favour, work related.'

'If I can help you know I will. What's the problem?'

Felling the pressure of time weighing on her Lucy quickly tells Kellie about the elderly patient and why she thinks he may have service record.

'Charlie! Is that all you got? Gosh, Lucy, and how far back do I have to look?'

'Really sorry Kellie, but all I can tell you is the guy is somewhere between fifty and sixty-five, maybe, five–eleven tall, I counted eleven scars, some surgical, and he has a bullet lodged next to his brain.' Lucy can hear Kellie thinking on the other end of the call.

'Does he have any tattoos?'

'Just the one, on his left forearm,' Lucy says thinking how's that help? 'It looks like vertical dagger over a swag. I can't make out the wording but it has two wavy blue lines.'

'Well done Lucy. That helps.'

'It does?'

'Quite possibly.' Kellie says. 'Leave it with me Lucy, and I will get back to you ASAP.'

Thirty minutes later Kellie calls Lucy back.

'You think he may have been in the SBS? What's the SBS?' Lucy says confused.

"It's the Special Boat Services." They are a specialist naval unit, similar to the SAS. They are a highly secretive bunch. If you email me over what you have: x-rays, photos of scars, tattoos, that sort of thing, I might have something that I that can send over.'

'You sure you wont get into trouble Kellie?'

'No, not at all, this is routine stuff. We often get asked for medical records from insurance companies, hospitals, G.P's, that sort of thing.'

Half an hour later, Lucy opens up an email from Kellie.

'Hi Lucy. I found your man. Unfortunately, because of the Official Secrets Act, all I can let you have are his basic details. He is sergeant Charles Ronald Parker who self- discharged in 1982. When he left the service, a bullet similar to the image you sent over was still lodged in his skull close to his brain. It was deemed at the time to be too risky to remove. I wish could help more. Best wishes Kellie. X

For quite some time Lucy stares at the message thinking. What's all this Official Secrets Act stuff? Feeling disappointed Lucy taps out a reply.

'Hi Kellie. Thanks. Wow! Official secrets eh! The patient has been sleeping rough in a local park and the bullet is now endangering his life. If we don't remove it in the next few hours, he will die. Considering that he was injured in the line of duty, I would have thought the Army, Navy, or whoever, might have provided better discharge care! Must catch up soon, love you lots, Lucy X

P.S. I hope I haven't got you into any trouble. You've been a great help.

Take care.

Lucy.' XX

At least she now has a name for her patient. That's a start. She now runs the name: Charles Ronald Parker through the NHS database. She got back 87 matches. 26, of them in were the fifty-to -eighty age range. Sitting back in her chair staring at the computer screen she blows through her cheeks. Lucy is frustrated knowing that Kellie has her patient's medical records but she's not allowed to see them. Bloody red tape! Without his medical files, any treatment and the use of potent drugs could prove fatal. Lucy is about to start another search of the NHS database when her email pings. It is another message from Kellie.

"Here you go kitten. You must eat this after reading it... Smiley face... K... XX".

Lucy clicks on the attached PDF file. A folder appears on her screen. She clicks on the icon. A document opens up. Her blood chills when she sees in bold red letters, dead centre, at the head of the file "Top Secret".

Skipping the section that blathered on about: "The Official Secrets Act," and dismissing any concerns that reading this might get her arrested for treason she reads on:

"Sergeant Charles Ronald Parker: Royal Naval Marines: Attached to the Special Boat Services. Discharged October 11th 1982 having sustained life-threatening battle wounds in the taking of a fortified machine gun position on Goose Green, in the Falklands war: Awarded the Distinguished Military Cross. Transferred by helicopter to the Hospital ship SS Uganda. Sergeant Charles Parker underwent several operations to remove four .50mm, machine gun bullets and seven pieces of grenade shrapnel. One machine gun bullet lodged in his skull was deemed to be too dangerous to remove at that time. This Marine has several citations for bravery. Following his discharge from the Royal Marines in June 1984, he failed to attend any of his follow-up medical appointments." When Lucy gets to page two of the document, she finds Charles Ronald Parker's medical notes. It goes on to explain the procedures taken to save his life, the drugs used, previous medical conditions, and his post-op treatment. Lucy was holding her breath. She sighs. Saving this man's life, already a priority, is about to become a mission.

After reading the transcript, Bridgette says. 'Wow! How did you get your hands on this?' Then thinking about that warning in red: "Top Secret", she says, 'on second thoughts, please, I don't want to know. By the way, do you know Simon Walberton the neurologist?'

'I've heard of him' Lucy says, 'I hear he's awesome surgeon, why?'

'Because he is on his way over and he wants to have a look at your patient.'

'Brilliant.' Says Lucy thinking at last she is making some headway. It may not be enough to save Charles Parker's life but at least she did what she could.

Not saying much neurologist surgeon Simon Walberton reads through the army medical notes and then studies the MRI brain scans, and the x-rays.

Lucy thinks he looks worried. 'What are his chances?' Lucy says sensing what he is going to say.

'Put it this way nurse if we do nothing, he is certain to die within the next twenty-four hours. If we go ahead operate and remove the bullet, he has a twenty percent chance of surviving, but, he may have some brain damage and we wont know about that until a few days after the operation, when he comes out of the anesthetic.'

'You are going to operate then?'

'I don't think we have a choice. You can get him ready for theatre nurse.'

Lucy is walking right alongside the gurney when the hospital porter wheels Sergeant Charles Parker down to the operating theatre. Lucy was making her way back to her ward when Mary Shilletto, one of the hospital receptionists called out.

'Lucy, I know you are busy but I was wondering, are you dealing with the patient brought in from the park.'

'Yes, Mary, why?'

'It's just; we have a chap in the A&E reception area who is asking for news of his friend. The poor man is in such a state. I was wondering, only if you have the time, perhaps you could have a word with him and let him know how his friend is?' He seems such a nice chap. You will recognise him because he looks as if he has been in an accident, poor man. I asked him did he want to have his injuries looked at but he tells me, no he just wants to know about his friend.'

Unable to get a word in edgeways and about to tell Mary yes she will go talk to the man, Mary then adds.

'He has this sweet little white dog with him. You cant help feeling sorry for him, him being all wet and all.'

Lucy frowns. A dog in the hospital, and I'm supposed to be the one who breaks the hospital rules!

Mary wrinkles her nose. 'Sorry Lucy, I know that you are busy, but he looks so sad.'

'Who, the man?'

'Well, him too, but that poor little dog.'

Twenty minutes later Lucy goes in search of the man with the little dog. On the back of her hand, she had written in biro, Brian Fossett.

She is not to know it but this encounter is set to change Lucy's life forever.

Asleep, Brian Fossett is listing quite dangerously in one of the hard plastic chairs that some hospital administrator went ahead and purchased without ever sitting in one.

Over the years, working in A&E, Lucy has had to deal with a lot of drunks, and approaching the man who has a little dog asleep at his feet, her initial thoughts were he had to be a drinking buddy of the man just gone into theatre. It was when she got close to him, the little dog looking up, wagging his tail that she became annoyed at herself for thinking that way. She can see Brian Fossett has a number of fresh injuries on his face, which indicates he has been in a fight, and not done too well by the looks of things. She looks down at his hands, expecting to see blood, grazed knuckles. His hands are clean, his nails trimmed. No injuries. She's wrong about that too. His shoes are polished, if a little muddy, he has fresh grass stains on his knees, his hair has been recently trimmed and he is clean-shaven. Just goes to show you cant trust first appearances. Lucy was about to wake him when she has a thought and then hurries off to the canteen. Returning jus a few minutes later Lucy places a cup of tea with two garibaldi biscuits in the saucer down on the vacant chair next to Brian Fossett.

'Mr. Fossett... Mr. Fossett.' Lucy soothes hoping not to startle the man who has possibly been in a fight and may easily be spooked.

Struggling to emerge from the fog of sleep and dreaming he is in the presence of an angel through swollen lips Brian murmurs something unintelligible. The angle is calling him. He thinks he might have died. Through his shuttered eyelids, he can make out a white light. He's never met anyone who had one, but he's heard that people who have survived a near-death experience speak of seeing a white light. In this dreamlike state, believing he is in Heaven, he is looking for his parents. It would be really good to see them again. He misses them. He is crying now, quite openly.

The sight of this little dog with his ears down, and the man who now has tears cutting through the blood on his face tugs at Lucy's heartstrings. She bends down and ruffles the little dog's head before turning her attention to the man. Before he falls off the chair and does more damage to his face Lucy gently eases Brian Fossett upright.

Brian is now dreaming that he is in a dentist's chair. His mouth feels as if it is full of wadding. He winces at a sharp pain, and wants to mention this to the dentist, who now becomes an angel. She is calling his name. He feels sad about dying. This is not a good time to be dying. There are things he has to attend to, important things, worrying things. If he could only remember what they were he could.

'Brian, can you wake up please.'

Brian manages to open one eye. The other one doesn't seem to be working. With a white halo around her head standing right In front of him is the loveliest sight he has ever seen. She is indeed his angel. Death, he now decides wont be so bad.

He now feels the angel's arms embrace him and ease him into a more comfortable position. Her face moves and the glow around it becomes a wall light. He closes his eyes again. His swollen lips smile with contentment. No question, he had died, and when he opens his eyes again the angel who is now comforting him will be there to show him the ropes, explain where he can find things, explain the rules, and in Heaven he imagines there is bound to be quite a number of them. He is thinking, the first things Mum and Dad will say, will be like the times when he used to hide under the bedclothes, "Oh there your are Brian, you little rascal. Your Father and I have been searching high and low for you and all this time you've been hiding from us again.'

'Brian, can you wake up please.' The angel sounds worried.

When he opens his one eye, he can see she is dressed in white, her face is so beautiful it almost takes his breath. When she speaks he can hear bacon sizzling in a frying pan, snow falling on a silent field, a child saying to its mother, 'I wuv oo'. The angel is shaking his shoulder, she says, softly.

'Mr Fossett... Brian... Brian.'

Delicate hands straighten up his world that was off centre by around 45 degrees.

'Brian... so that you don't fall off your chair I am sitting you up.' The angel explains.

'Fank oo.' He mumbles and then sucks up a globule of spittle about to dribble from his swollen lips.

Having regained its propriety, his body wakes up moments before his brain has a chance to. His one good eye blinks several times. His brain is doing mental calculations that don't make sense. Remembering he is in a hospital he sits bolt upright, 'Charlie... Charlie,' he says. Starting to panic, he tries to get up of the chair. The nurse catches hold of him before he falls flat on his face, and that would have been very embarrassing. He allows the nurse to sit him back down with a jolt.

'Mr Fossett... Brian... you may be concussed. I want you to sit there for a moment and get your bearings please. I have brought you a cup of tea.'

Reaching out for the proffered cup and saucer Brian mumbles, 'fank oo,' Looking at the biscuits, he wonders when was the last time he ate. Had to be hours ago, possibly yesterday even. The pain in his mouth suggests that he may have to stick to a diet of soup for a few days.

When he speaks, the words come out sounding croaky.

'Charlie... I came in with a friend. His name is Charlie Parker. Did he...? Brian can't quite say the words and he is afraid to hear the answer. 'He's not...?' The nurse's eyes are soft, gentle, and soothing. He feels he can take the news from her.' It's okay. I think he died before I got to him.'

The poor man looks confused. Lucy is thinking Brian might have concussion. Of the many bruises and cuts on his face, it is his left eye that worries her the most. She needs to calm him. 'Mr Fossett...'

'Brian please...'

'Brian, your friend is in theatre right now undergoing a serious operation and we wont know anymore until he comes out. I am a bit concerned about your eye. I would like to get a doctor to examine it if you don't mind?'

'Operation!' He had a chest infection, a cough. I don't understand.'

Lucy is thinking about that Top Secret stamp on the file that Kellie sent over. She also needs to be mindful of patient confidentiality. She'd better not say too much.

'Mr Fossett... Brian, we are doing all we can for your friend and it may well be days before we know if the operation has been successful. Can I please get someone to look at your eye?'

'Can't you examine it?" Brian says.

Straightening up Lucy considers this. Ordinarily she would have to say no, there are procedures to follow, and she is currently assigned to the intensive care ward. It won't take her long, and she is on her break time. 'Okay, wait there, and don't try to stand while I go and see if I can find a vacant cubicle.'

When Brian nods he winces at the sharp pain in his neck. Moving his head makes him a little nauseous. His brain, coming on line works out he's definitely not in Heaven, which is a pity. If Charlie dies, he's not sure he wants anything to do with the life he had. His job has gone, his wife is gone, and his home has gone, what's to live for?

She manages to grab an empty cubicle. Tending to Brian's injuries Lucy is already thinking some way ahead, if her patient comes through the operation to remove the bullet, and that is a big if, she is already worried about his discharge. The man is homeless and will most likely be disabled, and possibly seriously so. Given the fact the local Adult Social Services are understaffed and overworked, and we are talking about a homeless man, Lucy is wondering if perhaps his friend, Brian can take him in. That prompts her to ask.

'Can I ask you, does Charlie Parker have any family, or friends who can care for him, if he pulls through that is?'

This prompts Brian to consider his own situation. The way things stand, unless he can get Sue to be reasonable, he may yet be sleeping on that park bench. Of course, if he was living back home, and if Sue decides she will go off somewhere and set up home with his ex-boss, then he could take Charlie in, and he would too, no question. Shaking his head, gently, this time, Brian says, 'Charlie has no family, and as far as I know, I am the only friend he has.' Hearing him say that sounds dreadful.

'Can you say if Charlie was ever in the armed forces. 'Lucy says probing. 'Has he ever spoken to you about him ever getting shot?'

Frowning, Brian is thinking why is she asking that. Earlier she mentioned client confidentiality. There is something else going on here, something that she is not, or not allowed to tell him, something more sinister. The thought chills his blood.

'Why are you asking if Charlie ever got shot? Is there something you know but can't tell me? What is this? Are we talking about The Official Secrets Act?' The look on her face was enough to confirm it. 'Why can't you talk about it? I guess lots of men; his age, have been in wars, and got shot, so why the secrecy?'

'If I could say more I would Brian but my hands are tied. If he comes through this, you can ask him.'

When Brian sucks in air he winces, his ribs hurt. He looks away when he says. 'I'm happy that Charlie has you looking after him. You seem nice and caring. ' Looking into her soft, dreamlike eyes he thinks they might have misted over? 'There is only me you know.'

'Only you?'

'In his life.'

Thinking about her own existence now, Lucy is reminded of how close she and Bridgette are, how she is too is reliant on just that one person. 'There are people,' Lucy says, 'who have only one friend in their life, but that one person is really special, just like you are to Charlie.'

'I get it, that Charlie is probably not going to survive the operation,' Brian says, 'but just supposing, he does make it. What then? For Charlie I mean?'

'Erm,' Lucy takes a breath, 'when he comes out of theatre, all being well, he will go into the ICU and he will be on a life support system for a while. He will be on antibiotics for his chest infection. As far as we can tell his heart seems to be in good shape. It will be a question of time. We will have done all we can... after that it will be down to Charlie and whether he has enough fight left in him to pull through. You mustn't raise your hopes Brian. Things don't look hopeful.'

Laying her hand on his shoulder Lucy smiles and says. 'Brian, let's just wait and see.'

Despite feeling utterly miserable and in a lot of pain from his face and ribs Brian manages to raise a lopsided smile.

'Brian,' Lucy says, wanting to learn all she could about her patient, 'it might be helpful if you can provide me with a little background information about your friend. I understand he has been sleeping rough. Do you know how long that has been the case?'

When Brian reaches down to give Jock small piece of biscuit he winces. He thinks back to when he first came across this old guy sleeping under the Magnolia tree on the park bench. He recalls how he had hardly any covers. He tells her. 'Six years ago I was walking Jock in the park when I came across Charlie sleeping on a bench. He and I got talking, and we've been close friends ever since. Everyday, without fail, I go to the park with Jock, and I take him some food and a hot drink. Every now and again, I find him some new blankets and a few other bits, and bobs, and maybe some dry clean clothes.'

Conjuring up a picture of these two men, chatting, on a bench in a park, mostly about everyday stuff and not getting too deep, Lucy admires the loyalty Brian has for this man. It's not everyone who would call a rough sleeper his best friend. Lizzie is wondering about Charlie's time serving in the Marines. Back of her mind, she wonders does Brian have a wife. He hasn't mentioned one. What about children? Does he have children?

Lucy chides herself, now why would you want to know that?

'Brian, I am sure Charlie appreciates the kindness you have shown him.'

Brian colours up and looking down at his shoes he says, ' I haven't done anything special Lucy. I don't consider I have been kind, not at all. Surely, its what people do, support a friend going through a hard time.'

'Does Charlie have any family... perhaps a wife?'

Brian shakes his head. 'Charlie, once mentioned the name Helen who I took to be his wife. He doesn't like to talk about her, but then he's a secretive old bird, never says much about his past. One time we were just chatting and I asked him outright about Helen. That upset him. I don't think he wanted to tell me but she died in a hospital. I got the impression her death led to him sleeping on the streets.'

'This Helen, she would have died when?'

'I guess it had to be ten years ago.'

'How sad. Any idea how Helen died? Has he never said?'

'Only that he believes the medical staff let her down. Now he won't even talk about doctors. I have been trying for weeks now to get him to see one about that cough of his. He hates doctors and hospitals. If he were to recover, and find himself in here, he would go ballistic.'

Gingerly, Brian nibbles on a biscuit. He winces. 'Ow!'

'Be careful Brian,' Lucy says looking concerned. 'Casually she asks. 'Would you mind telling me how you got those injuries. As a nurse I have seen quite a few people coming into the A&E looking like you do and generally they have been attacked or they've been in a fight?'

He looks away, embarrassed.

'It wasn't exactly a fight.' He wasn't going to mention it. He is now thinking that his face must look a complete mess probably looks worse than the last time he looked at it. Of course, she is going to ask. Then the words just tumble out his mouth. 'It was my boss... ex boss, actually, who did this.' Brian explains pointing to his face. 'I don't know why I am telling you this, but I found out that my wife and my boss have been having an affair, for quite a few years. They taunted me over it, and I guess I got angry and then I said something stupid.'

'What was it you said?' Lucy could have bitten off her tongue. Why am I probing him? This is none of your business.

'Stupidly, I told Billy Dodds, that's his name. Do you remember a big-shot boxer called Billy Dodds?'

'No, I don't think so.' You were saying.' Lucy says.

'Oh, yeah.' Brian says picking up the thread of his tale. 'I told him right to his face that I wanted to knock his block off. Imagine that... me challenging an ex-pro boxer to a fight. Me, who couldn't knock the skin off a rice pudding. I never actually wanted to fight him. I am not that stupid. Then, when he put the boxing gloves on me, and I was surrounded by all my workmates jeering and taking bets on how fast I would go down, and with my wife rooting for Dodds, I suppose I was hoping that before he flattened me I might get one a good one in. I just wanted to show him and the others that I am not the wimp that he tells everyone I am.'

'And did you... I mean get a good one in?'

He laughs and then winces.' No, I went down first punch.' Brian sighs. 'Well, that's it. That's how I got beaten up. Now, Sue is telling me she wants me out of the house, which I think is unfair considering it was my parent's house, and I have never lived anywhere else. It was left to me after they died.'

Lucy is shaking her head and thinking poor man.

'Apparently, when he did to me,' Brian points at his face, 'I was unconscious. Anyway, I no longer have a job, I don't have a wife, and I might now have to take over Charlie's bench.'

'If I'm honest Brian, and I don't mean to pry but you don't seem too upset about losing your wife.'

Brian looks around sharply. He nods as if in defeat. 'The truth is, from the outset, and I only just learned this, our marriage was a scam. Sue now tells me that she only married me because she needed to be married in order to collect on an inheritance. Just recently her aunt died, and all this has blown up since.' Brian pauses to catch his breath. He now looks round to face the nurse and wondering why he is telling her all this he says, 'd'ya know what, right now, I couldn't care less about either of them, or losing my job or the house, right now all I care about is Charlie getting well again. If was to die, that would be like the bottom falling out of my life.'

Watching Brian's chin wobble Lucy is lost for words. Staring dumbly at the man, she is thinking, gosh, and there was me thinking that I was having a bad day, poor man.

'I am so sorry to hear that Brian.' Not that it is any of her business she is now worried. What on earth is he going to do? The poor man has no job, therefore no income and he hasn't even a home to go to. She almost came out and said it, asked him what he planned to do. Instead, she focused on her patient. 'Did Charlie ever speak to you about his past, say what he did for a living, that sort of thing?'

Brian had to think about this. 'Not really, not at all in fact, and I never liked to quiz him. When people are secretive about their past it leaves you wondering...' Brian looks around him and lowers his voice. 'I did wonder if perhaps he'd spent a little time, inside, in prison, you know.'

'In prison!' Lucy says a little sharply. 'I shouldn't think so.'

Looking at her out his one good eye, Brian thinks he picked up something in the way she said it. He says, 'Charlie would never speak to me about what kind of work he did. I did at one time wonder if he was in the army.'

Cautious this time, Brian leans over and feeds Jock a few more pieces of biscuit. Jock takes it gently from his hand. He's finding it depressing, talking about Charlie and what he may have done in the past, as if the old guy has gone already.

'He's not going to die you know.' Says Brian more to himself than the nurse. 'He's a tough old bird.'

Nodding, Lucy wishes she could be that optimistic. Just before coming over here she'd got word from the operating theatre that the bullet in his brain is likely to have done significant damage and his chances of surviving are not good. Then they never were.

When the nurse looks at Brian the sadness he can see in her eyes tells him she is thinking otherwise.

'Sorry,' he says, 'I shouldn't burden you with all my woes. It's just I have had a dreadful day. The last time I felt this miserable was at my parents funeral.'

'You must have family Brian, people around who can help you.'

That shook him up. He had given no thought to his own circumstances, the fact that he has no one he can turn to. It would have been Charlie who would have advised him and given him the kick up the backside that he often needs.

He'd seen the gold wedding band on her finger. Before he can stop himself, the words seemed to tumble out.

'Lucky man.' He says out loud what was just passing through his mind. He could have bitten off his tongue. Oh God. Why'd I have to say that? Now she is going to think of me as some weird jerk coming on to her.

'Who?'

'Sorry.' He blusters, 'I didn't mean to... I was just looking at your wedding ring and thinking how lucky your husband is. Please ignore me. I really don't know what I am saying. Perhaps I do have a bit of concussion.'

Spinning the ring on her finger, she thinks of David. She wonders what he would make of this odd situation. Why am I still here talking to this man? Lucy, by now would have given Brian an update on his friend and gone back to her duties. So what, she wonders, is this all about? Do you like him because he is like a stray dog, someone, who presses a few buttons in your maternal breast?

Now, as if it is her turn to offload some emotional baggage, cleanse her day of crap making her feel bad, Lucy says, 'five years ago, today actually, I lost my husband to leukemia. It all happened so fast. Five years, and sometimes it feels like it was only yesterday, then at other times, it feel like it was a lifetime ago.'

Nodding as if he knows exactly where she is coming from Brian says, 'I get that too. Both my parents died within two weeks of each other. I hardly had time to get over my Dad dying when my Mum slipped away.'

The ensuing silence doesn't feel at all awkward for either of them, in one sense it felt cathartic. Brian is the first to speak.

'I am so sorry about your husband. I hope I haven't upset you. I had no right to...' Brian fidgets in his chair. Big mouth.

'It's okay Brian. I am coping. People do.' Lucy hadn't expected to hear those words pass her lips.

Pensive now, Brian is looking out across the crowded waiting area, as if for the first time he is seeing people, to-and-froing, chatting, porters, staff in uniforms, Junior Doctors, carrying folders of patient notes, injured people, minor cuts, not a single child with a saucepan jammed on its head. As if it mattered, he says, 'It was twelve years ago, they died.'

'Do you still have bad days?' Lucy says trying to understand her own grief that comes and goes in unfathomable waves.

He nods. 'Not so much now, and then I get caught out by something that I hear, or I see, that takes me back you know. Sometimes it gets so bad I just want tomorrow to come. I still ache to see them.'

'Odd isn't it? Lucy says.

'Huh?' Brian looks around at her, and doesn't want to avert his eyes from her face that he finds so captivating.

'Odd, that is, the two of us, meeting like this, with us both having a bad day and yet finding comfort in us just chatting.' Lucy looks around her.' I suppose I ought to be getting back to the ward.'

'Gosh have I got you into trouble by keeping you talking?'

'No Brian, I am on a break.'

This is a first for Lucy, her being able to talk to someone about David without her falling apart. What is it about this man, she wonders that allows her to do that? The thought doesn't dismay her. In a way, it feels natural, almost safe as if this man, this stranger, understands.

'Brian, it is now a quarter past ten.' Lucy says checking her watch, 'you'd better go home and get some sleep. Why don't you come back in the morning, after the doctors have done their rounds, and then we can talk about your friend.'

'He may not make it through the night. Will you call me... please? If I give you my number.'

'Do you have a mobile number?'

'No. I now wish I did. It'll have to be my home number.'

'That's okay.' Lucy says and writes the number he gives her on the back of her right alongside Brian's name

A quarter past eleven that night, Lucy is the only passenger on the upper deck of the night bus. Checking her ghost-like reflection in the rain-spattered window, she looks exhausted. She is struck by a sudden thought. I am almost home and yet I haven't got those dreadful butterflies in my tummy!

Lucy checks her phone. There is a text message from Bridgette, two hours back.

"Are you okay? Call me if you need to talk. XX." Lucy texts back. "I'm fine thank you. I'll see you tomorrow. XX."

Five stops from home, she concedes defeat. Brian is there, in her head, and there's nothing to be done about it. You're just tired. The minute you get indoors, you are to make a cuppa, have a bath, and go straight to bed.

Looking out the steamed-up window, front of the bus, up ahead Lucy can see the bus is approaching her stop. Against the sway of the bus she makes her way down the aisle between the seats, all empty this this time of night. At the top of the stairs Lucy has to grip hold of the rail to get her balance before descending the narrow twisting stairs. She relaxes a little waiting on the platform. With a swish of water washed up by the wheels of the bus it slows to a stop. Lucy waits for the doors to whoosh open. She smiles back at the driver and then wishes him good night. Grateful that she lives right opposite the bust stop holding her hand on her head in a vain attempt to keep off the rain Lucy leaps across the puddles. Typically, because it is raining, she struggles to turn the key in the lock. Annoyingly, it always does this whenever it rains. Now, inside the dark lobby at the foot of the stairs her hand locates the light switch. Taking the narrow stairs two at a time, she comes to the tiny landing outside her door. The other key lets her into her flat.

After dropping her bag on the sofa, Lucy goes across to the kitchen and refreshes the water in the kettle. She flicks on the switch and then drops a teabag in the mug that she hadn't time to rinse out that morning. Rubbing a towel through her wet hair, she goes into the sitting room. Picking up the TV remote, hits she the "on" button and then returns to the kitchen. With a mug of steaming tea in her hand, Lucy sits down on the sofa and pulls a face at the reality TV show. Trawling through a bewildering array of TV channels Lucy clicks on the Shopping Channel. Less than a minute later, irritated by the voices of the two women sat on a lime green sofa discussing the merits of a variety of face creams she hits the off button.

After changing into a fleecy dressing gown, Lucy flicks through the morning post thinking the whole lot can be dumped in the recycling bin. A flyer catches her attention. A famous auction house has a general sale coming up. She casts her eyes around the flat wondering if there is anything she might want to sell. It might be fun taking stuff to an auction; she's never done that. Yawning now, she drops the whole pile into the recycling bin.

It's now a quarter past twelve in the morning and she's wide-awake. The TV is just a black screen. On the sofa, Lucy has her knees up under her chin. She needs a distraction from thinking about Brian Fossett, his phone number, and his name in black on the back of her hand. As a distraction, Lucy tries listening out for the next vehicle to slosh through the puddles outside her flat. Rather than send her off to sleep, this strategy only makes her feel chilly. Getting up off the sofa, Lucy goes out to the bathroom and runs the bath taps. She treats her bath to a good-sized helping of bath oil. Now, lying back in the hot suds Lucy is glad she hadn't listened to some of her friends who said her bathroom was too small for a bath and that she should have it taken out to make room for a proper shower. The over-bath shower works just fine. Immediately, and entirely unbidden, and very annoyingly, Brian is back in her head. She concludes it's only because she needs sleep and in the morning, having rested, things will be back to normal. The water is now tepid. She opens up the hot tap and lays back feeling the hot water ease the tension in her muscles. Disturbingly, the butterflies in her tummy, have become bubbles of excitement. Enough of these silly girlie thoughts, you are not a teenager.

Like it or not, this man with his bruised and swollen face, has left his thumbprint on her heart.

Ten minutes later, still struggling to understand her emotions Lucy climbs out of the bath and after toweling dry her body she gets into her 'huggy-bear' pyjamas. Now, she gets into bed and turns off the bedside lamp. Closing her eyes, Lucy feels cocooned, safe under the duvet. In the dark, her arm reaches up to the shelf over the bed and her fingers grope blindly for the soft penguin that David bought her that time in Margate. Lucy pulls it to her chest and almost straight away, she is asleep. That night Lucy Bedwell had the best sleep ever!

# Chapter Thirteen.

Brian decided he would take Lucy's advice and go home try to get some sleep. He stopped by at the reception to collect Jock. Mary the receptionist who had looked after Jock while Lucy tended to his injuries said, "aw" when she handed the dog over to Brian.

'He's been a good little dog. I have given him a brush and something to eat and drink.'

'Thank you Mary that's very kind of you.'

'I really hope your friend gets well again' Mary said with a half smile. 'You look tired Mr Fossett. You should go home and get some rest.'

'Yes, that's exactly what I intend. Goodnight Mary.'

Outside in the cold night air a fresh wind stings his cuts. He digs into his pocket and pulls out what loose change he had. When he counted what money was left of his weekly allowance he grimaced. Looking down the road the street lamps are now going off one by one. He could see in the distance the N98 night bus trundling along with the lights inside bright and inviting. He thinks about the five-mile walk home. Sod it. He says to himself. We'll take the bus home.

He waited for doors to open with a swish. That's when he heard a familiar voice.

Bus driver Ted Brewster thought that he recognised Brian Fossett and his little dog. It was hard to tell at first, what with his face all bruised and puffy, and him keeping his head down, as if he had something to be ashamed of.

Through the drivers window Brian saw him grinning. He gave out a groan. The bus driver was Ted Brewster. Tawny West is not that big, and occasionally; if he can't avoid the man Brian will pass the time of day with him. They'd been in the same year at Tawny West Secondary Modern. He was one of the kids who used to bully him. Now, him getting on his bus, his face showing the obvious marks of yet another bully beating him up, feels deeply shameful. It's as if nothing has changed. Brian is wishing he had got that, "good one" in, not that it would have altered the outcome. It would have just been nice to know that if he needed to fight back he would.

'Hello Brian, what's happened to your face. The missus give you a right hander?' 'You look like you've been in a fight mate?'

Of course Ted was joking. He knows Fossett from way back and Fossett never once fought back when he and other kids would pick on him. Recalling that he had been one of those bullies pricks his conscience. 'Put your money away Brian.' Ted says smiling. 'The inspector wont be getting on my bus this time of night. I see you've been in the A&E then?'

Yeah, good work detective. 'Yeah, I fell over the dog.' Brian lied, 'and took a tumble down the stairs. I just had the injuries looked at. Nothing broken.' Brian attempts a smile'

'Course you did Brian,' Ted says grinning and giving him a wink.' Brewster recalls Brian's wife Sue. She's a right looker that one and phew, what pair! I never understood what attracted her to the crusty old-fashioned bugger. 'How's that lovely wife of yours? You did well to marry her Brian, lucky old git. Bit of all right she is. Tell her I asked after her.'

Moving up the bus, Brian was glad to get away from Ted Brewster and the lewd look on his face.

Despite her always telling him try not to wake her when he comes in after a late shift, Marge Brewster's husband slams the front door. The sound reverberates up the stairs of the suburban semi, still twelve years to run on the mortgage and the paint on the grit exterior walls peeling. Now, of course, he will climb into bed, fart, and then put his cold feet on her legs. She just hopes she doesn't have to endure another of his long-winded, "you'll never guess what happened on my bus", stories. It's not like he is a bomber pilot.

He did fart and he did put his cold feet on her, and then he says.

'You'll never guess who I picked up on me bus tonight.'

Marge groans.

'Don't suppose I shall.' Marge mutters keeping her back to Ted. She yawns and resigns herself to another spell of saying in her head: for fucks sake how long does this story go on for? Why'd I have to marry a man that turns every simple explanation into a fucking soapbox rant?

'Brian Fossett, that's who.' Ted says as if this would come as a big surprise.

It was surprise, just not a big one. Thinking back to all the lads at Tawny West Secondary Modern Marge remembers Brian as being a bit of an outsider, "the faggot", that's what the other boys called him. She used to feel sorry for him. She never thought he was gay. Just because he wasn't like all the other boys who were only interested in groping the girls round the back of the bike sheds doesn't mean he was gay. Later, after leaving sixth form, Marge enrolled at the local college, settling for a course that wasn't going to require good grammar or a head for figures. She took a "Hair and Beauty course", and dropped out midway, in the second year. She recalled Brian, already had a job over at the pump factory. She liked Friday's. That was when Brian was there. He was doing a part-time engineering course. They would meet up at lunchtime. Ted never liked her meeting Brian. He told her once, "That faggot ever lays a finger on you Marge I'll punch his lights out". Of course, that never happened. Brian was always too polite to make a move on her, or scared. She wouldn't have minded though, he wasn't bad looking. He'd have had more success with the girls if only he wore clothes that were a bit more with it. Ted and the others boys were all proved wrong when Brian took up with that floosy that he went and married... that tart who can never keep her drawers on. She's glad that gay people aren't labeled faggots these days, it's such a horrible word, Gay, that's okay. In any case, even if Brian was gay, which he clearly isn't, she imagines, it's no big deal these days. People get treated equal... except of course in some societies. For Marge the world can't change quickly enough, and Ted can't shut up quickly enough. 'Brian Fossett eh? ' Marge says. She's just going to have to hear it out, his tale, every morsel, stretched to disbelief, the tiniest irrelevant detail, until he shuts up or she shuts him up. Just when Ted was getting into his stride, going on about the shape of the moon, and the light drizzle, and how the bus engine didn't so good: She interrupts him.

'Do you remember how Brian and I would eat our lunch together, on the steps outside the college library. Nice boy he was.'

Looking round at his wife, who seems to be staring into space, he says, 'I remember you being all gooey about him. I always thought you wouldn't have minded him giving you one.'

Marge is smiling now. Let him think what he wants. She tells him. 'One time I did think that he and I would get married,' which was an outrageous lie.

Ted lays down his book and looks askew at his wife who is looking up at the celling as if she can see the stars. He doesn't believe a word of that. Marge must be having him on. He's not about to get sidetracked.

'Anyway. Before you rudely interrupted me, I was getting to the best bit. Brian had his little dog with him, the Westie. He was wearing a blue collar, the dog that is, not Brian, anyway, that's not what I wanted to say, its just that if it was me, had the dog which it wasn't, I would have put a red collar on him....'

Marge sighs.

'To cut a long story short, Brian and his dog... did I mention the dogs collar, didn't look right, they get on at the bus stop right outside the hospital gates, not the gates the ambulances go in, the other ones, at the far end of Marshall Street. Anyway, you would not believe the state he was in. I am telling you Marge; his face was like he had been in a train wreck. So, I say to him, joking like: "you been in a fight? Which was funny, what with him being a coward and that.'

'Why do you say he's a coward?' Marge says heatedly. 'Just cos a man doesn't like violence doesn't make him a coward. Besides, you can't talk Ted Brewster,' Marge reminds him, 'it wasn't that long ago that you ran out the supermarket when that big Irish guy had a go at you for ogling his wife.'

'Ah but that was different. I had a bad back at the time, don't you remember?'

No she doesn't.

'Anyway, as I was saying, if you wouldn't mind not keep interrupting me, I says to him, was it your missus did that to you? Caught you in the arms of another woman did she? That's what I said to him. I was Joking of course. Brian Fossett wouldn't have it in him.'

'You don't know that Ted Brewster. You don't know what the man is capable of. ' Marge is thinking back to the time she bumped into him in Asda. It must be two years ago now. He was still acting shy, shuffling his feet, and looking about him. That's when Marge spotted his wife, heard her, actually, laughing out loud and flirting with the store manager. Marge could never understand how a nice man like Brian Fossett would ever marry someone so obviously, immoral! For some inexplicable reason Marge has retained a clear memory of that brief exchange. They had bumped into each other in the veg aisle. He was pushing a shopping cart.

'Look at you Brian Fossett, all grown up.' She remembers how he looked kind of well built, without going to fat. He smiled back and said.

'Hello Marge, it's been a while. Must be what, ten years since we last spoke?'

'It's been fourteen years actually. 'You got married then?'

'Yeah, to Sue, I don't think you ever met her, you'd remember her if you had.' It sounded rueful.

She knows Sue Fossett. Marge had seen the woman in the High Street, mutton dressed up as lamb, or as he Mum would say, "All fur and no knickers". 'I have never met her to speak to, just seen her about in town.'

'She's here somewhere.' Brian says looking about him nervously.

Marge got the feeling he didn't want his wife to catch the two of them talking. Fuck her.

'You haven't changed much Brian; got taller, filled out a bit... in a good way I mean.' Marge adds quickly. 'This takes me back to our college days. Remember when on a Friday we would meet on the steps outside the college library and eat our packed lunch. I always admired the lunches your Mum used to make for you, and I always had bread and cheese, and you'd share some of yours with me.'

He was smiling right up to the time when he heard Sue laughing right out loud on the other side of the Dairy aisle. She was flirting with the store manager again. It's the only reason she comes shopping, that and because she has to pay at the checkout because she don't trust him with a bankcard. He was taken aback when Marge says to him.

'You got time for a coffee?' She had said to him half turning, and about to head off to the store coffee shop, half expecting him to say, yes that would be lovely, only he didn't. He looked at his watch and then looked over to his wife who was now at Deli section and saying something inappropriate to some guy that she just met.

'Sorry,' he said. I got to get this shopping done. I got a lot on today. I hate to run off like this Marge. It's been lovely seeing you again.'

Him rushing off like that left Marge feeling disappointed, but also sad, sad that the man couldn't talk to an old friend without him worrying about how his wife would react. It's not like the two of them were having it off in the bacon and cured pork aisle!

Marge has never told her husband that she and Brian had met up. Ted always acted as if he was jealous of the man. Ted going on about this floosy Sue, the one with the big mouth and tits to match, has annoyed her. She is now thinking, how would he like it if she was to go on about some man that she just met, and then spout off about how sexy he was, see how he likes it. That'll teach him not to come home and brag to her about the tasty sort that got on his bus today, like she even cares.

'Did I ever tell you that Brian and I met up?' Marge says deliberately keeping back the information that this was a couple of years ago.

Ted's head swings about. 'What you and Fossett? What, as in a date?'

'It was nice actually. He's turned into such a nice man, and quite hunky. He seems to have lost all that shyness. Came right up to me, gave me a hug and kissed me on both cheeks. Made my knees go wobbly Ted, and I aint had that happen for a while.' That'll teach him. Him going on about Sue Fossett, saying how he wouldn't mind giving her one, not that he'd stand a chance these days, what with him being overweight, balding and boring as hell.

Ted is shaken by this revelation. 'You and Brian met up? What– the two of you– what– you went out for a drink or something?'

'There was nothing in it Ted, we just met up an chatted.' She never said it was just a couple of minutes in a supermarket aisle.

' So why keep it a secret?'

'How's it a secret when I just told you?'

She was about to put him straight, relieve him of his misery, when he says to her.

'You should see his missus Marge.' Ted says thinking to pay her back, 'got a rack on her that one, and she knows how to waggle it. Not that I would take much notice. Nice legs too. I could never figure out how Brian managed to pull such a tasty sort.'

'Fancy her do you Ted Brewster, you'd give her one would you, that's what you always say, not that you'd ever get the chance.'

'Oh, that's rich,' Ted whines, 'coming from my wife, who has been seeing another man, and now wants to throw it up in my face.' His wife's expression is giving nothing away. There is a hint of a smile on her lips. Is this a wind up?

'It was just pleasant Ted. Why does it always have to be about sex with you? Can't two people be close and not get into that?'

Ted snaps back, 'ooh, pleasant was it? How touching. Fancy him do you? Listen,' He tells her pointing a finger at his chest, 'us men, we know about other men, we have to, it's part of human nature. When two men meet up, they size each other up. One of us straight away knows who's top dog and the other one, he adopts a passive, submissive role, the same way dogs do.'

So, which one are you Ted? You're a top dog are you?' Marge laughs out loud.

'I'll show you who is top dog, you cheeky cow.' Ted says laughing now. Before she can clamp her thighs together, his hand slips up inside her nightie.

'Oi, I'll be having none of that hanky-panky Ted Brewster.' Marge says but doesn't push her husband off her or make a fuss when he rolls on top of her

Afterwards, Ted had his back to her and was snoring, not too loud, for a change. Marge was thinking that was actually quite enjoyable. Maybe he'd caught her in the right mood. Marge fell asleep with Brian Fossett still on her mind.

Grateful for the free ride home hopping off the bus at the top of Acacia Avenue, Brian calls out thanks to Ted Brewster. Approaching number 42, there are no lights on in the house. Sue and the kids are either asleep or are not home at all. That suited him. He doesn't want them seeing him in this state. Sue will only sneer ate him, Sean would just laugh, and Carla, she's so selfish, most likely she wouldn't even notice.

When he turns on the hall light, he sees a line of overstuffed black bin bags along the wall. His first thoughts were, these must be full of Sue's stuff and that she has been having a clear out of her wardrobe. He groans when he checks inside the first bag and recognises his own clothes. The rest of the bags are full of his belongings. She wasn't joking when she said she wanted him out. Surprisingly he couldn't care less.

'It looks like we've got the house to ourselves Jock.' Brian says bending to unclip the dog's lead. 'You go get a drink while I fix you some nice doggie food.'

Standing by the back door, Brian waits while Jock sniffs out the best place on the lawn to take a dump. A stiff easterly breeze stings the cuts on face. Jock lays a landmine on the grass, turns his back on it, and scratches up a bit more lawn.

Jock was settled in his bed when Brian goes on the hunt for painkillers. He finds some in the crockery cupboard and takes two. Taking a mug of tea into the lounge, he flops down on the sofa. He's thinking he couldn't possibly go back to sleeping alongside her, not now. Not ever.

Having to be careful of his painful swollen lips Brian, sipping his tea, casts his eyes around the living room that he's known and loved all his life. Now, all of a sudden it feels unfamiliar. It's as if Sue's very presence in the house that his parents left him has desecrated his memory of them.

Thinking back to when he met Sue in that memorial hall, at his parents wake, and then later when they had sex up in his bedroom, which is now Sean's room, he now understands that what he thought was love, was no more than infatuation. Back then to discover that here was a female, and a very attractive and sexy one at that, who found him attractive, came as a huge sense of relief to him. He was smitten, not by love, but by lust. Sue knew exactly what she was doing when she wooed him. He was still grieving for the loss of his parents. He was desperate for affection and aching to find someone to fill the massive gap in his life. These thoughts now make him angry. Finding out she that she seduced him into marrying her so that she stood a chance of getting Olga's estate was cruel. Well now that she has told him the truth about her affair with Dodds, something that he was beginning to suspect, he can move on. He's not afraid of the future. Pity he will lose this house though. That was another of her crafty ploys. They'd been married a few weeks when she tells him that she is afraid of the future, that she was afraid for her children's security. He remembers her saying

"I can hardly sleep at night worrying about my security. What if one day you were to go off me and then bring in another woman? My kids and me would be out on the streets! Can you not see how scared I am? And that is why I can't make love anymore, I am just too tired from not sleeping". That came as a shock. She seemed to be sleeping just fine. He was a light sleeper, surely he'd have known. "Tell me what I can do." He'd said to her. "I want you to feel safe. I want you and your children to regard this house as your home too. What can I do to make that happen?"

"I don't like to say it.' She told him. 'You'll think me mean. You'll not understand."

"Tell me and I promise that I will do it. You are my new wife and there is nothing that I wouldn't do to make you happy."

"I think... and I hate to say this. But it would mean so much to me and it would prove to me that you really do love me, if you was to give me the best wedding present a girl could ever ask for."

"If I can afford it, it's yours." He'd said, taken in by her ploy completely.

"For me to feel safe here. I would need my name on the deeds." Then biting her bottom lip she gave him that coy, little –girl-lost look of hers. "Then you and I can go back to be the loving couple we were, you'd want that Brian wouldn't you?"

He remembers his head was nodding before he said, "Well... if that would help. Of course I will."

"Oh Brian I do love you so."

Shit!

Back in the here and now sitting on the sofa the pain in his face easing, the painkillers working, he could kick himself. She gave him a blowjob that night. Two days later, she surprised him when she said she'd made an appointment for the two of them to go to the solicitors to sign some papers. It was the deeds to the house. Dumbly he signed the house over to her without even realising what she was up to.

It hurts his face to grimace but the pain was the penance for his own stupidity. Sue now owns this house and there is nothing he can do about it. She was pretty quick in reminding him of that fact only yesterday. It came as a shock. How could he have forgotten?

He could never have imagined the day would come when he would be forced to leave the house that he grew up in. Brian heaves a huge sigh and tells himself, does it really matter? What's important is looking after the people in your life that you care about, everything else is just stuff. An image of Lucy floating around at the back of his mind comes to the fore. He can hear her voice now. He can see her smiling eyes and he can feel her healing hands tending the juries on his face.

Now, lying back on the sofa Brian pulls the duvet up under his chin. Jock jumps up and settles at his feet. He reaches down and ruffles the dog's head. Brian has never been a man taken with religion, but he says a silent prayer asking that Charlie will come through this. Before sleeps overtakes him, as if she was a guardian angel, an image of Lucy drifts into his mind.

Eight the following morning Brian wakes and stretches his arms. He winces. When he stands, his ribs don't hurt quite as bad as yesterday. Until he checks his face in the mirror, he won't know if he looks anymore respectable. Folding up the duvet it feels weird him not having to go into the factory ever again. That thought is scary and liberating, scary because he hasn't a bean in the bank and only a few quid in his pocket? He is thinking about Charlie now. Lucy hasn't rung him; he'd been expecting her to call him to pass on the news that Charlie had passed away. Now he's thinking that no news has to be good news. He needs to get over to the hospital. This waiting around for news of his friend is killing him. He wont bother having breakfast and Jock can have his walk later. He will make it up to him by taking him to the woods. Jock loves the woods. Brian would take him there more often but it's such a fuss teasing out the bits of weeds that get tangled in his fur.

Going up the stairs hurt his ribs, and he needed the handrail for support. When he checked his face in the mirror, he was surprised to see some improvement. Lucy had done a good job of patching him up. Brian showers and then shaves. Cleaning his teeth made his gums bleed so he settles for a rinse with a mouthwash.

When he checks the bedrooms, he finds that none of the beds have been slept in. He imagines that Sue must be with Dodds somewhere and there's nothing odd about the kids not coming home, Sean and Lucy often stay out for days on end.

He has made up his mind there will be no prevaricating. A far as he is concerned their marriage is over. Just thinking about that seems to have cleansing effect on his being, like when you get caught in a hot summer storm. No more will he have to lie awake at night worrying about where Sue is, or who she might be with, no more will he be treading on eggshells around her waiting to get his head bitten off for some minor transgression. The more he thinks about this the more he feels liberated. It's as if a heavy burden has been lifted off his shoulders. His world that has been out of alignment for so long now feels corrected. Sue has made her bed and now she must lie in it. That was when It occurred to him that with Sue wanting him out the house he might now have to occupy the park bench that used to be Charlie's. How ironic that would be! That reminds him: I must get over to the park and collect up Charlie's stuff before the park keepers clear it away. He may have a few personal effects among that stuff that he'd hate to lose... that's if he pulls through. That thought makes his blood run cold. He doesn't want to even think about it. I need to get over to the hospital he tells himself.

In the hallway, Brian rummages through a couple of bins bags and digs out a change of clothes. He can't be bothered ironing them. He'll just have to go to the hospital wearing crumpled clothes.

Fortunately, there is some warmth to the late March sun set in a clear blue sky. A blackbird is singing in an acacia tree right outside his house, the bird seems to be singing just for the enjoyment of it. With a cash flow crisis looming Brian has decided he'd better walk the five miles to the Tawny West General. With the hospital now in sight a deep sense of dread settles on him. Passing through the main doors and approaching the reception desk there is no sign of Mary this morning, he is holding his breath, expecting the woman smartly dressed in a crisp uniform to tell he him to wait there and a doctor will come and explain that his friend passed away last night. His knees go weak when he is told.

'Mr Parker was moved across to Intensive Care last night. Just follow the signs and head for the West Wing. He is in room 3.'

After thanking the receptionist, with a spring in his step, Brian heads over to a lobby with several corridors leading off it. It takes him a while to work out the one that should eventually lead to the ICU, even then he gets lost a couple of times. Finally, a hospital porter points him in the right direction.

There it is. "ICU".

He can hardly breath past a tight knot in his throat when he pushes through the double doors of the ICU. UP ahead he can see the nurse's station. Several nurses are chatting while filling in forms. He can't see nurse Lucy. It flashes into his mind, she may not work on the ICU, and even if she did, she may not be working today. Dummy, you should have thought to ask her.

'Excuse me. I am here to visit Charlie parker.' Brian gets the attention of a young nurse.

When nurse Belinda Cooper looks up at the visitor and sees the mess his face is in it takes her by surprise.

Brian sees her eyes widen. He'd forgotten that his face must look a mess. 'Can you tell me, are there set visiting hours or is it okay if I just pop in?'

When the nurse looks at him as if she is unsure what to say Brian can feel a cold sweat course down his spine. No, he is thinking, 'What, 'he says feeling he might cry, 'did he die?'

'No, Mr Parker is in the post-op recovery ward. He hasn't come round yet but you can pop in for a minute but don't stay too long.' Nurse Cooper points to his right. 'End of the corridor room 3.'

Taking a deep breath Brian goes straight into room three. Last time he saw his friend was at the park and Charlie was at deaths door, frozen stiff and barely breathing. Presumably, to get the oxygen mask to fit over his nose and mouth someone has trimmed his hair and his beard. He has never seen Charlie without him being swathed in old clothes, mostly, Brian's cast-offs or stuff that he was given by his neighbours. Charlie looks as pale as a ghost and much thinner than he remembers. The poor old guy looks nothing like the wizened old man who would growl at him. Brian has to step to one side while a nurse, quite young this one, changes Charlie's IV drip.

'How is he?' He asks timidly.

The nurse pauses, it was as if she needed to be careful how she replied. 'Heee's sort of okay, I guess.'

'So not good I take it?'

'I'm afraid I can't really tell you a lot, I'm a student nurse you see and not actually able to say. His assigned nurse is on a break right now but if you can wait a while and ask Lucy, how he's doing she can fill you in.'

'Lucy Bedwell?' Brian says a little too excitedly. He hadn't wanted to sound as if he and Lucy were on first name terms.

'Frankly, we didn't expect him to last the night.' The student nurse says while writing on the patient's bedside notes. 'Does Mr Parker have any family?' She only asked this because the battered man standing talking to her is the only person who has made any enquiries about his condition.

'Charlie and I have been really close friends for twelve years and I know that his wife died some time ago. They never had children and he has never spoken of any relatives, so I guess the answer is no he doesn't have any family.'

'Aw!' The nurse says. 'That's a shame, but he has a good friend in you.' The visitor was now in her way. 'Excuse me, can I please ask you to sit over there?' She points to a plastic chair similar to the torture implement he was acquainted with in the waiting area.

He sits down and then enquires. 'Do you have visiting hours?'

The nurse was at the door about to leave when she says, 'patients that are critically ill can have visitors any time.'

Alone now, just the two of them, Brian reaches out and gently folds his hand around Charlie's. He hadn't expected it to feel warm.

Neurologist, Simon Walberton, the surgeon who carried out the procedure to remove the bullet thought the operation had gone as well as expected. They found a worrying degree of damage to the left hemisphere of the cerebral cortex, which meant he might not come out of the coma at all. The consensus of the clinical team was that even if the patient were to regain consciousness most likely there would be severe brain impairment.

Early neurological examinations for nerve damage proved inconclusive. Brain activity seemed to be minimal and they would need the patient to be conscious before a proper examination of nerve function can take place. It was decided to keep the patient in the ICU until they were able to carry out further tests.

The struggle to get patients through the hospital system is a perennial problem across the whole of the NHS, and it is no different for Tawny West General. At the moment, there is no great pressure on the ICU for beds, although that could change overnight. Patients like Charlie Parker can pose a problem in the sense it is often heartbreaking having those discussions with relatives, and friends, over the decision to withdraw all life support systems. Charlie Parker is critically ill and unlikely to come out of the coma he is in, so what should be done? To clarify the hospital policy on this delicate matter the Chief Executive of the hospital circulated an official protocol, one that was to be adhered to by all staff: Clinical staff must move patients efficiently through the system. Hospital form: 217B "Cessation of treatment consent" explains this in detail. "With regard to patients who rely entirely on life support systems, where two or more clinical consultants or two or more registrars agree that a patient is beyond recovery, after obtaining the signature of a relative, there is to be a complete cessation of clinical intervention. Where no such relative is available the signature of a close friend will suffice."

On Charlie's notes under the heading: "Known relatives or friends," someone has written: "None".

After sitting in a hard plastic chair for hours, his bottom almost numb from discomfort, Brian is worrying about Charlie's belongings that got left behind at the park. Although it's unlikely that anyone would want to steal his stuff, there has been this running battle between Brian and the two park keepers who have been threatening to have Charlie thrown out the park and have his stuff put in the skip.

Not wanting to embarrass the old guy, without Charlie's knowledge, Brian struck a deal with the park keeper known as Mick O Dowd. The deal was, for five quid, Brian would be allowed four weeks in which to find Charlie somewhere else to live. His first port of call was at the Tawny West Council Offices. The council made their position clear, they want nothing to do with the problem, which they see as Brian's. If he wants to find the old chap a flat, or a room, that's up to him, but the rules say, unless he is over the age of sixty-five, or he has some kind of disability, he doesn't qualify for a council flat.

Patting Charlie's hand Brian says. 'I wont be long old-timer, just don't wander off. I'll pop back and see you later.'

Brian was lucky he got there when he did. Park keepers Mick O Dowd and his mate Dennis Carter were already stuffing Charlie's belongings into rubbish bags.

'Hey! Stop that... stop.' Brian yells out sprinting across the grass.

If these two jokers are going to welch on the deal he will have his money back. A fiver is a lot of money to Brian. It's half his weekly allowance.

Upon reaching the bench, Brian snatches from Dennis's hand a bin bag full of Charlie's belongings. Breathless he turns on the other one. 'What are you doing Mick? We had a deal. I gave you five quid in return for four weeks grace to find Charlie somewhere to live so you just put his stuff down.'

Dennis gives Mick a look. 'Ere wots this abut a fiver? You kept quiet about that me old son.'

Ignoring Dennis, Mick says to Brian, 'that was three weeks ago Brian, and have you found him a place, no, and I've heard all this before. Dennis and I can't keep turning a blind eye to your mate sleeping here, besides, he's dead aint he, so what the point?' Mick takes a step back when he sees Brian's face darken. He doesn't like the look Brian gives him.

'Dead! Charlie isn't dead! He's just a bit unwell.' Brian says now snatching back from Mick another bag of Charlie's belongings.

'That's not what we heard mate.' Dennis contributes. 'We heard that he died. Didn't we Mick?'

'Well he is not dead,' Brian insists, 'so you jolly well leave his stuff here. He will need it when he comes home.'

'Home! Hello!' Mick says, spittle flicking through his moustache. 'You cant call a park bench a home. Besides, Charlie's not coming back. Don't you get it? He's dead... sorry.'

Seeing the look of denial on Brian's face Mick throws his hands in the air.

'Okay,' he says exasperated. 'Dennis and me, we'll go off and get some lunch. We will come back at three, which should give you enough time to take what you want from this pile of crap. When we come back, the lot of it is going in the bin, no arguments.' Mick drops the bin bags on the grass and turns to his mate.

'Come on Den. Lets go get a cuppa, leave this plonker to rummage through this heap of crap.'

Lying on the bench Charlie's army greatcoat looks like a fallen warrior. The jumble of belongings now spilled out on the grass brings a painful lump to his throat. Brian feels uncomfortable picking through the belongings of a man known for his secrecy.

Looking down on the detritus of Charlie's life, he wonders how any person could choose to live like this. Perhaps, he wonders, Charlie and others like him, sleeping rough in doorways, under arches and on park benches feel they don't have a choice. Maybe, where their life is right now, without having someone to help them get on their feet, this is the best they can do.

His eyes watery now, settle on Charlie's baccy tin. In his hand, it feels aged, and wear-shiny. From under the bench, he retrieves a box of matches and a stained mug with a faded image of Princess Diana. Brian sniffs. He is finding this hard.

When he upturns the canvas kit bag to empty it he notices printed in black letters on the base the name: SGT. C Parker. RN. 3 SBS. At least that confirms Charlie's names. Brian wonders about the other letters that make no immediate sense to him.

Picking through Charlie's belongings Brian concludes actually, what is here is not worth keeping. All the clothes and blankets can go. He'll hang onto the personal items and Mick and Dennis can have the rest.

Turning his back for the very last time and walking away from the bench that was Charlie's home for the past twelve years brings tears to his eyes. He daren't look back. Brian was by the park gates now, and out of sight of the bench and the heap of rags, that he left piled on the grass. Thinking he should check the few items that he had rescued he sat down heavily on the ground. He had with him, the Princess Diana mug, the baccy tin, and a heavy oilskin wrap that fell out of the kitbag.

Brian looks about him before turning his attention to untying the canvas string that secured the bundle. Inside this, he finds two smaller packages both of equal size and shape. The heavier of the two rattles when he shakes it. He unwraps this one first. It contains a handful of medals. Three of these appear to be silver, one of which is larger than the others. There are also two bronze medals. Reading the inscription on the larger of the two silver medals he is astonished to read: Charles Parker: Silver medal: Freestyle event: European Swimming Championships: 1964.

When he reads the inscription on the edge of the other medals, his eyes go wide. These are military medals awarded to Sgt, Charles Parker. Brian wonders what wars Charlie might have fought in. The lighter of the two packages, when he unwraps it, contained a bundle of faded documents. These all referred to Charlie's military service. Brian arches his eyebrows when he reads these were citations for bravery. There was no mention of what armed conflicts he'd been involved in but these medals show he was right in thinking that perhaps Charlie had been in the military at one time. But why, would he want to keep his army career a secret? He feels sad that if Charlie were to die, no one other than him would ever know that at one time, before he dropped out of society and became a tramp he'd been a hero. After returning the medals and the citation documents safely to their oilskin wraps, he pops the package in the inside pocket of his coat.

Turning left outside the park gates Brian heads for home, there are things that he needs to attend to there. He brushes away the tears falling down his bruised cheeks.

He's not looking forward to the conversation that he and Sue need to have about their future. Most likely, they will have words and yet again, he won't get to use his. He is thinking that perhaps he can appeal to Sue's better nature, if she has one. He is hoping that she can see the injustice of her decision to evict him from the house that his parents bequeathed him. They also need to discuss the terms of the divorce. He is definite about that. Her admission that she has been having this ongoing affair with Dodds is the last straw.

The walk home allows him time for sombre reflection. So much has happened in just the last few days. It all kicked off with Olga dying. Sue changed right after that. She began staying out all night and acting weird towards him, next thing to happen was he catches the two of them having sex up in their office, and that led to the fight, not really a fight at all, more the case he got beat up. Then Sue tells him, they are finished and she wants him out the house, and then before he can get his breath back, he discovers Charlie in a coma and at deaths door. None of that matters, not really, all that really matters is that Charlie pulls through. If he were to lose Charlie it would be like the end of everything, and then his eczema was sure to flare up.

When he turns the corner at the end of his street the yellow pendant blooms on the Laburnham trees reminds him that beauty can be to be found in the deepest shadows... and there is always hope. He keeps getting images of Lucy's face popping into his head. Something about the way she invades his thoughts is deeply troubling, but not in a bad way.

At his front door, he fishes out his keys and thinks surely Sue won't have changed the locks!

She hadn't.

Recalling his Mum's phrase, throw your hat in the door and see if it comes back, he stands on the threshold and calls out. 'Hello, anyone home?'

No answer.

Feeling exhausted, ten past twelve, Brian flops down on the sofa and closes his eyes. He wakes with a jolt at five-past four in the afternoon. Getting up off the sofa was painful. He seems to be hurting in places he never knew he had. Taking it slow, he stretches the crick in his back and then tests his arms and legs. He does a circuit of the room. Everything seems to be working, and walking seems to free him up, a little.

Out in the hall, he can hear Jock snoring loudly in his bed in the kitchen. Brian feels guilty that with all that has been going on he hasn't been giving his old pal much attention, he really should take him over to the park, and then he thinks that wouldn't be a good idea, not with Charlie not being there.

Looking in on him and finding the aged dog still asleep, he whispers, 'you stay there, Jock. I'll be back later to take you out.'

At the top of his road, Brian needed to sprint to catch the bus number 12 that stops right outside the hospital gates. Settled on the back seat Brian counts the few coins in his hand. Three pounds ninety, and he cant see any prospect of any money coming in any time soon. Asking Sue for another advance on his allowance was out of the question. His pride won't allow him to go groveling at her feet begging, giving her the opportunity to laugh in his face. He tells himself, something will come along, you'll see. It always does, nothing stays bad forever. That's what his Mum taught him. "See

those black clouds up there", she would say pointing up at a miserable sky, "above those clouds is the bluest sky you ever saw, and clouds are always heading off somewhere. You see Brian dark days never last long."

Looking out the window of the bus, his mind is not taking in the scenery. He is trying to suppress a surge of anger rising up inside him directed at the man who beat him up, screwed his wife and then sacked him. Except it's more than just that. The anger is also rooted in the years of bullying and belittling he endured. He is also angry with himself for taking all that shit. A reckless part of him is telling him, you could have taken him you know. Dodds has grown soft on cigars and champagne, he is not the pro-boxer he once was. He's has been using his past glory to frighten people like you. You could have taken him. Well that aint going to happen because I am not stupid, the man could have killed me. More immediate concerns, matters that he cannot ignore draw him back from the dangerous precipice this unfamiliar voice would have him teeter on. He needs to concentrate on the disaster his marriage has become. He's not in the least bit troubled or surprised that it has finally come to this. His marriage, such as it was, never got off the ground and it should have petered out years ago, and it would have done except he was too mule-headed to let it go. He kept thinking, if he tries harder, makes more of an effort to keep her from getting mad at him for the tiniest reason, she might actually learn to love him. Love, that's rich, what the hell is love anyway? How would he know? What he felt that night that Sue seduced him up in his bedroom, the dumb young virgin, who'd never even kissed a girl, was never love, it was lust mixed in with a massive dose of gratitude that this very sexy woman, older than he, admittedly, found him attractive. Flashbacks of Lucy back at the hospital now invade his thoughts. Like a guardian angel, it's as if she is trying to rescue him from those dangerous urges to do something about Dodds.

He doesn't want to think about Dodds but the man wont leave his head. Back of his head, a voice keeps telling him, you took a dive back there, in that boxing match, you could have had him, he's grown soft on the good life, he's no more a boxing champ than you are. 'Shut up!' He says out loud much to the consternation of an elderly lady sitting with her back to him two rows down who looks back at him before getting up and moving to a seat near the driver.

His face is hurting again, which is good because that ought to teach him that he had better steer clear of Dodds. He might have died back there in that factory. After the contest, if you could call it that, he has no recollection of a few of his workmates picking him up off the floor carrying him unconscious and bleeding out to the car park where they left him to come round sitting on the cold concrete floor, propped up against the factory wall. He remembers Wayne Tester's voice coming through a wadding of fog: "You should have gone down and stayed Brian. We were all yelling at you don't get up but you just kept getting back up and getting knocked down again. Jeez Brian, you cant fight, you twerp.' His voice then trailing off and his image ghost-like fading away Brian heard Wayne call back, 'you could have got killed mate.'

True. He could have pulled off the gloves, thrown them in Dodds face, and then walked away. He chose to stand in the middle of a crowd of his mates, who did nothing to stop Dodds pummel his face to burger meat. In his head, Brian is trying to work out what he was hoping to prove. Initially, he thought fighting Dodds was about jealousy. Now, thinking about it, Brian understands the fight was for justice and it had nothing to do with Dodds screwing his wife. This was about him, and whether he was the wimp that people said he was, this was about every bully that picked on him in school, this was about every time he should have stood up to the people in his past that rode roughshod over his feelings. He recalls something that Millie once said after she got mad at him for not standing up to the people that crap on him. 'My Nan had this saying, she would tell me, "Millie, all the time you keep worrying about the cracks in the pavement, you wont see where your life is going".

That pretty much summed up his life. It's a fact. He is a worrier. He spends his life worrying about what might happen. He has got to stop thinking, "I had better not... what if?"

Now, his hands begin to shake with rage. Now, he wants to be the hero Charlie once was. He wants to be Jake Munroe, the fictional range rider in his novel about a man who stands up to the bullying rancher and the corrupt sheriff. If he had taken these thoughts, this rage into that fight with Dodds, he might not have gone down first punch a bit like that stupid stuffed scarecrow in The Wizard Of Oz. He could have been a hero.

Second time around, I reckon I could take that piece of shit! I really do!

Yeah right! Another voice cautions him.

At the hospital, Brian learns that Charlie has been moved again. After two wrong turns down a maze of corridors he finally finds Shakespeare Ward. Walking into the small side room Charlie now occupies he exchanges a brief smile with the nurse replacing an IV bag attached to a cannula in the back of Charlie's hand.

'How's he been?' Brian enquires scared to hear the answer.

'No change, I'm afraid.' The nurse says looking his way, her eyes sad. At the door she says, 'I'll leave you two alone. If you need anything I will be at the nurses station.'

Pulling a chair close to Charlie's bed Brian settles down for another bedside vigil. For the next couple of hours Brian watches the steady pulse of the heart monitor. Occasionally one or other of the nurses would pop in to check on their patient, and without fail, with each visitation, he feels disappointed it wasn't nurse Lucy coming in.

Despite the agonies of the unforgiving plastic chair, Brian did mange to drift off into a fitful sleep. After an hour, he wakes with cramp in his buttocks. Grimacing, he stands and walks the tiny floor area. This helps ease the crick in his back. When he looks down at Charlie, he can see no discernable change. It's now six in the evening. He rolls his tongue around his dry mouth and pats Charlie's hand.

'Be back in a mo colonel, I'm going to get me a coffee. I don't want you going anywhere.' That was the kind of thing they would say to each other. Had he been conscious Charlie would have appreciated the humour.

The hospital café staffed by elderly volunteers was a good ten minutes walk from Charlie's room. The short trip, getting out of the cloying atmosphere in there helped clear his head. What didn't help was every nurse he encounters wasn't Lucy. He has a word with himself. This is getting obsessive. It's okay, he now tells himself, and it's probably quite normal for him to have these gushy feelings just being around her. It's because she is a nurse and she is a caring person. Very quickly, these feelings will pass and then he can get on with being his old boring self again. That doesn't make him feel good. It feels bad.

Eighty pee for a styrene mug of tepid coffee out of a vending machine, because the cafe's coffee making machine has broken down... again, has left his finances in a worrying state of depletion. He is thinking he should have asked for a glass of tap water. He shrugs. The caffeine might give him a much-needed energy boost.

Worried about Charlie he doesn't hang about in the café. Twenty yards from the ICU side room he hears raised voices. He picks up his pace. When he bursts into the room, gathered around Charlie's bed was a doctor that he'd never met before, a black man, who looks to be African, a Ward Sister, who he later learns was Bridgette Clancy who as well as being a close friend of Lucy's, is also her supervisor, and Lucy.

'What's going on?' He asks Lucy, happy to see her face.

'Hello Brian,' Lucy says giving him a smile.

The tension in the room is palpable. He senses the doctor is about to give him bad news. He looks from one face to the other. 'Lucy,' he says, 'what's all the shouting about?'

Lucy introduces the doctor. 'Brian, This is Doctor Umbangwe, and he and I have been having a frank exchange of views regarding your friend's prognosis.'

Nudging Lucy aside, the doctor extends his right hand.

Taking Umbangwe's hand it feels felt scaly, like a dead fish.

'I'm afraid I have bad news, regarding your friend.' Umbangwe says in the way African people talk with the words rising and falling in the oddest of places. Definitely African, Brian thinks.

'If you would care to sit down, Mr Fossett, I will explain what I plan to do.'

Brian doesn't want to sit down. He wants to hear what the man has to say. 'No thanks, just tell me what is going on.' Just in case, Brian catches hold of the iron rail around Charlie's bed.

Just from how the doctor is keeping a clipboard pressed close to his chest, Brian senses it must hold bad news.

Umbangwe focuses his ebony eyes set in a chalky white pool on the man that looks like trouble. He coughs before continuing. 'Ahem, having exhausted every means to recover Mr Parker, regrettably he has not responded. Your friend is only being kept alive artificially. The equipment you see around you is maintaining his vital organs' without which Mr Parker cannot possibly survive...'

'With respect doctor...' Lucy chimes in.

'Don't interrupt me, nurse Bedwell.' Umbangwe snaps irritably holding the flat of his hand up to the nurse's face. 'As I was about to explain Mr Fossett, your friend is quite dead.'

'Doctor Umbangwe,' Lucy says tugging angrily at the Ward Sister's grip on the hem of her uniform top.'

'Be quiet nurse.' Umbangwe snaps back. 'Sister, would you kindly send Nurse Bedwell away, have her go tend to her other patients.'

'Lucy,' Bridgette Clancy says now anxious to prevent her junior and best friend from getting into more hot water. 'Please let me handle this.'

Seeing Brian flinch and his face go ashen, thinking only of the welfare of her patient, ignoring Bridgette's advice, Lucy now goes on the offensive. 'With respect doctor, we have yet to establish that fact. The monitors are showing signs of brain activity.'

'That is nothing more than background activity. This man is deceased.' Umbangwe insists thrusting the clipboard and a pen into Brian Fossett's chest. 'You must sign where I have indicated with a cross.'

'What am I signing? ' Brian now finds his voice.

'It is a consent form.'

'Consent! What am I consenting to?'

'I need your consent for the cessation of treatment. It is time for your friend here to die with dignity.' Tapping forcibly on the clipboard Umbangwe insists, 'sign please... there.'

Brian has no intention of signing his consent form... unless of course Lucy says that he should. Umbangwe is thinking this is the fault of this irritating, nurse Bedwell, and he intends to make a formal complaint against her.

His voice going up an octave Doctor Umbangwe insists, 'Mr Fossett, form 217B very clearly dictates hospital policy in these matters. You have to sign.'

Seeing Lucy shaking her head, Brian say's, 'I'm sorry doctor, but I insist on having a second opinion.'

Snatching the clipboard out of Umbangwe's hands Lucy says, 'can I see that?' Now, tapping the paperwork with her index finger, right under the doctor's nose, Lucy' points out, 'do you see this paragraph here, Doctor, the one that says, "before the withdrawal of life support systems two or more clinical consultants or two or more registrars must agree that a patient is beyond recovery".

Two black orbs stare dumbly at the nurse. Umbangwe had forgotten that bit.

'I can see only your signature see on this form doctor. Had it slipped your memory that you would need to have two senior doctors to sign it before you present it to the family member, or as in this case, the patient's close friend, hmm? Perhaps you were thinking that in the case of this elderly gentleman who has no relatives and sleeps rough on a park bench it is perfectly acceptable to flout hospital procedures?'

'I wasn't...' Umbangwe blusters snatching back the clipboard. 'I will be back, 'He warns, 'and I will have those signatures, and I will have my form signed, and we will have this bed nurse Bedwell.'

After Umbangwe had walked out the room in a state of high dudgeon Lucy turns to Brian and says, 'I'm sorry about that.'

'But he will be back though, wanting that form signed.'

'It'll take him a good twenty-four hours to get those other signatures. Let's just hope that Charlie starts to show some signs of recovery. Fingers crossed eh.'

'You think that might be possible.'

'Honestly, I don't know Brian. It's just that I have this gut feeling.'

'And I wouldn't discount Lucy's instincts in these matters Mr Fossett.' Bridgette tells Brian. 'I've seen her be right about these things before. Sometimes I think Lucy must be bewitched.'

'Stop that Irish nonsense, Bridgette.' Lucy laughs.

'Have I got you into trouble?' Brian asks Lucy. She laughs at that.

'No. Not at all,' She says with a wry grin. 'I am perfectly capable of getting into all sorts of trouble, completely unaided.'

'I'd better get going Lucy.' Bridgette says with a warm smile, 'Please try, and stay out of trouble.'

Alone now, with only the comatose patient and the steady beep of the HM, Lucy studies the man who looks exhausted.

'You look like you could do with a coffee, and I bet you haven't eaten.' Lucy says. 'Come on, I'll take you down to the staff canteen, my treat. There may even be a couple of iced buns left? Charlie will be okay,' she adds seeing the worried look on Brian's face.

At the mention of food, Brian is suddenly ravenous. He's not about to argue.

Despite the fact, they hardly know each other, as if they were old friends catching up on news, they chat while they eat. Brian is surprised how relaxed he is in her company, and then thinking about that he realised that actually just being in her company was exciting. Although he wasn't planning on saying a word to Lucy about the mess his life was in, somehow the words seemed to tumble out of his mouth.

Lucy said nothing while Brian spoke about how after the fight when he got back home he found all his belongings packed up in the hallway. Listening to Brian talk about how his marriage had always been a sham, Lucy had to consider what version his wife might have come up with. Truthfully, she believed him. He came across as too genuine to be lying to her. The way he told it to her, it was with a voice tinged with sadness where she might have expected anger. At one point, he had to stop talking. When the façade of coping started to crumble, she saw it happen in his eyes. This was her cue to rescue him. Beginning slowly and starting with the first time she met David Lucy found she could talk to this man about David without falling apart. This felt weird, but only in the sense that this was the first time she has been able to do this. He said nothing while she talked. Occasionally his head would nod, and his eyes, soft grey-blue, behind the vividness of his puffy eyelids looked to her like an ocean of calm. Without realising it, Lucy was captivated by this man. When she stopped talking, his eyes had misted over. It was as if all her loss, all her hurting had crossed that narrow space between them and now her pain, dissolved, not gone, for now, is a shared burden.

Hearing Lucy talk about how she lost her husband when she had been so tragically young, and so much in love, took Brian back to when he lost both his parents. Like Lucy, that loss was devastating and he wished then and still does that he had a family to help him through that time. Marrying Sue had been a distraction. She took him when his life was at its lowest ebb, when he was left alone in the world. Sue having spotted the sad, lonely virgin, orphan, ate him up, and filled for that flake of his life the aching void in his life. Does he feel bitter about that... no. What he feels is stupid and sad.

He has her hand in his. He doesn't recall how that happened, but it feels good. He's heard it said, that when two people are attracted to each other, they subconsciously pick up on something in the past they can each relate to. Only now does it occur to him that seems highly plausible, and certainly applicable. Lucy lips curve into a smile and her fingers tighten around his hand when she says to him.

'I have to say your face now looks a lot better than it did yesterday. You look quite handsome. Anyone ever tell you that?'

Although his jaw hurts when he laughs, he doesn't show it. 'My Mum would say things like that to me.'

'Not Sue?'

He shakes his head thinking, never once has Sue ever said anything nice about him, not that he can recall at least.

Sensing that Brian isn't used to people saying nice things about him, she moves the conversation along.

'That must have been some punch-up eh!' Lucy says. 'How bad was the other guy when you last saw him?'

'Unmarked.' Brian says grinning.

'Well, Brian, I think it was valiant of you to fight over the woman you love.' Lucy says absently stirring her latte.

Brian's eyebrows arch. For reasons he has yet to understand, it seems important that he should make it clear that that wasn't the case. 'Well, no actually... I don't love Sue, and to be honest I would never have fought the man in defence of Sue's honour.' It was evident in the way that he said it that the notion of Sue having any kind of honour worth saving was preposterous. 'I think even the Three Musketeers would have balked at that prospect.'

'Then why did you fight him?'

'That's a good question Lucy and one I haven't given any thought too until now. Perhaps I was wanting to prove to myself that I am not the wimp that people say I am.'

'You are not a wimp Brian.' Lucy insists. 'Look, you stood up to him, this ex-pro boxer, and that makes you a hero in my eyes.'

Brian looks up sharply. A hero! He's never been accused of being that. One look in her eyes and he could tell she was being serious. 'Me, a hero,' he says. 'I don't think so Lucy, that'd be stretching it a bit.' He is thinking, I never saved anyone's life, I've never been a firefighter, or done anything remotely brave. Then, that doesn't rule out the possibility, given the right circumstances he couldn't do something slightly heroic. Brian finds that thought unsettling. He didn't intend that remark to sound like she oughtn't to be making such a bold statement when she hardly knows him, so he says, 'I don't know Lucy; maybe there is some truth in that. As you say I did stand up to the man, but to be honest I didn't have a lot of choice, not after I found myself hemmed in by all these jeering men. In my head, I had this plan that involved the two of us exchanging a few blows. I would humour him by playing along with the whole manly thing, and then I would walk away, maybe with a few cuts and bruises. Then, just the murderous look on his face told me that wasn't going to happen, the man wanted his pound of flesh, and most likely, I was going to get hurt. I wanted to get at least one good shot in, leave him with a bruise, or maybe a split lip if I was lucky. I'd have to take a few shots off him before I threw in the towel, as they say. The whole point of me doing this was so I could show the world and more importantly myself that I am not a wimp.'

'Only, by the state of your face I'm guessing that your plan didn't come off. Right?'

'Not quite,' Brian admits. 'From the little I remember of the fight, he was circling me, and I was struggling to keep up with him and all the while I was getting giddy. He was taunting me, flicking out punches that stopped short of my face. That's when I put my plan into action. I wanted to land a good one on that jeering face. I threw this punch, aimed at the button on the end of his nose and I put every ounce of strength I had behind it.'

'You landed a good one then? 'Lucy says wanting to hear that he left this thug with a black eye.

'To be honest Lucy, no, I didn't get a good one in. There was this red blur. His boxing glove seemed to come out of nowhere. Next thing I knew I was out in the car park covered in my own blood and hurting like you wouldn't believe.' Brian blows through his cheeks. 'The guys that work with me at the factory told me that I went down like a sack of shit, pardon my French, and it took half a dozen of them to pull him off me.'

Lucy can feel anger surging up inside her. Given the opportunity she would love to confront this bully. How so like her, always wanting to stand up for the underdog, except... slowly, inexorably, Lucy is beginning to understand there is something else going on inside her. She can feel herself being drawn into this man's world and it's utter madness, her getting involved with him, she knows that, but for now she is happy for that to happen. Despite the gravity of the situation, bubbles of excitement in her tummy want to make her smile. She had better get a grip.

In dreamy soft focus, Brian gazes into her eyes and wonders why he hasn't already beetled off, scurried away, afraid to even acknowledge the feelings going on inside of him. All he knows is he doesn't want this time, spent talking to Lucy, to ever end.

'Oh Brian, you poor thing.' Lucy says now becoming aware of her growing really fond of this man and now suddenly fearful of how this might end. They could both get hurt here. 'Where will you go if Sue does throw you out? Do you have family you can stay with?'

Thinking about that confronts Brian with the simple truth that actually, apart from Charlie there is not a soul he can turn to for help. Perhaps, over the years he'd have been better off acting more blokeish. Instead of putting all that effort into being the dutiful husband and getting no reward for it, he'd have been better off following a football team with a bunch of mates. Perhaps he should have gone down the pub a few nights in the week and play darts, except, that's not him, is it? He doesn't really care for all that tribal, macho, stuff. Does that make him a wimp? Lucy is looking at him and waiting for him to reply. What should he tell her, that he is a Johnny-no-mates and such a sad case there is no one who would take him in? He doesn't lie to her.

'Sadly, to be honest, I have no family. I don't know where I will go. I am hoping I don't end up on Charlie's bench. That'd be ironic wouldn't it?' He doesn't want Lucy worrying about him. He'll figure out something. Sounding a little more upbeat he adds, 'something will turn up but right now, all I can think about is Charlie.'

Lucy can't help but feel sorry for the man. People can be so unkind, so hurtful?

'I understand that you must be worried about Charlie Brian but you know, he is in safe hands.' Lucy says this knowing that doctor Umbangwe is at this moment hawking his form 217B around the corridors and wards looking to find a couple of consultants that are too busy to check on the patient before signing the form. 'You mustn't allow yourself to become homeless Brian. How is that going to help Charlie?' Lucy can feel herself getting all het up.

Hearing her expressing her concern for his welfare makes him feel awkward. What has he done deserving of her sympathy? Instead of him thinking about his own circumstances, dire as they are at present, typically, he is worrying about Lucy who might lose her job after her fight with the doctor.

'I hope I didn't get you into trouble with that doctor Lucy, only I couldn't bring myself to sign that damn form.'

'God no, you mustn't worry about that. I am perfectly capable of getting into hot water without any help. The staff in here, all the nurses and doctors, the receptionists and the even the porters and the cleaners are so lovely, it's just that there are a few people employed here that see patients as cattle moving through the system. I can get quite, difficult, when I see things going on that I think are unfair.'

Lucy saying that prompts Brian into thinking about the Western novel that he is halfway through reading. The hero in this is Jake Munroe, a tough Range Rider who is prepared to fight with guns and his fists against tyranny and injustice. Brian aches to be someone who can do that.

'Brian?'

'Huh?'

'I lost you there. You seemed to drift off. I imagine you must be tired.'

'Sorry, 'Brian says smiling at her and thinking that he'd love to be Lucy's hero. 'No, I'm not tired; I was just thinking that I ought to be getting home and talk to Sue about my situation. You never know, she might be reasonable about me perhaps lodging with her, just until we can work things out.'

'Do you think that's likely?'

'Not a chance,' Brian says without hesitating. "Sue treats my like I'm a bad head cold.'

'Cant have been pleasant, you living with her all these years, getting no affection, why did you put up with it?'

'I guess, there are plenty of people, stuck in marriages that are not working. It's not easy breaking up with someone you have lived with, you get set in your ways and you're a little afraid of the future.'

'And are you scared.'

'I was. Not anymore. Now, for the first time, in like–forever, I can see a better life ahead of me. I have no idea what that will be like but it has to be better than living with Sue who can't stand the sight of me.'

'It's over then,' Lucy says curious. 'You and Sue, I mean?'

'My marriage,' Brian say's finally facing up to some home truths, 'never really got off the ground. I could never figure out why the harder I tried to make our marriage work, the more Sue did everything she could to take it apart. Sue told me she never did love me and that our marriage was a sham. She admits she duped me into marrying her just so she could inherit Olga's money. At that time, having just lost both my parent's, my life was in bits. I was a pushover. I was twenty-nine years old and never even kissed a girl, let alone had sex with one. It was at my parent's wake. I had hired Sue to do the catering, and she suggested that she should call round my house later that evening to collect the money. She didn't need to do that. I had the money on me. She came round that night and before I knew what was happening she was all over me like a rash.'

'She seduced you then, knowing that you was a virgin?' Brian is nodding, looking shamefaced.

'I simply couldn't believe that this very attractive, sexy woman would want to have sex with me. I then got confused into believing lust was no different than love. Dumb eh?'

'No,' Lucy says frowning, ' you weren't dumb, you were just inexperienced, and Sue took advantage of that fact.'

'D'ya know what I recently worked out?' Brian says, 'when Sue married me, she was already panicking, believing that Olga was about to die any minute, and that was why she was in such a hurry to get married. She must have been gutted when Olga lived another twelve years, and all that time, she was stuck with me and she could do nothing about it.'

'She could have left you, and gone off with someone else.' Lucy says. 'You weren't glued to each other, and she had this, ex, boss of yours,'

'Billy Dodds.'

'Yeah him, she could have pitched in with him, let you both start up afresh?'

'Sue wouldn't risk losing out on her inheritance. I had dealings with her aunt Olga for twelve years, and the old girl was a tough old, vodka-swilling Russian who could be a nasty piece of work. Yet, this business about the clause in her Will stating that to inherit, Sue had to be married on the day of her death doesn't make sense to me. Why would she do that?'

'Was Sue flighty, when you met her?' Lucy says, thinking that she might have an idea what the aunt was hoping to achieve. 'Would you describe Sue, for instance, as a good mum to her children?'

'She loves them.'

'That's not the same as being a caring mother. Was she attentive, caring?'

Brian waggles his head unsure how to answer that one. 'Before we got married, Sean the elder of her two kids told me that often Sue would go out for the evening, leaving him to look after his sister.'

'Did she change after she married you? Did she stop going out at night after you two got married?'

'Pff' Brian scoffs. ' No. Not Sue. Me being around to look after her kids, allowed her even more freedom to go out.'

'But the kids were now safe, I mean with you now looking after them. I wonder if that is what that clause was about. Maybe Olga wanted Sue to have man in her life, a husband who would clip her wings, make her be a better mum? And did you not say anything about her gallivanting around? I would have.' Lucy says, not even questioning the fact that that here was the two of them, hardly knowing each other, and yet talking about stuff you would only talk to your best friend about.

'Yeah.' Brian says. 'You bet I did. I used to tell her that I wasn't happy about the amount of time she spent out the house going places, and that I had no idea where she was, or who she was with.'

'Then what happened?'

'She gave me an ultimatum. She told me that if I didn't stop, complaining about her going out, stop questioning her about where she was and who she was with, we was over.... Of course, Sue was never going to leave me, not until Olga passed away, that is. I should have told her, right go then, good riddance.'

'Did you ever find out where she was going, who she was seeing, was it Billy Dodds?' Brian shakes his head and says.

'This was before her and Billy Dodds got together, before he became my boss, but that is another story. Sue told me that she had joined an Am-Dram group, and that she was rehearsing for, I don't know, some production or other, something I wasn't to be involved in because I would embarrass her.'

Having picked up on something Brian said just now, Lucy had to ask. 'What did you mean just now when you said about Billy Dodds, when he became your boss, you said, "but that's another story"?'

As if he needed some fresh air before he could explain, Brian blows through his lips.

'It's all speculation of course, the police looked into it, but what happened is, Lord Curmudgeon and his wife, they owned the factory and Greystone Manor and half the village, died up in Scotland. Forced off the road into a ravine, and the driver of the other car, was never traced. Their daughter, Lady Veronica took over the business. By this time she had married this ruffian she met in London, an ex- pro boxer, Billy Dodds.' Brian pauses, sees Lucy shrug her shoulders.'

'I never heard of him.' Lucy says, 'not till just then, when you mentioned him.'

'Me neither.' Brian says, 'anyway, to cut a long story short, Billy Dodds became the CEO, and that is when the bullying and the ganging up on me at work started up.'

'He encouraged it?'

'He orchestrated it.' Brian admits. 'Then a year later, Sue and I was at a New Years Eve party at the factory, when she went missing. I heard that she was up in the office with my boss. She came down the stairs looking disheveled. We had a blazing row, then the bullying got worse, and to cap it all, Billy Dodds makes her his secretary after his other one died. And yet Sue couldn't type and her spelling is atrocious.'

'She must have had some skills that he wanted I guess.' Lucy says wryly, not needing to spell it out.

'You can imagine.'

'Yeah, I could, but I'd rather not. You say his previous secretary died. That was a little convenient wasn't it?'

'Yeah you could say that. Mavis Fotheringay dying so tragically is another mystery. She fell down the iron stairs that led down from the office. It happened over a weekend when the factory was closed. No one could explain what she doing in the factory, alone, at a weekend. The police looked into that one too, but the Coroner decided it was an accidental death.'

'Gosh Brian. Do you think that this Billy Dodds might have been involved in all three deaths? And you decided to fight him!'

'I can't say that he was involved in either incident. It's only when you look at the bigger picture it makes you wonder eh? What I can say is I believe him capable of it.'

Lucy is shaking her head and thinking what're these people's lives like? She says. 'Then I am glad that you are no longer working for him. You should stay well away from him, and from what you tell me about your wife, you would do well to steer clear of her too.'

He couldn't argue with that logic. He gets a flashback. Something one of his workmates told him, while he was semi-conscious, out in the car park, just after they carried him out the factory. "We had to pull Dodds off you. We thought he was going to kill you." The room is not at all cold yet Brian shivers.

Lucy was thinking she oughtn't ask when the words just came out. 'I don't mean to pry Brian; I am just trying to understand what your life has been like. Were you and Sue, all this time, sharing a bed?' Brian didn't seem at all fazed by the question.

'We did, but only because her two grown up kids have the only other bedrooms. Then, I get to sleep on the couch quite a lot. In fact over the past six months or so, it's been most nights.' Brian can see what she was dying to ask. 'In case you're wondering, I don't mind admitting it, the last time Sue and I had sex was three weeks after we got married... and that was twelve years ago.' There he'd said it, it's out there now. He sees her eyes widen. 'I know,' Brian says embarrassed now. 'I shouldn't have put up with it. My Dad used to say to me, "when you get married Brian, and you will one day, you have to understand it is for life". So, I suppose that stuck with me.'

'Gosh!' Says Lucy wondering what exactly they each did to meet those basic needs if sex wasn't on the marriage menu, as it were? 'Sorry,' Lucy says, 'I know this is prying, but I have to ask: what you did for... you know what, if the two of you weren't getting it together. Did you each take a lover, perhaps even a series of them?' Brian emits a hollow laugh. Perhaps he should have instead of adopting this pious stance that when you make a vow, you stick to it

'I lead a celibate life Lucy.' He admits not exactly proud of it. 'At times I wanted to stray. It hasn't been easy. I have all the desires that other men have. It's just been something I put on the back burner. I never wanted to be one of those men that cheat on their wives. It's kind of a rule I have. Once I accepted the fact that Sue wanted nothing to do with me, I took it on the chin and put up with it.' Brian pauses, studies Lucy's eyes for a reaction. Her face is inscrutable. 'I do miss it though.'

'Wow!" Lucy says genuinely impressed. She would bet her wages that his wife never went without. 'And what about Sue... did she go without too?'

Brian scoffs at the suggestion. 'Yesterday, Sue came out and admitted that she was never faithful to me. She told me that from day one, she had no intention of being a faithful wife. "Why would I choose to only ever have sex with one person, when there are so many great lovers out there?"

Sounding defeated Brian says, 'The guys back at the factory used to jibe me, saying that half the men had either slept with her or she had given them blowjobs.' For Brian, what hurt more than him discovering those taunts were actually true, was he should have acted on it. Then there were a lot of things that he should have acted on. Getting shot of Sue years ago would have been a good place to start.

'I know,' he says seeing Lucy frowning, 'I should have left her years ago.'

Lucy shrugs. Then says, 'people do what they can with the resources they have at that time. Hindsight is a great teacher. I heard someone once say, and it made sense to me, that people who sleep around crave affection and sex is just a substitute for love.'

Could that be true of Sue? He wonders. 'She could have got all the affection she needed from me.' Brian protests.

'Then that wasn't your role in her life, your function was to stick around until she picked up her inheritance.' Lucy shrugged, 'she never loved you Brian, she used you, and I find that sad. Not for her. For you.'

God, Lucy saying that made perfect sense. It was like a lightbulb going on. 'People are odd, don't you think Lucy?'

'Not odd, just complicated.' Lucy says. Brian is nodding as if he is absorbing it. Lucy is now increasingly worried about this man. A part of her wants to draw him into her arms and hold him.

It took some effort to resist taking him in her arms. Analyzing this she concludes, this is all about her having given up hope of ever having a child to nurse. There are some risky notions floating about in her head, suggestions that she oughtn't to have.

'Have you given any thoughts to where you might go if Sue goes ahead and throws you out the house?' Then the voice in her head, the one she has been trying to silence says, as if it's no big deal, he could stay at mine, just for a few days, just till he gets on his feet. I got the sofa. That's quite comfy. No, that is not a sensible idea Lucy. He might misconstrue my intentions. Lucy is being pulled around by some pretty powerful emotions. It feels as if she has lost all sense and sensibility. Then she decides there is little point in her trying to self-analyze. She should just go with her instincts, which have always been pretty sharp. Thinking back to yesterday when she had been panicking, and scared of how she would cope with the fifth anniversary of David's death, she never for a moment thought this day would shape up like this, with her emotions all over the shop, and her head in a spin. What is going on with her? Getting involved with this man that she's known for about five minutes, (speaking figuratively) is not at all sensible, and certainly something she might not have expected from the Lucy Bedwell she was before Brian Fossett, with his cuts and bruises, breezed into her life.

He'd been thinking.

'To be honest Lucy,' Brian says, 'I know that I should be getting a grip on my situation but all I can think about is Charlie, and what on earth will I do if he was to die.' Seeing Lucy's face creased with worry he immediately puts on a brave smile and adds, 'I'll manage Lucy. People say that I am a wimp, but there is some backbone in me.' He doesn't elaborate on that. It's not his place to. Seeing her worried face, he now feels guilty. Why'd he have to go and tell her all that stuff about him and Sue on the very anniversary of her husband's death. He now feels really selfish. 'I'll be absolutely fine Lucy.' Brian says seeking to reassure her. 'You don't need to worry about me. I expect I will work something out.'

'I am worried about you Brian.'

' I know you are. However, as I say there really is no need. I can cope... I mean I will cope.' Making an effort to sound more upbeat, he rambles on. 'Don't you think it funny, how, one minute your life can seem about as disorganized as the back room of a charity shop, then, all of a sudden, something happens right out of the blue and the next thing you know, things have turned around for the better.'

Lucy's immediate reaction was to wonder if Brian was trying in a cryptic way to tell her that him, meeting her might turn his life around. Silly girly thoughts, you need to get a grip Lucy. That was when he says.

'Take my situation Lucy.' Brian says, 'Olga dying was a bad time for me. I had known her for twelve years. And while it's true, she always treated me like a servant, I never minded because she was an old lady and in an odd sort of way we seemed to...' Brian can't put what he means into words. He then says, 'Sue found it funny, her aunt dying. I was shocked. I knew Sue could be cold-hearted but the way she reacted was not nice. Then she started saying, "what did you do Brian, did you lace my poor aunt's sherry trifle with poison?" She thought that was funny, but I didn't. All I did was put perhaps a little too much sherry in it. I was horrified. Fancy her saying such a thing!'

'And what did she die of?'

'The doctor who called round said that she died of heart attack. He said she would have gone quickly and that there nothing I could have done to save her.'

'Sue wasn't the least bit upset about at her aunt dying then.' Brian scoffs at the suggestion.

'Sue, was actually giggling and trying to pull Olga's bag out of the dead woman's hands. Because Olga never let it out of her sight Sue always said Olga must be hiding something in it that has to be worth a fortune.'

'And did she find anything of value in it?' Lucy is dying to know. Brian shrugs.

'Sue took it straight up to her bedroom leaving me to deal with the corpse. Brian takes a deep breath, the muscles in his neck and shoulders feel cramped. 'Well, as my Dad used to say, that's all water under the bridge. It looks as if Sue will now get her inheritance. Her having to put up with me all these years I guess she earned it.'

'You shouldn't say that Brian,' Lucy says fiercely. 'Sue should thank her lucky stars that she had someone like you bringing in the money, fixing up the house and helping to raise her kids. How much money are we talking about, tens of thousands?'

'I really don't know Lucy, and I couldn't care less. From what she has said in the past, and I don't know if there is any truth in it, we are talking millions.'

'And to inherit this she needed to be married?'

'Yup, apparently, her aunt had a clause put in her Will that insisted Sue had to be contentedly married on the day of her death, and if Sue failed to meet this condition, the entire estate was to go to a Russian Seamen's charity. Let me tell you, that would be the worst thing to happen to her.'

'Losing the money?'

'Worse than losing the money, the thought of it going to a charity would kill her. Sue does not do

Charities. In a restaurant, or anywhere else for that matter, Sue would never leave a tip. "Fuck em," she would say, "They get paid don't they?"

Brian doesn't feel well. He thinks it's all this talk about Olga. The brutal colours on his face have darkened. He falters, thinks hard before saying. 'I'd rather not talk about Sue anymore. She and I are finished and that's the end of it. I'm not sad about my marriage going because I have a feeling that this might just be the making of me.'

Lucy bites her lip watching Brian get up off his chair set to leave. Lucy takes a deep breath and tries to calm her clamouring heart. Her emotions, already in turmoil is telling her to stop him leaving. His boss and this awful wife of his, sound capable of doing anything. He could get hurt. If she is serious about him staying at hers, then she should just come out and say it.

Only she doesn't.

'I suppose I had better be going Lucy. It's been great chatting with you. I could stay here all day, but that wont get things fixed. I do have to go home and face the music.'

Tell him. Tell him that he doesn't have to go. Tell him he can stay at yours. The voice in her head is so loud she might have vocalised it.

Only she didn't.

Lucy watches him grab hold of the door handle. Her heart stalls. As if he was in two minds, he hesitates. She is hoping... and then he half opens it. She feels a little giddy. Then he comes back to her and sits back down at the table. When she sighs it sounds like the tide rushing out. She doesn't bother to hide her glee, nor, does she want to question her emotions that are like wheat blown around in a breeze. For far too long Lucy has yearned to feel this way and now that she does, she is not going to fight it. If this man, with his broken face can melt her heart, then so be it. Her hand reaches across the table takes hold of his.

'Can I,' he says, and then hesitates, 'I was wondering... would you mind... could I possibly give you my home phone number so, we can keep in touch, then if anything changes, with Charlie, I mean, perhaps you could give me a call?'

Lucy feels her cheeks heat up. Pen... get your pen. Regardless of the outcome for his friend Lucy would love to keep in touch with him. Her clamouring heart seems to do a somersault. Her eyes speak volumes when she smiles at his bruised face that tells her he too doesn't want this moment to end.

'I'd love to keep in touch.' Lucy says retrieving her pen from her blouse pocket. 'I will give you my mobile, and my home numbers.' Lucy cringes. The way that came out sounded too gushy. Lucy is thinking she needs to slow down and not let her emotions rule her head. Before she makes a complete fool of herself, Lucy decides to adopt a professional manner. That way she wont be seen to be anything other than a concerned nurse, worried for her patient.

'The minute anything changes with Charlie I will call you.' Lucy says and then balls her fist and writes, "Brian" on the back of her hand. When he reaches across the table, takes hold of her hand and her pen she tries to stop her hand shaking.

'It might be easier if I write it down.' He says printing the numbers on her trembling hand. When he looks into her eyes for a meaning it is not fear that he sees, it is something else, something much deeper.

He has given her a landline number, most likely his home phone. It now occurs to her, what if his wife picks up the phone? She suggests, 'it might be better if you were to give me your mobile number.' When he lets go of her a hand a little too quickly and shifts awkwardly in his seat, she wonders what's wrong. Then she works out, he doesn't have a mobile and his wife wont let him have one.

Twisting in his chair Brian hates to admit he must be the only man on the planet who doesn't own a mobile phone. Another example of how Sue tries to control his life.

It was a struggle to get the words out, past his sense of shame. 'The truth is, I don't own one, sorry. A long time ago, rather foolishly, I agreed to have my wages paid into a bank account that only Sue has access to, and as long as I don't do something during the week to irritate her, every Friday I get a weekly allowance.' God, telling her this, makes me sound a right wimp. 'If I had the money I'd get one.'

'And she wont let you have one?'

'Nah. She reckons if I was to have one I would then start calling her up and quizzing her about where she is and what time she's coming home.'

Seeing him looking crestfallen Lucy reaches across the table. Her fingers wrap around his hand.

Brian looks into her eyes that have misted over. He pats the back of her hand.

If it weren't for the intervention of the table he might have found the courage to pull her into an embrace. Then wouldn't that be rushing things? He muses on the fact that sometimes in life, our days spent under the spotlight of the sun on this rock spinning in space being infinitesimally brief, happiness is something you must seize with both hands and cling to for as long as you can.

Taking back her pen Lucy now writes her home and mobile numbers on the back of his hand. They sit like that, not saying a word, for what seems like the longest time. Brian is smiling, looking down at Lucy's numbers in her handwriting on the back of his hand. It was as if they just went and got lovers tattoos done.

The man is married. Hasn't she always said she would never have anything to do with a married man... and yet? A voice in her head queries that advice. Brian isn't exactly married, not in a physical sense at least. After all, his wife has ended their relationship. She now has someone else. She doesn't even want him in his own house. His wife has admitted to being in this long-term relationship with his boss, and to having a host of other lovers? Not in a legal sense, but in all other regards Brian is now free to start again. God, his wife sounds like a nightmare to live with. How's he put up with her all these years? Lucy mischievously thinks it would be interesting to see how his wife reacts, if say, she was to call Brian's home, and she was to pick up the phone: she'd say, Oh, hi, is Brian there? No, ok. Can you tell him that Lucy called? He has my number, and then she will hang up the phone. That'd be fun. Only, she won't because it might get him into even more hot water. It doesn't take the brain of an Einstein to figure out what his wife is up to. This clause in the aunt's Will was the key. The minute his wife found out she needed to be married to inherit, she went on the lookout for a husband, preferably that one she can manipulate. God was she lucky the day she bumped into Brian. He had just lost both his parents and he had inherited a nice house. It must have felt like winning the lottery. She then seduced him into marrying her. Her scheme to take the house off him must have come a short time later. The minute her aunt dies, and her inheritance was safe, Sue had decided Brian was no longer needed.

Okay, so that was always his wife's plan, but why did she allow her thug lover to beat him up? Lucy watches Brian half turn in his seat and look over at the door. Lucy's heart is racing. She doesn't want him to go... not just yet.

'You going?' The way this comes out unmasks her feelings.

'Yeah. I have to.' Brian says. Leaving her is the last thing he wants to do. Is he imagining it, the way she is looking at him, the way she is sitting on the edge of her chair, as if any moment, in a heartbeat, she is going to come around the table and fold into his arms. If only.

Lucy doesn't want him to leave. She feels as if he is in mortal danger. Confused, Lucy can't quite work out if the turmoil in her tummy is about her real fears for his safety, or, is something else going on here? This man, dressed not exactly trendy, with his face a mass of bruises and cuts is drawing her ever closer to him? What she would like to do, had she the courage, would be to step around the table and take him in her arms. What then? Would she then kiss him? Honestly? She doesn't know.

Scared and excited at the same time, Brian doesn't know what to make of what is going on. Even that first night, back in his bedroom, right after his parent's funeral, when Sue came onto him, he never felt like this. That time, back then when he thought he was in love it was nothing more than a reaction to years of sexual frustration. Can he trust his emotions this time around? Is this about sex again? No, he's sure of that. When he looks across the table at Lucy her eyes look troubled. There is other stuff too, in the way her body is leaning, in the way that her lips tremble almost imperceptibly. His words come out in a jumble.

'Th...thanks, for the phone numbers.' Brian says. 'If.... regardless, I mean, however things work out for Charlie... I w. was hoping that perhaps, it's not a problem if you say no, could we stay in touch?' He sees her face light up.

'I would like that.' Lucy says the words coming out in a rush. Then she says, 'hadn't you better get going....' dismay in her tone, 'you should get things sorted out back home?'

'I guess so.' Brian says. 'I'm probably keeping you from your patients.'

'I'm on a break.' Lucy says hurriedly.

'If I don't answer, when you call,' Brian explains, 'it'll be because I am out walking Jock. You can leave me a message, on the answer machine.'

'Jock, who's Jock?'

'Jock is my little dog, my old buddy. He's a Westie. I like to take him out at least once a day.'

'Gosh,' Lucy says now worrying about this little dog. Another victim in the upheaval his wife has created. 'Jock will be all right though,' Lucy says, 'with your wife I mean. He is a family pet?'

The muscles in his jaw now tense. He hadn't given any thought to the notion that Sue might insist he takes Jock with him. That is not going to happen. She'd better not. The thought makes him angry. 'He'll be safe enough for now.' Brian says hoping to reassure the both of them, and not feeling at all certain of that. 'I don't think for a minute Sue would ever do anything horrible to Jock, even though she wont have anything to do with him, and nor will her kids.'

He feels guilty now about Jock. What was he thinking, forgetting the poor little chap who for certain will be missing him? Okay, he can square it. Make it acceptable, because he has got all this stuff with Charlie to deal with. But then there is all this other stuff, this obsession almost, for Lucy. What's that all about? He tells himself it'll pass that it's just hormones and hot air.

There is an icy edge to his voice when he says. 'Sue had better not give me a hard time over this. I will insist that Jock stays put till I find us a room, one that allows pets.'

It hasn't escaped his notice he's now jobless, and that there is no way he can afford to rent somewhere. He will also need a month's rent in advance, and a deposit. He doesn't have that sort of money. He has a plan though, 'even if Sue won't let me sleep on the sofa, until I find the money to rent a room. I plan to call in a couple of times a day to feed him and change his water, and take him out for walks.'

Lucy is thinking, Jock could come and stay with her. When she's at work Brian could have a key to let himself in... what are you thinking... are you mad, she can just hear Bridgette, her best friend and supervisor having a word with her, you hardly know the man. Don't even think it. And, have you given any thought to professional boundaries? Shut up she tells Bridgette. It'll only be until Brian gets on his feet. When he gets a divorce he will get half the value of the house, and then he can move on. She was about to offer to take Jock when she says.

'I guess once you and Sue get divorced, the house will get sold, and maybe from the settlement you could buy a little flat of your own?'

Lucy sees him fidget in his chair. He looks away. God what's he gone and done?

'I should explain.' He says awkwardly. 'I did something stupid, shortly after Sue and I married.'

Brian blows through his cheeks. He had better explain. 'A few weeks after the wedding, Sue began acting like she now regretted us getting married. Naturally I was worried.'

'Naturally. What was she doing?'

'She wouldn't have anything to do with me. She even stopped talking to me. It was as if she was desperately unhappy. I started to believe that it was me, it my fault. She told me, after I made her sit down and explain, that she felt like a stranger living in my house, and that she was scared that once I tired of her I would then throw her and her children out on the streets.'

'But you would never do such a thing Brian, you don't have that sort of nature.' Lucy says having already made up her mind about what kind of man he is, trusting her instincts.

'I could never have done that. I could however, see her point of view. Looking back I now know that all the dry-eyed tears and the theatrical sobbing was acting. I was worried for her when I told her she wasn't to worry, and that I will have her name added to the deeds. I would have done anything to make her love me, I felt so alone.'

'So you went ahead and added her name to the deeds? She became the joint owner. That doesn't make her the sole owner right?' Lucy suspects not. She watches Brian take a breath.

'Sue had this guy she knew,' Brian explains recalling his stupidity. 'He was a solicitor. Sue said that he was happy to do the paperwork at mates-rates. He's a proper solicitor, she told me. And he was, except, they had a plan to tuck me up. The papers that I signed made her the sole owner.' He watches Lucy's eyes widen.

'What! Did you not read what you were signing?' Lucy couldn't help sounding shocked.

'Yeah, well, ' Brian shrugs, 'I'm a bloke aint I? I trusted her. I thought that we were in love. I wanted our marriage to work.'

'God Brian.'

'I know I was stupid. I had all this stuff, feelings, mostly about sex and it clouded my judgment. It was like she had put a charm on me. What I thought was love I now know was infatuation. I so badly missed my parents. Sue helped fill a gaping hole in my life.

'After you signed over the house, did that make Sue happy?'

'Happy?' Brian grins wryly. 'You'd have thought so.' He scoffs. 'After that, it was like a house of cards coming down. I became someone she used. I was struggling getting over the shock of losing my parents, and Sue in those first few weeks seemed to take away the pain. A few weeks passed, and we were bumping along I guess when she insisted that my parents furniture, all their ornaments and stuff were old-fashioned and she wanted it gone. I said no, that it had to stay. Then one day I came home from work and it was all gone. She'd had a couple of men come in and strip the place.

'And did you complain?'

'Oh yeah I was really upset, but what could I do?'

'You could have chucked her out the house, you could have done that.' Lucy says getting mad.

'I couldn't. You see, her two kids were living with us and they were quite young then. Throwing Sue out meant that I would be turning them out on the streets too. They had nowhere else they could go, they had no family, and no money for rent, and Sue wasn't working, so I felt trapped. I decided I had to somehow make our marriage work.'

'What about your wife's aunt, Olga is it? Couldn't she have taken them in?' Lucy asks.

'The first few weeks after we married I never even knew she existed. Then Sue invited her over for Sunday dinner. At first, I couldn't understand a word she said, she was Russian, and very old, and most times, she was pretty drunk. I picked up from hints that some time in the past, when Sue was a child something happened to Sue, and the aunt was involved. Neither of them ever spoke of it. It was like a dark family secret. Sue said Olga lived in some kind of Russian palace that was haunted. She swore she would never go near the place again. Then Olga began coming over regularly twice a month and always on a Sunday. I would do the cooking and then around four o clock Olga would set off home again, in a cab.'

'Were they close? Sue and her aunt?'

'Pfft,' Brian says, 'I don't know what Olga thought of Sue, with all her fawning over her, she never said. Sue always said she couldn't wait for Olga to die.

'She's a piece of work that one, your wife.' Lucy says. Brian is nodding. 'Did your sex life ever get back on track?' Lucy looks shocked. 'Sorry, Brian' she blurts out, 'I shouldn't pry. You don't have to answer that.'

'It's okay. I can talk about it now, to you at least. I have never told anyone else. After I signed over the deeds of the house, all physical contact between us stopped, no hugging, no kissing, and certainly no sex.'

Lucy had to ask. 'So, the two of you haven't had sex in all this time?'

'We haven't, ' Brian says ruefully. 'After she told me, we were finished, she admitted to me that she never went without. She bragged about how she had had a string of lovers. She said that I was a wimp and now that Olga was dead, I was surplus to requirements.'

'Were you never suspicious she was seeing other men?'

'All the time.'

'But you never challenged her on it?'

'In the early days I did, when she came home really late. That led to bust-ups and weeks of bad feeling. I couldn't manage her, she hated me questioning her, and so I gave up.' I'd tell her the neighbours were talking. She said she couldn't care less what they said. She was only going to rehearsals at her Am-dram group. '

'And was there any truth in that?'

'Oh yeah, maybe one a week, not every night, the other times she was out with other men. She threw it in my face. She said when she married me she had no intention of being faithful to me. "Your function was to be a husband and that's it! " was the words she used.'

'What about Billy Dodds the man that did that to your face, was she seeing him behind your back?' Lucy watches Brian is shaking his head. He looks drained. She is thinking she should stop this.

'No,' Brian says, 'Billy Dodds came on the scene a few years later after Lord and Lady Curmudgeon the owners of the factory where I worked died in that awful car crash. After their deaths, Lady Veronica their daughter took over the business. Did I tell you they were married?'

'What! Dodds and this Lady Veronica?' Lucy says shocked.

'Yeah, only Lady Veronica never took on the name Dodds. I suppose what with her being in a state of shock, her folks dying like that; she put Dodds in charge of the business.'

'So we got this ex-pro boxer who married into aristocracy, now got a good job running the family business, but only after the owners get killed in a car crash...sounds very convenient!'

'I always thought so too.' Brian says. 'Particularly when a few years later, Mavis Fotheringay, the company secretary, who was actually the one who ran the day to day side of the business died after falling down the iron stairs outside the office.' As if this was too painful to speak of Brian twists in his chair. 'No one has ever been able to explain why she was on her own inside the factory late on a Friday night.' Brian shudders at the thought of how the poor woman unable to move must have suffered when she bled to death over that weekend. The cleaner found her body on the Monday morning.

Lucy shivers. Small sideways movements of her head cause her ponytail to swing about.

'Wow! This sounds like a Miss Marple mystery, only we are talking about real people here and possibly a murderer! Did the police investigate it? Surely they interviewed him?'

Brian shrugs his shoulders, looks crestfallen.

'Yes they did. You have to remember, we are talking about a family that owns half the town, and employs half the people who live here, powerful people that have a lot of clout. It was probably a cover –up, but then, I imagine, Dodds, if he was behind all three deaths, must have covered his tracks. The Scottish Police who investigated Lord and Lady Curmudgeon's deaths never found the car or traced the driver that forced their Rangerover off the road into the ravine. That case has never been closed, Mavis Fotheringay's death was recorded as an accident.'

Thinking about Dodds, an ex-pro boxer that almost beat Brian to death causes a trickle of cold sweat to course down Lucy's spine. She feels so sorry for him. But what can she do? There is a voice in her head telling her there is one thing she can do. She silences it, snuffs it out. Forcing her mind to focus on the practicalities she says, 'I think you had better stay away from that man.'

'Oh, don't worry I am not going anywhere near him.'

'He's dangerous. He might actually be a murderer.'

The thought had occurred to him.

'What will you do, now I mean, you'll need a deposit for a flat, or a room. You will have to pay a months rent in advance. Do you have that kind of money?' Lucy thinks not. He is shaking his head now. This poor man what's he going to do?

Brian admits, 'I don't have a bean right now and me not having a job it'll take me a while to get that kind of money together.'

'And Jock, he'll be okay.' Lucy says still worrying about this little dog. She takes a deep breath, tries to compose her thoughts. Lucy does her best to suppress her emotions that feel about to swamp her. She had better get her head on straight and start thinking in practicalities. A voice in her head is telling her, as long as you explain to him it can only be for a few weeks, I don't see what harm there is in suggesting that he and his little dog could stay at yours. Make him aware there are no strings, explain it's only till he gets on his feet. Another voice, strident this one, growls at her, Lucy, have you taken leave of your senses? What would Bridgette say when you tell her that this man that you have only known a few days has moved in with you? This is not your problem. The words come out in a rush.

'It's just a suggestion, but if it'll help, you and Jock could come and stay with me?' Hurrying on before she has time to change her mind she says, 'it'll be until you find a place of your own. I wont want any rent or anything. Call it a favour, only I can't bear the thought of you and Jock sleeping rough on the streets.' Brian looks shocked. Lucy is wondering if the suggestion has offended him. 'You can have a key, let yourself in and out... when I am at work... sorry.' Lucy places both hands either side of her head. 'I shouldn't have... I am just worried about Jock, and you too, of course. I have no right...'

'That's okay Lucy.' Brian says rescuing her. 'That is very sweet of you, but I could never take advantage of your kindness. No,' he says trying to sound positive, 'you mustn't worry. I will be okay. Something will come up, my bad luck, has to run out of steam sometime, I imagine.' The smile he constructs is not convincing.

'Are you sure?' Lucy says, 'because I have thought this through. It's not a rash decision and certainly not something I would normally do. I am more than happy to help.'

Reaching across the table Brian takes hold of her hands. They feel soft and warm. He gives them a reassuring squeeze.

'Something will turn up.' He says wanting to believing his own words. 'You'll see. Now. No more worrying about me. It's Charlie that we should be worrying about.'

He'd love to take up her offer but Brian is a rescuer; the kind of person who sees himself helping other people. Folk have never stepped in to help him out and he has never wanted them to. Besides, what would people think of her? Worse, it may end their friendship and he is not prepared to take that risk. Then Lucy says.

'How about then, I'm saying, till you get a place of your own, that Jock comes and stays with me? I don't have a garden as such, but there is a small yard downstairs, and there is a small park not far from where I live.'

Lucy having Jock stay with her would be a load off his mind. It'd be one thing less thing for him to worry about. It would also mean that he would get to see Lucy. He is reminded what a homeboy Jock is and that that he wont settle in a strange flat. This problem is, Lucy sounds as if she really does want to have Jock stay with her. He then thinks. Wouldn't it be better to say yes?

When he finally speaks he sounds worried.

'That's really kind of you Lucy. But for the time being I'll see how it goes with Sue. If she insists Jock has to go I will definitely take up your offer. Jock doesn't like changes to his environment. I could never leave him in kennels for instance, he would fret the whole time.'

Lucy hides her disappointment. He's probably right. It wouldn't be fair on the dog to move him unless it's absolutely necessary. She always wanted a dog. Her and David always planned on getting one from the rescue centre. After he died it was another thing that got put on hold.

'Okay,' Lucy says, 'if you're sure. Did you get him as a puppy?'

Her words transport him back in time. It was eight years ago when he came across Jock tied to the canal railings. There was a note tied to his collar. "This is Jock. He is six months old. Please give him a loving home." The little dog trotting happily by his side Brian was so happy on the walk home. All the while he was thinking that Jock would make a great family pet. It'd be good for kids to have a dog. Think of all the fun they can have getting him to sit and fetch a ball over at the park. There is a painful lump in his throat just thinking about those brown eyes, so trusting.

'I thought it would be great for the kids, well, all of us to have a dog. I imagined that Sue's kids would love playing with him.'

Lucy sees a dark cloud pass behind Brian's eyes.

'It didn't quite work out that way did it?'

'No, 'he says ruefully. 'When I got home with Jock they were all in the lounge watching the telly. Sue was furious. She said no way was she having that flea-bitten mongrel in her house, her house!' Brian straightens his back. His chin goes up when he says. 'That was the first time I ever stood up to her and I told her the dog was staying and that was the end of the matter and that she had better not mistreat the dog.'

'Good for you Brian.'

'Then she says to me, if the dog stays she is leaving me.'

'No!'

'I looked down at Jock sitting looking up at me with the saddest eyes, his tail swishing the carpet. What could I do? I got mad at them and I told the three of them straight: the dog is staying so you had better get used to it and if any of you mistreat him you'll have me to answer to.'

'You said that?' Lucy says eyes wide. 'How did the kids react?'

'They took their mother's side. They said. "Yeah Brian we don't want that flea-bitten dog in our house."

'Well done you.' Lucy says smiling broadly. 'And did Sue then come to terms with it?'

Brian is grinning now. 'I got punished. Sue never spoke to me for a month and I had to sleep on the sofa for six weeks, which was great because I had Jock sleeping at my feet.'

Thinking back to those happier days, before his life went to hell in a handcart, Brian is smiling, thinking about that little dog, who every night, when he got home from work would be waiting behind the door his little tail wagging so fast you'd imagine it might just fly off. You'd think he had been away for months. That little dog could brighten up the darkest of days.

Of course if it weren't for Jock and their daily walks to Chesholme Park he would never have met Charlie, his best friend.

Brian aches to tell her how he feels but he daren't. Embarrassed, he is thinking that he should leave now... right now, before he says something rash. He tries to ground himself by thinking about Jock. Then he thinks about Sue, and how he had better be getting back home to sort things out with Sue. He needs to find out what she is planning. Billy Dodds better not be there, Brian is thinking, sitting in my chair, watching my telly! What if he is? What you going to do about it? I will beat the crap out of him... no you wont, you plank. Thinking about this a taste of bile is on his tongue. A stirring of rage threatens to overtake him. And Lucy is looking at him. Looking worried. He doesn't like this feeling in his gut. It feels dangerous.

'What's up Brian?' Lucy says studying his eyes, the lines around them.

He wants to tell that he has fallen in love with her. Jeez, you can't do that. Get a grip. One of us, both of us, could get hurt. 'I had better go.' He tells her getting up off his chair.

When Brian gets up to leave Lucy is thinking she doesn't want him to go... not yet. He moves across to the door. Something akin to a fist squeezes her heart. Her breathing feels restricted. All of a sudden it is very hot in this room. Then the words tumble out her mouth.

'Please don't go near Billy Dodds.'

Brian, hesitates in the doorway, he says, 'you don't have to worry. I am not going anywhere near that psychopath.' He grins and then says. 'We'll chat later eh?'

'Be safe.' She tells him.

Listening to his footsteps fade down the corridor, Lucy is bites her lip.

Chapter Fourteen.

Striding along the hospital corridor there is an extra spring in his step. A mix of emotions, some he doesn't recognise are swirling about inside him. Charlie is worrying him. The doctors are telling him not to hold out much hope, but hope is all he has. I got Lucy though... as a friend. God you mustn't think like that. You are in danger of becoming a stalker. Don't, for God's scare her off. Brian hesitates in the reception lobby. He watches people coordinate their way through the revolving doors, some folk, in wheelchairs, some on crutches manage the automatic swing doors. He brushes aside a warning in his head that the next time he gets to see Charlie he will be laid out, just like poor old Olga. He thinks about going back to Charlie, to sit by his bedside till the end. He can feel his heart battering against his ribcage. He looks back the way he just came with Lucy on his mind. For two pins he would go back to her. Get a grip, he tells himself. Get yourself home and sort this business out with Sue. A series of images, like a bad dream, crowd his mind. He can see Sue acting haughty, like the cat that got the cream, just because she is about to become wealthy, very wealthy. She'll be crowing about that, that and her stringing him along all these years and how Billy Dodds is a real man, and not some damp-behind-the-ears wimp. She will tell him what a waste of space his is, he's heard it all before, and that he had better take his stuff and go before Billy Dodds comes home and finds him here.

His collar turned up top keep the rain from creeping down his back making him shiver Brian is glad to climb aboard the bus that would take him to the top of his road.

It was a little after five in the afternoon when he put his key in front door lock. It was only now that it occurs to him that Sue might have had the locks changed.

She hadn't.

His arrival home hasn't gone unnoticed by the neighbourhood watch that is alerted by the squeal of the gate that he never got around to oiling. Net curtains in the windows opposite twitch. Within minutes, the entire street has heard the news Brian Fossett's wife has taken a rolling pin to his head.

Wagging his tail, his front claws pawing at Brian legs Jock meets him in the hallway that feels cramped, what with the black plastic bin bags stuffed with his belongings lined up along the wall just inside the front door.

Despite his face hurting, (he better take a couple more painkillers), Brian grins at his little dog and bends to ruffle the dog's head. He straightens up and notes the sound of the TV coming out the lounge. Someone is home.

When he stands in the lounge doorway, Sue and her two kids, engrossed in the TV, don't even cast him a glance. He might have been a draught. He felt like walking right back out the house and head over to the hospital and stay with Charlie, and maybe he'll get to chat with Lucy again.

Only he doesn't do that. He needs to discuss this situation with his wife, who hasn't even acknowledged him. He doesn't want her kids around when they have this discussion. He can imagine what it'd be like, the three of them ganging up on him. The tinny voices of people talking on the TV, going on about super-deal prizes is grating on his nerves.

Going across to speak to his wife, and careful not to block anyone's view of the telly, he says. 'Sue, can we talk in private please?'

Sue cackles at something on TV.

'No.' She tells him flatly.

That's what she told him. Just like that.

Looking round for the TV remote, so he can turn the damn TV off, or at least turn down the volume, Sean, lying full stretch on the sofa has it in his hands. His voice is edged with fatigue when Brian says.

'Sean, can you turn the TV down or better still turn it off. Your Mum and I need to talk... in private if you don't mind. You too Carla, can you go find somewhere else to go, up to your room or whatever.'

'Go get fucked.' Sean says pointing the remote at the telly and winding up the volume.

What's he supposed to do? Sue doesn't seem interested in talking to him and Sean and Carla are cackling at the TV. Only Jock seems happy to see him.

Turning away, thinking he'll go out to the kitchen and make a cuppa, he's not offering to make them one; Brian can feel his cheeks burning.

He jumps.

Sue having crept into the kitchen now reaches from behind him. He can smell her perfume, heady, almost overpowering; she always seems to lather herself in it. He turns to face her when she flicks off the electric kettle. Her face is crimson with anger.

Prodding him in the chest she insists, 'I want you out of this house. I'll give you have one week, and then I want you gone. You had better find yourself somewhere else to live a bit smartish, otherwise you'll be joining your tramp sleeping over in the park.'

That hurt.

'Charlie is not a tramp!' Brian blurts out. 'So, don't say that when you don't know him, you never met him, and Charlie is ten times the man that you have been screwing.'

'One week,' Sue warns him, not rising to the bait, 'you hear me, then all that shit,' She points out the hall, referring to his belongings in overstuffed bin bags, 'is getting thrown out on the street.'

With her stabbing a scarlet fingernail in his chest, Brian is forced out into the hall. Brian pleads. 'Sue, please can't you at least be reasonable about this. Can't we discuss this like sensible adults? Besides, where am I supposed to go?'

Sue's eyes widen. She shakes her head in disbelief. 'Look at my face Brian, ' Sue says pointing, 'do I look like I give a shit? I am tired of you... sick to death of your mooning face...your witless jokes, your ...your... your..' Sue runs out of examples. Extending her arms wide, she adds. 'Brian, sweetie, let me explain. You my witless wimp were only ever a meal ticket. I needed to be married to inherit Olga's estate, and you, Brian dearest, happened to be the dumb twit that was going to make that happen. Now that the old crone is dead, I have no further need of you. As of now, you are redundant sweetie.' Sue smiles at the stupid look he gives her. 'And don't give me that, stupid, gosh, look as if you never figured it out. Did you really think that during all these years that you and I haven't been having sex I was going without?' The look on his face was priceless. 'I don't believe you Brian; you actually thought that I was being faithful to you all this time. How dumb are you.'

Left wordless by Sue's cold, heartless reaction, Brian can only walk away. Finding Jock's lead, he clips it on the dog and the two of them leave the house.

Ordinarily, Brian and Jock would head straight for the park by turning right at the end of their road. When they go left, Jock looks up at his master. 'Sorry buddy,' Brian explains, ' I cant go to the park today, not with Charlie not being there. We'll go down by the canal.'

Jock doesn't show his disappointment. The walk along the canal isn't as good as the one that takes in the park where he gets let off the lead.

Arriving back home an hour later, Sue and the kids have gone out. He's got the house to himself. Only now does he realise that over the years he always liked it when he had the whole house to himself. First off, he checks the answerphone. No message from Lucy. No news has to be good news. Exhausted, he stretches out on the sofa with Jock at his feet. The evening wore on and still no word from Lucy he falls asleep. Next thing he knows it's 7:00 A.M, and he can't believe that he slept all that time. Him not ever having to go back inside that factory ever again is almost unimaginable. He stretches his aching back and then heads out to the hall and starts digging around in the bin bags. He finds some clean underpants, a pair of socks, and a crumpled shirt. Next, he goes up the stairs and peers inside all three bedrooms. Evidently, none of them came home last night. Sean and Carla, since becoming adults often stay out all night. When he sees that Sue never came home, that got him wondering where has been all night. No prizes for guessing whom she was with though. Brian goes into the bathroom. He takes his time showering. When he has a shave, he is carful not to open up the cuts on his face that seem to healing nicely.

In the kitchen, worried that eating toast might prove to be painful, Brian settles for a bowl of cornflakes with sliced banana. When he checks the coins in his pocket he grimaces and tells himself. 'It's another walk to the hospital then.'

It was five past ten when Brian crosses the light and airy hospital reception area.

The minute Brian walks into Charlie's room he could see no discernable improvement in his friends condition. His earlier cheery mood, walking here in bright sunshine, listening to the birds singing in the trees, thinking, believing, that today, things are going to turn around for him. Life is about to throw him a few nice surprises. That'd make a change. Then seeing Charlie looking so pale and weak, his optimism plummets into one of despair.

The minute he sees Lucy come into Charlie's room, his spirits soar. Feeling awkward, he gets up sharply from his chair. The two of them hugging right now would have been the most natural thing in the world.

That doesn't happen.

Seeing Brian again, Lucy's face lights up. Just as quickly, it goes dark.

Straight away, he can tell that Lucy was about to hit him with some bad news about Charlie.

Then the space between them narrows. She is looking up into his eyes that behind the rainbow of coloured bruises and the puffiness look like pools of sadness.

Taking his hand in hers she says, 'Brian, I know how you feel about Charlie, so this is really difficult for me. The doctors have made a decision, and they say that it best that I should be tell you.'

Brian nods, 'It's okay Lucy, please don't be sad, I can handle it... I think?'

Lucy strokes his shoulder, 'I'm sorry Brian; it's not good news. The doctors say Charlie is incapable of maintaining his life unaided. I'm afraid he is not going to recover.'

When he turns away from her she reaches out, takes hold of his hand.

He's been expecting this. He pats her hand.

'Brian,' She whispers. 'I realise this is probably not the best time, but can we. can we stay friends; keep in touch. no strings? I can see how your wife might be upset about her Aunt dying and it is possible she is venting her grief on you. Most likely, she will get over the shock, and want you back and I wouldn't want to stand in the way of that....' Lucy pauses.

Brian turns to her. Her eyes are the saddest he has ever seen.

As if to catch her breath, momentarily, she closes her eyes and then blurts out what has been playing on her mind.

'I don't quite understand what is going on with me right now. One minute I am caught up worrying about Charlie, and now... well I have you on my mind constantly.'

'Me?'

'Yes Lucy, you make me all breathless, and shaky.'

'I feel the same.' Lucy admits her eyes seem alight. Lucy almost doesn't say it, 'Brian I may have fallen in love with you.'

Brian says, 'from the minute I saw you Lucy something took hold of me and hearing you put your feelings into words explains exactly how I feel.' He looks over at Charlie, wonders if he might have heard that? He feels guilty. How can he feel this way when his best friend is dying? He sighs. 'I have to do it, sign the form I mean?'

Lucy nods. 'No rush, the doctors will want to run through the procedure with you so it's better you stay around for a while.'

'I'm not going anywhere.'

Lucy pauses at the door, looks back at him, wants to go to him.

He finds the courage to say, 'Lucy, do you think we can meet up when you finish work, have a coffee?' When he sees her face light up he manages a smile.

All bubbly inside Lucy says, 'that would be lovely Brian, say at five?

# Chapter Fifteen.

Crossing the hospital foyer Brian stops in his tracks. He slaps his hand to his forehead. Bloody hell. Olga's funeral is at two-o-clock. Their consent form can wait.

The weather forecast said it was going to be fine and warm with no rain. He will need a change of clothes, wear something black. He'll have to go back home and root about in the bin bags.

On the walk home he is thinking about Sue turning him out of his own house? What can he do? He could dig in his heels; throw Sue and her kids out on the street? Not really. The point is, nothing lasts forever. One day my house will be gone, fallen foul of entropy, as will all of us. So what if I was to lose my house. Surely it is people that matter?

This thought provoking philosophical argument as an interesting diversion serves no practical purpose when faced with the very real prospect of ending up living on the streets.

That can't be right! 42 Acacia Avenue has been my home my entire life. Sue has no right to take it from me! He feels indignant. Finally he gets mad, recognises how stupid he has been and how easily Sue had tricked him. Okay, he was young, naïve and was easily overawed by her seduction skills. She had taken him by surprise and in the heat of such passion he might easily have signed away his kidneys! That was dumb agreeing to marry her, and it was even more stupid putting her on the deeds of the house... his house.

Of course, Brian is not the only male to fall for the determined advances of an attractive female, particularly one who has his cock in her mouth.

Leaning provocatively against a tree, stark naked, urging her playmate come closer with the ubiquitous hooded eyes, Eve, back in the days of Genesis, had kicked the whole male/female circus off by saying something along the lines of: "Hey Adam, you like to stare at my lovely melons? Why don't you come over here and get your hands on them."

Adam was caught in two minds. The boss had made it perfectly clear, under no circumstances was he to go anywhere near that shit. "Tempting!" He might have replied, "but no thanks. I daren't. I'm not to go near those bad boys. They are forbidden."

"Don't be such a big woos Adam, What's the worst can happen?"

Well, as we all know, Adam fucked up! The worst did happen. Shit hit the fan and the rest, as they say, is history. Not only is Brian's stupidity excusable, it also says a lot about men in general!

With Olga's funeral at two Brian has some idle time on his hands. Absentmindedly, he finds himself in the park heading over to Charlie's bench.

The bags containing Charlie's belongings have gone. He sits on his bench and slides his hand along the top rail. When Charlie's gone, after the funeral, I might have a plaque made up and attach it to this rail. When he tries to think of what he wants it to say he has to squeezes his eyes shut. A vision of Charlie sharing a joke with him comes unbidden to mind. He can see him now, cold and lonely on this unforgiving bench, swaddled in rags and no one but himself to talk to with little more comfort in the dead of night than memories of lost love ones, and fading images of his exploits.

When Brian opens his eyes he catches sight of something fluttering in the wind. When it settles at his feet he traps it with his foot. He now looks around to see who might have lost a tenner. There is not a soul in sight. His first thoughts are it has to one of those fakes doing the rounds. Looking for any obvious flaws in the printing he brings the note close to his eyes. He frowns. He recognises the perfume as the one his Mother always wore. A shiver runs down his spine. Tears spill from his eyes. He's not sure he can take much more of this. If his financial situation wasn't quite so distressed and he hadn't the date with Lucy at five, he might have gone in search of its owner. Remembering to avoid the one with a hole in it Brian stuffs the note in his trouser pocket. He now gets to his feet and looks up at the sky. 'Thanks Mum, that'll come in handy.'

At Olga's funeral at St Stephen's church, entirely appropriate for the occasion, it is raining cats and dogs. Anxious not to antagonise Sue Brian tries to keep out of sight by taking shelter from the rain under a yew tree. The undertakers in their sombre black attire, hands clasped at their backs, with their top hats bowed and the rims dripping rainwater gather round the hearse that has its rear doors open.

Braving the inclement weather, not out of any sense of duty, or indeed any wish to pay their last respects, rather from an addictive fascination for the antics of the Fossett household the entire Neighbourhood Watch are there. Shivering under their umbrellas they complain at it taking so long for the chapel doors to open. An air of excited anticipation spreads through the throng when one of them shushes the others. Sue nearest the oak door hears a bolt being drawn. Like frozen penguins the elderly neighbours shuffle closer. An argument breaks out over who stepped on which mourner's toes.

The chapel door swings in with a startled squeal. Looking as if she might live in the vaults, Gillian Monkpiece the octogenarian that tends the church wordlessly turns her back on the mourners and disappears into the shadowy interior.

The mourners find the inside of the church depressingly cold and draughty. They could not have felt any glummer.

Brian watches the last of the mourners file into the chapel before he sets out across the puddled lawn with extended leaps. He slides his bottom along an empty pew right at the back and doesn't think he was seen.

He smoothes his hands down his creased jacket bought for his wedding twelve years back and then straightens his black tie. Nothing seems to be happening. The scene is tense with anticipation. The cloying silence is broken only occasionally, by a stifled cough, or the murmur of voices spoken out the sides of mouths.

Brian sucks air in through his teeth when he sees Sue right down the front with Billy Dodds arm draped across her shoulder.

As if he had sensed danger Billy Dodds swivels in his seat and looks back. He gives Brian a loathing sneer and then tilts his head to whisper in Sue's ear.

Sue looks back over her shoulder. She smiles at her husband and then flips him the bird.

Minutes pass. Folk begin fidgeting on the hard wooden pews. The mutterings grew louder. People turn in their pews and speculate on the reason for the delay.

Suddenly a heart-stopping racket from the aged pipe organ blasts the pigeons off the roof. Heads whip around to see, Gillian Monkpiece, half hidden in the shadows her arms flailing and her legs pumping, and looking like a demented marionette, is sat at an ancient pipe organ and attempting to string together a combination of notes that was supposed to resemble the Death March. The dust blown from the old pipes now falls like dandruff on the heads of the mourners.

Finally, like the death rattle of a Blue Whale, the pipe organ grinds to a stuttering halt.

The ensuing silence is deafening. Shivering from the cold those present are now wishing they'd stayed at home.

All eyes are fixed upon the unusually high pulpit at the end of a flagstone aisle. Eventually, the Very Reverend Arnold Withers, badly stooped with his spectacles not quite aligned with the rest of the world, hauls himself unsteadily up the stairs. People gasp when they see him sway on the summit.

The Reverend has been the vicar of this parish for a very long time. "Far too long!" Bishop Blagstock frequently complains to his boss Cardinal Percival Stour, "The man has become an embarrassment. Withers should have retired years ago!'

Reverend Withers hasn't always been this doddery. There was a time when with about as much enthusiasm as a ledger clerk, he would unerringly drone his way through the services without a hitch. These days, increasingly, the words and the service order are muddled to the extent that the Vicar is now incapable of differentiating between the service order for a Christening, a Wedding, or a Funeral! As an aide memoire he has very sensibly written the words for the various occasions on sheets of A4 paper. This might have helped had he not got the sheets in a mess. Now, at a crucial time, with people fidgeting below him, the script for the funeral service has gone missing.

Hearing the mounting distress below him, he pushes the papers aside, makes the sign of the cross and mutters. 'Bollocks. I'll have to wing it.'

'Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today,' So far, so good, 'to witness the death of this couple.... I mean to remember Mr.... I mean Mrs... whatever her name is...was!'

Below him, words get exchanged behind cupped hands. Heads nod. Sue Fossett is about to dissolve into a fit of the giggles.

'Does anyone here,' the vicar cries out, his voice cracking with the effort, 'know of any impediment as to why this woman should not be dead? If so, let them speak now... or... or... forever Amen.'

'Amen,' chorus the mourners.

Lifting his arms as high as his arthritis permits he intones. 'Who present would giveth this woman to the grave? '

'I do,' pipes up Henry Butters who may have been out in the rain a bit too long. His wife reacts by slapping the back of the head sending his hat sailing across three pews. Her eyes widen in surprise.

'What the hell is that?' She demands staring at the shiny metallic surface of his hairless head.

Staring appealingly at his wife, the hen-pecked husband explains. 'It's my brain shield. I was watching Songs of Praise last week and the Vicar on the telly said that God can read our thoughts and that got me worried, cos I sometimes have these naughty. '

'Shut up you blithering old fool,' Hilda Butters hisses snatching the cooking foil off his head and ramming it in his gaping mouth, then turns around to lambast the people in the pew behind shushing her.

'Let us now sing hymn number 29, in your diary, 'The lord is my blacksmith,' the Vicar cries out.

Now it is the turn of the mourners and the organist to shuffle their service papers.

There were two more hymns, accompanied by more mayhem. Finally, to the relief of all those present, the service ends when the vicar reads aloud the disingenuous statement penned by Sue.

The pallbearers have the coffin on their shoulders. The senior of them, John Blower, his rank symbolized by the black ribbon tied around his hat and his black staff takes up his position facing the door. When the organist gives him the cue he will lead his men out into the rain. The organist, herself, no better organised than the vicar, has lost the sheet music.

John Blower sighs, hates doing funerals at this church, always a shambles but never this bad. The lead pallbearer can hear the organist shuffling papers. She is looking for the sheet music for "Hava Nagila" chosen by Sue, hoping to liven things up, maybe even get a Conga line happening?

Now, worried the delay will throw his entire schedule out of whack Blower leaves his station to help Gillian in her search. A moment later he hands her the music and then gets back into position.

After a hesitant start, Gillian Monkpiece manages to hit most of the right notes in most of the right places.

A relieved John Blower gets moving. He wasn't having any more delays. The pace he set was a little more up-tempo than appropriate but he is now clock-watching.

On one side of the hole in the ground the neighbours, now chilled to the bone with their umbrellas turning inside out in the wind, line up opposite the grieving great-niece. Her lover's arm is wrapped around her waist.

Having left the church ahead of the others, choosing this spot so that he can see and hear the proceedings Brian has taken shelter in the lee of a flowering cherry tree.

The Neighbours look on horrified at Sue Fossett's antics when giggling she starts fumbling around inside the overcoat of the man they have yet to be introduced to.

Finally, it is all over. Reverend Withers makes the sign of the cross and turns on the muddy uneven ground. Had it not been for the vigilance and the remarkable agility of Henry Butters who shot out an arm to catch hold of his cassock, the vicar who had lost his balance on the very edge of the grave, would have joined Olga.

Sue Fossett, bored now, has sex and money on her mind. Ignoring the disapproving looks of her neighbours she makes a series of random heart crossings and then pulls Billy away.

Even though Olga would treat him like a serf, and he is ambivalent about God and all that stuff, Brian mutters a prayer for the old woman. Now quite sad he makes his way across the sodden grass and turns right on the graveled road heading for the exit. His mind now preoccupied by having to sign that dratted form he barley notices the roar of an approaching car, or its wheels spinning on the gravel surface. Instinctively, and in the nick of time Brian throws himself out of the path of Billy's Bentley. Sue, her head out the window is laughing like a drain.

# Chapter Sixteen.

Decorum, a word rarely encountered in any description of Sue Fossett is far from evident in her dress, or in her scandalous behaviour at the church today, so much so that Brian hardly recognises his own wife! It is as if she has gone off the rails.

When he gets back to 42 Acacia Avenue Brian is relieved to find no one is home.

He glowers at the over-stuffed bin bags containing all his clothes. He can't go on a date wearing a funeral outfit. He has to empty out two bags on the floor before he finds something suitable and not too crumpled to wear for his date with Lucy.

This is getting ridiculous.

In a matter of days it is if a tornado has torn through his once orderly existence.

There is Lucy though! That lifts his spirits. Don't get carried away, there is still that form to sign, he reminds himself.

Patiently waiting for the slice of corned beef that is on its "use by" date Jock's tail is sweeping the floor.

Putting it under the dog's nose Brian says, 'Good boy. Better eat it all up. Don't know where our next meal is coming from cos you and I buddy are in deep trouble.'

Jock looks around at Brian and arches an eyebrow.

The phone ringing startles him. Brian's first thoughts are: That'll be Lucy. Charlie has taken a turn for the worse! Rushing through to the lounge holding his breath Brian snatches up the phone.

'Hello. Brian here.'

'Mr Fossett?'

It's not Lucy. He feels relieved and confused when he doesn't recognise the dry, stuffy voice.

'Speaking... Can I help you?' Brian says.

'I am Silas Saxby, of Saxby and Boothroyd Solicitors.'

The name rings a bell. He can't put a face to it, and he doesn't make a connection until the solicitor explains.

'Is Mrs Fossett available?'

'Fraid not, I'm her husband can I help?'

'Excellent. I represent the interests of the deceased Olga Romanavitch and I am calling with regard to the reading of her Last Will and Testament. Are you and your good lady wife able to attend my offices tomorrow afternoon, three o clock, sharp?'

Gosh, Olga's Will! He hadn't given it a thought. Why would he? He wasn't a beneficiary... as far as he knew!

'Thank you Mr Saxby, I am sure that will be fine.' It then occurs to him: Sue will go ballistic if I turn up! 'If it's all the same to you Mr Saxby, I might not attend, you see Aunt Olga was really my wife's family.'

'As you wish Mr Fossett, but whilst I am unable to divulge in what capacity, you should be advised that you are mentioned as a beneficiary.'

That sets him back. 'Oh, I see. In which case Mr Saxby I shall be happy to attend.'

After putting the down the phone Brian writes a note for Sue:

"Dear Sue, I have just taken a telephone call from Olga's solicitors. The reading of Olga's Will is to take place at their offices at 3 o clock tomorrow. I said that you would attend. Take care. Brian X.'

As an afterthought he crosses out the X.

He re-bags his clothes heaped on the hall floor and then goes up to the bathroom. He climbs out of his funeral clothes, showers, and then shaves and then looks in the bathroom cabinet mirror to check the cuts and bruises on his face. The swelling around his eye has gone down considerably, and the cuts are healing nicely.

Already in a foul mood, brought on by Billy who announced at the last minute that he had to go to yet another bloody business meeting, when she planned the two of them would go to a hotel, celebrate with sex, wine, and chocolates, Sue is even more pissed off when with cars parked bumper to bumper along the entire length of Acacia Avenue, she has to park in an adjacent road.

At the top of her turning she stops and sucks in air through clenched teeth. Outside her house are gathered the entire Neighbourhood Watch. 'Fucking nosey old bags!' She mutters. Fifty paces from her house she has a thought.

'Shush.' Brenda Smith hisses seeing Sue Fossett headed their way.

The gathering at her gate is a gift of an opportunity. She wills herself to get in role, play the grieving niece, wife of a foul murderer. This is going to be fun.

'Oh hello Sue,' Mrs Winterbottom from number 14 says, 'we were just talking about your sad loss, weren't we?'

'Very sad, and so sudden,' Ben Downing agrees doffing his hat.

'Have you any idea what took her off Sue?' Says Brenda Smith from number 32.

They haven't heard then, what I told the TWATS?

'I know exactly what "took her off," as you kindly put it Brenda, but regrettably, because of the on-going police investigations I am can say nothing. My lips are sealed' Sue makes a zipping motion.

The expressions on the faces of her audience shift through shock to dismay.

'All I am able to say is the Police are treating my poor-sainted Aunt's death as murder.'

The news is met with a collective gasp. The women clutch at their throats, and the men sway on their feet

'Oh my God!' Hilda Butters being the first to find her voice says. 'In Acacia Avenue, surely not! How. I mean, what kind of demon would murder a little old lady like that?'

Narrowing her eyes with a stage whisper Sue warns them. 'I don't want any one of you to repeat a single word of what I am about to tell you.'

She watches each of them shake their head. Sue knows full well that before nightfall every single person in the town will have heard how Brian Fossett has murdered her poor feeble aunt.

Lowering her voice, so that the elderly neighbours have to lean in to hear, she intones, 'There is a murderer in our midst. We are all in mortal danger.' Sue makes a slicing motion at her neck and watches the colour drain from the faces of her audience. 'Brian Fossett, the man that I once loved and trusted to help raise my children is.... ' Sue bites her lip. The crowd closes in. She smiles inside. 'A MURDERER! ' She screams aloud throwing her hands in the faces of her audience who mow stagger back. As if burdened by the weight of her guilt Sue allows her head to shrink down into her shoulders. Emitting a shuddering breath, Sue Fossett, star of stage and screen, (in her head at least,) begins to ham it up.

Casting her eyes to the heavens and with a series of heart crossing movements she wails,

'The very man that I once loved has murdered my sainted aunt, God bless her.'

The Neighbourhood Watch are clinging to her every word, her every intonation. They gather close. Sue's face becomes a mask of anguish when she lets out a sucking, shuddering sob. Dabbing a tissue under each eye she cries. 'My husband, Brian Fossett has another side to his nature, one that only a long-suffering wife can ever know.'

A few of the women nod.

'Oh dear Mrs Fossett,' Mrs Forthright says, 'How awful for you?'

Thinking it might be a good time to introduce Billy into the equation Sue says, 'That is so kind of you Mrs Forthright, thankfully, I have the support of Billy, my boss, the man you all saw at the funeral today, how grateful am I that I have his arm to lean on, help me cope with this shock.'

'Yes, we noticed.' Says Brenda Smith turning down the corners of her mouth.

'Can we sleep safe in our beds at night?' Phyllis Stein wants to know.

Sue leans into the face of Brenda Smith, says, 'I wish, I could give you that assurance Mrs Smith, all I am at liberty to disclose is Brian is a fugitive and he could be hiding anywhere.'

In truth, Sue has no idea where her husband is and cares not one jot.

'He will be desperate.' Sue warns. 'The police have put out an APB on him and have advised people should they spot him, not to approach him, but to call 999.'

'I don't think they would call it an APB Mrs Fossett,' Stanley Butters, chimes in, 'that went out with Starsky and Hutch. It's a BOLO, Be on the lookout.'

'Yes, Stanley,' Sue huffs now she has to get back in role. Now his wife butts in.

'Please don't tell me any gruesome details Mrs Fossett, but can you say how he did it... the murder I mean?' Hilda Butters wants to know.

Sue takes a deep breath, and swaying on the gatepost allows her voice to drop two octaves. 'It was Sunday morning, I was just setting off to Church....'

'Oh! What church would that be? I mean we have never seen...'

'Shush! Fred,' Felicity Pollard snaps at her husband, 'can't you see poor Mrs Fossett is upset, and we all want to hear what happened, and it really doesn't matter what Church she attends, after all, we are all Christians in God's merciful eyes?' She looks about, got murmurs of support.

'I'm not.'

Heads turned to stare at George Fairbrother.

'What precisely, are you not, George,' Mrs Pollard asks him, annoyed at yet another interruption to this tale of murder most foul.

'I'm not a Christian.'

'How can you not be a Christian George when you attend church every week.'

George shrugs, 'that doesn't make me a believer. Actually I am agnostic.'

Henry Butters, listening with one hand cupped behind his ear enquires of his wife, 'what's an agnostic?'

Hilda Butters raises her chin, says with conviction. 'It is someone who is not quite right in the head dear.'

'Can I please get on?' Sue says having to raise her voice above the muttering. When she gets their undivided attention she starts to ham it up with relish.

'Brian, as you all know, never had any time or patience for my dear aunt. So, I was surprised when said he wanted to cook the meal. Brian, is not one for doing stuff around the house, let alone the cooking.'

'Men are happy for women to do all the cooking,' Phyllis Stein says with a sense of irony having had her husband of forty-two years leave her for a thirty-something meals-on-wheels delivery lady.

Her comment prompts an outpouring of agreement.

'I help around the house,' the thin reedy voice of Henry Butters complained, 'don't I Hilda?'

'Oh do shut up Henry,' his wife Hilda says shaking her head.

'Enough, says Sue, do you want me to go on or not?'

The chastened neighbours go quiet. Happy to have the floor back Sue continues,

'Where was I? Oh yes, after we'd eaten the meal that he cooked my aunt Olga collapsed.' Sue pauses, sways on the gatepost again, bites her lip, shudders. As if the murderer is within earshot, she lowers her voice to a whisper and casts her eyes about, 'My poor aunt Olga lay dying in my arms and with her last breath she pointed at my guilty husband and screamed aloud, "Murderer!" Sue hears the crowd gasp. She lowers her voice until few can hear her, and some not at all, 'Poor Olga. In my arms she convulsed a few times and then she floated off in the arms of the angels.' As if she can see heaven adopting a classic Hollywood pose Sue looks up.

Henry Butters face has gone ashen. Mrs Watershed sways on her feet. Sue is now wailing and swaying, on the gatepost and thinking, what a performance! Who would blame you for chucking that useless turd out of your house? Yow baby, bring on Act two.

Sue is on a roll. Now, she curls her fingers into fists and throws back her head, lets out a blood-curdling cry that nails the attention of her shocked audience. 'I shall never forget how Olga fell face down into the Sherry Trifle that Brian had made. Oh, am I never to see her sainted eyes again?' The theatrical sobbing is of the grossest melodramatics!

With a clack the top set of dentures that Henry Butters recycled following his father's death falls onto his lower set. His wife digs him in the ribs. Like the jaws of a terrapin the dentures snap shut.

Sue draws them in. Now stooping even lower her eyes are narrow slits. 'I said Brian to stand aside. I wanted to go to her, help her, but he demanded I stay back. On the pretence of reviving her I swear with his bare hands he was actually throttling her.' Sue demonstrates this by wringing her hands. She does the swooning thing again. 'God forgive me, that I allowed that son of Satan into our midst! But what's right is right, and I speak as I see, and shame the devil!

Some fidget. A few need a wee. Most are lost for words.

'I believe;' says Sue overdoing the casting her eyes heavenwards, 'that Brian Fossett is in the devils employ. His hands are stained with my sainted aunt's blood.'

Now, 83 years old, Albert Ledbucket looks very unwell and Marge Conway, who at the very mention of blood can't cope, falls smartly to the ground. With better things to do than stand here all morning yakking to these nosey old farts Sue decides to exit stage left. 'As you can imagine, I have important matters to attend to,' Sue says dabbing a dry tissue at her eyes. Turning unsteadily on her heels, she lifts her chin and with an imposed dignity strides up the garden path and disappears through her front door.

Just about to leave for the hospital Brian is in the lounge when the phone rings. He picks up.

'Hello Brian here.'

'Brian... Its Lucy, can you come over to the hospital right away.. '

'Lucy, hi,' Brian interrupts her, 'if it's about that form, I was just coming over....'

A hand adorned with red fingernails, shoots into view cuts the connection. He turns to see Sue glaring at him.

Intending the neighbours outside should hear Sue cries, 'murderer, the police are hunting you, get out of my house, would you kill us all?' When she swings her handbag at his head it connects with a sharp crack.

'Ow!' Brian moans rubbing the side of his head. 'That hurt Sue.'

Sue gets in role, spices up her off-the-cuff tirade, cries out, 'vile murderer, you poisoned my poor aunt. Help! Someone... please call the police before he kills me too.'

As if she has lost the plot, that or she is drunk, for a moment Brian just stares at her.

Then, driven back by her handbag aimed at his head, her aim improving, all the while screaming: "murderer," "poisoner," Brian is forced to back out to the hallway.

Now, with his back up against the front door, trying to protect his head, that still hurts from the beating he took off of Dodds, he says, 'what on earth are you talking about Sue? I would never do such a thing. The police, and the doctor told us both Olga died of a heart attack. Why are you saying all this?'

Her voice carries right up the road, 'blood money, out of greed you killed my poor aunt you evil swine. Get out... get out or would you kill me too? Oh, my poor children!'

Brian doesn't have time for Sue's theatrics. He needs to get over to the hospital.

Opening the front door he says, 'I'm going okay. I'll talk to you when you sober up.'

Beating her fists on his back Sue follows him out the door.

On the garden path Brian stalls. Looking as if they have just encountered Jack The Ripper a gaggle of his neighbours are blocking his escape.

Clinging to the doorframe, Sue is swaying and wailing.

Quite suddenly, like rabbits in car headlights the neighbours find themselves face to face with the murderer they'd been warned not to approach.

It is like a Mexican standoff. Brian narrows his eyes, looks from one face to another. Rigid with fear the neighbours simply stare back at him. Such was the tension it would take no more than a flinch to send them into a frenzied panic and Brian does just that.

The sudden appearance of the "Acacia Avenue murderer," his face a mask of crimson and black was alarming enough, but when he leaps over the gate to land in their midst the elderly neighbours panic.

Replacement hips, multi –valve heart replacement surgery, angina, and colostomy bags, can be a hindrance when fleeing for your life, yet despite these encumbrances the neighbours do their level best to remove themselves from danger. An alarming and never repeated burst of adrenalin takes hold of old Mrs Butler, who at the age of 82 years throws herself over the privet hedge into the display of winter pansies that Mr Butler recently planted.

Ben Downing turns and runs headlong into the White transit van parked at the kerb. The walking stick that flies from his grasp now strikes Mrs Winterbottom a crack on the head and like a wounded rhino she falls to her knees gasping, 'I am done for. Lord, take me, poor wretched sinner that I am.'

Not fully recovered from her previous fall Marge Conway, after getting knocked to the ground lies quite still, while Mr Butters is choking on his Dad's dentures.

Leaving chaos in his wake fleeing like a criminal Brian makes a run for it.

Now laughing fit to bust and needing a wee Sue runs back inside the house.

A short time later, a fleet of ambulances takes the injured, to hospital and three police cars, dispatched to uphold public order patrol the streets.

Putting on her best thinking head, which has never delivered anything of great consequence, and although, no one in authority has said such a thing, Sue is labouring under the delusion the police are looking to apprehend her fleeing husband.

Looking dismayed on the High Street, Brian sees his bus pull away. He starts to panic. On the phone Lucy had sounded worried and the next bus isn't due for another hour. Fishing around in his pocket he finds the tenner he picked up in the park. Sirens wail all around him. Police cars are touring the streets. He hails a passing cab, jumps in the back and keeps his head down. He tells the driver take him to the hospital.

Lucy catches up with him outside Charlie's room. She takes him aside, 'Brian, thank God you're here. You hung up before I had a chance to explain.'

'Sorry Lucy,' Brian says catching his breath, 'it was Sue that cut you off. I am going to sign the form, if... '

Brian stares at the double doors. He can't believe what he is hearing.

'Nurse get me my clothes, I am getting out of here!'

Wide-eyed Brian looks back at Lucy, says, 'that's not Charlie?'

'Yes it is,' Lucy can't help grinning. 'Can you believe it? Charlie seems to have made a remarkable recovery.'

'When you rang I thought it was to tell me that he'd died. How come...? What?' Brian is lost for words. 'Can I go and see him?'

Lucy takes hold of his arm. 'Yes please. It would be great if you were able to settle him down? He wants to leave but he's not well enough, and he has nowhere to live.'

'I can try.' Brian says pushing open the door.

Charlie, entangled in wires and tubes is relieved to see his mate, 'Brysie, mucker, where you been? You got to get me out of here, people die in hospitals you know!'

Laying his friend back on the pillows Brian says, 'Yes Charlie, some do, but most get well again, and then they get to go home, and that is exactly what you are going to do. but it wont be today.'

It takes some doing but eventually Brian gets Charlie to behave. Lucy brings them both a cup of tea and two Bourneville biscuits, each.

Brian gets a secret squeeze of his hand and a special smile from Lucy. She leaves them to talk.

Charlie sips his tea, as Brian relates the events of the past few days. He chuckles at times and growls frequently.

Now, exhausted having relived the past couple of days Brian sits quietly. Charlie is staring at the end wall.

Turning in his bed as far as the wires and tubes allow, Charlie says, 'Brysie, you are a good friend and you saved my life. I owe's you now, and what I am going to tell you is what a good friend would tell his mucker. Life isn't something that happens to you. You have the means and the power to direct where it goes.' Charlie waggles his finger in front of Brian's eyes to secure his attention, 'this much is clear, Sue and your boss are plotting to get rid of you, and unless you start acting real smart, they are going to get away with it!'

Brian nods dumbly. He gets it now.

'What you need Brian is an emotional enema, something to free up enough anger to sort these buggers out.' Charlie grins. 'Maybe Lucy can give you one. I saw the look she gave you, things' been occurring, while I was out of it eh?'

Couldn't help it Brian smiles.

Charlie yawns, settles his head back on the pillow. 'Sorry Brysie, I'm knackered. I think I might get some shuteye. You should think about what I just said.'

Brian watches Charlie close his eyes, pats his hand, says, 'will do Colonel, get some rest and I'll come back tonight. I can't tell you how glad I am to find you feeling better, alive even!'

Lucy is waiting outside. When she takes hold of his hand emotions the likes of which he has never experienced run amok inside him.

'Are you okay Brian?'

Her eyes look so lovely, so worried. He marvels at how despite getting fired from his job and then being thrown out of his home life seems so much better.

Gently he pulls her into an embrace, kisses her on the lips. He opens his eyes just to confirm he isn't dreaming. Lucy has her eyes closed. On the nape of his neck her hands feel cool, soothing. 'I couldn't be happier.'

Opening her eyes Lucy says, 'I love you Brian.'

Her eyes have misted over. Her vulnerability scares him. 'Lucy, I have no job and I have nowhere to live, I tell myself you mustn't get involved with me, but I don't know how to stop thinking about you?'

'I don't want you to stop thinking about me, and I am involved with you, and it feels natural and it feels wonderful. I don't want it to stop, I won't let it.'

Pulling her to his chest, he wraps his arms around her, says, I can't fight it Lucy, I love you so much it hurts.'

In the hospital cafe, Brian and Lucy sip Latte's. Brian tells her how weirdly Sue is behaving. 'I can't believe the things she is saying about me, accusing me of murdering her aunt.'

'Well, I have a good idea why she might say such things,' Lucy says stirring her coffee and looking into his eyes.

The latte in Brian's hand stops in mid-air.

'I think she wants you out your house so that her lover, your –ex-boss, can move in. Making up that tale gives her the perfect excuse to do it.'

Brian shrugs, 'to be honest, I couldn't care less what she is up to.'

Lucy has been thinking and what she has in mind is far from sensible, but right now her heart is ruling her head, and despite the bruises on his face and his old fashioned clothes she has fallen in love with this man.

Maybe this is the kick up the backside that I needed to get my life moving again. Oh what the heck!

She is in the staff canteen, Lucy calls Bridgette on her mobile, tells her what she plans.

'Lucy, that is wonderful. Go for it girl, you only live once and your life has been on hold too long.'

She knew Bridgette would say that, she only needs a little encouragement. She catches up with Brian in the corridor.

'Brian, I don't want any arguments, I have given this a lot of thought,' Lucy hurries on before she falters, 'I want you stay at my flat, the sofa is quite comfortable... just until you get settled somewhere.'

He searches her eyes, and sees she means it. How could he refuse? Brian takes the piece of paper she has written her address on.

'Its above the Fish and Chip shop,' she says, 'meet at mine, say, at 7 o clock?'

Brian smiles, folds the scrap of paper, and stores it safely in his pocket.

'What are you going to do in the meantime?' She asks, now worried for his safety.

He gives her a hug. Brian wasn't joking when he tells her, 'I am going to hand myself in to the police. I don't like the idea of me being a fugitive.'

4:30. P.M, Brian walks into Tawny West police station. Looking up from his paperwork the sergeant behind the front desk gives him a nod.

After explaining who he is, explaining that he was handing himself in, the sergeant shaking his head informs him that an arrest warrant for his arrest was never a consideration because Olga's death certificate confirmed Olga Romanavitch unquestionably died of a heart attack, and she was undoubtedly dead before her face sunk into his trifle. The sergeant then went on to explain that sworn statements made by a Mrs Susan Fossett and a man by the name of William Dodds, are currently being investigated as malicious and that pending further enquiries, both may face charges relating to the wasting of police time.

'My advice, Mr Fossett,' the desk sergeant says, 'is you should watch your back. For reasons that I don't want to know about, your wife and this other bloke seem intent on getting you into trouble.'

Elated, better informed, as if a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders Brian walks out the police station.

The more he hears about Sue and his ex-boss the angrier he gets. He has no idea what kind of person he would be, what he would be capable of should he completely lose his temper. The thought scares him.

At seven, on the dot Lucy opens her door to him.

He pulls her into his arms hands her a bunch of pink Carnations.

Oblivious to the TV in the background, sharing the sofa and the cottage pie that Lucy made earlier the couple chat happily all evening. The plan was Brian was to sleep on the sofa, but that was not quite how it worked out. Naked under the bedcovers, tenderly exploring each other's bodies, swept along with powerful, unstoppable emotions the couple consummate their relationship. Around 2:00 A.M, wrapped in each other's arms the couple falls asleep.
Chapter Seventeen.

9:00 A.M, Oblivious to the world outside Lucy's tiny flat, like spoons in each other's arms Brian and Lucy lay sleeping. Meanwhile on the other side of town Sue calls up Billy on his smartphone.

Dodds, in bed having a lie-in, picks up his phone, checks the caller ID.

'What's up?

'You'll never guess.'

He hates it when she does this. He then remembers that she is about to get rich, 'Hello sexy. I was just thinking about you. I was gonna call you.' he lies. 'Tell me.'

'The reading of Olga's Will, is today, at three, and I am so excited. Will you come with me?'

He thinks about this. If he doesn't go, she might screw up, 'you kiddin', course, I'm coming baby. In fact, why don't I collect you in the Bentley, we'll go in style. You'd better get used to it.'

'And... you'll never guess!'

'I don't suppose I will, what?'

'Brian, he never came home last night.' Dodds doesn't reply straight away. He is thinking that perhaps he'd killed him. He might've died? I proper laid into him. In front of twenty witnesses who saw Fossett throw the first punch, I acted in self-defence. 'You hear from him?'

'Not a peep, you know what I reckon?'

Dodds sighs. 'No.'

'He is on the run. I told so many people that he poisoned Olga, and they all believed me.'

'That's my star actress.' He says and yawns. 'Did you get the rat poison?'

'Yes, and just as you told me I paid with cash,' Sue is proud of her attention to detail. 'I disguised myself with dark sunglasses and I wore a large hat.'

Billy rolls his eyes, shakes his head. 'Where is it now?'

'The hat?'

'No Sue, where is the bloody rat poison?'

Thinking Billy will be so proud of her she says, 'you're going to be super-impressed Billy. Can you guess what I did?''

His patience is now wearing thin when he says, 'I couldn't possibly, but I got a suspicion you are about to tell me.'

'I handed the tin of rat poison in at the police station.'

Billy sits up on his bed. He groans. 'Did you just say you took the evidence to the police station?'

'Think about it Billy,' Sue says as if he doesn't understand, 'Just like you told me, I put the tin of poison in the shed, and then the police can't be arsed to come round to look for it, so I thought, fuck it, I'll take to them.'

This is troubling Billy. 'Sue, did you got Brian's fingerprints on the tin?'

Sue stares at her phone, 'what! How was I supposed to do that without making him suspicious?'

'Never mind.' Billy snaps irritably. 'I take it you had thought to open the tin and remove some of the rat poison, I mean you didn't hand it in unopened?'

'Der, I'm not entirely stupid. I poured some of it in a pile of flowerpots.'

'What flowerpots?'

'Does it matter what flowerpots? Some that were lying around in the shed.'

Controlling the urge to shout down the phone Billy reiterates: 'So, you took exhibit 'A', the tin of rat poison, the proof of Brian's guilt to the police station, but you don't have his fingerprints on it, but yours are! Sue, do you see where I am coming from?'

He waits, can hear her breathing.

Sue pouts, 'Oh Bunnykins, don't be cross with me. I only did what I thought best.'

The whole deal, implicating Fossett in a murder that never took place, is starting to unravel. Dodds now wishes he never mentioned it.

'We could be in a spot of trouble with the police Sue.'

'Why? Sue says taken aback, 'we've done nothing wrong. I was just helping the police, that's all.'

'Yesterday, you and I went in to the police station and we both signed sworn statements to the effect that Brian had confided in you how he had poisoned Olga, and if they went and looked in his shed they would find the poison.'

'I saved them the job is all.'

'No Sue, what you did was remove crucial evidence from a crime scene. The cops are gonna wonder why you would do that?'

'Oh I'm sorry Billy, I only did what you said.'

'Forget it Sue, lets... just forget it. Brian was never going to get banged up for long. I just wanted him out of the way for a few days, possibly weeks, but now that's not going to happen, so, let's just move on. Good news about the Will reading though, means you are one step nearer getting loaded, you lucky thing.' Thinking ahead he says, 'best wear black for the solicitors. Once we get the all clear we head over to Olga's place, clear it out, and secure it. Then honeybuns we can plan our future together.'

Sue shudders. The thought of going back inside Anastasia's Retreat fills her with dread.

'We don't need Olga's smelly old house Billy,' Sue says, 'couple of days and we'll have sold the jewellery, and you reckon that'll bring in millions, that's enough for now, we can employ people to clear the house. Then, when you get your divorce settlement, you'll be rolling in it, you get to keep the manor house, you reckon, and we go live there. I will be: "Lady Susan Dodds," sounds good that eh Billy? Throw that stuck up bitch Veronica out on her arse, jeez, can't wait for that.'

Billy clears his throat, 'yes, of course sweetheart, but you need to understand getting a divorce when you are nobility, is a little more complicated than you might think, there are the transfer of titles to consider, all manner of fiscal complications such as the brokerage of bonds, the arbitration of bits and bobs, the closing down of other things and the exchange of all manner of other items, but that shouldn't concern us right now because in the meantime we can sell off the stuff Olga left you in her Will and we'll be rolling in it.' Dodds can almost taste the good times ahead. 'Just imagine it, in a few weeks time, you and I might jet off and overwinter in Saint Moritz, perhaps go skiing in St Tropez, cruise down the river Aegean in our private yacht, and shop in Bond Street... Sue we are going to be super-rich.'

Sue is quivering. 'Billy I need Ol' tiger in my pussy right now, do we have time for a quickie, I mean before we go to the solicitors?'

'Oh, if only sweet-tits, we can make up for it later, book into a real posh hotel. Gotta go, pick you up two-thirty.'

Billy ends the call, rubs his hands together.

Chapter Eighteen.

Lucy and Brian share a breakfast of toast and orange juice. In preparation for his three o clock appointment at the solicitors Lucy has washed and ironed his clothes.

Luckily, Lucy is on leave for the next few days. Suddenly her life has a sense of purpose, hope, all bright and shiny, and she doesn't want to leave Brian's side. They agree she'll go along too, but she would wait in a coffee shop.

Like excited kids at two o clock, they bounce down the stairs from her the flat and run out onto the pavement apologising to the lady after almost knocking over her pushchair. Under the bus shelter outside Patel's newsagents they cuddle up.

Despite the chaos all around him Brian feels upbeat. Life feels good, better in fact than at any time in years. He pulls Lucy to him. 'I feel so lucky,' Brian says kissing her lightly on the lips.

'Then you should go buy a lottery ticket?' Lucy jokes nodding towards the door of the newsagents.

'What, with this?' he says, showing Lucy the princely sum of £1.40 he found in his pocket, 'and that my love, is our bus fare.'

'I'll pay the bus fares,' Lucy says, 'you go in buy a lottery ticket. I'll keep our place in the queue.'

'What queue?' Brian laughs, there's only you and me.'

Lucy pushes him towards the newsagents. 'Hurry up, the bus' ll be here in a minute.'

Brian approaches Mr Patel who just finished serving the woman with the pushchair.

You have the numbers or do you want a lucky dip?' Mr Patel enquires.

'The bus is coming,' Lucy shouts through the open door.

Handing Mr Patel the money Brian says, 'better make it a lucky dip please.'

'It's a triple rollover this Saturday. Are you feeling lucky?' The shopkeeper says taking the ticket from the machine.

'Yes, I think I do. In fact I might just be the luckiest man alive.'

Patel says, 'Let's hope this ticket changes your fortunes.'

'Bus is here Brian.' Lucy calls out through the open door.

'Me too, thanks,' says Brian taking the ticket. Now he turns, makes a dash for the door. Outside, he grabs hold of Lucy's outstretched hand and seconds before the doors whoosh shut they make onto the bus platform.

Giggling they collapse into an upstairs seat and cuddle up.

Outside the solicitors' office Brian and Lucy look around not sure of their bearings.

Lucy spots a coffee shop on the opposite side of the road. 'I'll wait over there,' Lucy says straightening up Brian's tie. Now, she picks a piece of lint off his shoulder and gives him a peck on the lips. 'Good luck in there.'

Looking up at the old Georgian building with its timber frame walls bowing this way and that, and its bulls-eye windows, and black painted oak beams, he is reminded of Dickens, Old Curiosity Shop. Above the door the old brass gas lamp hasn't worked in a hundred years. The faded brass plaque on the wall says: "Saxby and Boothroyd Solicitors."

When he pushes open the heavy front door a bell, clangs discordantly.

The entrance hall is so dark it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

He jumps when of its own volition with a heavy thunk the door slams shut behind him. He can smell damp. He looks down at the carpet of indistinct colours and patterns. Just a few inches above his head the ceiling, bowed and cracked, narrows at one end. Black, forbidding, the door at the far end is closed. He gasps when an apparition appears from behind a desk he hadn't noticed.

'Can I help?' Seems to him the dusty, elderly woman materialised out the ether.

After scraping his feet on a worn mat, Brian steps smartly forward and extends his hand, 'er, hello, Brian Fossett, here for a Will reading, Olga Romanavitch?' He was glad when the woman disconnected her hand before it took leave of her bony wrist.

'I am, Mrs Merryweather, secretary to Mr Saxby,' the old retainer says flatly. 'Your wife, Mrs Susan Fossett, is she not coming?'

Brian doesn't want to say anything that will get Sue started, and then thinks, does it matter?

'Oh, er, yes,' he says, 'she is coming. Probably held up in traffic.'

Stepping out from behind her desk the secretary says, 'please come this way. Mr Saxby doesn't like to be kept waiting.'

Brian follows Merryweather's arthritic, slightly off centre gait down a narrow corridor that due to subsidence steers him unerringly towards the walls that buckle under the weight of the floors above.

Passing a wall-mounted glass tank Brian pauses to examine a mangy looking dead mammal, one he doesn't recognise. As if warding off any audience to its present predicament the creature has its fangs bared. Brian is reminded of one of those dusty provincial museums that only ever opens on a Tuesday, and then only between the months of July and September.

Merryweather, stops at the door, raps on it with her bony knuckles, doesn't have to wait long.

'Come.'

The voice behind the door might have come from three floors up. The secretary pushes open the door. With a stooped bow, Mrs Merryweather says, 'Mr Saxby, Mr Fossett, your three o clock is here. Apparently, Mrs Fossett is late.'

'Take a seat,' the solicitor says without looking up, and pointing a feather quill at a one of four cracked green leather chairs.

'Mrs Fossett, your wife, 'Saxby intones, 'she is delayed?'

Wringing his hands Brian says, 'sorry, we left separately. I imagine she will be here shortly.'

Looking at his visitor over the top of his spectacles, Saxby huffs before resuming his scratching on a pad. Brian now, casts his eyes about the room. He folds his arms and tries not to fidget in the chair that squeaks at the slightest flinch. On the wall to his left there is a circular clock. Last time he'd seen one of those was in the booking hall, St Pancras station. He does his best to stop from synchronising his heartbeat to the dull tock. Finally, the solicitor ends this pointless, compulsive occupation. Taking from his vest pocket a gold hunter pocket watch he flips open the lid.

Your wife is now four minutes late Mr Fossett, this will not do.'

'Sorry, Mr Saxby, she is on her way.'

'Indeed.'

The click when Saxby closes the watch in the sullen atmosphere of the room sounded like the crack of a pistol.

Legs crossed at the ankles, right foot bobbing up and down, and looking about him, Brian focuses his mind on the mahogany desk with its tooled red leather inset. His eyes move up a little, takes in Saxby's attire: black jacket, threadbare at the cuffs, a squalid black waistcoat, gullwing collared shirt, and a modest black tie. His hooked nose and thin wispy hair completes the Dickensian image.

The silence feels oppressive. The clunking of the clock reminds Brian of a condemned man, alone in a prison cell, listening for the approach of footfalls on cold stone flags, the cell door opens, and in walks the hangman.

Their breathing, Saxby's, and Brian's, becomes synchronised with the metronomic tick of the clock. Saxby stops writing. Sits erect, his fingers steepled, support his chin, his eyes, dead and grey, stares at something inside his head.

It is now 3:14; P.M. Saxby once more removes the hunter from his pocket. He flips open the lid and then closes it. Sounding like a fish expiring at the bottom of a boat he sighs and then returns the hunter to its pocket.

Looking about the room Brian is drumming his fingers on his knees. Miserly daylight filters through the cobwebs of the window set too high to see out of. The only other feature of note in here is the wall-to-floor bookcases that bow under the weight of tooled leather books. There is an odour in here. He is reminded of childhood visits to his grandparents.

Like a wary vulture, at a commotion in the lobby, Saxby, quite suddenly stirs. Brian can hear Sue out in the lobby apologising for being late.

In a confusion of perfume and ostentatious finery, Sue bustles in. She freezes when she sees Brian.

'You!' she spits. 'What the f.... what are you doing here?'

'Mr Saxby invited me. I left you a note,' Brian says. He doesn't care that Sue is pissed off him being here. A shadow moves behind her. Brian sucks in air. The leering face of Billy Dodds appears over her shoulder.

'Never mind him,' barks Dodds, wanting to take over the proceedings, 'can we just get on with it?'

Saxby bristles, Dodds sees it, thinks, for now, better ease off, take a back seat, just chip in when needed.

Saxby reaches into a drawer by his knee, takes out a ribbon bound folder and with a degree of reverence that one might apply should one be opening one of the Dead Sea Scrolls, he removes a worn and faded document.

'By the powers invested in me,' Saxby intones, 'as the appointed executor for the estate of the late Olga Romanavitch; I hereby declare this to be the last Will and testament of the aforementioned deceased.

'I Olga Romanavitch, being of sound mind and body.'

Saxby stops speaking until Sue gets control of her giggles that she hurriedly converts to a fatuous attempt at a sob. Billy digs her in the ribs.

Over the top of his spectacles the solicitor glares at Sue and then continues: 'I Olga Romanavitch being of sound mind and body...'

'Sound mind and body!' Sue, snorts, 'that's a laugh!'

Ignoring the interruption Saxby continues, 'on the condition that my grand-niece is "contentedly married" on the day of my demise, I bequeath to Susan Fossett the: 7.3 acres of land known as Follys Bottom, my Russian palace, known as Anastasia's Retreat, all the goods and chattels therein along with the contents of my bank accounts, my life insurances, and my annuities."

Sue squeals, squeezes Billy's hand.

Now Saxby holds up a cautionary finger... 'As the executor of your great-aunts estate I shall need to be assured that the condition of inheritance has been duly met and I am not convinced such a state exists.'

Sue produces a smile and looks sideways at Brian, 'Mr Saxby, I can assure you that Brian and I are contentedly married, aren't we darling?' Sue nails her husband with a threatening glare.

Saxby is thinking, I could scupper this vile woman's scheme here. Silas hasn't forgotten how she has spoken to him in the past.

He decides to let it go, be rid of her.

Brian too is thinking that perhaps he should scuttle Sue's greedy scheme, and why not? What's in this for him, hasn't she just thrown him out his own house? He chooses his words carefully. 'Yes, I suppose Sue and I are as contented married as many other couples.'

Saxby sits back, stares fixedly at Brian.

Sue is holding her breath.

Wanting this debacle over Saxby says, 'if you say so Mr Fossett.'

'Yay! I get the lot.' Sue yells excitedly.

'Not quite everything, Mrs Fossett.' Saxby says cautioning the woman.

'Huh!' Sue utters.

Pointing his pen at Brian he reads aloud: 'In recognition of the kindness he has shown me over the years to Brian Fossett I bequeath...'

Leaping from her chair Sue vows, 'Fuck all! He'll get nothing, not a bean, its all mine... '

Moving quickly, Billy clamps a hand over her mouth, shoves her back down in her seat. 'Sorry about that,' Dodds says grinning, 'Sue is still grieving for her auntie.'

'Quite,' Saxby says peering over the crook of his nose. 'If you don't mind, I am a busy man and I do have other appointments, please allow me to continue. To Brian Fossett, in recognition of the kindness he has shown me over the years and for making the best sherry trifle ever, I bequeath my carpet bag, and its entire contents.'

Sue now goes into gales of laughter. Slamming her hand down on the desk she shouts. 'The carpetbag! Wahay Brian. Yes! Result! Brian you get to inherit her shitty old carpetbag... and, of course, all its lovely contents, her knitting, the fluff-covered mints, and her old powder compact, woo-hoo, lucky ol' you Brian, you get the lot.'

Now, Saxby closes the folder and directs a comment at Sue, 'Mrs Fossett, your great-aunt, Ms. Romanavitch, was implicit in that your husband should inherit her carpetbag. So, before you leave here this afternoon I require from you an assurance that Mr Fossett will meet no hindrance when he collects it.'

Paying little attention, wrapped up in thoughts about her inheritance open-mouthed Sue goes. 'Huh?'

The woman is testing his patience. Saxby says, 'the bag Mrs Fossett, where is it?'

Brian and Sue exchange glances.

'It's in the car, 'she remembers, 'I have it in the car. I was going to dump it in a bin, cos the smelly old thing was stinking the house out.'

Mr Saxby sighs, says, 'and the contents of the carpetbag? Ms Romanavitch, specifically mentioned the contents.'

'The contents!' She can feel her heart banging against her ribs. Does the old bastard know about the jewels? Inconceivable. Billy was the only other person she'd told about the massive rings and the necklaces in her bag. No one need know that I found them in the bag. I can say that I found them in Olga's house. He's welcome to her carpetbag... and the crap.

Now Sue's pulls off a passable impression of Vivienne Leigh as Scarlet O Hara, from Gone With The Wind. 'Whah I do declayer, I swayer I haven't even taken a peek inside it. I'm real sure mah husband Bri-yan is mahteey weyalcom to it awall.'

Shaking his head Brian is wishing he hadn't come, he'd have been far happier spending this time with Lucy.

Silas Saxby had been Ms. Romanavitch's solicitor for donkeys years and Saxby's not the old duffer these people think he is, he knows stuff, he knows for example, that the big guy, the surly looking thug, who doesn't say a lot but his very presence feels like a threat, is never Susan Fossett's half-brother. Brian Fossett, poor man, must have been like a tethered lamb when she met him and surely he has worked out the big man, a few genes, short of homo-erectus status is her lover? He is tempted to challenge her, say she hasn't met the "contentedly married" insertion, but then most likely she'll take it to the High court and probably win the case. At the end of the day does it really matter? Better get this over with, get them out, but first as proscribed by the late, Olga Romanavitch, he must ensure beyond doubt the ownership of the carpetbag is established.

'In conclusion, Mrs Fossett, into your hands I shall pass on the papers and deeds for the property and then once we have resolved the matter of the ownership of the carpetbag, happily, we can conclude our business here today.'

Sue's brow furrows, what the fuck? 'Didn't I just say, it's in the car? Why all the fuss about a friggin' musty old bag? The minute we get out of here Brian can take it off me.'

'Mrs Fossett, I need you to be patient a little longer while I put this in writing. Watching Saxby scribbling on a pad Sue, having a hot flush is fuming at the delay.

Speaking directly to Brian Fossett, Silas Saxby says, 'Mr Fossett, please, before you leave, you need to take away a copy of this agreement.'

'Thank you,' says Brian thinking, do I really want that old carpetbag? What was Olga thinking? Perhaps, right now, she is looking down on me and laughing? I wouldn't put it past her. Curious though, why Olga insisted I have it. When I looked, there was nothing but rubbish in it! Course, that was after Sue had rifled through it. I might just leave it with her.

Sitting back in his chair Saxby says, 'unless anyone has any questions I believe we are done here.'

Sue stays put. She may never get another chance.

'Well, there is one thing.' Sue says, 'you being aunt Olga's solicitor, for like forever, I was wondering, if you can throw any light on my great-aunt's Russian ancestry? Time to time she said the odd thing, mostly when she was drunk. Sounded fascinating. I am intrigued and would love to learn more of her past. Stuff like who her mother was and how come she came to be in England, that sort of thing you know.'

Saxby draws out his hunter pocket watch, flips open the lid, sighs, and puts it back.

Sue presses him, 'all that talk about the Russian revolution and how her mother helped Princess Anastasia escape, that was just hot air eh? The ramblings of a mad old woman I expect. Probably not a word of truth in it, eh?'

Saxby knows a good deal of his deceased client's Russian history, however, has he any interest in sating this awful woman's curiosity? Silas has never forgotten how over the telephone this woman had subjected his ears to verbal offence the likes of which he might have expected from a drunken scaffold erector! How dare she call him, "a piece of shit in a cheap suit!"? He clears his throat, steeples his hands.

With bated breath Sue and Billy Dodds lean forward eagerly awaiting Saxby's next words. The air in the room feels heavy with expectation.

'On the matter of my fees, Mrs Fossett.' Saxby says.

'Eh!' Sue blinks, looks up at Billy.

'My fees!' Prompts Saxby.

Sue says, 'I thought you were going to tell me about Olga's family history!'

'Did you Mrs Fossett. I'm not at all certain what part of our discussions might have led you to such a conclusion. Now, how do you wish to settle my fees.'

Sue can't believe the man's arrogance. She waves her hand dismissively, tells him, 'just take the money from Olga's estate, isn't that what you guys do? What's the problem?'

She sees Saxby's face go dark. His eyes narrow like those of a hawk.

He is going to enjoy dropping this in her lap. 'Mrs Fossett, can I take it you are unaware of your great-aunt's pecuniary situation?'

Now, thinking what the fuck's he talking about Sue says cagily, 'What situation?'

'Mrs Fossett, there are insufficient funds in your late aunt's estate to cover our charges or indeed to pay the funeral costs. My question is, how do you intend to settle your account?'

Turning to Billy Dodds standing behind her Sue says, 'what the fuck's he talking about Billy?'

It takes a moment for the reality to hit home. Dodds is glaring at Saxby when he says, 'Sue, your aunt was skint, and you and I are going to have to stump up for the funeral costs, and the solicitor's fees.'

Feeling tired, confident these people are not going to write out a cheque today, Saxby wants them out of his office, says, 'Mrs Fossett. best I have my secretary put my invoice in the post. My terms of business are payment in full... within fourteen days, if you please?'

Sue looks about to burst a blood vessel and had it not been for Billy's strong hands pressing down on her shoulders, keeping her in the chair, she might have attacked the solicitor.

One hand clamped over Sue's mouth and holding her down Billy says, 'no problem Mr Saxby, we will settle your invoice by return of post.'

Suddenly, and to the relief of all those present, the Will reading meeting is over.

Anxious to go find Lucy, Brian is first on his feet but not quick enough. At the door Dodds body-checks him into the doorframe.

'Whoops! So Sorry Brian.' He grins.

'Ow! Brian cries. A terrific pain shoots down his arm leaving his fingers tingling.

'Get out my way you waste of space,' Sue says bustling past him.

Rubbing his sore shoulder and flicking his fingers to get the blood flowing through them Brian watches Dodds, arm around Sue's waist, steer her down the corridor.

'Don't forget to come and collect your bag of knitting Brian.' Sue calls back over her shoulder and then laughs out loud.

The pain in his shoulder is excruciating. His left hand has gone limp and his fingers are tingling.

A reckless part of him, seemingly able to discount the recent beating that Dodds had inflicted upon him, was up for chasing after the thug, wanting to knock him off his feet. Then he remembers over in the coffee shop Lucy will be waiting for him.

Saxby approaches him says, 'are you hurt Mr Fossett? Should I call an ambulance?'

'No, thanks, I'll be fine.'

'You may need this, Saxby says, holding out an envelope, 'this is proof of ownership... for the bag you have just inherited.'

'Oh thanks.' Bit weird, bit efficient! It's only an old carpetbag? Brian shrugs, takes the document from him. With his good hand he stuffs it in the inside pocket of his coat. Now that the pain in his arm has eased a little he sets off in search of Lucy.

Brian is waiting to cross the road when something heavy hits him in the chest. He turns his head, sees Sue leaning out the window of Billy's speeding Bentley. 'Enjoy your inheritance Brian.'

He looks down, frowns at Olga's carpetbag.

Bending, Brian picks up the bag, looks across the road. He can see Lucy smiling, waving through the window of the coffee shop. At the kerb he waits for a break in the traffic.

Despite the dull ache in his shoulder Brian feels elated... except, somewhere, and not that far below the surface of his consciousness, a seething cauldron of anger of Vesuvian proportions is bubbling away. His hatred of Dodds is making him dangerous.

The brash bully, thick as two short planks, is now getting to him. Images of past humiliations taunt him. A part of him that he doesn't want to acknowledge yearns for revenge.

Now, Lucy is in the shop doorway, smiling. For now at least he sweeps from his mind dark and dangerous impulses.

On the top deck of the number 88, bus, Lucy asks for a detailed account of what happened in the solicitor's office.

She listens intently and comments little. It seems to have gone pretty much as she expected. She hopes Brian can now draw a line under the horrible events of the past couple days and move on.

Back in Lucy's flat, for safekeeping Brian gives her the lottery ticket. 'Here, he says, 'do me a favour? Look after this for me, only I have previous for losing small papery things like money. You never know, you might bring me luck. In fact, from now on, I am going to call you, "Lucky Lucy."

'Hmm,' Lucy screws up her nose.

'You don't like that?'

'Makes me sound like a small boat! 'Lucy says and then laughs out loud. She tucks the ticket under the Penzance Pixie that David bought her on their honeymoon. When she turns around Brian pulls her into his arms.

They kiss passionately. When the embrace ends Lucy notices something is troubling him.

Taking hold both her hands he says, 'Lucy, I need you to wait here. There is something I need to do.'

She had known something was troubling him. All the way home on the bus home Lucy sensed it. Whatever it was she didn't think it was anything sinister, just a private matter, she imagined.

Looking into his eyes, the bruises around them, now blue, purple, doesn't distract her from seeing this is something he needs to do, alone worryingly! A part of her mind is telling her, it's okay, that she should let him go. 'I think I understand.' Lucy says kissing him on the lips. Letting go of his hands was tough.

# Chapter Nineteen

The morning sun flooding through the French doors adds a soft ambience to her Father's favourite room. The drawing room has hardly changed since he died. Lady Veronica Curmudgeon is sitting in his favourite chair, a Georgian red leather Captains chair. Her flaxen hair, remarked upon by many is held in place with a diamanté comb. Her slender legs are crossed at the ankles. Her fingers hanging loosely over the cracked arms of the chair are restless. The black satin dress and the single strand of pearls she wears speaks of old money.

Today, her brow is furrowed with uncharacteristic lines and her normally placid blue eyes having just visited scenes that horrified her are staring unseeing at the far wall.

Veronica places the DVD player remote control on the tooled leather inlay of her Father's desk. Now, her fingers massage her temples. Her headache won't go. The blank TV screen on the far wall reflects how black her heart feels. The DVD confirmed in shocking detail her husband's infidelity. Five minutes into the hour-long video of her husband cheating on her with his secretary she turned it off, seen quite enough. Thinking about what lays ahead, unconsciously her right forefinger and thumb is rotating her wedding band.

William's sexual incontinence has always been a problem. His affairs, mostly sordid and brief rarely last more than a few days, sometimes weeks. She had expected this affair to fizzle out months ago; instead, she suspects it has gone on for years. Their dirty little secret however has another dimension, one that requires sensitive handling. There is another victim this time. Her husband's lover is Sue Fossett, wife of a valued and trusted worker.

Her heart stalls at a knock on her door. She recognises Bassett's tap. 'Come in James.'

He brings disturbing news from the factory. This time William has gone too far. Two days ago he attacked, beat senseless, Brian Fossett who he then sacked. She will need to expedite her plans. She thanks James and crosses the room, dials in the numbers and opens the wall safe. Next, she places the DVD disc inside it and then locks it. Despite the study being warm, she shivers. Out in the hall she makes her way up the wide ornate oak staircase, turns on the galleried landing, and locks her bedroom behind her.

In the arc of her bedside lamp, 2:00 A.M scenes from the DVD looping through her mind wont let her sleep. She is about to instigate the first ever divorce in the Curmudgeon dynasty.

She thinks, stupid, stupid man. Then, No more stupid than you were! Just to spite your father you went ahead and married him!

It all started when Millie took her to that pub in Battersea. Unworldly and out of her depth, the roguish charms of the swaggering ex-pro boxer caught her attention. Unlike any man in her narrow circle of acquaintances she thought him crude and vulgar. The initial attraction had been physical, pure and simple. What she'd seen in him was raw sex.

Later, in a whirlwind of drugs, alcohol and unfettered sex the girl raised in the moody halls of Greystone manor under the watchful eyes of her governess lost her way. Veronica was to go on a crazy journey with this ex-boxer or she must go home and marry a Giles, or a George. The decision to wed William took them along divergent paths that proved to be littered with pitfalls. Their first argument occurred right there in the registry office.

'Sorry William, I am keeping my surname. I could never be Lady Veronica Dodds! Does that not sound incongruous to you?'

It did not. He didn't even know what it meant!

To keep track of their new son-in-law Lord and Lady Curmudgeon suggested that he and his daughter live at Greystone Manor. Never at any time did the Curmudgeon's imagine they were at greater risk than their daughter.

As an incentive to keep him from the undesirable company he kept in London, at an inflated salary, the Curmudgeon's offered Dodds a supervisor's position at their local factory. On the condition the job came with a company car of his choosing Dodds agreed.

Two years pass. Lord Curmudgeon was driving. He and his wife were heading off to a weeklong break at their lodge in the Scottish highlands. On a narrow winding road another vehicle forced their Landrover off the road and sent it down into a ravine. Despite huge resources the police put into a search for the other vehicle and its driver the culprit was never found.

Far too young, Veronica now found herself in the role she had never wanted. Lady Veronica Curmudgeon, heiress to Greystone Manor, owner of Precision Pumps Intl, head of a global business with a board of directors now has a workforce of hundreds.

Taking advice from her legal team Veronica sold off all the company assets keeping only the Tawny West assembly plant along with the loyal workforce. This felt more manageable.

With indecent haste within weeks of her parent's funeral William approached Veronica with a proposal. He said he wanted to help her out and that he feels duty bound to take over the family business. He had plans for new progressive management strategies.

'Make me the CEO and I will make us both rich.'

'Rich!' Veronica turned on him. 'This is not a time to be thinking about becoming rich William!'

By way of a compromise and to soothe his dented pride she appointed him Managing Director.

Veronica was no quitter and she did her best to make their marriage work. Often this involved her pandering to William's whims, but on two issues she was not prepared to budge: She refused to allow him to take over the running of the business, and she chose to remain childless.

To keep abreast of Billy's machinations Veronica had to learn fast and by taking sound legal advice curtailed most of her husband's dodgy business dealings. Veronica was careful not to disavow him of the delusion he had significant power in the business when in fact his contract afforded him fewer employment rights than the lowest of their salaried employees.

Veronica wasn't proud of how little she trusted William. He never knew that in the small print of his employment contract her lawyers had inserted a clause stating that at any time Veronica could sack him at a moment's notice... without recompense.

Billy Dodds thought it inconceivable that someone as weak as his wife, any woman in fact, would ever be a match for his business skills or his cunning, so when Veronica approached him with yet another employment contract he signed this unquestionably acting as if she was a nuisance.

Her husbands having exhibited in the past an almost willful disregard for her money Veronica had been obliged to restrict William's access to company funds. He was put in charge of product output, handling orders and staff management.

Sixty-one years old Mavis Fotheringay had been the company secretary for the past twenty-eight years. William had been complaining to Veronica saying that the old family retainer was now too old for the job and he wanted to employ someone younger to help her. Had Veronica known at the time that this someone younger, was the wife of one of their employees she would have checked the applicant's credentials personally.

Within weeks of Susan Fossett coming on the payroll, typing average, ten words per minute, including typos, Dodds was telling Veronica, Mavis had to go. "We don't need two women in the office, and Mavis, the poor old thing is getting tired."

Veronica was having none of this. Mavis Fotheringay was her eyes and ears in the office. She stood her ground. He would go first!

Sadly, three months later, on a Monday morning, after the factory had been closed up all weekend, Mavis Fotheringay was found dead at the foot of the iron staircase that led up to the office. In due course the investigation into her death led by the police and the Health and Safety Executive found no evidence of foul play. The coroner concluded decided Mavis' s death was due to the injuries she received falling on the stairs. Case closed. The question as to why Mavis happened to be alone in the factory on a Saturday night was never satisfactorily established. Veronica blamed herself. Had she allowed William to let Mavis go she may still be alive to this day?

Fotheringay's untimely death precipitated a gradual slide in the company's fortunes. Veronica now relied on whisperings of what went on in the office. One time she challenged him. He got mad. "You want to listen to fucking gossip Veronica, that's up to you. It is just bloke banter, people with nothing better to do than to cause trouble. I swear I have never been unfaithful to you."

She found it hard to believe him.

Providing her with proof of her husband's adultery Veronica's hired agents had been thorough. Veronica has Bassett, pack up Williams's belongings and tells him put them in one of the garages. She arranges to have the lock on her bedroom door changed.

Dawn the next day Veronica is wide-awake. There are no more tears. What little warmth she once had in her heart for her cheating husband was now cold ashes.

Veronica picks up the phone and rings down to the kitchen.

Bassett picks up, 'yes ma'lady.'

After hanging up the phone Bassett says to chef Tom Edwards, 'please hold dinner Tom, her ladyship will be out for a few hours.' After pulling on his chauffer jacket Bassett runs a brush across his shoulders and then pulls on his cap.

Minus her wedding ring left sitting on the DVD disc in the safe, her eyes red-rimmed, hidden behind dark glasses, Lady Veronica climbs into the Rolls Royce and tells Bassett,

'My solicitors please James.

# Chapter twenty.

While Lady Veronica Curmudgeon is locked in a meeting with her solicitors to discuss both her husband's infidelity and the financial irregularities discovered in the company accounts, on the other side of town Dodds is driving the slightly tipsy Sue Fossett back to the factory.

For the past mile and a half Sue has been fiddling inside his pants. Dodds pulls the Bentley to halt in a secluded layby. They finish off a bottle of Chablis and Billy gets a blowjob.

Dodds is in no hurry to get back, his foreman Tony Croucher will keep the men at their benches. One thing he can count on Tony Croucher for is telling him all the gossip going round the factory. With a few schemes in place, not quite there yet, more than at any other time Dodds needs to know what other people are saying about him.

For the past six months Dodds has secretly been planning to sell the factory to a bunch of unscrupulous property developers. The plans have already cost him five big ones. Bribing the entire local planning committee set him back another ten K. More money will need to be invested if he is to get the chief planning officer, the greedy and odious Mr Sidney Tolgate on board. Once he has the go-ahead a demolition team will move in, and the minute the factory is a wasteland, he gets paid out in full. Boom!

Working in his favour is the long-standing tradition that for two first two weeks in May the entire factory closes down for it's annual holiday. By the time the workers return, the factory that used to put bread on their tables and pay their mortgages will be a housing construction site and he, along with the very dumb, but very sexy Sue Fossett, along with her eye-watering inheritance, plus the million quid he will get from the sale of the land will be sunning it in Marbella.

It's going to be tight, getting all his ducks in a line. At the end of the month Veronica's snoops are due to examine the company accounts. They will very quickly discover great holes in the company accounts caused by the diversion of funds into the slush fund used to pay bribes. No question, Veronica will have him arrested and see him sent to prison.

It is time to deal with Sidney Tolgate.

Universally considered to be a dull-witted, greedy, disagreeable chap with personal ambitions way beyond his capacity to deliver, Sidney Tolgate is five years off his retirement. By nature, Sidney has a risk-aversive personality and had it not been for his impending redundancy and the measly payout on offer he wouldn't have been tempted by the money the boss of the local factory was waving under his nose. Risky... he knows that, he could go to prison. Why not? All those other bastards on the planning committee have taken the bribe? With the fifty grand, I can retire; go buy that boat I've always dreamed of.

Dodds doesn't trust Tolgate. He thinks the creep is liable to back out at the last minute. To ensure his cooperation Dodds has hired the services of a female friend, a very alluring young lady.

All appetite and no taste Dodds is a man with a tenuous grip on reality. In his head at least, he is poised to become the wealthy man that he always imagined was his as a birthright.

He has grown tired of Veronica's continuing interference in company matters. Long ago she had outgrown her usefulness. The thrill he once got from moving out his basement flat in Battersea, to go live in a country mansion soon wore off. The rich tart that he managed to bed and then wed, had at first had looked like a good way he could get rich quick. It wasn't long before he learned that the gentrified folk that he thought were a bit soft in the head were a bit nifty when it came down to looking after their dosh. Veronica was now redundant. She had to go.

When Dodds first met this posh-talking naive, twenty-one years old graduate in the pub in Battersea he could imagine that Veronica might have access to money that would support his flamboyant lifestyle. Back then the snotty-nosed virgin had told him she was, "pretty miffed at Daddy, who only ever wanted her to take over the family business and to help her Mother with running the estate." Veronica was only ever a meal ticket, a rich-bitch piece of arse with social connections that would get him a foot in the door of the elite. Except it didn't!

His plan to slip unnoticed into the ranks of the landed gentry faltered when her Daddy began delving into his past. He shouldn't have been so nosey. Then he and his wife might not have ended up dead at the bottom of that ravine in Scotland.

Two years later, having learned that Mavis Fotheringay was about to blow his cover he took immediate action.

It was on a Friday night. Dodds told her Mavis he wanted her to stay behind and type up a contract. There was not another soul in the factory when they walked out of his office onto the landing at the top of those dangerous iron stairs. On the top step he gave Mavis just a nudge. He'd hoped she would die right away instead of moaning at the foot of the stairs in spreading pool of her blood. Dodds had smiled down at her. She couldn't move, he could see that. Crying out for help wouldn't help, no one would hear her.

"Bye Mavis.' He'd told her before locking up for the weekend and going home.

It was the cleaners who found her corpse on the Monday morning.

Holding onto Billy's hand and being pulled up the stairs, the ones that Mavis fell down, Sue pauses, looks back and smiles down at the men creeping closer hoping for a look up her short skirt. She loves it that men admire her figure. Climbing the stairs all sexy like in a short skirt is a game that Sue likes to play.

On the landing Billy Dodds stops and looks back, half a dozen men stop in their tracks.

'Get back to work, you slack bastards.'

After pulling Sue inside his office Billy kicks the half glazed door shut with his foot and then turns the key in the lock.

Some of the workers exchange knowing glances. Those willing to risk their boss's wrath begin to creep up the stairs. The panoramic window the width of the iron landing is ideal for the gawkers who were hoping to watch their boss screw his secretary.

Inside the office Sue squeals when Dodds lifts her off her feet and then throws her down on her desk that he has just cleared with one sweep of his arm. Dodds now steps back six paces. Staring now at Sue's tiny silk G string there is a lecherous grin on his face. His nostrils flare and his lips curl back from his perfect white teeth. He pulls his red braces over his muscled arms.

Sue's breath catches when she watches her lover drop his trousers and then step out of them.

Feet apart, and with his hands on his hips Dodds stands and faces her.

Sitting up on the desk, he legs agape Sue is admiring the bulge in his Superman underpants.

Now, Dodds unbuttons his shirt, rolls up his sleeves, and slips off his underpants.

Slipping off the cold metal desk and humming to the tune of "The Stripper," Sue sashays over to him and takes hold of Ol Tiger. Keeping hold of this she leads him over to her desk.

Eyes like frogs in a pond, a handful of workers now peer above the window ledge.

After slowly unbuttoning her tight fitting blouse Sue slips it off her shoulders. Now she takes it off. Swinging it about her head she lets it fly and then giggles when it ends up caught on the window catch. She had to laugh seeing a row of bug-eyed heads duck down.

In time to watch her take off her skirt and her bra the heads pop up again. Turning full circle and belly dancing, Sue waggles her remarkable breasts at their leering faces.

Dodds, his back to the gawking men, watches his lover strip down to her silk red G-string panties, her flesh coloured stockings and her red stiletto heels. Bending Sue speaks to Dodds throbbing erection. 'Hello big-boy wanna come play with momma?'

Billy red-faced now and sweating laughs when Sue hangs her bra on his throbbing cock.

Sue now turns and bends over her desk. She loves the cold kiss of the desktop on her breasts. Quivering with anticipation, she looks over her shoulder and sees him take up position. Aching to feel him inside her she closes her eyes.

Out on the landing, men jostle, mutter, and fight to get a better view.

Sue cries out when Billy smacks her buttock, rips off her tiny panties, and then throws them across the room.

Heads duck out of sight again when her G-string strikes the glass and then stay put.

Taking hold of her waist, Billy repositions his bare feet on the laminate wood floor.

Sue gets a grip of the edges of the desk. She gasps when Ol Tiger makes that desk rattle like a goods train.

Billy is grunting, his bare feet slip on sweat-slicked floor. Sue is moaning and her breath comes out in rasps. Her fingers gripping hold of the desk have gone white. Out on the landing men with stiffy's are bitching and jostling trying to get a better view. Dodds and Sue think this is going to be a nine-out-of-ten job.

So engrossed in this live sex show the workers never saw Brian Fossett step onto the stairs.

Brian is neither shocked nor disappointed at what he can hear, neither is he maddened with jealousy. That being the case you might wonder why he wanted to come here? In fact this little visit was just something that he needed to get done.

Climbing the stairs Brian began throwing the men out his way.

Halfway up the stairs Brian hears his wife's cries of deceit.

'Yes.oh...yes... yes...yes. oh my God Billy, yes. I want you to come inside my pussy.'

Primordial instincts, something Brian knows nothing about that seek to protect his genetic lineage unleashes a rage that has been suppressed for many years. It is time, for retribution.

Had you consulted those workers thrown aside on the stairs, their entertainment abruptly curtailed, there would have been a general consensus that the grim-faced individual rattling the office door handle bore no resemblance to the Brian Fossett that they regularly would rip the arse out of.

Now on her back, with her hips thrusting rhythmically, urging the plunging tiger to go deeper, go faster and scarcely aware of the cries escaping her ovoid mouth, Sue hears Billy's breathing quicken. If she can get this right they can climax together.

Now, Billy steps up the tempo. The rivets in the desk are being shaken loose.

Billy, sweating profusely has his eyes closed. He is on the verge of coming.

Nothing imaginable could possibly halt their ascent into orgasmic bliss... unless of course it happens to be Brian's boot that takes the office door off its hinges!

Mid-thrust Dodds freezes. His brain can't quite compute what is happening when the office door, in a shower of shattered glass and wood splinters skedaddles across the floor.

Dodds head whips around. Standing in the doorway looking as cool as you like is Brian-fucking-Fossett!

Sue has to crane her neck to see past her lover. Oddly, Brian looks taller, broader across the shoulders, more solid, and certainly deranged!

'Huh!' was all she could manage.

Dodds grins and says, 'Fossett, you forgot to knock! What you doing here? Didn't I tell you to go fuck your mother?' He laughs through his perfect white teeth. 'Maybe you called by hoping to see how a real man is able to satisfy your wife? How long is it since you had her eh Brian? Years Sue tells me. Ten fucking years!'

Brian says nothing.

Goading him now Dodds says, 'are you into voyeurism, Fossett, hmmm?' Dodds now picks up where he left off, 'watch and learn you wimp.'

Sue squeezes shut her eyes, lets out a gasp. Having her husband watch is turning her on.

Dodds is taunting the man now. 'Are you enjoying watching this you piece of dog shit?'

'My God Billy!' Sue cries out her nails pulling his buttocks in.

Until this moment Brian always imagined his ex-boss to be a bit like a Silver Back Mountain Gorilla type of feller. This is no longer the case. Dodds is a bully... full stop. If there is one thing Brian hates more than mushrooms it is a bully.

Billy now steps up the pace making Sue cry out.

'Oh my God Billy. I am going to come.'

'You enjoy watching this you wimp?' Billy says his back to Fossett. He plans to finish screwing his wife and then by fuck, he will deal with this wimp who had dared to walk in his office without knocking.

As a boxer he was always told, "you should never take your eyes off your opponent."

Sue gasps when Billy effortlessly flips her onto her back. She arches her back and cries out when Ol Tiger gets going again.

'Yes. yes... yes. Oh my God Billy I am coming.'

Now about to offload and ignoring the glass nicking the naked soles of his feet Dodds seeks a better foothold on the slippery floor.

Standing in the doorway, his expression inscrutable, Brian is aware of a rumbling, churning, feeling centred in his lower gut. It doesn't feel like the build up to a fart.

The scene in the office could be a British West-End Farce except real blood will be spilt, and harsh words will be spoken.

The volcanic emotions inside Brian have nothing to do with his wife being shagged by another man. As far as he is concerned Sue is history. He couldn't care less that she has been screwing this thug.

This is about him and Dodds.

Lifting his chin Brian flares his nostrils. The injuries on his face create a patchwork of livid colours, his left eye is puffy, and his mouth is cut and sore. Clearly intent of a re-match, you would think he would know better? It is quite possible that our Brian has fallen foul of: "the law of male omnipotence." This particular phenomenon attests that:

Throughout human history, when it comes to battlefield tactics, men in particular, have an unenviable record for blind-sighted arrogance. To review this one need only examine the facts surrounding the inglorious, "Charge Of The Light Brigade'. The tragic and needless slaughter of 670 dragoons on horseback, armed with lances and shiny sabres sent to kill off a few thousand Russians who had very sensibly assembled their heavy machine guns on the ridges overlooking a valley, latterly immortalised in the verse, "The valley of death," was the tactical brainchild of Lord Raglan, commander of the British forces. One can only assume his Lordship must have come up with this battle plan seated at his favourite chair in his Gentlemen's Club in Knightsbridge, possibly and allegedly, having drunk a bottle and half of brandy. His lordship must have thought the Russian machine gunners would find it enormously difficult to pick out the: bright red and white uniforms, peacock plumed helmets and the shiny braid worn by his lancers. Rather annoyingly those damned Russian machine gunners didn't run away at the sight of his men in their gay uniforms!

As a battle plan, Brian Fossett's is less detailed, and certainly off-the-cuff. He wouldn't argue that the tactics he employed in the first contest had been a bit naff, but you don't take the beating he had and learn nothing! His mind conjures up Millie's voice, her Nan's prophetic advice. "Stop worrying about the cracks in the pavement." Time to look up, time to deal with Dodds.

As wave after wave of orgasmic sensations begin their inexorable rise through her body Sue cries out, 'oh Billy.'

Brian watches his wife's red shoes bobbing up and down over her lover's hairy shoulders. Then her head looks around the sweating torso and thrusting arse of Billy Dodds.

Sue has to crane her neck to see her husband. She doesn't think it is just down to the injuries on his face that makes him look odd, well odder than usual! No, she is quite sure there is definitely something very strange about him!

Brian is paying no heed to his wife's hooded eyes watching him, nor is he distracted by her cries of deceit. His eyes fixate on Dodds thrusting arse. Under his breath he begins counting.

Sue and Billy have timed the unity of their orgasm to perfection. So what, Sue is thinking, if Brian wants to watch me getting screwed let him. Having Brian watch is having a surprising effect on her libido. So engrossed in his impending orgasm Dodds doesn't hear the feet of his ex-employer crunch on the broken glass.

The ex-pro fighter has grown soft over the years. He has lost the pugilist instincts to protect his vulnerable organs. This oversight might have been due to his impending orgasm. More likely, it was down to arrogance currently running at two decimal points below omnipotence. Either way, certain important appendages on the big man are exposed and vulnerable.

Casually, Brian approaches Dodds and reaching beneath his thrusting arse wraps his fist around the pair of swinging knackers. Before Dodds can react he squeezes them until they squeak.

Dodds howls like a pig caught in a gate.

Her lover cries of agony now snuff out Sue's orgasm.

'Billy! What's the matter?' Sue says feeling Ol' Tiger go limp.

Dodds is in no fit state to reply. Stooped and hyperventilating he was given no option. He had to go where his bollocks were headed off.

Skilfully applying just enough pressure to subdue Dodds, Brian manoeuvres him out of his wife and leads him out into the centre of the room.

'Is that it?' Brian remarks glancing down. 'For a big man I might have expected something a little more substantial.'

To remind the factory boss who is in charge and to crush any hint of resistance Brian now applies another painful squeeze on Dodds testicles.

Dodds pleads, 'Brian mate, please don't hurt me anymore. Genuinely, I am really sorry.'

Sue, her husband waltzing in just when she was about to climax is now pissed off. She plonks her backside down on the desk, sighs, and shakes her head. Sue folds her arms, says, 'you are such a prick Brian. I was enjoying that.'

Pointedly ignoring the men ogling her naked body through the window Sue settles for the spectacle of watching these two men about to fight for her affections. Once again, Sue is queen Cleopatra.

Feeling strangely relaxed about having his Boss's balls in his hand Brian calculates his next move. He is tempted, but then decides he wont geld his tormentor by tearing his genitals off at the roots. Brian thinks, lets see how much fight he has left in him? He releases Dodds genitals, wipes his hands down his trousers and steps back three paces.

Dodds gasps with relief but his balls feel like they are on fire. Hyperventilating helps ease the pain. Bent over, hands on his knees he glares up at his adversary. The pain eases a little, he risks straightening up. Fossett was lucky, caught him with his pants down, literally! He waits, biding his time. He knows an opportunity to attack Fossett will present itself.

Brian pretends he doesn't see Dodds eyes flick over to the heavy bronze statue of Aphrodite on a nearby desk. The goddess of love, how appropriate is that? When Sue starts on at him he looks round at her.

'Brian! What the hell are you doing here? If you've hurt Billy...'

Usually Dodds could always rely on Sue to screw up his plans, but not this time. When Dodds saw she had distracted Fossett he moves fast. In an instant the statue rises up in an arc.

Aphrodite is about to split open Brian's skull when Brian's fist smashes into Dodds face striking him "right on his button," exactly where his Dad once told him was the best place to hit a bully. His Dad was right! Dodds nose has burst like an overripe tomato. Billy staggers back. Aphrodite falls to the floor. Dodds feet are cut and bleeding from the glass underfoot. He struggles to remain upright the blood-slick tiled floor.

In all his years in the ring Dodds never got hit that hard.

Years of assembling quarter tonne pumps every day had honed Brian's muscles to a sinewy strength that no one would have imagined.

Dodds shakes his head. Another shake of his head and the twin Fossett's coalesce into one. Fossett had caught him with a sucker punch. He spits blood out his mouth and then flexes his arms. Now, he wipes his arm across his bloody face and adopting the boxer's classic pose flicks out his fists. 'That does it Fossett.' He snarls.

'Go get him Billy,' Sue yells from her perch on the desk, 'punch his lights out.'

Dodds begins feigning punches, ducking and swaying, and teasing his opponent. This is what he does best. The idiot facing him makes no effort to protect his face. He is going to flatten him and then he will beat him to a pulp. He ignores the pain in his inflamed gonads and the blood in his mouth. Dodds wants to get this over with and one haymaker will finish it. Then he'll take him out and this time there'll be no one to pull him off.

Making a quarter turn of his torso Dodds puts every ounce of muscle power into a killer blow. He couldn't quite believe it when Fossett leans his head back and allows the punch to sail harmlessly by half and inch from his jaw.

Hoping to disguise his disbelief Dodds grins through his bloodstained teeth Dodds boasts. 'That was just a feint Fossett. Now I really am going to kill you.'

Ignoring the stinging cuts on the soles of his feet caused by the glass from the door, and finding the tiled floor underfoot now wet with his blood a little slippery Dodds flexes his muscles. He plans to go in swinging. Shock and awe will drive Fossett back. A flurry of killer blows will end this farce.

Before Dodds has the chance to carry out this assault, two straight punches, a left and then a right from Fossett rocks him back on his heels. The first punch closes one eye, and the second one opens up a two-inch gap above the other.

Dodds shakes his head. Now, the fighter instinct kicks in. He makes a half turn, left foot forward, takes up the classic southpaw stance. Fossett won't know where the next punch' ll be coming from. He says, 'I'm gonna to kill you Fossett.'

'I don't think so Dodds,' Brian says flatly hands down at his sides, 'why don't you just put your pants back on and call it a day?'

'Oh yeah, you'd like that.' Dodds growls wiping his arm across his face that now looks like he's just washed it in blood. 'No chance you wimp. You landed a couple lucky punches. Don't let it go to your head. I'm still going to kill you.'

'I think you should quit while you're still standing.'

Dodds head is a little mushy but not so bad he can't finish this. He rolls his shoulders and spits blood from his mouth. He clamps his jaws, tightens his fists, and rushes into a full-frontal attack.

Splat! His lip explodes. Biff! A front tooth flies out. Bam! Kapow! A left uppercut followed by a straight makes his eyes roll back in his head. Like a drunk he staggers across the office and then falls back on the naked Sue perched on the desk.

Sue cries out when the pair crashes to the floor in among the glass and wood splinters and the blood.

Sue is crying. Billy gets a grip of the desk and tries to get to his feet.

'You animal,' Sue screams at Brian, 'look what you've done to poor Billy.'

Had enough now, from a kneeling position, head drooped, Dodds holds up a warding hand. 'Fossett, please, no more, I need to sit down.'

Brian nods. He can see no point in hanging about. He came her to prove something to himself and having done that all he wants now is to get home to Lucy, who'll be worrying. Brian turns and heads for the door.

Unrequited sex has left Sue with an ache in her foo-foo and she would bet good money that Billy is going to expect her to clean up this fucking mess.

As if he has just closed a chapter in his life holding his head held high Brian walks out the office.

On the stairs leading down from the office two lines of men like a guard of honour stand aside and nod when Brian passes.

At the bottom of the stairs before Brian goes round the corner into the clocking-in lobby Brian can hear Dodds and Sue arguing.

Pausing at the column of clocking-in cards he finds his own and pushes it in the machine. He grins at the time printed on the card. Tearing it to shreds he throws the pieces in the air and then walks out.

He feels as if he is walking out the gates of a prison he has been incarcerated in since he left school aged sixteen. Now, out in the car park he squints into the low hanging sun set in a vibrant blue sky. There is a spring in his step when he makes his way across the car park heading for the double gates swung back. A sleek white car cruises into the car park. It blocks his passage.

No mistaking her number plate: VC.1. That's weird! I don't see Lady Veronica for months and then she shows up here on the very day that I beat up her husband and trash her office.

Brian is wondering if Veronica has heard about their affair and that's why she has pulled right up alongside him and is about to get out of her car to talk to him. Maybe she came here expecting to catch them out? Brian decides he is reading too much into it. It's probably just another of her rare visits where she would do a tour of the benches before disappearing into the office to talk to her husband.

When he sees Lady Veronica Curmudgeon step out of her car he revises that consideration. He has never seen her wearing dark glasses and when she snaps them off he can see from her red-rimmed eyes that she has been crying. He thinks, yeah she knows all right.

'My God Brian!' Veronica says leaning forwards to get a better look at the injuries to his face, 'what on earth has happened to your face?' it then strikes her, 'please tell me my husband didn't cause those dreadful injuries.'

He shrugs.

'Then you must report this assault to the police Brian.' The look on his face says he's not going to do that. 'Brian, you can't possibly allow my husband to cause those horrific injuries to your face. Have you had medical attention?' When Brian sweeps his hair out his eyes Veronica spots the blood on his knuckles. Her eyes widen.

'You didn't... did you?'

'Did I just beat the crap out of your husband?' Brian finishes the sentence for her. 'Yes, I did, and no, I didn't report it to the police.'

'Sorry Brian, I am struggling to make sense of this.' Veronica says frowning, 'is it true my husband sacked you. Is that right?'

'Yes.' Brian says flatly, 'that was three days ago. I was told to leave the premises with immediate effect. I didn't even get a weeks notice.'

'That's not quite what happened is it Brian?'

He can feel his face heat up, he is looking down at his shoes when he says, 'to be truthful your ladyship I was carried off the premises unconscious.'

'Oh my God Brian, you poor man. So, why have you come back today?'

'Good question your ladyship, I guess it was to prove a point, recover a little some self-esteem, hand out a little justice, I'm not exactly sure, most likely it was a bit of all of that.'

'And that noise that I can hear coming from the office, sounding as if things are being thrown around, and the sound of my husband bellowing, are you responsible?' Veronica sees him shrug.

She has worked out he found out about their affair and this was his way of dealing with it. She just hopes that he gave her husband a real good thrashing. She looks round the car park and then lowering her voice she says, 'you know don't you?'

Brian nods, 'about their affair? Yeah, Sue told me when she threw me out of my house.' He looks straight at her. He doesn't want her getting the wrong idea. 'I didn't come here because the two of them are at it. Truthfully, I couldn't care less; he's welcome to her. Your husband and I had something needed straightening out, that's all.' He cringes at when he hears something getting smashed against a wall over in the office. Dodds and Sue must be having a right old ding-dong. The thought that Lady Veronica is about to go up to her office and she will see the mess he made of it is embarrassing. Then of course the last time he saw them they were both bloody and naked. He'd better warn her.

'Are you planning on going up in the office your ladyship?'

'Yes, why?'

'I wouldn't go up there right now. I'd give it a while if I was you.'

'You saying that makes that an imperative Brian. Would you care to explain why?'

'Hear that?' Brian says nodding his head back at the factory. 'You husband is a little... er, deranged, you could say, oh, and a little bloody, oh, and they were both naked last time I saw them, oh, and a couple of desks might be a little wobbly, oh, and please be careful of the glass underfoot. Did I mention the office door? No, well, that will need replacing only it was locked when I tried to get in.' Brian feels breathless thinking he did all that?

Veronica now surprises him when she says, 'The mess in the office is immaterial, and I am not the least bit interested in my husbands state of undress, or Mrs Fossett's as it happens. My priority is must reinstate you back on my payroll. And, before you say anything,' Veronica silences him, 'my husband and your wife are no longer employees, they will leave with immediate effect and you may rest assured there will be no repercussions.'

Brian didn't want to hear this. He'd been hoping to just slip away, go start a new life with Lucy, and sweep the crap out of his life, start all over. He has no intention of coming back. Lucy is now his future and right now she will be worried about him. He needs to get back to her. He also wants to get over to the hospital to check on Charlie. Even though he feels desperately sorry for Veronica, who wouldn't her being married to that thug, he needs to get going?

'That's good of you your ladyship, but d'ya know what, I am not coming back. I plan on making a fresh start. I am going to turn my life around. I suppose, in a strange way your husband taking Sue off my hands has done me a favour. She and I... we were never compatible. I don't suppose you know, but Sue only married me so she could inherit her aunts money.'

Him saying that was a surprise. At the same time it settles another question in her mind. She understands perfectly well where he is coming from. Right now she would happily swap places with him. If only she was free to just walk away from the life she inherited. She has to stop berating herself for the stupid willful acts of that headstrong, feckless, selfish young woman who allowed that imbecile William into her life. It's just a shame that her parents are no longer alive to see her put right all those idiotic mistakes. She certainly wouldn't have run off to Scotland and married that oaf. The memory of breaking her Father's heart will remain with her the rest of her days. Odd, she thinks, how it is that choosing one particular path automatically excludes all other options. You cannot travel on two divergent paths at the same time. She knows it is too late for her. The weight of responsibility for her position sits heavily on her slim shoulders. Once before, a long time ago now, she abdicated her responsibilities. She has not forgotten all the mayhem that created. This time... this time, she will do the right thing. People here, in this town, respect her. She owes them for their loyalty. Brian is fidgeting on his feet and looking over at the gates, She needs to let him go.

'If that is your decision Brian, I must respect that. I hate to lose such a good worker but I wish you well for the future.'

He can see her eyes have misted over. This is painful for her. He wonders when she last had a hug, He stops himself putting his arms around her. He'd probably end up in the Tower.

Brian looks over at the gates. He wants to end this awkward conversation.

'I should be going your ladyship.' Brian says. He nods back at the factory. 'You will be careful? Up there I mean.'

Just then Brian sees Bassett step close. The chauffer would die in defence of her ladyship, someone he has cared for as if she were his own daughter all his adult life. The driver smiles warmly at Brian.

'Thank you Brian, it is very sweet of you to worry, 'Veronica says, 'but I have Bassett here, and there is a team of security people on their way with instructions to escort my husband and your wife off the premises. I am having the factory shut down and the gates secured.'

When Veronica sees his crestfallen expression she is quick to allay his fears. 'It will be only closed up for one week. My people will sort out the mess my husband has got the firm into. This will be good for the company. The workforce will benefit from Williams' dismissal and it is you who they must thank for having an extra weeks holiday on full pay.'

Brian raises his eyebrows, He scoffs, 'I don't imagine they will though. Anyway, sorry your ladyship, I do need to get going.' When Brian goes to step past Veronica she lays a gloved hand on his arm.

'Brian, please, you should have this.' In her hand is a brown package.

Something in the way she says it, and something about the way she holds it tells him he doesn't really want this.

'What is it?' Brian says warily taking it from her. He peers inside the envelope He can see a CD or a DVD in a clear plastic case. He hands it back. 'This is what, a video of my wife and your husband I can guess?' She didn't have to say a word. Her eyes told him he was right.

Perhaps, it was a mistake, him coming back to the place where he learned to become a victim through years of wasted opportunities.

'Yes, it is a DVD. I hired investigators to follow my husband. This shows my husband and your wife having sex in the hotel room that they would visit frequently. It is not pleasant viewing but it is required as evidence, for the divorce, you see?'

Brian shrugs, He confesses. 'Sorry your ladyship I don't think I have the stomach for this. You can keep it. I just witnessed something similar live upstairs in your office.'

'Please Brian,' Veronica pleads, 'there is more. In the DVD they plan to have you "banged up," my husband called it. They plan to start a rumour that you poisoned her aunt. They are hoping the police will arrest you giving them the excuse to throw you out of your own home. Brian, I would be beside myself with worry if you ended up living on the streets.'

Nodding Brian tells her, 'Thanks but I know about that little scheme.' He narrows his eyes. 'Tell me you don't believe a word of that!'

Aghast at the suggestion Veronica blurts out. 'Goodness Brian, absolutely not! Not for a second!'

'Well, ' he adds, 'their little scheme didn't work,' Brian is half smiling, 'you see after I heard that they'd been telling the neighbours that I poisoned her aunt, who incidentally died of a heart attack, I called in at the police station, to hand myself in as it were, and they just laughed at the suggestion. They advised me that I ought to be careful of two individuals who seem intent on getting me arrested. The police said that a man and a woman had signed sworn statements to the effect that they witnessed me put rat poison in Olga's sherry trifle.' He grins, 'and guess what? The cops told me that your husband and my wife might yet be charged with offences relating to making false malicious statements and wasting police time. I told them go ahead.'

Brian checks the time on his deceased Father's Timex watch, precisely ten minutes slow, and then looks round when a fleet of white vans bearing a security company logo sweep into the car park. .

'Those your security people?' Brian says relieved to think she won't have to face her husband alone. She nods. 'That's good. You'll be fine now your ladyship. So I'll say goodbye.'

Veronica reaches for his hand. Her voice almost cracks when she says, 'please, Brian, if you ever need anything, I don't know, help, advice, whatever, please do call me... anytime?'

He nods, turns, and then starts to walk away. He'd gone ten paces when she calls out.

'Brian, wait. Can I get Bassett to drop you off somewhere? He'll have nothing to do for a while and he gets bored twiddling his thumbs.'

Bassett grins at Brian and touches his cap.

The walk to Lucy's flat will take him forty minutes and he can't wait to see her. Thinking about his current pecuniary embarrassment taking the bus is out of the question. Taking a ride in a Rolls Royce sounds good!

'Thank you, your ladyship that would be lovely.' Brian makes a little skipping motion when he makes his way over to the car. He grins when Bassett says with a fake butler's accent.

'Would sir like to sit in the rear of the motor vehicle or sit in the front?'

Playing along Brian says, 'Today Bassett, I rather think that I should like to sit in the rear.'

When he slides his bottom along the white seat he loves cool feel of the white leather. He approves of the fact there is not a cocktail cabinet back here. His engineer's ear appreciates the satisfying "thunk" of the door mechanism when Bassett closes it. The car rocks gently when the chauffer climbs in.

Brian settles back in his seat and listens to purr of the engine. Before they can pull away Lady Veronica appears at Bassett's open window. He doesn't hear the brief few words spoken and neither does he know what it was that Bassett took from Veronica's hand and then slip inside his jacket pocket.

Out the slightly smoked side window Brian watches Veronica set off in the company of a half a dozen big men wearing high-vis jackets. His thoughts are interrupted when Bassett says, 'might I enquire sir, where you should like to be dropped orf?'

Entering into the act Brian says, 'Bassett, my good man, do you by any chance happen to know the Upper Richmond Road?'

'Would that be the Putney end, or the Roehampton end sir?'

'Erm, the middle-ish, I would say. Are you familiar with the fish and chip shop?'

Bassett frowns and says, 'I can't say that am sir. Is this an eating establishment, one that perhaps at some stage I should try?'

'Oh, Bassett, you really ought to try fish and chips.'

'Is this what poor people eat?'

'Not entirely Bassett, They also eat Pease pudding. You should try it, and definitely give a pickled gherkin a go.'

'A pickled gherkin! Hmm, if it's all the same to you sir, I am content to forego this delightful sounding culinary excursion. Shall we go?'

When the Rolls purrs out the factory gates Brian in the back of the Rolls is grinning.

At the first set of red lights Bassett reaches one arm back over the seat.

Brian takes the cheque from his hand. His eyes widen. He gives a low whistle. 'Wow! What is this for?'

'Holiday pay, redundancy payment, long service bonus, call it what you like, just put it in your pocket Brian, you have earned it.'

His first instinct was to hand it back, he then thinks that with this money he'll be able to take Lucy out for a swish dinner, and buy her a bunch of Roses, maybe get himself some new clothes and, more importantly, he'll be able to set Charlie up in a flat of his own. He folds the cheque in half and puts it safely inside his jacket pocket. Smiling broadly Brian sits back to enjoy the ride.

Climbing the iron stairs the first thing Veronica sees that is different is the great crack across the panorama window from which her husband would keep an eye on his workers. The door appears to be missing. When she steps on the broken glass her husband and his floosy look round. The office looks as if a bomb has gone of in it. Two desks look beyond repair. Her husband with his back to her is wearing nothing more than a bloodied shirt, unbuttoned at the front. He is looking in a broken mirror and poking a finger gingerly into the gap in his front teeth. Repairing her make-up and unashamedly naked the Fossett woman is sitting astride a chair. Sadly, William's injuries appear not to be life threatening! His face, however, looks as if it might have been slammed, several times, into a revolving door.

The two rather beefy men who Sue looks up from her compact to smile at join Veronica.

The smile falls from Sue's face when she sees the haughty Lady Veronica looking down her nose at her. Lipstick paused mid-application Sue snarls. 'What! D'ya wanna photo?'

Through the cracked mirror Dodds takes no notice of his wife stepping up behind him. Dodds is more concerned at the damage the moron Fossett has inflicted to his once perfect front teeth.

Without turning around, indicating with a wave of his hand he complains, 'look what that fucking has Fossett done to my teeth and my office. He's bloody mental. I'll tell you what, I'll see him inside for this.'

'You will do no such thing.' Veronica informs him.

'Oh I wont eh?' Dodds snarls and turns to face her. Not wanting to catch sight of his flaccid penis Veronica lifts her chin.

Before Sue's aunt died him getting caught like this would have been a serious problem. Now that Sue is about to inherit a shed load of money he doesn't give a toss what Veronica does. He is about to get rich. He can't help himself. Ignoring the damning situation he finds himself in he goes on the attack. 'Veronica, I am still the CEO here and you will get out of my office. In fact, I want you out the factory. Must I always have to remind you that I am a very important and busy man? If you don't mind?' He says and indicates the doorway with his hand, 'and you can take those woodentop flunkies with you. I have work to do here.'

At a nod from Veronica two security men close in on Dodds.

Holding up his hands he indicates defeat.

Veronica watches William assess his options, which are limited.

'William, you have ten minutes to get dressed and get off my premises.' Veronica now turns to address Sue Fossett. 'For goodness sake woman have you no modesty, put on some fucking clothes, and get off my property.'

'Just a fucking minute you stuck up bitch...'

'Shut up Sue.' Billy says moving quickly to intercept Sue before she can attack his wife.

'One minute,' Veronica snarls pointing a finger in Sue's face, 'then you had better be gone. Naked if necessary, I will have you thrown out on the street.'

Sue's fingers form claws when she smartly steps out from behind Billy. Now screaming obscenities Sue launches herself at Lady Veronica. 'You fucking cow!' Before she can land a blow or get her fingers into that perfectly groomed head of hair she is hoisted off the ground and left kicking and cursing in the arms of a security man.

'Sue, shut up,' Billy says tiredly easing her out the man's grasp. He spins her round, forces her to look at him. 'Sue! Listen, get dressed, and go wait by my car. Leave me to straighten out this mess.'

Sue looks set to explode. Gripping her shoulders Dodds shakes her. Her eyes are fixated on Veronica when he says, 'you hear me Sue? Go wait at the car.'

Somehow Billy's words cut through her rage. Sue lets her shoulders droop. Backing off now and poking her tongue out at Veronica Sue sets about finding her clothes.

Veronica waits until the clinks of Sue's high heels reach the concrete factory floor and then recede. Satisfied the woman has gone ignoring Williams's litany of protests her feet crunching on broken glass Veronica makes her way over to the one usable desk. From her shoulder bag she takes out two documents and smoothes these flat on the desk.

'Not another employment contract Veronica?' Dodds says hopping across the broken glass.

Somehow he thinks this is not the case. He may just be in more trouble than he thought.

Shit, it doesn't matter to him what Veronica knows or what her game is. He has Sue, and he will get her money? Fuck her and her tin-pot firm. She wants him out it's going to cost her plenty. His voice is loaded with arrogance when he says, 'I have not the slightest interest in what you're playing at Veronica. Why must I sign another employment contract? Didn't we do this, what, two years ago?'

As if she hadn't heard him, Veronica points to one of the documents. Speaking slowly she explains, 'William, this is formal notice of my intention to divorce you. You may wish to take this away with you and get legal counsel?' Looking askew at him she now points to the second document and adopting with a patronising tone Veronica states,' this other document is your current employment contract. Can you see where you have signed and dated it at your most recent pay review?'

Dodds shrugs. 'Yeah. So what? Big deal. I get it; you're going to divorce me. But you can't sack me, not without a good enough reason.' He grins and he adds, 'as far as I know the CEO fucking his secretary on company time is not exactly a dismissal offence. If you like we could agree to add it to my Job Description?'

Disregarding this vacuous attempt at humour Veronica points out a section highlighted in fluorescent yellow. 'William if you had taken the trouble to read this paragraph in your employment contract before you signed it you may have discovered that agreed to be employed on a zero-hour contract. This means you have absolutely no employment rights. I can dismiss you at a moments notice with no recompense. Please do take it away with you.' Veronica straightens up and looks him straight in the eye. She savours telling him. 'William, you are fired.'

While Dodds is studying the contact through his one good eye Veronica glances over to the four security men standing waiting.

'William, in ten minutes my people will have you removed from my premises. I have arranged for all your belongings at Greystone Manor to be moved to one of the stables. Your company credit card has been revoked, and your name has been struck off the company bank account. You may have use of the company car to clear out your belongings, take them wherever you wish. Please make sure it is clean and unmarked when you return it.'

At the door Veronica doesn't look back when she says, 'goodbye William.'

It is only when Veronica is out in the car park breathing in a fresh Easterly breeze that her breathing returns to normal.

In the devastated office, under the glare of two of Veronica's goons, needing painkillers for his hurting face and his aching balls, Dodds knows his time here is done. Thank fuck Olga died when she did or this would have been a disaster. Pulling on his trousers he is weighing up his options. He'll get nothing out of the divorce He is now regretting signing that fucking pre-nup. As young and daft as she was she wasn't stupid enough to marry him without one. His mood lightens thinking about his scheme to sell off her precious factory to property developers from right under her nose. By the time she gets back from Cannes, over the annual shutdown, he will have had the place demolished and sold off. He'll be long gone by the time they go looking for him. The icing on the cake has to be ripping off sex mad, dim-witted Sue Fossett. Getting his hands on her inheritance is a no-brainer, no risks with that deal. Fortune always favours the brave.

In the Bentley parked in a narrow lane Sue is blistering mad at Brian who she thinks was behind the ambush that led to the embarrassing debacle of them both getting thrown out of her own office. Thanks to that stupid Brian she has lost her job and now Billy is saying he doesn't feel like making love, fucking lightweight!

Sue is dabbing a wet tissue to his facial injuries while Dodds is in the grip of treasure fever. His mind already has him trawling through Olga's palace full of exquisite antiques. Now he worries that the place must be unguarded, most likely without an alarm and may not even be locked. It'd be just his luck if a gang of thieves were to break in and rob the place before he can get his hands all that treasure. He needs to get over there. Do an inventory, remove any cash and jewellery and then make the place secure, get a team of men to guard it until he can have it stripped bare. His palms are itching thinking about it when he turns the ignition key. Turning to Sue he says, 'we are going treasure hunting.'

'What!' Where?' Sue demands suddenly thinking, I hope he's not thinking about driving over to Anastasia's Retreat, cos I aint going there.

'Anastasia's Bottom.'

Sue looks round sharply, ''It's Retreat, the house is called, Anastasia's Retreat, not Bottom. Besides I'm not going near the place. It scares the hell out of me. Did I tell you it's haunted?'

Yes, he has heard her go on about it being haunted and it's all bollocks and they are going there whether she likes it or not. 'It's not haunted Sue because there are no such thing as ghosts.'

'There are too,' Sue insists. 'Olga made it clear; very clear in fact that if I ever went there I would be in great danger. You can go there if you want Billy, but I'm telling you now. I am not getting out the car.'

# Chapter twenty-One.

Built in 1919 on ten acres of reclaimed land known as Follys Bottom, Anastasia's Retreat is a scaled –down, faux Russian palace replete with garlic-topped towers buried in a forest of dead and dying trees.

On the drive over to Follys Bottom, little more than a dot on the map, Billy Dodds is still seething over the way his life has gone to hell. He rolls his tongue around the inside of his damaged mouth and aches for the bitter taste of revenge. Fossett had been lucky, caught him with a few wild punches. The humiliation is profound. Revenge will have to wait. What to do about Veronica is more straightforward. His plans to sell the factory are still on track and with Sue's inheritance almost in his pocket, stitching up his wife will be more about revenge than money. If there is one aspect of Billy Dodds that overrules all other considerations it is revenge. People who knew him dare not cross him. Dodds would spend his entire life; walk through fire to take his revenge.

Sue, being thrown around in the passenger seat has given up trying to repair her make-up. She stuffs her lipstick and mirror back in her shoulder bag and then starts on about his wife.

'That stuck-up bitch Veronica, how dare she sack me. I thought you was in charge of the factory Billy?'

'Sue... does it really matter? We... ' Dodds hesitates, 'I should say, you, will soon be rolling in money, so much of it we won't need her or her lousy factory. With Olga's inheritance we will never have to work again.'

'I never worked before.' Sue says more to herself than to Billy. 'I only became your secretary so we could spend more time together. Brian never wanted me to go to work.' Sue goes quiet, ruminating. 'Brian is a boring plank, but he has some nice ways.'

At the mention of Fossett, Dodds hisses through the gap in his once perfect teeth. He loses centration, almost hits the wall of a narrow bridge, swerves, and sends a Ford Focus headlong into a ditch. When he saw the car disappear into a stream Dodds laughs out loud

'Billy, that wasn't nice. Slow down will you? You'll have us both killed.'

Dodds laughs, eases off the pedal, and tweaks her right breast.

'Have you finished bitching about my wife?'

'Yeah. Fuck her, but I am not happy about going inside Olga's house though.'

Dodds casts her a glance.' You're not still going on about it being haunted for Christ's sake? You really don't want to go back there do you?'

'No I don't. Fucking shithole, and it is haunted!'

'Bollocks!'

'S'true I tell you. You aint been there, and I have...urgh.' Sue shudders. She is looking out the car window. Her mind wanders. She is in her office again, lying back on her desk with an audience of men enjoying the spectacle of Tiger bringing her to a delicious climax. The smile on her lips straightens out.

'Fucking Brian.'

'What!' Dodds says glancing across at her.

'Nothing. Just thinking how bloody Brian always has to spoil things.' Sue has one hand between her thighs. She is massaging the ache in her groin.

Having waited for what feels like forever for Olga to kick the bucket, all of sudden Sue finds her future looks scary. Brian was boring, the house was boring, but at least, each day she knew what was what. How rapidly her life has changed. Someone, at one time, Brian, she thinks, had once told her, "be careful what you wish for." Olga is dead. She spent years aching for that, and now, now, she faces the dire prospect of visiting the crucible of her nightmares the house she has feared ever since that one time she went there. Her getting the sack, losing her job, that's no big deal... Billy getting thrown out of the manor house... that could be tricky. She has always wanted Billy to live with her, the sex would be great, but now she can make that happen she is worried.

Why is that? Is it because she will then have Billy under her feet twenty-four- seven, be expected to clean up behind him, cook his meals, wash his socks? Sue frowns, but Brian did all that. He was a dolt, but he could cook and clean. That led her to thinking, what on earth possessed Brian to start on Billy like that! It's like he'd gone completely insane? All of sudden her life has gotten very complicated.

Neither of them speak a word for the remainder of the journey.

Three times Billy drives right past the narrow track before he spots the dilapidated sign buried in weeds. "Anastasia's Retreat." Underneath this in red paint someone has added: "Keep out!"

'Found it!' Billy declares, 'Follys Bottom.' When Dodds swings the Bentley across the B road he almost knocks a motorcyclist off his bike. At the top of a steep potholed incline he slams on the brakes. The car skids to a halt on the gravel drive.

Dodds peering through the windscreen says like he doesn't believe her, 'I can't see any Russian palace. Are you sure it's here?'

Already nervous being here Sue doesn't have the patience for his scepticism. 'Are you implying I made it all up?'

'No! For Christ's sake Sue Keep your hair on. I'm just saying that I can't see it. Lighten up will you?'

Dodds turns the key in the ignition. The engine trembles and then goes silent.

'We'll have to walk from here,' Dodds says nodding at the lane. 'Those potholes will rip out my suspension.'

Sue turns and glares at him. 'What! Have you seen the shoes I am wearing?'

Knowing how vain he is Sue doesn't want to mention the gap in his once perfect teeth. His gums show red when he says, 'you'll be fine, you can hold onto my arm.'

Thunder rolling around the heavens, still some way off does nothing to calm Sue's jangled nerves. She turns in her seat. 'Did you hear that Billy? That's a storm heading this way. We should go home. We can come back some other time.'

Dodds rolls his eyes. Talking is far too painful. 'Sue, will you stop your bitching. I haven't come all this way just to turn around and go back home. Stop being a baby. Trust me, there are no ghosts, no evil forces, just a house full of amazing, fabulous antiques which we need to make sure are safe.... now, take your thumb out of your mouth, and get out of the car. I promise you, it'll be fine.'

Her thumb comes out with a slurp. Reaching for the door handle she says, 'I will come with you Billy but only cos I'm too scared to stay here on my own.'

The minute Sue climbs out of the car she slaps a hand over her mouth. 'Urgh!' She groans. She'd forgotten about the stink around the place that now seems far worse than she remembers. 'That's that smell Billy, the one that I told you about.'

Dodds pulls a face. 'That'll be farmers muck spreading,' He slams the car door shut and looks down the lane to where it turns sharp left at the bottom. He wonders why the trees and the thorny hedgerow and even the weeds are blackened and sickly. When Sue takes hold of his arm he can feel her shaking.

'Billy, I can feel some kind of evil presence here.'

'What, like a ghost?' He scoffs.

'Olga told me that the house is haunted.'

'Yeah, of course she did, and I suppose it had never occurred to you she said that to stop you or anyone else from coming here and robbing her blind? Get real Sue.'

Dodds takes hold of her arm. 'Lets go. It's starting to rain.'

Billy keeps a grip on her elbow as she totters at his side hurrying to keep up on her red high-heel shoes.

Sue turns her head and gasps at the sight of a wall of water catching up with them. Her heart stalls, she whimpers when a great clap of thunder shakes the ground under her feet. Billy pulls her up short, turns on her, and snaps.

'Where is it the house Sue? I'm getting soaked here.'

'I don't remember Billy, 'she whines, 'there wasn't this horrible forest back then, it was all lovely lawns, nice trees and flowers. Olga has allowed the place go to rack and ruin, and this smell, oh my God, it's far worse than what I remember!'

Frustrated now and his face hurting like mad, Dodds lets go of Sue and strides off leaving her whimpering and struggling to catch up.

'Slow down Billy,' She cries out, 'I'm going to fall over.'

'Keep up will you. When we find the house and get inside,' he shouts back over his shoulder, 'and put the kettle on we'll both feel better.'

Getting out of the rain and the rolling thunder overhead sounds lovely, but the thought of stepping back inside that house terrifies her. All attempts to rationalise her fears doesn't work, stupid, yes, she knows it is, but still the terror persists. Then Billy surprises her.

'I bet the milk will be off.'

'The milk! Is that all you can think of?'

Dodds ignores her. With the thunder and lightning now right overhead they approach a bend in the narrowing track. Either side of them the walls of spikey vegetation look impenetrable.

Looking like a vampire with his puffy eyes and his bloodshot pupils Dodds turns and glares at her. 'Where the fuck is this house Sue, or does it only exist in that stupid head of yours?'

Rigid with the cold, her hair sticking to her face Sue opens her mouth to retort and gags on the smell. Finding her voice she looks about, 'it is here Billy, I swear it, I remember it was at the end of this lane. There were big iron gates with eagles heads.' Her arm is almost pulled out of its socket when Billy drags her off.

Dodds, coughing on the noxious air making his eyes sting complains, 'what the fuck is that smell?' He doesn't get to finish the sentence when a massive clap of thunder shakes the ground underfoot. He hears Sue cry out, 'Billeeeee!'

Going back to the car would have been the sensible option but in his opinion taking risks was usually the more profitable course of action, and with this in mind he began pulling Sue along.

As if her mind has been invaded. She is once more that little six-years old girl skipping down this lane and holding on to her Mother's hand. She was excited about going inside the Russian Palace that her mother would often tell her about. The house is just round the bend in the track. She recalls that much.

"Is it like a fairy castle?" She had asked her mother.

"Yes darling,' her mother told her, 'it has towers, and a gold throne, and is filled with all manner of beautiful things."

"And does a real princess live in it?"

She remembers how her Mother's smile fell from her lips. "Not exactly sweetheart.''

It was hot that day, the day that Sue and her mother took the bus and got off at Folly's Bottom.

The lane was well tended and tall trees hid the house that was every bit as exciting as any fairy castle she had ever imagined. When she caught sight of her aunt's palace its size and its grandeur took her breath.

Passing through the great avenue of tall cypresses they came to the great oak porch. The child looks up at the great towers that seem to poke holes in the clouds. She had been humming a nursery rhyme, one her Mum had taught her when the giant, the one with eyes as black as a rat's and his face as fierce as an ogre's opens the door. His glare was enough to drive her into her Mother's skirts. Her mother slapped her thumb out of her mouth. Unfortunately for this six-year old girl, this was not to be the "happy ever after" event she had imagined. Instead, this singular visit would scar her soul for life.

Dodds, yelling above a clap of thunder jars her back to the present. He had gone on ahead. He was pointing at a set of gates, pushed back and half buried in weeds. Her blood chills at the sight of the rusted, double-headed eagle mounts. Her mind races back to that one and only time she stepped beyond this portal. This time there is no great avenue of trees, and there are no colourful landscaped gardens. Instead they face a landscape of dead and dying grass, bracken, weeds, and blackened trees. There is a forlorn presence about the gates that at one time proudly guarded the entrance to Anastasia's Retreat. Sue warily studies the gates. She is worried the moment she steps over the threshold they will snap shut like a Gin Trap. Billy was saying something she missed.

'What did you say?' She has to yell to be heard above an ear-splitting clap of thunder and the roar of hissing rain.

'I said, do you recognise these gates? Is this the entrance to the estate?'

Sue detects an edge to his voice and when she looks into his bloodshot eyes she catches sight of something dangerous. Sue nods her head and says, 'Yes this is the entrance. Mum and I stood at these gates and we could see the house straight ahead.' Her fevered mind now conjures up an image of her drunken dead aunt staggering along this narrow path humming some Russian ditty, she'd forgotten the words eons ago. She points at the wall of trees. 'The house was over there.'

Dodds is freezing to death in his rain-soaked clothes. He flinches each time a bolt of lightning blasts a hole through the grey slab of clouds a mile deep. As if this is all her fault and there'll be consequences Billy says, 'then why can't I see it? It had better be here Sue.'

'It has to be here Billy,' Sue insists praying for a let up in this relentless storm, 'else where would Olga be living?'

'How the fuck would I know? Dodds snaps wincing at a blast of rainwater that opens up the cuts on his face. Sue's comment troubles him. What if Olga hasn't been living here? Jeez she might have sold the house years ago. It might have fallen down, Christ knows, decades ago. Sue has never been back, and as far he can tell nobody has! It is entirely possible the house has gone along with her reputed fabulous treasure. If that is, it ever existed? Perhaps the old bag has been living in a beat up old caravan in these vile woods. Dodds tells himself to shut up. Sue going on about ghouls and ghosts has got him jittery, and this fucking storm isn't helping. He looks down at his Italian hand-made shoes now heavy with slimy mud. His face hurts like hell and the dull ache in his balls has hardly subsided. He wonders if his stud facilities have been irreparably damaged. That fucking Fossett! One day he will pay for this. This thought generates a little warmth to the blood chilling in his veins.

When Billy sets off without her and she sees his form evaporate in the swirling mist panic sets in. Her initial instinct is to rush after him. She stalls and looks back up the lane. She can see the car. He didn't lock it. She could run back. Wait for him out of the rain in the car. It makes sense to go back. If he wants to go on and risk getting struck by lightning that's his lookout. Sue decides with some finality, she's going back to the car. Sue has gone no more than five paces when a fireball slams into the ground right ahead of her. Blinded for a second she is thrown off her feet. When she regains her senses and gets back on her feet, crying out Dodds name Sue races after him.

'Billyeee, wait... wait for me.'

When he hears her cry out Dodds slows, allows her to catch up. He pulls his arm from her grasping fingers. 'You want to come along, you have to manage on your own,' he insists.

From here on, the ground underfoot is very different from the potholed rocky lane that at any second threatened to break her ankle. This side of the gates the ground is squishy, squelchy, sucking her shoes from her feet and forcing her to stop and carry them. Fighting despair and with her throat and eyes stinging from the yellow gas expunged with each step, Sue can't keep up with Billy's long strides. Gasping with the effort she ploughs on until she grabs hold of his arm and then swings him about to face her.

'You bastard, you would have left me to die back there.' Sue gasps.

'That's rubbish Sue,' Dodds insists. The last thing he needs right now is a stand up row in the pissing rain, 'I was thinking of you. I thought it would be unsafe for you to come along. I thought you'd go back to the car, that's where you was going wasn't it?' he guessed but he didn't care.

'From here on we stick together right! Sue demands, 'that, or we both go home.'

He nods. 'Yeah, of course, we do this together. We go find this fucking house, just don't hold my arm. I can hardly stand up in this goddam mud as it is.'

In no time at all, he is striding off leaving her struggling to catch up. That was when he heard her cry out again.

'Billyeee!'

He considers pretending he hadn't heard her. Instead, Dodds curses her and turns around. Looking like one of those sexy female mud wrestlers he once had to pay to watch Sue is lying in a bed of mud. Her short skirt is up around her waist. If his balls weren't aching he might have been tempted to give her one right where she lay. The thought is dashed from his head when she yells at him.

'Don't just stand there looking stupid. Help me up.'

He plods back, towers over her, and offers her his hand. Now irritated Dodds barks, 'If you will insist on coming along you need to keep the fuck up. I am getting soaked here.'

'Like I'm not! Sue snarls now back on her feet. 'Listen,' Sue says, taking hold of his mud spattered coat lapels, 'we don't need to do this today. Why don't we go find a hotel? We could have a hot bath, a hot meal, and then go to bed and I will give you the best fuck ever, and tomorrow, we can have a team of men come over. They will find the house and then remove everything of value. How's that sound?'

Her plan makes perfect sense except, he cant get the thought of all that treasure out of his head. How the hell is he supposed to fuck her with that kind of money on his mind?

'No fucking way Sue!' Dodds says to her face. 'I am not having anyone else going near the place before I get to look around. Can you imagine it? A gang of labourers, most likely illegal immigrants, let loose in an unoccupied house stuffed to the rafters with valuables? Jeez, Sue, you must be nuts? The bastards would nick the fucking lot.'

Fifty paces on with no sign of the house Dodds is starting to think Anastasia's Retreat exists only in Sue's stupid numskull head. He stops dead in his tracks when like a B movie film set sheet lightning lights up the roof and towers of a huge building. He wipes the rain from his eyes and stares at the mist right where he saw this mirage. There was another flash of lightning. 'There it is!" he yells to get Sue's attention.

Sue had seen it. She nods dumbly. Her knees are shaking and it wasn't from the cold!

'Is that Anastasia's Retreat?' He demands when it couldn't possibly be anything else.

Sue wriggles into his embrace and wraps her arms around his waist. If the coruscation of lightning in all its forms hadn't been so deadly real they might have stood around to watch what could have been a scene from a Hollywood blockbuster.

'Please, Billy, I'm scared. Take me home.' Sue pleads tugging on his coat lapels.

'Shut up Sue.'

'I really cannot go back inside that house Billy.'

'Yes you can Sue.' Dodds snarls through his gritted teeth. 'If we remain here we will most likely get fried, and if we try to go back, the lightning will get us. We don't have a choice Sue. We have to get inside the house.' Dodds grips hold of her shoulders and leans down into her face. 'You need to grunt up. Now, stay close to me.' He sees her lips wobble but she nods.

When a fireball tossing mud and grass up in the air smashes into the ground not fifty feet behind them Sue needs no further encouragement, keeping hold of her shoes and with her shoulder bag bouncing on her hip she is off and running making straight for the sanctuary of the great stone porch.

The sodden ground is sapping her strength. Every step is painful and the gas expunged chokes her lungs and stings the back of her throat. The noxious gas swirling about her feet looking solid hides the pitfall on the ground. Sue thinks if she was to fall face down into this gas she will never get up again.

Sue is stumbling. Any minute now she knows she will fall face down in the slime. She can't cry out when Billy, that much stronger, overtakes her. Fireballs falling like mortar shells send great clods of stinking mud up in the air. It occurs to Sue those iron gates she passed through might have been the portals to Dante's Hell.

As if the forces marshaling this fulguration of fire want to prevent them reaching the safety of the porch fireballs now rain down upon roof the house.

Gasping, stumbling, and now within sight of the porch Sue cries out when she falls into a chasm riven in the ground.

Hearing her cry out Dodds curses and then stops to look back. He can't see her. He imagines she has fallen into one of the vile fissures opening up all around them. He imagines he will never see her again. He is about to set off alone when he sees her arm waving.

'Billyeee!'

Dodds hesitates. He weighs up his options.

The gas is overwhelming her. Sue can feel her life ebbing away. Her fingers that had been clawing at the ground become feeble. Here legs stop scrabbling for a foothold in the soft mud. She is tired and hurting. She has no fight left in her. She just wants to sleep. Ready to embrace death Sue closes her eyes. One by one the neurons in her brain shut down. It feels like she is sliding into a sullen void, a place between places. She had been expecting to see a beckoning light. There are no welcoming angels, no pearly gates, just a warm inviting black nothing. Suddenly she is taken up. Light filters through her closed eyelids. Like a rag doll she is thrown down on sodden ground. She wails until a coughing fit overtakes her. Billy is shouting in her face and slapping at her cheeks. Her chest is heaving. Face down in the mud Sue retches on bile.

Wheeling overhead as if mocking them an unkindness of Ravens caw raucously.

On his knees while he waits for Sue to recover Dodds looks round at the towering Russian Folly. This close Dodds can see the effects of neglect and entropy on the structure. Dodds is sinking into despair in the same way Anastasia's Retreat is sinking into the mire he is kneeling on. Olga's fantastical mansion is built roughly square. On each corner rising way above the complicated steeply sloping roof of green roman tiles is round tower, each one crowned with garlic shaped cone, the gilding now faded. Now, he can see that the two towers nearest him have become detached from the main walls. Cracks widening at the top, like varicose veins snake up the towers. Rooks, disturbed, cawing, fly in and out of gaping holes in the roof. Gargoyle heads poking out the roof spew rainwater down the walls. The ruinous sight appalls and depresses him. Sue has stopped coughing. He looks at her face. There is a green hue about it.

'Jeez, Sue, the place is a ruin,' Dodds remarks, 'I can't see Olga living here. I can't see anyone living here.'

'Lets go on,' Sue says tiredly, 'get out this rain.'

Finally they make it to the Tudor style porch constructed from local stone and felled oak. They might be out of the elements but Sue suspects they are not safe, not under this overhang, and not on this land, and, they will find no refuge inside this house of horrors.

Dodds on his knees gasping for air is now wishing he'd kept up his vow last New Years Eve to quit smoking cigars.

Slowly, painfully, Sue turns her body until she is sitting on her haunches. She is flicking insects from her hair. She looks up and blinks. Spiders, hundreds she imagines, on invisible gossamer threads are abseiling onto her head. Her hair flicking becomes frantic. She is screaming at Billy.

'Billy, help me. I am being attacked by spiders.'

Dodds is wondering why the storm has suddenly gone quiet. That was when another fireball slams into the roof of the porch.

Now, as if the spiders and bugs crawling around inside Sue's bra weren't enough, now a colony of bats squeaking with rage, dozens of them, fall upon the couple responsible for disturbing their sleep. Sue loses some hair and a little blood tearing them loose. When Billy joins in the battle the bats decide to head off. Now as if of one mind they take off like a black cloud and disappear through gaping holes in the main roof.

Now on her grazed and bleeding knees Sue curses her dead aunt who she suspects is behind this nightmare. 'Damn you and your legion of ghosts Olga.'

Sue gives Anastasia's Retreat fair warning, I will take whatever I want from you, and then I will destroy you. I will burn you to the ground.'

As if incensed by this threat another lighting bolt, the biggest so far, crashes into the porch roof setting it alight.

Dodds wastes no time wondering if Sue has a key for the door. Stepping back half a pace he shoulder barges the oak door weakened by deathwatch beetles. When it flies off its hinges he falls into the great hall.

When the porch collapses around her in an avalanche of masonry and burning timbers Sue throws herself inside the building landing on top of Billy and the door.

Sitting up Sue looks around her. Faded memories of her being in this very hall creep into her mind. It wasn't like this back then, all cobwebs, dust, and patches along the walls where once hung great oil paintings. Her immediate reaction is no one could possibly have been living in this filthy barren house. And yet this is the address she would give the cab drivers that took her home. It is only when they look back at doorway now blocked with masonry and burning timbers that they realise they are lucky to be alive. Wide-eyed, Sue flops down beside Billy on the bowed wooden floor. She can remember with terrifying clarity the last time she was in this place.

Fearful for her life Sue nestles into Billy's cradling arms.

'You okay honey?' Dodds enquires peeling layers of matted hair from her face dredging up a little fake empathy.

Sue emits a shuddering sob and nods. 'Give me a minute and I'll be okay.'

All hope of finding anything of value in this dump now gone Dodds gets to his feet. Best flatten the place and sell the land to property developers. Out here this is prime residential land that will sell for millions. This thought lightens his sullen mood.

He is thinking he hasn't come all this way just to turn around and go back and not explore the rooms. You never know, he might find something that will make the trip worth his while.

There is a series of doors along the corridor, all shut. At the far and a carved wooden staircase goes up steeply to a galleried landing hidden in shadows. Approaching the first door he finds it locked. When his boot sends it skidding into the room he has to turn his face from the cloud of dust. Judging by the booming echo he senses the room has to be huge, ballroom size. Dodds waits for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Instinctively he reaches for the light switch just inside the door.

'Fuck!' He ejaculates when the switch explodes burning his fingers. 'This place is a death trap,' he complains to Sue who has her fist in her mouth and is muttering something unintelligible.

As if he were part of a SWAT team, Dodds now holds up a warding hand. He instructs Sue, 'you wait here. I am going in.'

It is so dark in here Dodds can only make his way by feel with his feet.

Sue watches him disappear into the gloom.

'I think I can see windows at the far end.' Dodds calls back, 'I will go over and draw the curtains, get some light in here.'

Waving his hands in front of his face and walking blindly across the groaning floor, midway his foot strikes something that tinkles like glass. Bending down his groping fingers explore a chandelier on a rusted chain.

A few more steps and the floor now threatens to collapse under his weight. The stench of sulphur and mildew is choking. Instinctively, Dodds knows he should get the hell out. Slowly now, feeling his way with his feet, hands out front, he encounters a wall of dust laden curtains. Surprisingly, when he inches open the curtains there is not even a hint of daylight. The ivy growing up the wall outside is so dense the windows might have been painted black.

Sue is startled when a sound like something falling is followed is immediately by Billy crying out.

'Damn this bloody place!'

'Billy! Billy, what's happened?' Sue yells into the inky blackness. After a heart stopping few seconds she hears Billy utter a string of expletives.

'The fucking curtains, pelmet and all, just fell on my fucking head, fucking dump!'

When he staggers out he is choking on the dust. Sue considers it entirely appropriate to remind him, 'see Billy, what'd I tell you? The place is a death-trap.'

Shaking dust mites out of his hair Dodds is disinclined to point out that not ten minutes ago he'd said the same thing. Instead, he barges past her in the doorway and expunges a little of his pent up rage by kicking in the next door along the hall. When this door flies in Dodds turns his head from the smell of dry rot, and the stench of sulphurous gas. With his hand clamped across his mouth he steps onto the rectangle of light spilled from the hall. Gingerly he tests his weight on the beetle-infested floorboards.

'Looks as if the whole house was abandoned years ago.' Dodds announces wearily. 'There's nothing, not even a stick of furniture in here. I can't see how your aunt could possibly have been living in this shithole? This is a complete waste of fucking time, and to think that we almost got killed?'

'Yeah, well, I aint gonna tell you I told you.' Sue says waiting in the doorway. There is no way she is going inside any of these rooms.

Billy joins her in the doorway. There is a weariness in her voice when Sue says, 'Billy, why don't we sit tight and wait for the storm to pass and then we should go home.' She hadn't expected him to fly into a rage.

'Go fuck yourself Sue.' Billy snarls into her face. 'I almost got killed out there,' Dodds points to the blocked up doorway, 'I am not leaving until I have searched every inch of this place.'

His stops ranting and takes down the framed photograph hanging on a nail driven in the wall just inside the doorway.

Sue leans in closer. 'What you found Billy?'

'This,' he says wiping his sleeve across the glass in the framed black and white photograph.

'Do you recognise these people?' he says holding the print in front of Sue's face.

Sue gasps, clutches her throat. 'Oh my God Billy!'

'What?'

Pointing a shaky finger at the photograph Sue says, 'the woman sitting on the throne... that is aunt Olga, and the tall man, standing behind her, he was her manservant, the giant that I told you about.'

Dodds is not the least bit interested in the people in the photograph. He is staring at the objects in the picture. 'And this is the Throne Room yeah?

'No.'

'Just a second, 'Dodds says now confused, 'all this stuff in the photograph, the paintings, the tapestries the furniture and the throne, this is how you described the Throne Room to me, and now you are saying that this not the Throne Room?'

'No.'

'What do you mean no?' Dodds says irritated by her vacuous attitude. 'Is this the Throne Room or is it not?'

'I just told you no.'

Dodds takes a deep breath he would like to shake her, 'okay, let's just go back a bit. We came here today, specifically to find the Throne Room yeah?'

' You did. I would have waited.' Sue says flatly.

'But this is the fucking Throne Room, yeah?' Dodds shouts.

'No,' Sue shouts back.

'No!' Dodds is getting exasperated at her stupidity, 'don't say no when you told me that you sat on this throne.'

' Yes, then.' Sue says frowning.

'Yes what?'

'Yes. I sat on the throne.' Sue gives Billy a look of total exasperation.

'So this is the Throne Room?'

'No.'

'No?'

'No, Billy, I keep telling you no but you don't listen. The Throne Room was down there behind the staircase.

Dodds shakes his fists in her face. He yells at her, 'why... why didn't you say that?'

'You didn't ask.'

'Fuck you Sue.

'No fuck you Billy.' Sue says and then has to get out of Billy's way when he marches off down the hall intent on taking out his frustration on the next door.

Now mad as hell Dodds boot sends the next door crashing back against the wall. He blinks. Dead centre of the ceiling is a fly-shit covered bulb hanging from a frayed flex. The bulb paints the room a sickly yellow hue.

Peering past Billy's bulk blocking her view, Sue pulls face and says, 'oh my God! Is this where Olga has been living?'

'Looks like it,' Dodds says testing his weight on the creaking floorboards and grimacing at the gas creeping though the gaps. Equally worrying is the lazy coruscation of sparks from a jumble of double adapters plugged into a single electric socket next to an unmade, forlorn looking cot sat over in the far corner of the room. The furniture heavy, dark, and worm-eaten, supports a half-inch of dust.

'Don't you think it sad that Olga had to spend her last night in here. ' Sue says reflectively and somewhat surprised to feel a crumb of sympathy for her dead aunt who had treated her like shit all those years, and whose ghost she suspects may have set the trap they have walked into.

Seeing a jumble of furniture in here Dodds heads straight for the small writing bureau over by the bed.

'Don't you come in,' he warns Sue, 'the floor won't take both our weight.'

Sue pulls down the corners of her mouth, 'I wasn't going to.'

The bureau is locked. Dodds slams his fist down on it and the dry joints give up the ghost. Papers... nothing but papers, bundled together in a bulldog clip. He slips from hope all the way down to despair again. Not bothering to check the documents he drops them on the floor and looks round at the overstuffed chest against the wall It looks as if the wooden drawers are so swollen with damp they haven't been closed in decades. Dodds mood is not improved when after throwing out the entire collection of mothball smelling clothes he finds zilch. Standing on Olga's clothes he looks round at Sue when she says,

'What are the papers?'

'What?' Dodds is only half listening to her. He frowns, 'I dunno, why?'

'They could be important.' Sue supposes, 'there might be life insurances policies amongst them, bank statements and such. I might need them.'

Bank statements, life insurance policies! He hadn't thought of that. The floor feels about to give way when he goes back to pick up the papers.

Watching Billy flick through the papers, Sue can see the bruises on his face darken.

'Fuck!' He curses, shaking his head.

'What is it Billy?' Sue says alarmed.

'These my lovely,' Dodds says waving the papers aloft, 'are all bills of sale. Every single one of them is a receipt for the sale of antiques. Your dead aunt, my lovely, has cheated you out of your inheritance. The old bag has flogged the lot.'

'What!'

'You heard right, Olga has sold everything.'

'Argh!' Dodds snarls and stamps his foot.

Sue hears a spine-chilling crack and a hole opens up beneath Billy's feet. As if he were a condemned man on the gallows her lover drops like a stone into a cloud of sulphurous gas.

It is only when the air clears she can see Billy's head and his broad shoulders wedged between the floor joists.

'Don't just stand there you silly cow,' Dodds yells making her jump. 'Get over here and help me.'

Sue hesitates; worried that she too might fall through? And Billy he weighs a ton, and him being jammed in the hole up to his armpits, she doesn't see what she can do? Sue shakes her head and goes down on her knees. Taking it slow she crawls over to him.

It took some doing, tugging at his coat; helping to de-snag it, but eventually Sue proved to be useful.

Choking on the gas Dodds sits by the hole. Out of morbid curiosity he drops a glass ornament into the cavernous hole. Sounding as if the object landed in goo it was a good twenty seconds before he hears a soft splashing sound. 'Shit!'

Fighting for breath with their throats and eyes stinging the couple make it back into the hall where they sit with their backs against the wall. Feeling trapped Sue looks over to the blocked doorway. She imagines there has to be another way out, most likely back of the house, behind the staircase? But, where would that lead? Out into the storm that has not abated one bit. Sue slips on her red high-heeled shoes, turns to speak to Billy, and doesn't like the way he is staring into the inky blackness at the top of the stairs.

'Billy, I am not going up there,' Sue asserts.

'I wasn't thinking of it, not yet, anyway, maybe after we have finished checking out the downstairs rooms.' Billy says, 'Right now, we need to go find the Throne Room.'

Before Sue is on her feet Billy sets off without her.

Dodds calls back over his shoulder, 'you say it's behind the stairs?'

Around the dogleg in the corridor they stop at a pair of double doors that look as if they have not been opened in decades.

Sue is hanging back. Dodds hears her gasp. He doesn't need to ask.

'This is it, this is the Throne Room right?'

'Please, lets not go in there Billy. If we go in there... I know something bad is going to happen, do you not feel it?'

He doesn't. 'Don't start with that mumbo-jumbo shit Sue I am going in there. Stand back.'

Dodds almost dislocates his shoulder slamming into the doors that burst in at his third attempt. He staggers, almost falls into a dark cavernous room. All around him he can make out objects covered in shrouds. This room is not like all the others, this one is huge, far bigger even than the one he thought was a ballroom. Without a thought for his safety he flicks on the light switch and whistles when three huge chandeliers light up the room. Sue is now at his side.

'This is the Throne Room Billy,' Sue whispers as if some, one, some thing, is listening in, 'except, back then, when I wandered in here, none of this stuff was covered up with dust sheets, and the red and gold carpet is gone.' Unbidden, memories of the last time she was in here flood her mind, fills her with terror. Staring vacantly into Billy's face Sue starts to ramble.

Dodds stares at her as if she has gone mad.

"Throw ze vicked child into ze pit Igor. Ze monster is hungry.'' Olga says. I am across the giant's shoulder. I am screaming and kicking and Mum is shouting. 'Put the child down. She hasn't done anything wrong. Olga is cackling, screaming. 'In ze pit Igor, throw ze child in ze pit, let ze monster feed on her flesh, chew on her bones.'

I am sobbing, begging them, 'I'm sorry Auntie, I'm sorry. Mummy, please don't let the monster eat me.'

The giant carries me through to the back of the house, crosses the lawn, and climbs a slope. There right in front of me is a thicket of thorns. Olga is cackling, almost dancing. Mum is yelling, 'put my daughter down.'

The giant yells out: "Vun- two- three."

Now, I am flying through the air.'

Sue blinks, looks up at Billy who is standing over her, yelling into her face.

'Sue, are you alright?'

She nods. Her face is streaked with tears.

'There was no monster... in the pit, I mean?' Sue tells Billy. 'It was a bed of nettles. They just turned and walked away, Olga and the giant, that is. They left me to crawl out on my own.'

'I have no fucking idea what you're talking about Sue.' Dodds says, and then reminds her, 'we have found the Throne Room Sue.'

Looking about her as if she has just woken up Sue says, 'I know.'

Thinking Sue has lost the plot Dodds decides he is doing this without her. He heads straight for the nearest covered object. When he throws off the dust cover he has to turn his head from the dust. He hadn't really known what to expect. Sue had described the Throne Room as full of fabulous furniture, paintings, cabinets of gold, ornaments, and statues, but back of his mind he suspected this would turn out to be nothing more than a child's imagination elaborated on over the years. Sue is hanging onto the back of his coat when he bends and runs his hand across the beautiful, cream and gold, bow front chest. He wasn't to know that this piece along with many of the other pieces of furniture yet to be uncovered is an antique, Louis XV chest. One by one, he removes the covers. He can't believe his eyes: Italian marble statues on elaborate plinths, beautifully hand-crafted cabinets and chests with drawers packed full of carefully wrapped pieces of fine bone china ornaments, centuries old Chinese vases, and a collection of rare object d'art. Unbelievably, in a glass cabinet he discovers a collection of Faberge eggs. Turning to the walls he hopes the things behind the covers won't disappoint.

They don't.

'Jeez, Sue, 'Dodds says looking wide-eyed along the gallery of oil paintings in gilded frames, all themed on images of old men, boulders, clouds, swords, cherubs, animals, and thinly veiled voluptuous women looking wistful.

'Dya know what Sue?' Dodds says suddenly becoming an expert on these things, 'every one of these paintings is an "Old Master," and these,' he says pointing at the floor to celling tapestries, 'are all Persian.'

He was mostly correct.

Neither has spoken of the elephant in the room, the one remaining object still to be uncovered. Sue hangs back when Billy approaches it. There is something sickly about the smile he flashes at her.

Sue rushes at him, grabs his arm, tries to pull him away.' Don't!' She pleads. 'Please Billy.'

'What you doing you silly cow, let go will you?'

'Don't uncover it please.'

Ignoring her Dodds steps onto a raised dais, ten feet square and studies the covered outline and then turns on Sue. 'This is it, isn't it? This is the gold throne right?'

With tears cutting rivulets through the grime on her face Sue begs him. 'Billy please don't uncover it.'

'You're being stupid.' Dodds says angrily flinging off the cover.

It is the gold throne. It is exactly as she had described it: gold metal, with a red and gold tapestry. On the tapestry chair back he can see the faded image of a double- headed eagle, the same motif he'd come across all round the room.

Dodds runs his hands along the scrolling metal arms. He stoops to examine the craftsmanship of the lion's head terminals.

When he looks back at Sue, she seems transfixed. He doesn't really care but he asks her anyway, 'what is it about this throne. Tell me.'

'This is where he grabbed me.'

'The giant, her flunky?'

Sue is nodding.

'He didn't?"

'No Billy, he didn't do that to me, not what you are thinking. The giant threw me over his shoulder and aunt Olga was cackling her stupid head off and telling him to feed me to the monster.' Sue wipes her sleeve across her eyes. 'Those bastards really had me believing there was a monster.'

'That does it,' Dodds says authoritatively, 'I have an idea.'

'What?' Sue says eyeing him warily.

Reaching into his pocket Dodds finds his mobile phone and then checks that it still works. He finds the camera mode and tells her, 'go sit on the throne.'

Sue is shaking her head, 'I can't do that Billy.'

'Yes you can and dya know why? Because I am going to take a photo of you to prove that you are now an adult. Now, do as I say, go sit on the fucking chair, and act grownup.'

'Give me a pose then Sue.' Dodds insists, kneeling on the dais, zooming in.'

For once, Billy was right. Powerful, erotic sensations course through her the minute she settles on the throne. Billy is kneeling at her feet. She feels regal, almost like Cleopatra.

She is smiling now. 'You want a photo of my pussy?' Sue says saucily leaning back in the chair and spreading wide her legs.

Dodds eyes shift up from the screen on his smartphone. He grins and says, 'Bloody hell Sue where's your knickers?'

'Last I saw them they were stuck to the window back in the office.'

They are in hysterics with Billy taking snaps of Sue posing in a variety of sexy positions until his carnal nature can take no more.

The wealth and power in this room is like an aphrodisiac. Sue hoists her legs over the throne's gold arms and thrills at the cold kiss on her naked thighs. Climbing the dais Dodds almost stumbles on his trousers and underpants round his ankles.

'Better make it a quickie.' Sue says, blinking up at rainwater starting to drip from a widening crack in the ornate plaster ceiling.

They make love, frantic, violent almost. The sturdy throne acts like it was built for this kind of abuse.

Making love on that throne exorcises the ghosts that have stalked Sue's sleep all these years.

Sue looks up at the rainwater, now a trickle, pouring through the crack in the ceiling that is starting to sag.

'What's that noise Billy?' Sue says in a hushed voice.

'It sounds like rainwater coming in. You saw the roof. It's holed like a sieve.'

Scared now, Sue says. 'Perhaps we ought to get this stuff covered up again.'

'In a minute.' Dodds says, holding up to the light a Faberge Egg, entranced not so much by its beauty but rather how much it might be worth.

The plink- plink of water dripping on him is irritating, and he is getting wet.

'We should go Billy.' Sue pleads.

When it becomes apparent, mostly by the amount of water they are sloshing about in, the Throne Room will shortly be flooded Dodds concurs, 'We go out to the hall and then we find a way out through the back of the house.'

Sue thinks that's a good plan.

It is not even three o clock, and yet outside the sky is as black as midnight. Methodically, the house is being taken apart by the unrelenting storm. The roof has gone, with it the birds and the bats. With a loud crump two of the towers fall. Anastasia's Retreat, already sinking into the ground that resembles a swamp shakes on its foundations.

Inside the building, ceilings crash to the ground, walls buckle, and then fall, and doorframes twist, and glass windows explode. As if it were hunting down the two intruders, forked lightning stabbing into the corners and the shadows set light to the dry as tinder beams.

Decapitated now, Anastasia's Retreat is exposed to the full force of the storm. Three floors down, now unable to support the weight of water, with an alarming crack the ceiling in the Throne Room falls in.

Dodds is the first to react. He'd seen it coming. With no thought for Sue, he dashes out the door into the hallway. Sue sees him take off and follows fast on his heels, only just avoiding getting crushed. Out in the flooded hall, like beached fish caught floundering in filthy water, the couple struggle to their feet.

Somewhere, back of the house, in the direction they planned on heading, they hear a wall come down. They choke on the billowing cloud of rubble dust. Billy goes round the corner, comes back shaking his head, 'the corridor back there is blocked.'

This adds weight to Sue's conviction. 'I told you Billy, Olga set the house as a trap,' Sue says right in his face sweeping hair out her eyes, 'now what do we do?'

'We don't have a choice Sue, 'Dodds ducks his head, has to yell above the sound of another wall falling down, 'we go back the way we came.'

'Back out to the hall?' Sue can't believe she's hearing this. 'That's the best suggestion you can come up with? We go back to where we came in, back to where we know is fucking blocked!'

Sue backs off a pace, seeing the look on is face. 'I don't mean to say...'

'That's it innit? You don't ever mean to say nothing! You got a better idea, you better come out with it before we die in here.'

Sue shrugs, 'okay, we do it your way.'

They run back up the corridor, past, the room Olga had been living in, go round the staircase to end up right back where they started out. Panicking now, they turn full circle. There is a chink of daylight at the top of the blocked up front door. Dodds works out there's no time to dig their way out. He dismisses out of hand the thought they might find a way out through one of the rooms they checked out earlier. Having almost died in Olga's room, he'd rather take his chances on the upper floors.

'We have to go upstairs.' Billy says pulling on her arm.

Sue tears free of his grip. 'You are joking?'

'You got a better idea, let me hear it but we aint got long.'

'Are you mad?' Sue says, pointing up into the inky blackness and imagining all manner of horrors waiting to pounce on them. 'It really pisses me off when idiots in the movies being chased, always go up ...'

'Well I am not an idiot,' Dodds snaps, interrupting, 'and I don't see that we have a choice Sue.' He ducks his head when sounding like bomb going off somewhere behind them another wall comes crashing down.

'And another thing... 'Sue insists, 'don't get me started...have you noticed how these actors walk into a basement, where they suspect a killer is lurking and never turn on the fucking lights? And there's me screaming at the telly, "turn the lights on you morons!"

'Yeah, I seen you do it;' Dodds says, 'but this aint a movie Sue, and we really are in the shit, so, we don't get a choice, we got to go up.'

'I'm not going up there.' Sue insists folding her arms glaring up the hand-carved ornate oak staircase, 'you go up there, you go on your own.'

Under more hospitable arrangements Dodds would loved to have spent some time upstairs rooting around the rooms, putting aside anything he could put in an auction.

Sue has a point. So far Anastasia's Retreat hasn't exactly been welcoming. He's looking up to the landing now and wondering what other dangers lurk in the shadows up there.

Even the steeply rising staircase that is attached to the wall on one side looks shaky and not exactly secured very well. He thinks if we stay down here, we get burned alive. Fuck you Sue, you stay here, die in the flames. What do I care, I'm going up.

He'd only climbed for steps when Sue grabs hold of him. Now, as if it wants to throw them off, like a cobra caught by the tail, the entire staircase twists and buckles,

They fall to their hands and knees and grim-faced cling on. As if determined to throw the pair into the damnation of fire in the hall they were halfway up the stairs when the entire house shudders from the explosion caused her crackling electric socket igniting the gas filling Olga's room.

Salvation can come in many guises, and it so happens, across the landing directly opposite the stairs our heroes are currently being thrown around on is the "guest room," which, in point of fact has never been guested. In this locked room there sits a great iron bed. This rusting reminder of the days when Britain had a steel industry has a base of 22 gauge steel, and serving no particular function attached to the three-sided iron balustrade there is a series of brass knobbly bits. Between 1940 and the end of World War II, the bed used to reside in the scullery where it served as makeshift bomb shelter. After the end of hostilities, four men, sweating, and cursing hauled it back up the stairs, wiped their brows, and locked the door on their way out. Remarkably, until today, the iron bed, its brass castors sunk into the bare oak floorboards has sat brooding, perhaps waiting?

Now, the sudden twenty-degree shift in the floor rattles its casters. Like a Churchill tank the great iron bed rumbles forwards.

Out on the stairs what sounded like a door getting smashed makes Sue look up. Her eyes widen in fear when a dark shape that could be the underbelly of a great steel monster comes into view and teeters as if undecided across the top step. Like frightened children Billy Dodds and Sue Fossett stare up at the beast and pray it stays put.

It is if the bed having tasted freedom can see a way to escape the interminable boredom of its existence, and with no thought for the couple now with their hands on their heads, flops over and with a mighty crash comes down upon the already weakened stairs.

Like rag dolls, Billy, and Sue find themselves flung up in the air.

Astonishingly, their aerial acrobatics comes to a painful conclusion when they land on the bed now speeding down into a wall of flames.

Survival instincts kick in. They reach out and grab hold of the front railing and facing forwards, heads down, and keeping their eyes squeezed shut, they mumble prayers for their salvation as the iron bogey transports them into a burning hell.

The hall floorboards are taken by surprise when the iron bed lands heavily on them. The floor at first bows before springing back and then with some violence catapults the bed and its wailing occupants headlong into the wall of debris blocking the exit.

Teeth locked in grim determination, knuckles white from gripping the front rail Billy and Sue hang on. Remarkably the iron bed busts straight through the blocked up doorway, sails on and lands nose down in the mud fifty feet from the house.

Flung off the bed Sue and Billy travel through the air another twenty feet. Billy lands face down in the slime, groans and then Sue lands on his back knocking the air out of his lungs. Sue rolls off Billy onto her back. Her chest is heaving as she lay there allowing the rain to wash the ash and brick dust from her face. Hearing Billy groaning nearby Sue sits up. Billy's face is red, looking scorched. All around them are the smoking remains of the porch. Billy is coughing, retching on the ground. Tenderly, she reaches out, smoothes down his rain-soaked hair.

'You okay honey,' Sue asks peering up into his face under his bowed head.

The wind is whipping her hair about when Billy comes up with an appropriate reply, 'what the fuck!'

'That was a close call eh Billy?' Sue says with a wry grin.

It took a while to get their breath back. Saying nothing they sat and watched Anastasia's Retreat collapse into the flames, all the while the lightning doesn't let up, stabbing into the heart of the house now reduced to rubble.

'All them lovely antiques reduced to ash. 'Billy says.

'My inheritance Billy,' Sue reminds him.

Billy gets to his feet, hauls Sue upright. 'We can't stay here. The lightning will find us. Better get moving, get back to the car.'

Sue couldn't agree more.

With the moist tissues she keeps in the Bentley glove box Sue is cleaning the dirt from her face. Keeping his eyes closed, Billy has his head tipped back. Sue flips her head round when Billy remarks, 'fuck it. I had big plans for that place.'

The lipstick in her hand stalls mid-application. Sue's hackles rise. Billy is getting way too keen to take over life, and now she is about to become rich she better be careful. Money changes people. Yeah, he's been good to her, got her a job, takes her to nice places, he's pretty good in bed, but things have changed. Not only is he now unemployed, he is also homeless, and most likely he will want to move in with her. Which is fine, something she had always wanted, however....' She allows the thought to hang. She turns to face him.

'And what exactly were you planning to do with my inheritance Billy?' She says testily.

Dodds doesn't answer her right away. Their roles have reversed. Now Sue has all the money and the power and he doesn't like this new situation one be bit. Better tread carefully. Patting her thigh Dodds says, 'you worry too much Sue. I was simply going to say to you Anastasia's Retreat would have made a terrific Russian theme hotel, with a golf course and a spa... anyway, that's all by the by, cos the place has gone.'

'Just as well lover boy, cos it was never gonna happen,' Sue says haughtily now applying eyeliner, 'because anything left standing is getting bulldozed, flattened.'

Thinking wishfully Dodds suggests, 'there might yet be something salvageable in the Throne Room?'

'I suppose,' Sue reflects resettling her breasts in her bra, 'we could salvage the gold from the melted throne?'

'Except it wasn't gold, it was brass.' Billy informs her.

Sue reflects on this and then says, 'whatever, its only stuff.'

Billy looks around sharply. "Stuff!" he says affronted, 'ten million quid in antiques just went up in smoke and all you can say is, "oh, its only "stuff!"

Sue pays him no attention. She is watching the lightning pulverising her inheritance the other side of the dead forest. 'Can we go please?'

Dodds sighs, turns the key in the ignition, and slams his foot down on the accelerator. Pulling out the potholed lane he consoles himself with the thought the land alone, in this neck of the woods, has to be worth ten million. Then, of course there is Olga's fabulous jewellery, which he reckons will fetch, five, maybe six million at auction. Fuck the house, and the gold throne I don't need them, I'm going to be all right.

On the outskirts of town Billy who had been thinking says, 'you were right you know. That evil aunt of yours lured us into a trap.'

Sue was looking out at the lanes speeding by and thinking, you dickhead, it's a bit late you saying that.'

'Back to yours?' Billy suggests.

Sue hesitates before replying. 'Has to be. You don't have anywhere else to live, unless you plan on moving into a hotel?'

He isn't planning on doing that because Veronica has cancelled his company credit card. 'What about Brian?' He enquires.

'After what that animal did to you I told him he better not show his face.

# Chapter twenty-Two

Looking down on the High Street from the window of her tiny flat Lucy is worried for Brian's safety. When a white Rolls Royce pulls up at the kerb Lucy is thinking you don't see many of those outside a fish and chip shop. Her eyes widen when she sees Brian step out the rear door. He looks up and grinning he gives her a wave. She waves back excitedly but he is speaking to the chauffer. He has his back to her.

'Cheers for the lift James, ' Brian says shaking the chauffer's hand through the window, 'oh, and thanks for the piece of paper,' he jokes patting the pocket containing the cheque.

'You are very welcome Brian, and let me say what you did to that arrogant thug was heroic. I can't tell you how many times I have wanted to smack that smug face of his.'

Brian reflects on the brief exchange in the factory car park. He watched Lady Veronica turn away, head off to the factory and an uncertain encounter with her cheating husband and his lying wife. Her head was held high but the slope of her shoulders exposed her vulnerability. Where before he believed that Lady Veronica and Dodds were cushioned from the grind of ordinary folk outside the walls of Greystone Manor, now Veronica looks isolated and lonely, desperately lonely.

'Is Lady Veronica going be okay?' Brian says frowning.

'Oh yes... oh yes,' Bassett says looking jubilant, 'she will now.'

After many years worrying for his employers safety Bassett feels a load has been lifted from his shoulders. Finally, she got the good sense to get shot of her lying, cheating, scheming husband who Bassett remains convinced had a hand in her parents death. Not for a second does he buy the story he was overseas at the time. Many times he'd wondered if Veronica too was suspicious. Bassett is old school. He knows his place. Servants see a lot, but say little. That's just how it is.

'If I had the money Brian, I would happily match that cheque. You deserve every penny of it.' With a wink Bassett steers the Rolls pulls from the kerb. 'Be lucky.'

Turning round Brian waves up at Lucy. He sees her face light up.

Before he has the key in the door Lucy throws it open and pulls him into an embrace and kisses him full on the lips. Giggling now, the pair race up the stairs Lucy tugging on his hand.

Inside the flat she takes Brian over to the sofa.

'Sit,' she says patting the seat next to her not letting go his hand, 'tell me everything, I want to know every detail.'

'Nothing happened.' Brian says tongue in cheek.

Lucy tickles him until breathless he says, 'okay...okay, I'll tell you.'

Listening to Brian takes Lucy through every emotion imaginable. When he has finished, feeling wrung out Lucy snuggles into his arms and lays her head on his chest.

He hadn't intended telling her about the fight he had with Dodds, such as it was, Brian didn't want to worry her, or her think of him as little better than Dodds. He lifts her chin. Her eyes are moist. He kisses a salty tear on her cheek and says, 'I'm sorry Lucy.'

Lucy loops her arms about his neck, says. 'I love you Brian Fossett.'

He hopes he knows what he is doing when he says, 'I love you too Lucy.'

'Oh,' he says, suddenly remembering the cheque in his pocket, 'and I got this.'

He smiles when Lucy takes it from him and then sits bolt upright.

'Five thousands pounds!' She turns to his smiling face. 'I don't understand. Why would Lady Veronica want you to have all this money?'

'Prize money,' he jokes then quickly adds, 'sorry, that's not funny.' He says, 'I don't know Lucy. I couldn't hear what she said when she gave it to her driver. I never even got a chance to say thank you. It was only after we drove off that her chauffer handed it to me.'

'Well, she must have thought you deserved it. Did she say you could have your job back?'

'Yeah, but d'ya know what, I actually don't want to work there anymore. I never want to set foot inside that place again.'

'But Dodds will be gone, you'll have a new boss, surely things will be different?'

'True, Dodds wont be there, but I am looking forward to making a fresh start.'

'You're okay though?' Lucy says, worrying.

'Never better. I...' Brian hesitates, blurts out. 'Lucy I am so in love with you it aches.' Frowning he takes hold of Lucy's hand. 'Is that okay?'

Lucy wipes a tear from her cheek. 'Of course it's okay you daft, sweet man, now shut up and take me to bed. I want you to make love to me.'

That evening in Lucy's bed that is now their bed, pillows propping up his back, Brian is listening to Lucy sleeping. One of her arms lies across his tummy. He smiles and closes his eyes. His mind wanders back to earlier in the day. Brian doesn't recognise the man who burst into the office. What was he thinking? What did he hope to achieve? Certainly not the outcome he got! And how the hell did he end up with Dodds sweaty testicles in his hand. He settles the matter by deciding it must have been some kind of aberration, a quirky, one-off, blip in his character. He puts it down to meeting Lucy and the kind of love that people say can move mountains.

Lucy, stirs, stretches her arms, smiles up at him. He bends and kisses her on the nose.

'Hello, sleepy-head.'

'I just had the best sleep ever.' Lucy says snuggling into his arms and thinking she hasn't felt this way since David died. She tells his spirit, I can't be certain David, but I think I may have made good on that promise I made you. The tingling under her skin she takes as a sign from David that he approves.

She looks up at Brian who has his eyes closed. He looks serene. There is a hint of a smile on his lips. What is going through his mind right now? Perhaps, much like her own, his life too has changed for the better, almost beyond recognition. Lucy hopes so. Maybe she had something to do with that? He opens his eyes and smiles down at her. When she stretches her neck and puckers up he kisses her tenderly.

'What was that for?' He asks.

'Oh, just because.'

Lucy is thinking, life is weird, one minute my life is as empty as a shell on a beach and the next thing, I know I am in love with this lovely, bruised and battered man who I met in the A&E!

Stop trying to analyse it. That's what Bridgette would tell her. All that matters is she feels alive again, whole again. Good riddance to that sad woman avoiding her friends and too embarrassed to admit she is weak. Watching Brian doing nothing other than breathing, and knowing what he has gone through makes her proud of him, really proud. He must have heard her thoughts.

'You do know it's all down to you?' He says teasing her.

'Yeah,' Lucy says grinning, 'and what am I being blamed for now?'

'Me going off like that, wanting to close the book on my sad life.'

'Sad!' Lucy snorts, 'I invented the word.'

He pats her leg through the bedcovers and says, 'better days lie up ahead. I can feel it in my bones.'

She feels as if she has front row seats in a West End theatre and is waiting for the curtains to go up.

A few days ago Brian had been back home with the folk he had always thought of as his "family." Recent events have taught him how it's entirely possible to invent a whole world in your head and place all the characters in roles and then expect them to play out the lines you write for them. Then poor Olga flops down in his sherry trifle and bang! It was as if a bomb had exploded in the centre of his life. Now the world that he once knew is unrecognisable, better, oh for sure, much better. How his life is now feels idyllic, almost too good to be true. If he won the lottery, he couldn't be happier. He knows it's all down to Lucy. He knows that for certain.

'It's all over Brian.' Lucy says placing the cool palm of her hand on his cheek.

'Did you just read my thoughts?'

'Women can do that.'

'Not men?'

'Hmm, maybe a few.'

'Me?'

'Erm... nah!'

'That does it Lucy Bedwell, you're gonna get tickled now.'

For the next few minutes, bedlam ensues as the pair chase each other around the flat. After a pillow fight, panting, wrapped in each other's arms they lay on the bed.

An hour later leaving him sleeping Lucy creeps out the bedroom. Taking Brian a mug of tea she wakes him around two. 'You said you wanted to go and see Charlie so I thought I'd wake you with a cuppa.'

He blinks, takes a few moments to get his bearings. He blows through his cheeks feeling the chill recede when he finds Lucy is real. It hadn't been a dream.

Taking the mug of tea from her, Brian says. 'Wow, I slept well.'

'Yes you did.'

He looks at his watch. 'If we get our skates on we can still catch the bank, only I'd like to get that cheque paid in.'

'What you looking for?' Lucy says slapping Brian's backside when he bends over the bed.

'One of my socks.'

'It hasn't quite sunk in yet.' Brian says slipping his legs inside his trousers and then his feet inside his shoes.

Lucy over by the door pulling on a lightweight zipper coat says, 'what hasn't?'

'Me falling in love and then having all this money come my way.' Zipping up his fly Brian quips. 'My God, the bank manager is going to pass out. There's never been anything other than dust and spiders in my account.'

The walk to the bank takes ten-minutes. Brian pays the thirty quid fee and the cheque goes through the express clearing system. He smiles when he checks his account at the ATM.

Sorry to rush you Brian, ' Lucy says checking her watch, 'only I got...'

'Oh Lucy, I'm so sorry.' Brian says interrupting her. 'In all this excitement I forgot that you have to be back on duty. What time have you got to be there?'

'Four,' Lucy says, 'but first I need to go back to the flat and change into my uniform.'

'That's okay. We'll take a cab. I can go with you. I want check in on Charlie.'

'Take a cab!' Lucy teases, 'get you, old moneybags.'

Charlie insisted Brian didn't skimp on the details. He wanted a blow-by-blow account of what happened back at the factory. Lucy has given up trying to take Charlie's blood pressure.

'Brian,' she says smiling, 'we need to keep Charlie quiet, rested you know?'

'What can I do? The old coot wont let it rest.'

'I aint an old coot and if I rested anymore I'd be dead. Now, get on with your story.'

Throwing her hands in the air and grinning Lucy says, 'okay Charlie we'll do your BP when you've calmed down.'

Then Charlie says, 'I'm real proud of you mucker, and you saved my life Brysie.'

Brian squirms in his chair. 'No I didn't. The ambulance paramedics and the hospital staff did that, people like Lucy.'

'Dya know the best bit in all this Brysie?' Charlie says nailing his pal from under his unruly eyebrows.

'No, but I suspect you are about to tell me.'

'Seeing you two lovebirds looking so happy. That's a real treat.'

Brian grins and looks over to Lucy who hoping to hide the pink flushes to her cheeks turns her back to them.

'I'm calm now nurse,' Charlie says turning to Lucy. 'You will find my blood pressure will be fine, you'll be impressed.'

And she was... it was perfect in fact.

'How do you do that?'

Tapping the side of his nose with a wink Charlie says, 'mind training.'

Lucy looks round at Brian who shrugs.

Stepping behind Brian's chair Lucy strokes the back of his neck. He looks up at her when she says, 'I have to go check on my other patients. I'll leave you two men to catch up. Don't forget Charlie. Use the buzzer if you need anything.'

When Charlie tells him how much better he is feeling Brian gets worried.

'Yeah, Charlie that's great, but don't even think about leaving here yet.'

'Stop fussing Brysie?' Charlie growls. 'I already know that? I was just saying.'

Two hours slip by and over that time a succession of nurses' call in to check on Charlie. Cleaners, pop in and attack every surface. One time a doctor comes in, reads Charlie's notes, smiles and then walks out.

Brian is thinking this is odd, having other people around him and Charlie. Back at the park it was only ever the two of them chatting and now all manner of folk are around. Guilt stalks him when he thinks he should have done more to find Charlie somewhere to live. Had he unconsciously wanted to keep Charlie to himself? He dismisses this ridiculous notion. He could never get Charlie to even discuss the possibility of coming off the streets. He'd tried of course. Charlie would shut him up by saying, "with respect Brian, you don't know what you are talking about so shut the fuck up cos it aint never going to happen."

'This must feel odd, you being in here. Especially with you hating hospitals.'

Opening one eye Charlie doesn't lift his head from the pillow.

Brian is thinking the old guy looks tired. Better let him rest. He watches Charlie's chest rise and fall.

Sounding more relieved than tired Charlie says, 'it aint half as bad as I imagined. There are some good people work here.'

Brian is nodding. They remain quiet for some time. Men do this. Brian is trying to think of the best way to tell Charlie what he plans. In the end he looks up from the floor, straightens his back and says, 'course, the cash in my bank account will make a difference Charlie.'

'Spect it will Brysie. It will give you and Lucy a head start.'

'I wasn't thinking of me and Lucy.'

Charlie fixes Brian with those piercing ice blue eyes. 'Oh yeah,' Charlie says half knowing what was coming, 'what's on your mind?'

It's no good pussyfooting around. You're going to have to tell him.

'You are not going back to the park Charlie.' Brian says flatly.

'I'm not eh?' Charlie retorts in the same even way.

There'd been a few times, over the years, when he'd seen Charlie's ice blue eyes flash dangerously, and there it was again. The words come out in a rush.

'The money I told you about, I am going to use some of that to set you up in a flat. Charlie I can't have you spend another night on that bench.' If he looks at his mate, see's that fierce look he will falter, maybe even back down, so he rushes on. 'I don't want us to fall out over this but I am putting my foot down and for once...'

'Sounds good to me.'

'What!' Brian jerks his head around.

'That plan of yours, it sounds kosher.'

Unable to believe Charlie is taking this so well, Brian says, 'of course it will be a loan, interest free, just until you can pay me back. And, you may need to come live with us for a week or two, just until we get you set up.'

'Live with you?'

'Yes. Lucy and I, we talked it through and we agreed you can sleep on her sofa.'

Lucy is nodding.

'That cant be right.' Says Charlie.

'Why not?'

'Well correct me if I'm wide of the mark here Brysie but I figured that you would be sleeping on the sofa!'

Lucy excuses herself at this point and leaves the room. Brian doesn't get the joke at first and then wags his finger at Charlie. 'Look what you done, you embarrassed Lucy.'

'What about my stuff?' Charlie says.

'Your stuff?' Brian frowns.

'Yes Brysie, I'm talking about all my gear left at the park. I am going to need most of that.'

Brian can't tell if he is joking or not. He says, 'you want to keep that old crap?'

'Its crap is it?' Charlie says fiercely.

Brian pulls a face. How to put it? 'Oh, please! I was hoping that you and I could go out and buy new stuff.'

'You don't like any of my stuff?'

'Well... to be honest, no, not really.'

'Really!' Charlie acts surprised. 'Odd that you never said anything about it being crap when you gave me it, you said, as I recall, "it is all good gear."

The penny drops. 'You winding me up Charlie?'

'Course I am, you plonker.' Charlie chuckles.

They are both laughing when they get a stern look from Lucy poking her head round the door.

'You're supposed to be resting Mr Parker.'

His pal is right. Another night sleeping on that cold damp bench will probably see him off. Besides life is looking up. The pains in his head have gone, his vision, previously not good due to where the bullet damaged the optic nerve is back to twenty-twenty again. More than at any time since Helen died Charlie feels life is worth living again.

Two days pass, although concerned the patient might be spending too much time walking the corridors of the hospital the doctors and the nurses caring for Charlie remark on how well he is progressing.

Not that he cares, watching TV in the flat above the fish and chip shop Brian wonders why he's not heard a word from Sue. He imagines that she will be with Dodds and the pair of them will be wading through her inheritance money most likely in some posh hotel. Now, Barney, his Westie, is worrying him. He misses his little dog, and while Sue is not exactly Barney's biggest fan and she may forget to give him the odd meal, and never think to walk him round the block, Sue would never willfully neglect him.

Lucy turns the TV volume down, takes hold of his hand. 'What's up Brian? What's bothering you? '

'Its that obvious eh?'

'Talk to me.'

'I was thinking about Jock. I miss him, you know. I've been thinking perhaps I will pop back home, maybe take him around the block. I thought he and I could go over the park but then that might feel weird what with Charlie not being there.'

'I was going to suggest,' Lucy says, 'that you bring him here and live with us but I didn't say anything because I thought as he was the family pet it would be unfair on the others.'

'Really! Oh that would be fantastic. Jock was only ever my pet you know. When I got him home as a puppy from a dog rescue centre Sue was furious, She told me to take it back. It was one of the few times that I actually put my foot down.'

Lucy excited now says, 'that's settled the matter then. It'll be great having him live here with us.'

Brian is just as excited when he says, 'I'll go pick him up right after lunch, and while I'm there I can collect all my belongings, that's if Sue hasn't binned it all.'

'She wouldn't do that? Would she?' Lucy says the forkful of food paused halfway to her mouth.

'Oh, you don't know Sue. She is perfectly capable of doing that.'

Brian is eating his quiche Lorraine in a rush.

'Slow down Brian,' Lucy says, 'Jock won't have gone anywhere and you'll give yourself heartburn.'

'Yeah, I know I should calm down eh? No rush eh?'

Wiping his mouth on a paper napkin Brian suddenly remembers Olga's carpetbag out in the hall. 'Oh and by the way I may as well drop Olga's carpetbag into a charity shop while I am out.'

'Crikey! Lucy says, 'I'd forgotten all about the bag. But you can't throw away your inheritance Brian! Have you even looked inside it?'

'No, not yet.'

'What! Why not? There might be something worth keeping in it?' Lucy ponders on this. 'Why do you think Olga wanted you to inherit her bag and not Sue?'

Reflecting on this, Brian thinks back to how Sue would go on about Olga being one of those reclusive millionaires who probably hoarded her money I that big old house of hers. It was a little odd that Olga would never allow that beat up old carpetbag out her sight and guarded it like a Rottweiler! Wryly he remembers Sue pulling it out of the dead woman's hands and then running up the stairs with it.

'Trust me Lucy there wont anything inside that bag worth keeping.'

'You don't know that.'

'I do because Sue got to it first. I saw her prise it from her dead aunts fingers and then race up to her bedroom with it. Anything of value in Olga's bag will be ling gone.'

'We should look anyway.' Lucy says feeling excited at the prospect. 'You never know it could be just a letter or a photograph some sort of curio? Lets empty it out anyway.'

Brian goes out to the hall to fetch it.

Lucy budges up on the sofa, makes space for Brian to sit down. He upturns the bag and shakes the contents out in the gap between them.

'See,' Brian says,' poking a finger around in the collection of fluff-covered polo mints, a jumble of wool, a pair of knitting needles, a pair of broken spectacles, a half empty bottle of cough mixture, an unopened packet of Fisherman's Friends, a few crumpled paper tissues, a bottle of lavender water, a few odd buttons, and some foreign coins, 'it's as I said, a load of old junk.'

'Then why would this old woman be at pains to insist that you have and not Sue?' Lucy thinks about this, 'I suspect you are right Brian. Sue got to it first and removed anything of value and then handed over to you. I bet she was laughing at the time?'

'Laughing like a drain actually,' Brian says recalling Sue throwing it at him out of Dodds car window.

Taking the empty bag Lucy turns it upside down and then gives it a good shake. 'Nothing.' She announces brushing lint and dust off the sofa.

Brian is not the least bit disappointed. With Lucy in his life, things have turned around and he couldn't be happier. Thinking about Olga he can't help feeling sorry for the old woman. It must have been horrible living on her own for all those years with nothing but her visits to the Fossett household to look forward to? Other emotions now surface: Anger at Sue for how she sucked up to her aunt whilst behind her back made no secret of her wish that she were dead. Horror: at the memory of Olga, quite dead, and face down in his sherry trifle. Guilt now: Feeling remorseful that he didn't do enough to curb her drinking that afternoon. Never once did Brian resent her visits, nor did he ever mind the way she would speak to him as if he were a kitchen worker.

Lucy curious now says. 'Do you think Olga ever loved Sue? Did she for instance, trust her?'

Brian says, 'Why you asking?'

'I am picking up something, from this bag. You see there are times when I get feelings about things.'

'Yeah, I already worked that out.' Brian says now intrigued, 'and do you have one of these, feelings about Olga's carpetbag?'

'Yes I do. It's as if the bag is telling me something.'

'Whoo!' Brian teases waving his hands about.' Sorry,' 'he says when Lucy frowns. 'It's a bloke thing. Most men don't really go in for that stuff, I don't anyway, but I believe you. I really do.' He sounded genuine.

Lucy can be weirdly prescient. He's figured that out already. He watches Lucy exploring the lining inside the bag, sees her fingers work their way along the seams. Now, she sits as if frozen, caught, trapped in some space he doesn't understand.

'What? You found something?'

Lucy says nothing. Her eyes have narrowed with concentration. Her fingers probe the lining of the bag digging deeper.

'Tell me,' Brian says, excited now. 'What have you found?'

Lucy stares up at him wide-eyed.

'You are smiling.' Brian points out.

'That's because I found something.'

'What you found Lucy? Don't do this to me.'

'Fetch me the scissors please? In the desk drawer.' Lucy points to the bureau.

He hands them to her, he can't see what her hands are doing inside the bag but he can hear the snip, snip of the scissors, and then her head goes almost inside the bag.

'What you doing? I cant see.' Brian says, trying to see over her shoulder. '

'I need to cut the lining, okay?'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah, tell me what you found.'

The snipping stops and Lucy looks up at him. Her expression is a mixture of disbelief and wonder.

The suspense is a killer. 'What you found?' Brian says darkly.

Now, as if by magic, Lucy's hand emerges from the bag.

'Ta da!' Lucy cries holding up to the light a huge ring. A thousand tiny cuts on the surfaces of the cushioned-shaped blue stone glitters as if the ring finally liberated from its dark and secret confinement explodes with delight.

As one, they stare at it in disbelief.

'Oh my God!' Lucy gasps staring down at the ring between her shaking thumb and finger.

It felt like ages before either of them was able to speak.

It is Brian who breaks the spell the ring has cast upon them. 'Jeez! What is that?'

Lucy breathes on the gem and then rubs it on the sleeve of her cardigan. In response a thousand tiny stars locked inside the gem dance on the iris of her wondrous eyes.

'This, is so beautiful, don't you think Brian?'

'It's breath-taking,' Brian says, 'but a bit over-the top for my taste.'

'It has to be valuable, 'Lucy says feeling a rising swell of excitement bubbling in her tummy 'I mean, why would someone want to sew it into the lining if it wasn't?'

'Can I take a look?' Brian says. In his palm it feels heavy and surprisingly well balanced, comfortable even when he slips it on the end of his little finger.

'Here,' Brian says passing it back, 'you put it on. It will look better on your hand.'

Lucy giggles and then bites her bottom lip when she sees that unthinking she has placed it on her wedding ring finger.

'Oh wow!' Lucy gasps when a chill runs down her spine making the hairs on her neck stand on end. 'It's heavy, but whoever made it had got the balance perfect.' Turning her hand this way and that Lucy is thrilled by the way the light seems to ignite a million tiny stars locked inside the stone. Lucy slips it off her finger and offers it to Brian. 'I love it Brian.'

'Then it's yours. I cant see me wearing it.' Brian says.

'No way Brian,' Lucy gasps, 'this is your inheritance. That is very sweet of you, but I couldn't, I mean, I don't think, to be honest, that I would ever wear it. It's a little old-fashioned, don't you think?'

He does. Now examining the ring with his engineer's brain.

'It'll be glass, the stone I mean. The metal is most likely silver, I can see no hallmarks, so it is most likely foreign.' Narrowing his eyes Brian is studying an inscription. 'There's some writing inside the band that I can't work out. I don't think it's even our alphabet. It's most likely... Arabic?'

They go quiet. Lucy is watching the lights bouncing off the ring skipping and swirling like fairies on the celling.

Brian has a thought, 'if you really don't fancy wearing this we could sell it and buy one that you will wear.'

Eye wide Lucy turns her face to Brian. His face looks serene, open, and genuine. One of the things she loves most about him is his boyish innocence. Without question or hesitation he would do that, sell his inheritance and give it to her.

'That's very kind of you Brian,' Lucy says dashing aside the mad thought that he might have been hinting at an engagement ring! What am I thinking? Stop this nonsense girl. As if she is smoothing out her thoughts Lucy sweeps her hands down her thighs and says, 'We should get it valued though...' She has a thought, ' hang on a minute,' Lucy gets to her feet and presses one hand to her forehead, 'now where did I put that?'

'What are you looking for?' Brian asks seeing Lucy rummage through the papers in the wastepaper bin over by the desk.

'Aha! Found it.' Lucy cries holding up a crumpled coloured brochure. Sitting down next to Brian she smoothes it flat on her thigh. 'This flyer came through the door the other day. At first I was thinking that maybe I can find a few bits to put in an auction, but then I couldn't be bothered. Look,' Lucy says, 'it's one of those posh auction houses, up in London. They want people to take stuff along to get it valued... for free. We could take your ring?'

Brian is getting to love her infectious enthusiasm for life.

'It'll be embarrassing,' Brian says pulling a face, 'It's just costume jewellery Lucy.'

'You don't know that! It could be worth thousands?'

'Yeah right, I don't think so. It looks like the kind of pantomime ring that Widow Twanky would wear.'

'I bet you it's valuable.' Lucy says.

'Okay,' Brian says giving her outstretched palm a slap, 'a quid says the stone is made of glass.'

'A quid! You cheapskate,' Lucy gasps mocking, 'come on, make it interesting, make it a tenner.'

Brian still hasn't got his head around the fact that now he has five grand in the bank. Yesterday a tenner was more than Sue allowed him out his wages. They shake on the bet.

Lucy now takes out her mobile.

'You ringing them now?'

'Yeah,' Lucy says holding up one finger to shush him.

A minute later she hangs up and says, 'we got an appointment tomorrow... two o clock.'

'In London?'

'Yup, it'll be fun. We can take in a few sights, and you can buy me tea in the Tate Modern.'

'Hmm, sounds good but what's so special about having tea in the Tate Modern?'

'Oh you just wait. One time I went there,' explains Lucy, 'I took the lift to the restaurant on the top floor. I didn't eat in there, or even buy a coffee; I was just looking you know? The view Brian, out over the London skyline, at the Thames, and St Paul's, and the Millennium Bridge is to die for.'

'Okay then,' Brian says, 'we'll have tea in the Tate tomorrow.' He's already forgotten about the ring that he is convinced is nothing but worthless costume jewellery. He smiles thinking about Lucy's enthusiasm. He's going to tease her horribly when she loses the bet. But, he wonders about her uncanny, female-like instinct for things! We'll see.

Chapter twenty-Three.

Brian emerges from the fog of sleep feeling unsure of his surroundings. He starts to panic until he feels Lucy stir at his side. Lucy is not a dream and Charlie really is safe and well and recovering. He lifts his head. Over Lucy's sleeping form he can see the bedside clock. He rubs his knuckles in his eyes. Lucy's arms pop out of the covers, stretches like a cat.

'What's the time honey?' She yawns.

'It is seven-forty-two, sleepy head.'

Lucy gasps, throws back the covers.

'No rush,' Brian says, using his hands to settle her back down again. 'Our appointment at Botherby's isn't until two, so we got plenty of time. You lay there and relax while I will fetch us a cuppa.'

Sitting at Lucy's "metro retro," Formica table, they eat a breakfast of porridge laced with Manuka honey. It is apparent overnight their initial excitement at discovering the mysterious ring sewn into the lining of Olga's old carpetbag is now muted. Brian and Lucy haven't yet entirely discounted the ring being valuable, but they see the trip to London, taking in a few tourist attractions as the more exciting prospect.

He'd been a child the last time Brian was in London, taken there by his parents to see Santa in one of the big stores.

'Are you okay Brian?' Lucy says looking worried and reaching for his hand across the table.

'Yeah ...yeah,' he says hurriedly and then confesses, 'us going up to London today has triggered off memories of my Mum and Dad.' He'd already told Lucy that his parents had died quite close together, and that was how he and Sue got together. He smiles at Lucy, 'I'm fine, honest, couldn't be better. I'm just excited.'

Lucy is in her bedroom when Brian calls out from the lounge.

'I can't find the ring Lucy, where did you put it?'

'Ha ha, very funny Brian. ' Lucy, lipstick paused in mid-air, calls back, 'you mean where did you put the ring? Please don't tell me you lost it already!' When his hand waggling and wearing the ring emerges round the doorframe she has to laugh.

'Found it.' He says.

Lucy is struck by the way the light coming from the lounge window flashes off the ring's cut surfaces. Would cut glass do that? She wonders.

Out in the kitchen Brian wraps the ring in a piece of kitchen roll. He tosses it in the air and then catches it. "Note to self," the right hand trouser pocket is the one with the hole in it, so don't put in there. He pops the ring in the left one, pats his pocket.

'Have you put the ring somewhere safe Brian?' Lucy says by the front door pulling on her coat,' It might be worth a fortune.'

Mocking her Brian jokes. 'I already told you, it's costume jewellery.'

Before locking the door to her flat Lucy goes through a check list of the contents of her shoulder bag, says out loud, 'bottle of water, paper tissues, make-up bag, house keys, Paracetamol, address book, mobile phone.' Looking at his watch Brian waits at the head of the stairs.

No wonder women take ages to get out the door. 'Got it all?' Brian says leaning against the wall: 'Breakdown triangle, life raft, emergency flares?'

'You say that, but I bet before the day is out you'll be saying, Lucy, have you got this... Lucy, have you got that? Now, Mr Fossett, have you got the ring someplace safe?'

'Yes.' He says patting his trouser pocket.

Ten past one, holding hands the couple dodge through the melee of people thronging the concourse at Victoria station. They emerge into daylight under a slate sky. They run jumping over puddles, only just make it onto the number 49 that was about to pull away from the bus stop. Giggling, like excited children, they stumble up the winding stairs and with the bus throwing them from side to side they make their way along the aisle and take the empty seat at the front. Lucy is breathing hard when she slides her bottom across to the kerbside window.

'Phew, just made it, and how lucky to get the front seat.' Lucy says tucking her windswept hair behind her ears.

Having attended any number of mostly boring nursing PDP, (professional development training) courses in London, Lucy is more knowledgeable of the capital than Brian who is taking in the sights she points out through the rain-spattered window. Lucy gives Brian a nudge. 'Come on. Ours is the next stop.' Pinching his cheek Lucy says, 'and if you are good, you can have ice cream.'

Millbank is a slow moving river of rain glistening cars, taxi's advertising all manner of stuff, bendy-buses, courier bikes, and endless white vans. They step off the bus and merge into a melee of tourists parrying umbrellas. Lucy squeals and leaps back when a passing bus sends a wave of muddy rainwater surging over the kerb. On the far side of the street across two lanes of traffic located in an elegant Georgian building with a canopy porch, not dissimilar to a hotel is Botherby's Auction House.

'There it is,' Brian points out and looking both ways for a chance to slip through this sea of sodden, slow moving steel.

Squinting in the rain and trying to keep her head dry with one hand, Lucy is looking for the nearest crossing.

That was when Brian, taking advantage of a black taxi cab swinging about in a tight circle to collect a fare on the other side of the road pulls Lucy into the traffic.

'Sorry!' he calls out to the swerving courier cyclist who curses him one finger in the air.

'You nearly got us killed Brian!' Lucy admonishes him when they reach the other side of the road.

'Sorry Lucy, but we were getting drowned.'

'Working in A&E teaches you a lot about personal safety Brian.' Lucy says sternly.

'I know, and I should have used the crossing.' Brian admits peeling away a strand of wet hair stuck to her cheek. He blinks up at the rain. Seeking to smooth over a moment of tension he quips, 'I can't believe you don't have an umbrella in that kit bag of yours?'

Without a glance at the gallery of paintings now under wraps from the rain set up on stalls lining the Victoria Tower Gardens side of Millbank, holding hands the couple looking like drowned rats step onto the monogrammed rubber mat under Botherby's Auction House canopy. Facing the glass double doors they hesitate.

Lucy checks his appearance, straightens his tie. Brian is now wishing he had invested some of the five grand he got from Lady Veronica on a new suit and a hair cut.

'Ready?' Brian says taking a deep breath and gripping the brass handle on the glass door. Lucy nods. 'Lets get this over with.'

'Are you nervous?'

'Yeah.'

'Me too.'

The lighting in the lobby is subdued, designed to accent the antique vases and porcelain figures in lit glass cases. To one side of a glass and chrome reception desk stands a vaguely human bronze statue. A young woman dressed in a lime green and grey uniform wearing name badge that says, "Annabelle" looks up from her computer terminal. Her crimson lips smile across perfect white teeth.

Brian is wishing he'd gotten the ring valued in the local jewelers, saved all this stress. Worse, when the ring proves to be crap he is going to feel mortified at wasting everyone's time. Taking a deep breath, gripping hold of Lucy's hand Brian stops three feet from the smiling Annabelle. Her accent is Chelsea. Brian is thinking, really! Do people really talk like that?

'The weather is unseasonably inclement today.' Annabelle remarks amiably enough.

Brian hates himself when what comes out his mouth is, 'yes, it is rather.'

Lucy at his side stifles a laugh and converts it to a cough, 'sorry.'

'And how may I help you?' Annabelle enquires looking from face to face.

Her showing him the door would be good! He clears his throat.

'Ahem, Brian Fossett and Lucy Bedwell,' he announces, 'we have a two o clock appointment.'

Annabelle turns to her computer screen. Her fingertips bring up their enquiry.

'Splendid. You have brought along a ring you wish us to value is that correct?'

'I have it here.' Brian says offering the ring to her. As if he had produced a spider, Annabelle leans back, looks horrified.

'I suggest you keep hold of your property for the time being, our head of Jewellery valuations, Mr Green will take a look at it in due course. Would you care to take a seat?'

Annabelle points to a row chairs arranged uniformly behind a coffee table.

'Thank you.' Brian nods while Lucy pulls him away.

Seated, taking in the framed paintings on the walls Brian is thinking, I must be missing something here? This Modern art, I just don't get it!

Lucy slips her hand inside his. She smiles and says, 'you alright?'

Speaking out the side of his mouth he whispers, 'feels like a dentist waiting room.' Lucy kicks his shoe.

A few minutes pass and he badly wants to mess up the fanned display of April sales brochures on the coffee table that he imagines Annabelle tends.

Speaking like a ventriloquist Brian informs Lucy, like she doesn't already know!

'I am feeling quite uncomfortable and I think we should go? I mean, the ring wont be worth anything, and I am going to feel like an idiot.' He shuts up when he sees Annabelle come around her desk and sashay over on five-inch heels.

'Too late.' Lucy says, giving Brian a nudge.

'Mr Green, will see you now.' Annabelle says smiling. Brian and Lucy get in step behind the receptionist on her high heels, a dead straight line down the back of her stockings, heading over to a pair of glass doors. They wait while Annabelle slides a card through a security lock. The glass doors swish open.

They are in a corridor. Closed doors either side, painted cream and numbered in gold. They could be in a hotel. The first one they pass has a brass plaque: "CEO Private."

They stop at a door. Standing to one side of it Annabelle pushes it open. Brian hadn't known what to expect, but wasn't surprised to find himself invited to go sit in an austere looking room with just a table and four chairs. The corporate design theme continues unabated. The Georgian mahogany table is polished to a glass finish. The four chairs are identical to the ones in the lobby.

'Please take a seat.' Annabelle says hanging onto the door handle. 'Mr Green will be along shortly.'

Sat next to Lucy Brian traps his hands between his thighs. He looks about him, clears his throat, and then gets up to pace the room. He pauses to stare at one particular painting. He looks at it from every angle but can make no sense of the blotches interrupting a series of horizontal stripes of different hues.

'See this?' Brian says pointing, looking back at Lucy, 'I reckon a five-year old painted it.'

'Brian!' Lucy shushes him, flicking her head to the CCTV camera in the far corner of the room

Brian pulls a face and goes back to the table, sits down again. Five minutes pass, feels like thirty, Lucy lays her hand over his. Brian apologises, stops drumming his fingers on the table.

'Why we still here? ' He complains. 'We should go. We could go get cake.'

'You buying?'

'No!' Brian protests, 'I just paid the bus fares.' They both laugh when Lucy calls him, 'Cheapskate.'

'That's unfair Lucy,' Brian quips glad to feel the tension ease.

'Then you should pay for the cakes.'

'Fine, I'll pay for them out the ten quid you owe me when the ring proves to be worthless.'

The couple go quiet and sit, backs erect, keeping their hands folded on their laps when the door opens and in walks the portly man in a blue Worsted suit, a pink shirt with a wingback collar, and a yellow tie and matching canary yellow pocket-handkerchief. It was as if a headmaster had just walked into a classroom of rowdy pupils. Mr Green closes the door behind him.

'Cedric Green.' The man announces closing in on the couple that rises awkwardly to their feet.

The brief handshake suggests the man has better things to do, and, indeed he does. Cedric is not happy that, two days before the Chinese collection from the late Sir Arthur Wiggins-Forester Estate goes up for auction his boss insisted it had to be him go see to this couple of undoubted "car-booters." Cedric Green plans to get rid of these two, in short measure.

Mr Green stands a couple of inches taller than Brian, maybe, six-feet two-ish? He looks to be fifty-ish, with his hair sort of floppy'ish and fair going grey at the temples. The turn-ups of his trousers fall just so on his black brogue shoes.

'Annabelle mentioned a ring.' Green says, bilious after learning at breakfast from his wife Hilda that they are to spend this weekend at their son's house in Shropshire, He cannot stand his son's obnoxious wife Irena, nor does he have much time for his five unruly grandchildren, nor the pack of dogs roaming the house, or for their mangy cat lapping at the dripping tap on the kitchen sink.

Mr Green's surly manner has got Brian's hackles up. Not, an auspicious start to this already uncomfortable situation. Already, he can't stand the man who reminds him of his ex boss. Having dealt so comprehensively with his former employer Brian is now much less inclined to tolerate fools and bullies.

'Yes, I have inherited a ring and I have brought it along to have someone take a look at it.' Brian reaches under the table and gives Lucy's hand a squeeze. 'However. I get the impression Mr Green that you have far better things to do than waste time looking at our piece of junk, so if you don't mind, Lucy and I won't trouble you further. I shall take my ring elsewhere.'

Cedric Green looks at them aghast. Feeling rightly chastened he knows that he has entirely misjudged this mild-looking man in the crumbled suit with a number of injuries to his face that were most likely as a result of a recent barroom brawl. Add to these observations that fact that the man has absolutely no sense of sartorial taste it is not surprising he should make these assumptions. As a matter of fact, the couple actually looks quite sweet. Cedric Green takes a breath and then does his best to force from his mind the breakfast table spat with Hilda, who seems to delight in springing things on him that he has no recollection of and then insisting, "I did tell you Cedric, but you never listen to a single word I say."

Cedric manufactures a smile and says, 'Mr Fossett, I am sorry if I seemed a little brusque just now.'' Indicating the chairs with his hand he invites his visitors to sit. 'Now,' He says sounding a little more enthusiastic, 'may I take a look at this ring of yours.'

Eyeing the auctioneer warily Brian concludes Mr Green's apology sounded genuine enough. Seated now, Brian has to stretch his leg under the table to get his hand inside his trouser pocket.

Lucy forces a smile at the delay while Brian is fishing around in his pockets. 'Do you still have it?' Lucy hisses hoping Brian hasn't lost it already! 'Here, let me help.' Lucy says plunging one hand into his jacket pocket and finding nothing.

Brian knows he can't have lost it. Only just now, out in the reception he checked he still had it by feeling it through his trousers. He remembers now. It was in his left trouser pocket, the one that doesn't have a hole in it.

'Is there a problem Mr Fossett?' Cedric enquires checking his watch.

Brian lets out a sigh of relief when he pulls out the ring still wrapped in kitchen roll. ''Phew! For a minute there I thought I'd lost it, thought it'd slipped through a hole in my trouser pocket.'

Leaning across the table now in the glow of the anglepoise lamp Brian unravels the paper towel. Mr Green's shoulders bow forward.

Brian needn't have worried. The ring looks even more brilliant than it did back at Lucy's flat. Hidden away for so many years it seems the ring is now delighted to be liberated. Exploding with brilliance the gem wows its audience.

Wondrous eyes like infants seeing Christmas lights for the first time, the faces of Mr Green, Brian, and Lucy track the kaleidoscope of lights chasing round the walls and ceiling. Mr Green is looking mesmerised. Now, as if by magic a loupe appears in his right eye.

With the auctioneer hunched over the ring Brian can't see Green's expression. Can he dare to think that Mr Green is genuinely interested in his ring?

'Lucy and I have a bet, 'Brian says conversationally, ' I reckon the stone is made of glass, and the metal is silver plate and not worth a light, while Lucy here, she thinks it might be a diamond, but I told her it's... '

'Shush!' Green interrupts. From his coat pocket Mr Green produces a pair of white gloves.

The atmosphere in the room is electric and while Cedric Green's breathing sounds laboured Brian and Lucy can hardly take a breath.

The couple leaning forward watch Green jot down on a pad the Cyrillic script engraved inside the metal band. Green then double checks and then re-checks his notations. With the loupe still stuck in his right eye and looking like some mad scientist Cedric Green stares at Brian.

You could have heard a pin drop on the carpet.

Lucy and Brian fidget in their chairs. Brian, now on the edge of his seat feels he wants to say something, anything, rather than have to endure this tension.

'What 'do you think Mr Green?'

Needing time to think, regain some sense of perspective Green paces the room keeping the ring in his white-gloved hand. He is thinking, this can't be real, yet he knows it is. When his fist folds around the ring he feels reassured that he is not dreaming.

Taking a deep breath and averting his eyes from the enquiring gaze of his visitors who appear to be entirely oblivious to what they have just brought along Cedric Green returns to the table. He is certain what this ring is, he has seen it in black and white photographs, he has read all about its history, and he knows of its momentous significance. He has studied the design drawings penned by Kolinsky almost a century go and yet holding the ring in his hand and looking down at the darkest blue diamond ever found he now doubts his own expertise. The certainty of a few moments ago has left him. Never, ever, in his wildest imagination could he have dreamt that some day he would hold in his hand the greatest diamond the world has ever seen. His heart is racing, fit to burst out through his chest. Green shakes his head and thinks no, this cant be happening! The ring has to be a fake, one so good he can't imagine the skills needed to make one this good. He needs a second opinion. Cedric no longer trusts his own experience. Titus Botherby, his boss is a renowned world expert on the Kolinsky betrothal ring, Gosh! How will he react?

Taking the couple by surprise, not saying a word Green gets to his feet and hurries over to the door. He pauses at the open door when Brian Fossett calls out.

'Mr Green... if you don't mind?'

For a moment, Green can't quite understand why the visitor is waggling an open hand at him?

'I shan't be a moment. I need a colleague to take look at your ring.'

'That's perfectly fine Mr Green,' Brian says 'but if you don't mind, I would rather my ring remain here?'

'Gosh!' Green says looking down at the ring in his gloved hand, 'I do apologise Mr Fossett,' the auctioneer hurries back and places it on Brian's outstretched palm, 'I'd completely forgotten I still had it.'

Brian feels Lucy squeeze his leg under the table.

At the open door Green hesitates and look back. 'Please, you won't go anywhere?'

Now, that they are alone the couple can catch their breath. Lucy looks around at Brian and puffs out her cheeks. 'Phew, what was all that about?'

Equally bewildered Brian replies, 'I have no idea Lucy, but I am now thinking that perhaps you and I should just forget about that stupid bet.'

Lucy's head whirls about, her mouth becomes oval, her eyes widen, 'cheapskate,' she denounces him, 'I can't believe you just said that. Only a minute ago you were convinced your ring was a worthless piece of junk... remember? And now you want to welch on our bet! I think you should pay me now?'

Giving her open palm a playful slap Brian laughs and says, 'not till the fat lady sings.'

They wait in the windowless room for what feels like hours. Taking it in turn Brian and Lucy pace the floor, critique the paintings on the walls, and check the time every two minutes. They sigh a lot and hungry now are starting to lose patience with these strung out proceedings.

'I need the loo.' Lucy says pulling a face.

'You didn't go before we left home?'

'That was hours ago Brian.' Lucy says looking pained.

'You'll have to go back to reception and ask Annabelle where the loo is.' Brian suggests, 'and in case Mr Green comes back, thinks we've scarpered I'll stay here.'

Halfway to the door Lucy is startled when the door flies open.

Getting to his feet Brian takes in the tall stranger in a navy blue Armani suit, buckled loafer's, and keeping his salt-and-pepper grey hair parted in the centre a little long. There is a coat of arms on the gold ring on his pinkie.

Titus Botherby, CEO, steps forward, seizes Brian's hand and smiles briefly at Lucy before allowing eyes to fall on the ring.

Such is the draw of the ring on his attention Botherby can hardly make eye contact when he says almost absentmindedly, 'Mr Fossett... Mrs Fossett, Titus Botherby, owner of Botherby's famous auction house. Good of you and your wife to pop in.'

Lucy smiles and Brian thinks it sounds cute.

Pulling on a pair of white gloves Titus takes the loupe offered by Cedric, pulls out a chair and sits down. As a young man, Titus Botherby, inflicted with the certainty of youthfulness and still to learn what is not possible had rejected the assertion of other collectors and enthusiasts who said his quest to find the missing Anastasia Betrothal Ring was futile. And that most likely the fabulous Kolinsky Blue Diamond had been cut into smaller pieces. Yet, here he is, fifty years on holding that very ring in his hand. The thought quickens his heart and chills his blood. Adjusting his seat, Titus now reads the engraved Cyrillic symbols: "To my betrothed– Anastasia– forever– Prince Albert of Saxony– June 1917." Titus removes the loupe from his eye and smiling says to Brian, 'do you have you any idea what this ring represents?'

Brian knows he is out of his depth, that his ring is potentially valuable and he has to deal with these two men who seem cagey about what they know, best tread carefully.

Lines furrow his brow when he says,

'Not entirely up to speed on that at present Titus, but gauging by your reaction it has to be worth, what. a tidy sum I imagine?'

Greed can turn a man's head. Titus sweeps from his mind all manner of unworthy, unprofessional and potentially criminal considerations.

'I should advise you Brian,' Titus says, speaking like a schoolteacher, 'the stone in your ring is the "Kolinsky Blue Diamond."

Nodding, and gathering his thoughts Brian would prefer Titus and Cedric to think he is not entirely ignorant of that fact. Trying to look no more than mildly surprised Brian, widening his eyes responds, 'the Kervinsky Blue Diamond eh! Wow, who'd have thought it?'

Titus raises his chin, looks down his nose at Brian, 'It is Kolinsky, not Kervinsky, Mr Fossett,' Botherby corrects him. 'You have never heard of it have you Mr Fossett?'

The way Titus says it, stares right at him makes Brian colour up.

'Truthfully, erm no, not exactly, never in fact.... and, please, I hate this formality, can you stop calling me Mr Fossett, it's Brian please.' Nodding in agreement Lucy pipes up, 'and you can call me Lucy please.'

'Of course,' Titus says, 'and you must call me Titus, and Mr Green is Cedric.'

A host of questions crowd Titus mind. Many of the answers must be locked innocently inside the head of this man. Before he gets ahead of himself here, Titus must apply the first rule: He needs to ascertain that this man in the scruffy suit, his face cut and bruised, who has never even heard of the Kolinsky Blue Diamond is indeed the undisputed owner of object? If not, he must take immediate action and call in the police.

'First of all Brian, I will need you to provide proof of ownership? Can you do that?'

'Oh sure,' Brian says tugging from the inside pocket of his jacket the solicitor's letter, 'I was given this by Olga's solicitor.' Brian spreads the document flat on the table. Titus picks it up.

'Mr Saxby, he was Olga's solicitor, made it very clear that I should keep it safe, said it provided me with proof of ownership.' Brian turns now to Lucy, 'didn't he?'

'Oh, yes,' Lucy is nodding, 'I've read the letter.'

Paying her no attention Titus is scrutinising the letter. Having read it through half a dozen times he can't quite get his head around it.

When Botherby looks round at Brian the hand holding the letter hand is trembling. Brian thinks he looks like someone possessed. 'This woman,' Titus says jabbing a finger at the letter and unable to keep from his voice his profound disbelief, 'Olga Romanavitch, she left the ring to you in her Will?'

'Olga Romanavitch!' Cedric explodes getting up off his chair.' Are you sure Titus?'

'See for yourself Cedric. It has to be the same woman, don't you see, the name and the ring, it all fits.'

'What fits?' Brian says getting over his annoyance at Titus who seemed to imply he was lying.

'The ring.... and the woman... Olga Romanavitch.' Titus can hardly articulate his thoughts. 'I can hardly believe it.' Turning now to Brian, Titus says, 'You never mentioned it was Olga Romanavitch who bequeathed you this ring.'

'You didn't ask!' Brian says defensive now. 'What you going on about Titus? I can't see how it makes any difference who left it to me.'

Worried that his outburst may have upset Brian Titus decides he needs to calm down, take a breath, even though his breathing is somewhat restricted. Brian Fossett might know nothing of what he has inherited but that doesn't make him a fool. When he hears that his ring is unique and a world phenomenon and learns its potential value he might just decide to take it elsewhere. Titus mustn't allow that to happen. Of equal importance is what Brian can tell him of the deceased woman, the woman he believes must have been Anastasia's maid.

'It matters Brian trust me,' Titus says soothing, 'before I tell you all I know of the woman who left you that ring you must first tell me how you come to know Olga Romanavitch and what you know of her past.'

Despite thinking what's this have to do with his ring Brian tells Titus what he knows of the aged spinster that never showed him the least bit of respect.

'Twice a month, regular as clockwork Olga would arrive in a cab, mostly leaving me to pay his fare. She would eat the Sunday roast I cooked, stay to eat my Sherry Trifle,' Brian decides he doesn't want to go into how she fell down dead in it, 'then get drunk on vodka, pass out for a couple of hours and then I'd call a cab to take her home again.'

'Home?'

'Yeah, to Anastasia's Retreat.' It only now occurs to him that the name of the house has to be relevant, he feels dumb now looking at the colour drain from Botherby's face.

'What! Botherby almost falls off his seat, 'did you just say Olga lived in a Russian palace called Anastasia's retreat?'

'Yeah I just realised. Has to be a connection right? Can't be a coincidence can it? Course, I'd never been there, no one had except Sue who went there just the once as a kid. It left her traumatised. She always swore the only time she'd ever go back was when Olga was cold in the ground. She got her wish I suppose. Course, Olga made it clear, none of us were ever to go there.'

'Didn't you think that was odd?' Cedric wants to know.

'You bet. Then after twelve years, hearing Olga talking mostly drunken gibberish, you just switch off, I wish I'd paid more attention to the times she spoke of her past.'

'What sort of things would she say?' Titus is aching to know.

'Oh, stuff, like palaces, the Red Guard, she hated the communists, 'Brian says as if surprised.' Then she would go on about running off in the night, making her way to a safe house, met up with collaborators, she called them.'

'Sotrudniki.' Says Titus.

'Huh!'

'It translates as collaborators, Whites supporters. I'll explain in a minute. Go on please.'

'Erm... sometimes she would tap the side of nose and tell me, 'vun day Brian you vill know da truth. Got me thinking she must have had something to hide? Leaves you wondering, doesn't it? You hear of these cranky, old hermits who look as if they don't have two pennies to rub together and then they die, and then you learn they were loaded.'

Hearing all this has left Titus almost catatonic with shock. Anastasia's Retreat! You couldn't make this up! It is as if a shroud has just been thrown off a mostly forgotten mystery as another piece of the jigsaw falls into place. Back of his mind is the perennial problem of ownership, an issue not uncommon in Botherby's line of work, except, given the phenomenon and the publicity that this ring could generate he needs to get this right.

'The solicitor's letter makes no mention of the ring Brian and that could be a problem.'

'The ring was concealed in the carpetbag, ' Lucy protests, 'hidden in such a manner that whoever is given the bag, and in this case it was Brian, has to be the intended recipient.'

'Ah! Good point Lucy,' Titus says picking up the letter again and then reading aloud the paragraph: "I Olga Romanavitch, being of sound mind and body in gratitude for his endless patience and for the many cab fares, and for his excellent sherry trifle, do hereby bequeath to Brian Fossett my carpetbag along with all it holds." 'Odd that bit!' Botherby suggests, "along with all it holds." Olga doesn't say, it's contents; she is very specific..."all it holds!" Titus announces: 'ipso facto, you now are the legal owner of the ring and none could argue otherwise.' Titus rubs together his hands, 'good, we can now proceed.'

Hearing how the Kolinsky Blue diamond ring and the woman who was last known to have it her possession are unquestionably connected solves a mystery that has absorbed Titus, Igor, and many other historians. When word gets out that after almost a hundred years the Kolinsky Diamond Ring has resurfaced the news will rock the world of antiques. And old friend Igor Borochek, having searched half his life for it will be astounded. No question, Igor, part-time Direktor, of the Kolinsky Museum of Political Arts in Saint Petersburg will pay anything to add this to the Romanov collection. Titus takes out his mobile phone and sends Igor a message attaching a number of close up photographs of the ring. He is smiling when he hits the send button. Thirty seconds later his phone beeps. He opens up the text and reads: "I'm on my way over. Do not let that ring out of your sight."

Lucky for Igor Borochek, Russian Ambassador to the UK, he is in London. Leaning forwards and sliding open the glass panel he tells his driver: 'forget da lunch with ze Queen, turn around and take me to Botherby's, West Kensington.' In a following car his two bodyguards sweep around and get in tight behind him.

Getting out of the cramped windowless room across the corridor was huge a relief. Titus Botherby's private suite complete with a black marble and white kitchenette and dark, antique furniture, mood lighting and framed art could be a bijou Chelsea apartment. Looking incongruent against one wall is a sixties Melamine and mirrors curved bar. The food, much of which Brian doesn't recognise tastes nevertheless pretty good, but then he is starving. Both he and Lucy shake their heads at Botherby's "tasty, little red, and instead settle for spring water.

'I got this for your ring,' Cedric explains setting down on a George II mahogany oval table one of those opaque ring stands that you see in a jeweler's window. 'I was thinking under the LED lights it would look rather spectacular.'

He was right.

'Yeah, it looks amazing.' Brian says with Lucy at his elbow looking down on the ring.

'Gosh it's beautiful.' Lucy murmurs as if in childlike wonder.

Brian straightens, turns to see Titus out of his earshot and pacing the room is talking on his mobile. Two other people now arrive. The girl, twenty something, tattooed with scarlet-dyed hair fixed up in no discernable manner has skewered through her lower lip what Brian imagines to be a painful splinter? Another of these passes through one eyebrow. Inserted into her enlarged left earlobe is what he later suggested to Lucy might be a volume control knob. While the girl sets about taking photographs of his ring the young man who came in with her, thirty-ish, goes into a huddle with Cedric.

Looking around he nods at a red leather Chesterfield and says to Lucy, 'come on let's go sit on that sofa where we can keep an eye on the ring.' Wryly it occurs to him the ring that he bet Lucy was a worthless piece of glass is now something that needs to guard.

'I'll get us some food,' Lucy says looking over to the silver platters of exotic dishes, 'you fussy?'

'No, just hungry, now that you mention it.'

Picking over the plate of food on his knees Brian watches Botherby and his team planning for Igor's anticipated arrival. He turns to Lucy and remarks, 'I don't know about you Lucy but I am finding all this a bit overwhelming. I mean, we came in here expecting to be told the ring is worthless, and now we got the Russian Ambassador to the UK, no less on his way here hoping to buy it.'

Lucy says, 'can you imagine? You were about to dump the carpetbag off at the Charity shop! They would have recycled it, or thrown it out with the rubbish, and then your ring might have got lost for who knows how many more hundreds of years?' Lucy, about to tease Brian about their bet shuts up when Titus mopping his brown with a crisp white handkerchief approaches. Over his shoulder, back of the room, Lucy can see Cedric is consulting two uniformed security guards by the door.

'How are you two doing?' Titus says towering over them.

'Fine.' Lucy says. Brian is not fine.

'I'd feel a lot more comfortable Titus if you were to let us in on what is going on here. Why the security?'

Titus pulls a chair closer and sits at Brian's elbow. The gravity in his voice only serves to exacerbate Brian's state of unrest.

'As a precaution I have had to lay on extra security Brian. From now on, that ring should never be left unguarded. Your ring is of universal importance and extremely valuable, secondly, we are about to be invaded by the Russians.' Titus is grinning.

That's not funny Titus,' Brian says and then tries to grab the plate of food that slips off his lap, clatters to the floor. 'Now look what you done. I am shaking here Titus and thinking that Lucy and I have stepped into some sort web of spies.'

'Funny you should say that Brian.' Titus emits a short laugh, 'I may not have mentioned Igor is ex KGB.'

'KGB!'

Titus leans forwards and pats Brian's knee, 'relax Brian, Igor is an old friend, and of course the KGB was disbanded years ago.'

'If you say so Titus but I wouldn't mind betting the Russians will have replaced it with something equally sinister.'

'The Russians are a cagey lot Brian but they not the threat to our way of life the media would have us believe.'

'You haven't said how the owner of a world famous auction house gets to be a close friend of the Russian Ambassador, who just happens to be ex KGB!'

Titus waves his empty glass at Cedric, who is nursing a half full bottle of red wine. He nods, says, 'thank you Cedric,' and takes a glug, needing it.

'While we wait for Igor to get here why don't I,' suggests Botherby, 'tell you how I first met him?' Titus waits while Brian and Lucy having returned their plates to the kitchen sits back down.

'Okay,' says Brian, 'I assume in some way this tale relates back to my ring?'

Titus nods and the turns in his chair to look over at the door. Now he checks his watch and then says, 'we don't have long. Igor will be here shortly and I can guarantee the minute he gets here there will be no opportunity for conversation.' Titus sets his glass down on a side table and runs his tongue overt his lips. He crosses one leg over his knee and folds his hands in his lap. His eyes search the past. 'I first met Igor when I was in Moscow. That was in 1964. It was at the height of the Cold War and I was young, impetuous and off round the world buying artifacts to send back to my father in England. I'd been in Moscow a few weeks and was drawing attention to myself asking questions about what might have happened to the missing Kolinsky Blue diamond betrothal ring given to Anastasia by Prince Albert Gothe of Saxony on her sixteenth birthday.' Titus pauses and looks over at the ring. He sighs deeply before he gets going again. 'One evening I'd gone out to get some fresh air.' Titus suggests, 'I don't know about you Brian but I find hotels a little stifling... anyway, I was on the Borodinsky bridge, an edifice a little too utilitarian for my taste, nothing like you'd find in London or Paris. I was watching barges hauling coal along the river Moskva when a car pulls up at the kerb. I look around and see two men jump out. Next thing I know I am bundled into the back of a State Police car and then driven off.'

'Oh my gosh!' Lucy says intrigued, 'you must have been scared to death.'

'When we passed through the gates of Lubyanka prison the headquarters of the KGB and I saw them doors roll shut behind me trust me Lucy, I was bricking it, I think is the local vernacular. I remember thinking I should be thankful to be alive; I could've been thrown over the parapet into the river.'

'You were you a British Spy weren't you Titus?' Lucy probes picturing this suave individual as James Bond.

'Goodness me, not at all Lucy, Titus says appalled. 'At first, thinking they'd got me confused with someone else I cooperated with them and not wishing to upset anyone I asked nicely that I see someone from the British Consulate. For three days I was kept in solitary confinement in a six by six cell living on water and some sort of Dickensian gruel. I began ranting. Only one of my guards spoke a little English and all he would say was, "tomorrow, you vill be interrogated." Finally, two guards march me through a maze of corridors and then down several flights of stairs to a basement and all the while one of the guards are telling me I had no business sneaking around asking questions about the Tsar and his family. He told me the Romanov's are still regarded by many Russians as the enemy of Socialism. "Did you have to shoot them all... the children too?" I yelled at him.'

'Good for you Titus,' Lucy says, 'but not all the children died did they? Anastasia escaped?'

'That's what I heard.' Brian says but then he remembers reading somewhere that her remains had been found. Titus makes himself comfortable in an armchair, loops one leg over the other and then says, 'sadly, Lucy, Anastasia did not survive. In the basement of a house in Yekaterinburg, July 17th 1918, Anastasia along with her four siblings were shot and then bayonetted by the Cheka, the Russian secret police.'

'Oh God! How awful,' Lucy says imagining the scene and becoming almost tearful, 'how could they kill children?'

'Russia was in the grip of civil war, 'Titus explains, 'the Red Army, the communists have forced Tsar Nicholas II to abdicate. They are struggling to hold onto power. Opposing them are the Whites, an army of Tsarist supporters backed up by Czech and other foreign troops. For two years the Romanov's had been kept hidden and under house arrest while the Communist authorities dithered about what was to be done with them. The Whites anxious to rescue the Romanov's saw them as a rallying banner to their cause, while the Bolshevik's wanted them dead and off their hands. Unfortunately, Nicholas II had acceded to all the demands made by the communists leaving them no cause to put him on trial. He pleaded for him and his family to be exiled like many of his lesser relatives. In the south of the country the Red Guard is losing ground to the Whites. The local Communist Party thought the Romanov's was Moscow's problem and with the Central Party in Moscow prevaricating and with the Whites closing in on the house in Yekaterinburg where the Romanov's are being held the decision to deal with the last of the Tsarist's was taken locally. Around midnight on July 18th 1918, the guards woke the family, their three servants, and the family doctor and told them they should get dressed and that for their own safety they were to be taken down to the basement. Picture the scene if you will, the city is a battleground, the buildings smoking ruins pockmarked with bullet holes, the houses are crumbling ruins, there are bodies piling up in the streets. A young Red Guard, having grown fond of Olga Romanavitch takes her aside and warns the Cheka are coming.' Titus explains, 'the Cheka are the Russian Secret Police, little more than state assassins you might say. Now, Olga lures the young Red Guard out into the garden and she begs for his help. When her allure fails she pulls from the neck of her dress the fabulous betrothal ring held on a chain. Can you imagine this young impoverished soldier being offered a ring that would make him rich beyond his wildest dreams? We can't know for sure what was actually said in the dark, in that garden, but I imagine the guard must have said something along the lines of: "Are you mad? Do you really think that I would be able to sell such a famous ring? I would get caught and then shot?" Now, a single shot rings out and Olga and the young guard look back at the house. There follows a volley of sustained rifle fire. They both know what that means. 'The guard turns to Olga and tells her it is too late to save Anastasia or any of her family. The Cheka will hunt you down, you must go, go save yourself."

Praying his absence wont have been noticed the young Red Guard runs back to the house leaving Olga on her knees and weeping.'

'You spin a good tale Titus.' Brian says half grinning.

'What I tell you Brian is not a tale and only the discourse is a figment of my imagination. The Russians known for their clerical pertinacity recorded everything that happened, including who did what, and when? Now I should add that those named in those documents later denied having anything to do with the event.'

'Well, they would wouldn't they?' says Lucy.

'The Russians are a pragmatic lot Lucy and are not prone to bouts of self-doubt. Anguish, they reserve for funerals and that's about it.'

Titus checks the time on his Rolex and then hurries on. 'Now, down in the basement the Romanov's and their servants are lined up against the far wall when the Cheka, guns at the ready march in. The Commander, Yuri Borochov, reads aloud a short statement to the effect they are all to be executed. Then with a single headshot he kills Tsar Nicholas II. Eleven soldiers now open fire. When not a soul is left standing to clear the air of gun smoke the doors are thrown open. The commander now checks the fallen bodies for any sign of life. At first he can't understand how some of the girls can still be alive, some of the guards thinking this has to be a miracle start to panic, until Borochov discovers the diamonds sewn into the girls underclothes have acted like body armour. He now orders anyone still alive to be bayonetted. Before the bodies are loaded onto waiting wagons a search of the victims takes place. Commander Yuri Borochov is interested in recovering only one thing, and that is the Anastasia Betrothal ring believed to be on a chain around the neck of the Grand Duchess Anastasia.

His superiors were explicit, "find the ring, and don't come back without it."

Horrified, he discovers that not only is the ring missing but so too is the maid Olga Romanavitch, Anastasia's closest companion. Panicking now Borochov orders a search of the house and grounds. At dawn more units join in the hunt and the search is widened. A thousand Roubles reward offered for the capture of the maid sharpens the will of the pursuers. Borochov knows if he doesn't produce the ring the authorities will assume that he has stolen it and he will pay with his life.'

'And you are certain it is my Olga we are talking about here Titus? ' Brian says, hardly able to believe what he is hearing.

'And, had she escaped? Olga I mean?' Lucy presses him.

'The Olga that you knew Brian, and the eighteen year old girl in possession of the Kolinsky Blue diamond ring now fleeing for her life are indeed one and the same.'

Lucy, has one hand over her mouth, the other is clasping her neck.

'Hang on, can we go back,' Brian says a little confused, 'a minute ago you were in Lubyanka prison, what happened to you?'

'Yes, sorry, I got a little distracted there. On the morning of my third day in Lubyanka prison I was taken from my cell and led into a small room that had just two chairs and one table. I was pushed down into a chair and faced my interrogator.... Igor.'

'Flipping heck!' Brian gasps, 'and was you, I mean waterboarded or something worse, given electric shocks on your unmentionables?'

Titus reflects for a moment and knows he could have been tortured.

'Nothing quite that sinister I'm afraid Brian,' Titus laughs, 'over a lunch of boiled potatoes, roast lamb and a glass of wine Igor and myself talk about the Russian revolution and the fate of the Romanov's. In due course much as I suspected the conversation got around to the missing Kolinsky Blue diamond ring. Igor had been looking for it for many years and he wants to know what leads I had.'

'Oh my God!' Lucy gasps, ' the Russian KGB snatch you off the street, they throw you in a cell and when you get to meet your interrogator, what'd dya do? The pair of you talk shop!'

'Put like that Lucy I suppose it does sound a bit odd.'

Thinking back to breakfast that morning Brian reflects on how he and Lucy were expecting to be in and out of Botherby's in minutes and were looking forward to spending some time taking in a few tourist sights, they'd go to Trafalgar Square, go on the London Eye, have tea in the restaurant at the top of the Tate Modern, take a table overlooking the Millennium Bridge, they planned to walk cross the footbridge spanning the Thames and time permitting pop into St Paul's Cathedral. None of which has happened, instead, they've been in here for three hours and are now waiting for some mysterious KGB Russian diplomat who is supposedly dead keen to buy his ring to arrive, well, we'll see how that turns out! Botherby now sums up exactly what Brian is thinking.

'Don't you find it strange Brian, that Igor and I have searched for this ring for over fifty years and then right out of the blue you walk in with it. Not only that, but you produce a letter that unlocks a mystery almost a hundred years old.'

Lucy, enthralled by the daring escape of a young woman who has in her possession a diamond ring so precious people have devoted their lives in search of it wants to know.

'Why is the letter so important? I don't understand that bit.'

'The letter tells us,' Titus goes on to explain, 'that Olga Romanavitch, Anastasia's maid had not only escaped Russia and got over to England, but she had with her the Kolinsky Blue diamond betrothal ring.'

'Oh my God!' Lucy gasps when a thought strikes her, 'you don't think, Titus, that all that stuff you mentioned about Olga wanting to save Anastasia was just a pack of lies when in fact Olga simply stole the ring and ran off into the night, saved her own skin?'

All eyes in the room now turn to look at the stone that suddenly seems to glow even brighter.

It never occurred to Brian that Olga might have stolen the ring! If that were the case then surely he would lose any rights to sell the ring? This sobering thought doesn't change much. He still has Lucy, and Charlie is on the mend... life couldn't be sweeter. All this talk of Olga though, is upsetting. He recalls how Sue and her kids would make fun of the old woman after she passed out drunk. He wishes he hadn't been so hasty, discounting all that talk of princes, palaces, fabulous jewels, and her hiding from the KGB. It was true, most likely every word, and yet he never believed any of it when she would whisper, checking out the room with her one good eye, "ze Bolsheviks, they have spies everywhere!" Brian always suspected there were something deeply sinister in her past, maybe even people she was hiding from but never this? Who'd have known? Why else would she make it clear that no one was ever to visit her house in Follys Bottom? Placing a finger to one side of her nose she would say in a voice loaded with mystique, "vun day young man you vill know ze truth."

He can see her now, her ghost parading through his mind with that seaman's roll, her short heels worn over by her bowed legs. Her widow's weeds reeking of mothballs and her wig not quite on straight, and that one rigid eye staring at nothing. He shudders recalling watching the blood pumping through her veins beneath her papery skin. Having never seen any photos of her as a young woman Brian is struggling to imagine her seducing a young Red Guard. Brian blinks looks about him and smiles when Lucy looking worried says, 'you okay Brian?'

'I'm good, thanks, just trying to take it all in.'

Sensing there may be more to this tale Lucy presses Titus, 'could Olga and Anastasia have swapped places, Olga dies in place of the princess? That would make sense.'

Titus hands Cedric his glass for a refill. He says, 'The romantic myth that Anastasia had escaped was finally laid to rest in 1997 when DNA tests carried out on human remains found in two separate sites over a six year period test prove positive for the Romanov family. Anastasia unquestionable had died along with her four siblings and her parents.'

'Wow, this is fascinating Titus, 'Lucy says,' and have you any idea how Olga manages to slip through the clutches of the Cheka and how she got across to England, this eighteen year old girl?'

'Let me tell you what we can be sure of, and where there are gaps in our intelligence we can speculate with some degree of certainty. The execution of the Romanov's was a severe blow to the cause of the Whites. The state-run Russian newspapers report that following a trial the Romanovs were convicted of treason and summarily executed by firing squad. The Whites counter this with the story the headstrong, and much loved Anastasia had escaped. The authorities having poured acid on the bodies and then set them alight could hardly counter this claim by producing the bodies.'

Cedric closes in, bends to speak in Titus ear. Titus nods and smiles to reassure a worried looking Brian, 'no problem Brian, everything is in hand and on track. Now, where was I?'

'You were saying how the bodies were found,' Lucy prompts, 'but I would like to know how Olga got over to England.'

Titus checks the time on his watch. Igor will be here soon.

Looking worried Brian says, 'If Olga stole the ring where does that leave me?'

Titus is shaking his head, he says, 'it would be impossible to prove that Olga stole the ring. No question, the ring is yours to do whatever you like with it.'

Botherby now addresses Lucy's question, 'Olga would have been travelling incognito to the port of Saint Petersburg, some two and a half thousand kilometers from Yekaterinburg. We know that she made the journey because the captains log of the M.S Mariana records taking on a single female passenger by the name of Natalia Duberov. The shop's cargo manifest records this passenger supervises the loading of eighteen, six ton crates, all labeled fragile.'

'So this was not Olga Romanavitch?' Brian interrupts.

'Yes it was. Olga was travelling under an assumed name.'

'But you're sure it was her?' Lucy says.

'Records at the offices of the Port Of London Authority state that on the 15th September 1918 it was Olga Romanavitch who disembarks in Tilbury. This passenger supervises the offloading of the crates onto a fleet of lorries. We believe the crates contained a vast amount of treasure looted from various Russian Palaces and stately homes. Rather than have this fall into the hands of the communists the Whites handed it over to Anastasia's maid. You coming here today answers the question of what happened to Anastasia's maid, but we are not however, any closer to knowing what happened to the treasure.'

Brian, hearing this story it is as if the last pieces of a jigsaw puzzle fall into place. 'What sort of treasure?' Brian says thinking back to Sue telling him what she saw inside Anastasia's Retreat.

'Undoubtedly,' Titus asserts, 'the eighteen wooden crates held many items of great importance and of immense value.' As if this is too incredible to take in Botherby is shaking his head. 'My God, I would love to know what happened to it...' Botherby sees Brian's eyes light up. 'What are you smiling at?' Titus says.

'I know what happened to that treasure.' Brian says sounding smug. 'It's in Olga's house.'

'What!' Titus explodes.

'I said, I know where it is, well, to be precise, I know where it was, course it might not be there now, but I wouldn't mind betting it is.'

'And you've seen it?' There is a vein pulsing at his Botherby's temple.

'No,' Brian says, 'I haven't seen it, but Sue has. She went there when was about six years old, just that one time and she swears it's all still there. How dumb was I not to have made the connection between the Princess Anastasia and the name of her house!'

'Wait a minute,' Botherby leaps in, 'what connection?'

'Ah,' Brian says his grin growing wider, 'Olga's house was called, "Anastasia's Retreat."

Titus and Cedric exchange looks.

'Olga had it built in the style of a Russian palace.' Brian explains, 'Sue described the place as huge with garlic shaped balls on the turrets. She told me how she went through rooms full of antiques and oil paintings and all manner of stuff. She showed me on the Internet what the furniture looked like. It was Louis the something or other. Boasting I suppose, especially when she showed me the Faberge Eggs she reckons she saw in a glass cabinet.'

'And did Sue never went back?' Botherby can't believe she wouldn't.

'No, she never did. Olga warned all of us that if we were ever to go near the place we would never see her again. Also there is that business with the giant who threw her in a bed of nettles. That was Olga's punishment for them going there and her nosing around the rooms. Sue still has nightmares about that visit. Sue couldn't wait for Olga to die. She always said the minute Olga was cold in the ground she would go to her house, strip the place bare and then bulldoze it.'

Titus can feel his heart racing when he says. 'Are you able to get me into this house? It would be worth your while?'

'You must be joking?' Brian scoffs. 'You want to go there, be my guest, just don't say that I told you all this because boy is she going to be pissed off when she hears about the ring that she missed when she rifled through my bag.'

Titus, was still thinking about all those antiques when Lucy says, 'what happened to the young Red Guard? The one who fell in love with Olga?'

'Oh him,' Botherby, says blinking. He hadn't intended to sound callous when he says, 'you mean Rolf Yoverinsky. He was court-marshaled and then executed. The other people involved, the soldiers, the guards, and the officials all denied having any involvement in the killings, they got off scot free.'

Brian is frowning. According to his quick mental calculations the numbers just don't stack. He turn to Botherby, 'Titus, I don't see how my Olga could possibly be the Olga that was Anastasia's servant. Only, this all happened in 1918 yeah?' the question is rhetorical, 'and Olga Romanavitch was born in 1900 which makes her eighteen when this all happened yes? That would mean Olga would have been a hundred and fifteen years old when she died, what ten days ago!'

'I don't see that as a problem.' Botherby insists, 'far more inconceivable is the notion the two women are not one and the same.'

'She could have been that old,' Lucy pipes up, 'I've heard that Russian women regularly live way past a hundred. You knew Olga, did she look ancient?'

'Are you kidding me? Sue always said Olga looked like she just stepped out of a sarcophagus.'

Brian watches Botherby straighten his back, ease out the cricks.

'Are you all right there Titus? Only you've gone a little pale.'

'I'm fine thank you. I was just thinking about that slip of a girl only eighteen years old and how she managed to slip through the fingers of the Red Guard, and then escape to England taking with her all those crates of antiques.'

'Lucky ol' Sue eh?' Brian says. 'I can just picture her. I bet already she is wandering around in all those rooms taking notes, and planning on what she is going to do with all that money. Good luck to her. She must be as happy as Larry?'

When Titus mobile phone beeps he checks the message. 'Igor now is ten minutes away.' Looking serious now he says to Brian. 'Before Igor gets here we need to discuss how we are to play this.'

Brian feels out of his depth. Why is Botherby is so keen to sell the ring privately? What's in it for him? It all feels dodgy. He is not going to do anything underhand or illegal. He's not having any of that.

'Titus, I'm worried now what you and this Igor are planning. I am telling you straight, I am not getting involved in any shenanigans. You still need to convince me this deal you two are planning is in my interest. If I don't like what I hear, I walk. Do I make myself clear?'

Botherby is mortified, angered even. 'Brian! I am shocked that you would even think such a thing. I would never do anything illegal and neither would I act in any way that wasn't completely in my client's interest and you are my client. Botherby's are renowned for it's integrity and we operate strictly within the remit of a clients instructions, so let me be clear, selling your ring privately, is perfectly legitimate, and let me assure you, if Igor is prepared to pay the figure that I have in mind you will be more than happy.'

Anxious now about Brian Lucy takes hold of his hand. 'You okay honey?'

'Sorry Lucy, Brian smiles at her, 'I'm okay, just finding this all a little overwhelming. All this business about Russian, spies, KGB, agents... whatever, is getting to me.'

'I am being honest and open with you Brian and you needn't worry about Igor. He is just big pussycat at heart.' Titus is now regretting telling Brian about Igor's past connections with the KGB.

'I still don't see what's in it for you? Tell me. What's the deal here Titus?'

'That's a fair question Brian and one I was about to go over with you. Allow me to explain: Botherby's would normally charge both the seller and the purchaser twenty-per cent of the sale price. Now, should you decide to sell it privately to Igor he has already agreed to pay both fees and in addition he will cover the Capital Gains tax which will be considerable.' Botherby takes a breath anxious time is slipping. 'Unless you have further questions can I assume I have your permission to proceed? Because we have still to agree on your asking price.'

Feeling foolish at getting all het up Brian looks round at Lucy who gives him a nod. He is thinking: what have I got to lose? If the ring doesn't sell, I'm not out of pocket. Yesterday, before Lady Veronica gave me that five grand, I was skint. Say, the ring sells for five, maybe even ten grand? I can live with that. It's more money than I've seen in my entire life. Just imagine what I can do with that? I could set Charlie set up in a flat. I can buy Lucy a nice ring. I must remember not to mention engagements. I don't want her running for the hills.

'Okay,' Titus,' Brian announces, 'I am happy t sell it to Igor. Now, what figure you got in mind, cos I don't have a clue?'

'Ah!' Titus signals a problem, 'it's not often in my business that I get to hear of a blue diamond coming up for sale, and to be honest, one as big as yours has never hit the sales rooms. Given its provenance we can only speculate on its value. If it were my ring, and I was selling it to what is effectively, the Russian State, I would be looking for around, fifty–to fifty five.'

Brian is nodding as if he was thinking that. Are we talking hundreds here, or thousands? Rather than admit he hasn't a clue what those numbers mean he dumbly says, 'well, yeah, that... that sounds good, except I was thinking start maybe a little higher?'

'Oh I see,' Titus says frowning and not able to understand what might be going on inside Brian's head. It'll mean taking a risk. Igor may back off if he sets the price too high. He shrugs, Brian s the client.

'You are the customer here Brian,' Botherby accedes, 'I take my instructions from you. So, please do say. What figure do you have in mind? Sixty... seventy?'

'Er, hum' Brian tilts his head making out he is giving the matter some thought. 'Let's set the bar at say... eighty and then see how Igor reacts.' Brian grins when he sees Lucy eyes widen. None of this is real, he is thinking, so what's it matter.

Titus is thinking, Igor is not going to be happy, but then if he doesn't buy the ring, he is going to be a lot less happy.

'It's your call Brian,' Titus shrugs. 'Agreed. We start at eighty-five-point-five. That will allow Igor a little wiggle room to negotiate. It is in the genes of the Russian's to haggle over a price Brian.'

Wanting Lucy's approval he looks round at her.

Lucy shrugs and says, 'that sounds brilliant, but it's your ring, you have to decide.'

'Okay,' Brian says emphatically, we go in at eighty... whatever numbers it was you said Titus. We go for that.'

'Eighty-five-point-five,' Titus reminds him. 'Try and remember that.'

'Yeah, I got it.' Brian says and has no idea what eighty-five-point-five looks like written down.

Looking harassed Annabelle now enters the room, She says to Botherby, 'Ambassador Borochek is in the reception area and he is growing impatient. He thinks some sort of trick is being played on him. What should I do?'

Titus turns to Brian. 'We done?'

'Absolutely.' Brian is keen to get this whole debacle over and go eat cake.

'Good, that's settled then.' Titus now gets to his feet and facing Brian he says, 'remember, you tell Igor the price, and then you stick to the deal we just made. Are you happy with that?

Brian nods his agreement. There is a commotion out in the corridor. He hears a man's voice, gruff, authoritative, accented. Then the door flies open. Two men, bookends, both in black, step smartly in and immediately take up positions on either side of the door. A bear of a man wearing a fur-lined coat walks between them. His beard is grey, speckled, and pointy. He makes a beeline for Botherby, arms wide, looking to crush him.

'Titus, my old friend.' He roars. 'Vy do you keep me vaiting outside?' Looking round at Brian and then Lucy he says, 'Now vare is da ring? Ah,' Igor spots Brian. 'You are da owner, yar?'

Before he pulls Brian into a rib-crushing bear hug he permits Lucy a sweeping bow of his beaver fur hat.

Following an exchange of introductions and pleasantries Igor squares up to Brian. 'You must now show me da ring yar?'

'Er yar, I mean, yes. It is over there on the table.' Brian points behind the man

Three strides and Igor snatches up the ring and then bending at the waist he examines it under the lights. His right hand shots out sideways, chubby fingers waggle, Cedric hovering close by places his loupe in the flat of the bear's hand.

'Bozhe moy!' Igor exclaims straightening up, looking from one face to another. Brian can see blue laser beams of light dance across Igor's black pupils.

'Titus, this ring is so beautiful. I could veep.'

Brian and Lucy patiently wait for Igor to complete his examinations.

Igor had studied the photos of the ring Titus has emailed his phone. He was in doubt the ring was genuine. Keeping old of the ring he faces up to its owner. Now comes the fun bit.

'Brian, you and me, ve haggle yar? You vill say how much you vant for ze ring and then I say, "no vay," and then I tell you how much I give you and then ve shake hands and then ve drink a toast yar?'

'Igor,' Titus intercedes. 'Brian here, has a figure in mind, one that he is not prepared to budge on. Is that no so Brian?'

Under Igor's wolf-like glare Brian forces the tension in his shoulders to relax. He tells himself this is just a game and that Igor fierce expression is an attempt to intimidate him into taking a lower offer. Brian squares his shoulders and looks Igor straight in the eye. He says.

'Igor, you need to know that both the Americans and the Chinese are keen to acquire my ring and my price is not negotiable.' Brian feels quiet pleased at the way that came out.

This news rocks Igor back on his heels. He emits a deep growl. Turning to glower at Titus he demands, 'Vot is zis game you two play. 'Ve agreed Titus, no uzzer sly buggers voz to bid for ze ring!'

Cedric now retreats into the kitchen. Igor now takes hold of Titus by the shoulders.

Titus leans back from the stench of stale cigar smoke on the Russian's breath.

'Titus, ve agreed I voz to have exclusive access to ze buyer, and now I hear that da Yanks and da Chinks are in on zis!'

Equally surprised at Brian's outright lie, a tactic he doesn't approve of Titus would have liked to take Brian aside, and explain he can't do this. Anxious to calm Igor Botherby says. 'Igor, please calm yourself. Truthfully, we are not talking to anyone else. What Brian is suggesting is that should you and he fail to agree on a price he would be forced to approach other parties. However,' Titus gets in quickly, 'it will not come to that because in the spirit of Anglo-Russian cordiale and given the importance the Russian people attach to Brian's ring he is prepared to sell you the ring for what I consider a modest figure. Now, all you have to do is say yes to Brian's asking price and you get to take the ring away with you... today.'

Brian is getting used to Igor growling like a wolf guarding a bone.

'Vot!' Igor demands extending his big arms, 've don't get to haggle?' Igor appeals to Titus. 'Bloody English! Zis is not how to conduct business. Bah! Okay vot do you ask? And remember us Russians are not vealthy you know.'

Titus laughs out loud. 'Igor, how can you say that when you Russians now own half of Central London, not to mention, the best football team in the country.'

'Ah yes, Chelsea, a great football team, ya? My friend, he owns that.'

The Russian's eyes now lock onto Brian's. Holding aloft the ring held between his finger and thumb Borochek says, 'okay, vot are you asking for da ring?'

Dong his best to Sound self assured, which is not how he feels inside, and still not sure he's got the numbers in the right order Brian says, 'eighty-six- point-five.'

Igor looks around at Titus who shrugs as if to say he can do nothing.

'Seventy -point-five and not a penny more.' Igor counters.

'Let's shake on eighty-five-point-five, Igor.' Brian feels he is getting a handle on this haggling business.

Turning to Botherby he appeals, 'vot is zis madness Titus? He is saying votever figure pops into his head.'

No longer sure what Brian is playing at Botherby shrugs his shoulders and says, 'sorry Igor. I believe Brian is prepared to put the ring up for public auction. Who knows what it fetch in a bidding war with the American and Chinese billionaires?'

The Ambassador's eyes narrow beneath his hedge-like eyebrows. Borochek growls, 'you cannot possibly sell zis ring to zose people. The Anastasia Betrothal Ring belongs to ze Russians!'

'It belongs to me.' Brian reminds him.

'Eighty-four-point-four!' The Russian insists, 'and zat is my final offer. You vould steal ze milk from ze children of ze muzzerland.'

Still unsure exactly how much money is being bandied about here Brian hardens his position, 'eighty-five -point-five, or I walk out, and go sell it to the American's.'

Botherby and the Ambassador exchange looks.

'Okay, okay,' the Russian snarls, 've shake on zat, I take ze ring and you don't ask for one Rouble more?'

'Pounds... Sterling, if you don't mind Igor.' Botherby intercedes.

'Yes, yes, but ze deal must be concluded today, no uzzer sly bids on da side eh? No talking to the Yanks, the, Chinks, or anyone else eh?' Looking for any hint of betrayal the Russian studies the faces of the two Englishmen.

After a flourish of handshakes the deal is struck. Igor and his henchmen leave with the ring and Titus, Cedric, Annabelle, Brian, and Lucy toast their success.

Brian doesn't have to wait long. In a couple of minutes on the screen on Botherby's laptop the instant bank transfer of eighty-five and a half million pounds shows up in Brian's swelling bank account.

Annabelle sees the couple off the premises.

Outside Botherby's Brian and Lucy smile at a passing couple that stares at them.

Five doors down, they pop into the Three Happy Bakers. After purchasing two latte's and two Belgian buns they take them over to a table by the window and say nothing for a while as they watch without seeing people heading for the underground station thread their way past their window.

'Pinch me,' Brian eventually says holding his hand out to Lucy.

Lucy nips the back of his hand.

'Ow!'

'You are not dreaming Brian.'

'I get that. I just don't get why.'

ailing a cab, Brian had promised Lucy they'd go back by bus and he is a man of his word. The bus to Clapham Junction is a little crowded but on the top deck they manage to find an empty seat. Lucy lays her head on Brian's chest.

The words, "eighty-five -point-five million pounds, sterling," keeps looping through Brian's head.

Making love on the sofa back at Lucy's flat helps to settle their jangling nerves. Then like babes in the woods lying in each other's arms they sleep for the next six hours.

On the other side of Tawny West, in the bedroom of number 42 Acacia Avenue, Sue is fast asleep. Propped up on pillows alongside her Billy Dodds can't sleep. The physical pain he can cope with. Other than his missing front tooth nothing appears to be permanently damaged and in time his injuries will heal. The mental scars may take longer. He would like to sleep but visions of Anastasia's Retreat going up in smoke along with the destruction of those fabulous antiques won't let him. Dodds dabs a cool flannel on the injuries to his face. He curses. That fucking Fossett, this is his fault. He must have tipped Veronica off about my affair with Sue. This is all his doing, me being made homeless, and the fact I don't have pot to piss in. I am out of a job, and Veronica has removed my name from the company credit card. If it's the last thing I ever do, I will kill that fucking bastard.

Dodds aptitude for gratuitous violence has now flipped over into a pathological obsession with the death of Fossett. Dodds threads his way through a mental catalogue of ever-painful ways he can kill him. There is no shortage of vile ends at his disposal. These thought may help ameliorate his physical suffering but cannot anesthetize the burning need to exact his revenge. All he need do now is find out where the sniveling little fucker is hiding out!

# Chapter twenty-Four.

The day after they almost died over at Follys Bottom sitting astride Billy's waist and bobbing up and down in her Heidi outfit Sue is about to give up trying to arouse her lover's flagging ardour.

Sex is the last thing on Dodds mind. It has been ever since Fossett beat him up and grassed him up to his wife. Sue reckons he is suffering from some sort of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder brought on by him almost getting killed in the destruction of Anastasia's Retreat. It was her idea.

'I know what will lift your spirits Billy,'

'What?'

'We can go into town and sell Olga's jewellery.' Sue flicks the nylon yellow pigtails out her face. 'You reckon they're worth a fortune.'

He smiles. He'd quite forgotten about the rings and necklaces that Sue had found in Olga's carpetbag. For sure they will fetch hundreds of thousands of pounds.

'I like that idea Sue.' Dodds says now feeling a little refreshed.

Sue has to wait outside the jewelers on the high Street while the coppers caution Billy who had threatened to vault across the counter and beat the shit out the jeweler.

Sue needed to use all her wiles to get the male coppers not to take him away. Hobbling down the street Sue tells him, 'It wasn't the jewelers fault the stuff turned out to be worthless crap Billy.' Those fakes might have fooled anyone.'

It's as if disasters are lining up, jostling to apprehend Dodds ambitions.

Back home Sue takes Billy up to her bedroom. She then removes his clothes and lays him back on the bed. She knows how to distract men stricken with despondency.

'Take the fucking wig off Sue. Those fucking sticking-out pigtails keep poking me in the eye.'

Sue throws it on the floor and sighs,

'What is it with you Billy? I thought me dressed up as Heidi got you hard?'

'I got stuff on my mind is all.'

'You keep on blaming Brian for everything that has happened to us isn't helping, you just got an attack of that PTSD thingy.'

'Stop. Stop right there.' Dodds says pushing her off.

Sue is scared at the look in his eyes. 'Sorry Billy, what is wrong with you?'

'Just don't mention that name okay?'

'What Brian?'

Sue shakes her head. Watches him stalk naked across the room and go stare out the window.

Curtains opposite twitch.

Sue climbs down off the bed and undoes the straps of the rib-crushing bodice. Now naked too she joins Billy at the window. She rubs his back. 'Cheer up Billy we can still sell the land which is worth millions, and, don't forget the deal you got going with those property developer friends of yours who are going to buy the factory, and then there's the divorce settlement you say will bring in a million quid, so, what's to be depressed about? Plus you got me!'

Yeah, he's thinking, thank God I still got the land. The plot to sell off the factory is dead in the water. He could end up in prison on that little deal. As for him getting anything in a divorce settlement, that's a laugh. God was I dumb signing that pre-nup! The only way he can see him getting out of this mess is to flog off the land. It's going to be tight, timing wise.

'Look at that!' Dodds says pointing down at the street watching his Bentley being towed away on a low-loader. 'That fucking Veronica has taken back the company car. How childish is that?'

Taking hold of his hand Sue leads him back to the bed. Somewhere in the crumpled sheets are the chocolates she lost earlier. Mostly all gone now Sue balances the box on her knees and begins throwing out the little brown paper cups.

'Urg! How annoying Billy?' Sue says to Dodds who is blowing cigar smoke rings at the celling.

'Eh?' Dodds mutters still seething at his wife nicking his car. Sue is beginning to irritate the hell out of him.

'Why do they put these disgusting crèmes in a box of chocolates when they know full well no one eats them?' Sue complains sniffing a chocolate.

'Never mind the fucking chocolates, ' Dodds snaps at Sue who now has her head under the covers seeking out anything that might contain a nut.

'Phew!' Sue breathes coming up for air. 'It smells of sex under there. Where you going?' she says seeing Billy swing his legs over the bed.

'I can't stay handle this. I got to get moving. Have you still got that estate agents business card? The one you found Olga's bag?' Dodds asks sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling on his boxer shorts.

'Yeah, it's on my dressing table why?' Sue mumbles round a strawberry crème.

'I want you to call them and have them meet us at Follys Bottom, top of the lane, two o clock.'

Five-to-two, Sue isn't getting out of her Nissan Micra car. It still feels unreal that she almost died down there only two days ago.

Hands on his hips Dodds is looking down the lane at what looks like a nuclear bombsite. The trees have gone. It's as if a blazing tornado had swept across the land and flattened the forest that once hid the house. He turns round when Sue calls him. She has her head out the window. Her face registers her disgust at the sulphurous stink, all that's left of the nightmare that they only just survived.

'I can hear a car.' She calls out.

The Volvo backed into the lane. The driver, Lionel Cordwanger doesn't turn off the engine straight away. Looking out the rear window he can't believe the forest and the house has gone. In its place there is a smoking crater where once stood a huge Russian monolith. Shit!

'Mr Cordwanger?' Dodds says now at the driver's door.

Lionel's eyes widen when he looks up at a man whose face might been in a train wreck! His immediate thoughts are he should get out of here. Go tell his boss he wasn't prepared to handle this. Cordwanger pushes open the door and grabs hold of the overstuffed folder he'd left on the passenger seat. The train-wreck victim needlessly crushes his hand.

'Billy Dodds.' Dodds says as if the guy ought to recognise him from his ring days. He did make Sothern News one time. Well it's been a few years.

Dodds goes back to Sue and has to pull her out of her car. He marches Sue across to the young man who is looking very nervous.' This is Sue Fossett,' Dodds says in his no-nonsense way, 'she spoke to you on the phone earlier.'

'Spoke to my boss actually; I was out of the office. My boss has asked me to conduct this meeting.' Cordwanger pulls his hand away quickly when the woman tickles his palm.

Something in the tone of his voice has Dodds worried. The guy looks nervous as hell. Something is going on here and it had better not be more bad news.

Well, it was.

'Nice of you to come Lionel.' Sue says seductively. She can't help it.

Lionel sniffs the air. 'Has there been a fire down there? I didn't know.'

'Yeah, the storm did that. But I'm not bothered about losing the buildings. You are here to sell the land and that's all. And, we want it done quickly. And I do mean quickly.'

Under his breath Cordwanger curses his boss. Feeling threatened by the way the big guy is leaning over him he takes a half a step back. They both look like they just stepped out of the movie "Sean Of The Dead." Cordwanger looks back at his car. He had the good sense to park up facing his escape route and leave the keys in the ignition.

Dodds is wondering why Cordwanger is holding close to his chest a thick manila folder with the name: "Ms. Romanavitch?"

Lionel is thinking, he'd best get this over with. Give them the band news and then make a run for it. Speaking directly to the woman and bypassing the big guy, Lionel says, 'my manager has asked me, well, actually he instructed me to come here. I need to talk to you about a number of outstanding issues regarding the land that you have just inherited.'

'What issues?' Dodds snaps suspicious that some bullshit bureaucracy is about to foul up his plans for a quick sale.

Pointedly ignoring the ex-pro boxer Lionel hurries on. 'For the past twenty years my company has had a number of dealings with the late Ms. Romanavitch regarding the sale of Follys Bottom and Anastasia's Retreat.'

'What!' Sue exclaims.

Lionel hurries his words. 'Mrs Fossett this folder contains correspondence between your late aunt and the local authorities regarding several irregularities concerning this land.'

'What is he talking about Billy?'

'What the fuck are you talking about? You weasely prick.'

'Please, Mr Dodds.Mrs Fossett,' Lionel is in need of the loo. 'I am only here to advise you. If you both remain calm I can explain.'

'Talk.' Dodds tells him.

'As I said, Ms. Romanavitch has been trying to sell this property for the past twenty years.'

'What!' That was Billy.

'No way!' Says Sue.

The sulphurous air is burning Cordwanger's throat but he soldiers on, 'you need to know that your late aunt unwisely purchased this land very cheaply. Having done so she then proceeded to construct a habitable dwelling on it without planning consent. The land she purchased had been used for many yeas as an illegal landfill site. The most recent judgment listed the land as hazardous to life. In addition, there are a number of outstanding court orders demanding that the owners demolish the illegal construction. Further, the owners are required to employ specialist contractors to remove all hazardous waste.' Without pausing for breath Cordwanger hurries on. 'This folder contains three estimates for the work. The most competitive being four hundred and sixty five thousand pounds. In addition, there are court costs. All in all, including other ancillary costs amounting to a further three hundred and eighty nine thousand pounds fifty pee. You Mrs Fossett are liable to costs running into almost three quarters of a million pounds.'

Immobilised by this news Dodds can only stand and watch when Cordwanger thrusts the folder into Sue's hands.

Seizing his chance Cordwanger turns and runs back to his car. Looking through the rear mirror at the same time as turning the ignition key he can see the ex boxer running up the lane.

Dodds is too late to stop the estate agent getting away. The best he can do is throw rocks at the car now spewing up gravel and corkscrewing out the lane.

With the pedal to the floor out his rear view mirror Cordwanger catches sight of the ex-pro boxer jumping up and down on the documents he'd just handed over. With her head in her hands the woman is on her knees. Even above the noise of his engine screaming in second gear he can hear her wailing.
Chapter twenty-Five.

Quarter past seven in the morning at 15b, the High Street, Lucy, and Brian stir in their bed. Considering the extraordinary events surrounding the sale of his ring they had both slept well. The couple now very much in love is about to step into a world very different to the one they have grown accustomed to.

Brian sits up yawns and then stretches. Lucy's hand appears from under the covers, searches for him.

'Morning lover.' He says.

'Morning darling, 'Lucy says sounding groggy pushing herself up into a sitting position. As if they have departed this life and been catapulted into an alternative one they both feel a little strange.

'I feel very odd. Please hold me Brian.' Lucy says and then folds into his embrace.

'Me too Lucy, I keep thinking about all that money and wondering what am I going to do with it?'

'Are you not scared Brian?'

'Terrified actually.'

'Of what?'

Brian is frowning when he says. 'I am scared that I might lose you Lucy, that the money will change us.'

'Not if we don't let it.' Lucy says kissing him on the lips.

'We make a pact then, yeah?' Brian says in all seriousness, ' No matter what we do, no matter where we end up, we must keep our feet on the ground and never lose sight of what you and I have.'

'Deal.' Lucy says.

They both lapse into silence until Brian says, 'Weird though!' I mean this business about Olga's ring. I still don't understand why she wanted me to have it.'

'Because Sue gets the house and all this so-called treasure supposed to be in it, not to mention the land.'

'She'll be made up then.' Brian says, 'wont go short of a bob or two I imagine.'

They lapse into silence again

If our couple think the events of the past twenty-fours hours was weird... as the song goes: "They aint seen nothing yet."

Squeezed into Lucy's not very big bath they finish off the bottle of wine Lucy bought from Patel's Convenience store, two shops down.

11.20 AM, cradling mugs of tea they go back to bed and try to complete a Sudoku. Half-hour later they abandon the quest and go to sleep.

Lucy was the first to wake. The red pulsing lights on the bedside clock shows 6:15 P.M. Lucy can hardly believe they have slept all day. Not wishing to wake Brian she slips out from under the covers and in her pyjamas and her fluffy mules she pads out of the bedroom and crosses the narrow hall. In the tiny lounge Lucy finds the TV remote, hunts through the menu and finds catch-up TV, a Godsend to shift workers. She turns the volume low and then goes out to the kitchen to fix a cup of tea. While the kettle boils she tidies the worktops. From the lounge excited voices on the TV make no impression on her mind as she hums a Beatles song. She looks up at the wall clock and sees it's now six forty. Lucy pushes her fingers through her hair and as if she needs grounding grips the edge of the worktop. She reminds herself: There is a man sleeping in your bed in the next room. Knowing how protective she is of David's memories allowing a man into such a private place seems totally out of character. Not for the first time she wonders what's so special about this man that she would lower years of defences and allow a man she's known for such a short time to settle so easily into her heart. Bridgette, her best friend, and supervisor always said it would happen one day: "When you least expect it Lucy, that's how it works. There's nothing wrong with falling in love. Love is about taking risks."

Lucy wonders whenever they kiss or touch if the fluttering in her heart will ever settle down? Is it ok David? She asks his presence in the flat.

Wearing yellow Marigold gloves Lucy is washing dishes at the sink when Brian steps up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. She sighs, feels safe. She doesn't look round, instead carries on washing the plate. She smiles and closes her eyes wanting to bathe in feelings lost to her for so long. Brian turns her about. With her soapy Marigold gloves around his neck she studies his soft grey eyes. The bruises on his face have nearly gone. He looks handsome.

His lips find hers. She has her back to the sink when he presses his body up against hers. She thinks about sex.

'I really love you Lucy.' His eyes are moist. He may now be rich beyond his wildest dreams, and he can now go anywhere in the world, buy whatever takes his fancy, but all he wants is to spend time with Lucy and for things to quieten down.

That doesn't happen.

For our couple, things are about to get even weirder. One could be forgiven for thinking what happens next is going too far. It is as if some omnipotent being, a God-like figure is toying with this hapless pair thinking it fun to see how mortals would cope with going from being poor to reaching the "rich list" almost overnight. This is how it plays out:

Ten past eight that evening in the lounge, stretched out on the sofa, chatting, teasing each other Lucy and Brian are taking little interest in the TV programme. Lucy is only half listening to the man with the Irish accent stirring up an over-excited TV studio audience.

'It's a triple Rollover,' he yells into the camera.

Lucy is looking up at the stain on the ceiling, one of several around the flat where the rain sometimes gets in. The places David had painted over them still visible. Her eyes widen. That's odd. Never seen that before! Looks like a smiling face. She blinks and the image vanishes!

The TV presenter shouts above the cheering audience. "Tonight the rollover jackpot is an estimated £37 Million Pounds.''

Lucy sits upright. Now where did I put that lottery ticket? She remembers Brian handing it to her. He'd said I should put it somewhere safe, but then... Think girl, where do you normally put things like that? Ah! I remember.

Brian stretches his arms, yawns.

Lucy, strokes his cheek. 'I'll make us a cuppa in a minute. I just want to check the lottery results.'

'Huh!'

'You bought a lottery ticket, remember?'

'We bought a ticket' he reminds her, 'you paid the bus fares... so really we are a tiny little syndicate.'

'Where'd I put it?'

'No idea,' Brian says now concentrating on undoing the buttons of her pajama top.

Lucy gets one hand free and reaches up to the shelf she keeps her knickknacks on. Her fingers find the Lottery ticket she'd put under the lucky pixie David won at a fairground. In a pewter pot just within reach she finds a pen.

Lucy, lying on her back, stretched out on the sofa giggles when her pajama top goes sailing across the room. Brian is now tugging at her pyjama bottoms. Laughing Lucy says, 'Brian! I am trying to check the lottery results. You'll just have to wait a minute.'

Brian is not disposed to wait. Climbing off the sofa, he pulls off his clothes and leaves them in a heap on the floor. Lucy's eyes widen. No mistaking his intentions. Brian gets back on the sofa and sits back on his haunches to admire Lucy's naked body.

Lucy has her head turned to one side so she can see the TV. She has a pen in one hand and the lottery ticket in the other. Brian's fingers creeping up the inside of her thighs is as inviting as it is distracting.

'Give me a second Brian... ooh that is sooo nice.' She coos when Brian's tongue teases her nipples.

'I want to take you now.' He growls nuzzling her neck. Feeling his hot breath in her ear is turning her on. 'Put down the pen now.' He jokes sounding masterful.

'In a minute.' She protests grabbing back her pen. 'I just need to concentrate for one minute. We might win few bob?' In his eyes the look of naked lust is disarming her. She feels her body respond. Forcibly Lucy averts her eyes, watches the first number come up on the TV. There is an orchestrated cheer from the TV audience when the Irish presenter announces, "the first ball tonight is the number 10!" Arching her arms behind Brian's neck Lucy manages to draw a circle around the number. 'We got that one.' She tells Brian. She dissolves into a fit of the giggles when Brian takes hold of her hips and eases her down the sofa. Her anticipation is such she can hardly concentrate on the TV.

When he begins kissing the inside of her thighs she jokes, 'I'm going to give you half-hour to stop doing that Brian Fossett.' She almost misses hearing number 9. Next up was number 26. She circles these and then gasps when Brian begins kissing the inside of her thighs.

'We just won a tenner Brian.' Lucy says trapping his head between her thighs. 'In a minute Brian, be patient. Did you hear what I just said?'

'I heard you, 'Brian mumbles from the softness of Lucy's loins, 'you said we won a tenner on the Lottery.'

'Oh wow, we just got number 19!' Lucy says excitedly, 'we have now got four numbers.'

'I'm not with you honey.' Brian says.

Lucy wraps her arms around his neck when he starts to make love to her.

Brian wants these feelings to last forever.

There must have been a tiny part of her listening to the TV. She finds the means to concentrate for one second, and then circles, 29. She gasps in his ear, 'oh my God Brian!'

'I love it when you say that.' Brian says feeling like this is heaven.

'Brian, I was saying oh my God because we have now got five numbers!'

Now their lovemaking is all consuming, pulsing with urgency.

Lucy groans. Her eyes are closed, and with their bodies entwined, her lips seek his. She is lost now, given to this moment. With orgasmic sensations coursing through her body she capitulates to his will, allows him to take her, fill her being with all she could ever desire. She finds it impossible now to keep from crying out, 'oh my God... oh my God.'

'I love you Lucy.' Brian whispers in her ear.'

'I love you too Brian...oh my God Brian, I'm coming... I'm coming.'

Curled up on the narrow sofa alongside Brian Lucy feels safe nestled in his arms. Discarded in the heat of passion on the floor lies the pen and the lottery ticket, five numbers circled.

Naked, Brian, heads off to the bathroom. Getting up off the sofa Lucy pulls on Brian's Tee shirt. She looks down when she steps on the pen. Bending she picks up the pen and the lottery ticket. Sitting back down she picks up the remote and points it at the TV.

In the bathroom, Brian flushes the loo and rinses his hands under the taps. He looks up when he hears Lucy call out.

'Brian!'

'What's up?' He calls back. Shutting down the taps picking up something in her voice.

Wearing only his boxers Brian goes back in the lounge, finds Lucy staring wide-eyed at the lottery ticket. 'What's up?' He repeats. Lucy's hands are shaking.

'We got six.' She says her eyes wide with shock. 'We had Number 46 too.'

'No way.' Brian says sitting down alongside her and slipping an arm round her shoulders. 'Let me see.'

She hands him the ticket. 'You check it. I must have got it wrong.'

Three times Brian checks the numbers against those on the TV screen. His hands are shaking. Hairs on the back of his neck tingle. He is thinking this cannot be happening to him. First the ring and now the lottery! He looks round the room half expecting something to be out of place.

He wonders if he has slipped from this world into another where these kinds of things can happen. Everything about him looks unchanged. Lucy's arm slipped through own feels reassuring.

'We can't have won the jackpot... can we Brian?' Lucy says herself now worried about what was going on in their lives. 'Tell me I got it wrong Brian. Just say I got the wrong day or something.'

Beneath the ceiling light and the grotty shade that Lucy has yet to get round to replacing Brian now pays close attention to the details. He re-checks the numbers and then he checks the date. Turning to Lucy he grins.

'I got it wrong didn't I?' She says.

Brian's head is nodding when he says, 'yeah, we got all six numbers, and the date is good. Triple rollover you say?'

They sit quiet, staring at each other until Brian looks into Lucy's eyes and says, 'do you remember what Titus said about the prophesy of the ring? '

'Yes, he said, "Whosever shall have Anastasia's ring shall meet good fortune and love."

Brian says, 'have you any idea what we are supposed to do now?'

'Not sure. what does it say on the ticket.' Lucy says. There is some colour back to her face.

'It says, I have to ring this number.' Brian says indicating the small print.

Feeling chilly, or maybe she is just scared; Lucy takes the woolen throw off the back of the sofa and pulls this over her shoulders. Looks funny, Lucy thinks watching Brian on the phone talking to the Lottery people in just his boxer pants. She goes over to him and listens in.

Ten minutes later Brian hangs up. He gulps.

'Did you hear that?'

'They just confirmed you won thirty-seven million pounds.'

'Yeah, and they want us to attend a presentation ceremony in a hotel in Mayfair,'

'I heard.'

'Do we have any other plans?'

'I was going to clean the flat.'

'I said we'd go. Can the cleaning wait?'

She grins.

'Shall we go to bed?' He suggests.

'Good Idea Brian, you go in, and I will make us a hot chocolate drink.'

Eleven P.M, they are fast asleep.

Three in the morning they are bouncing up and down on the bed waking the neighbours.

Eight o clock and not the least bit tired they have little appetite for the porridge and fruit.

Brian pushes away his breakfast bowl.

'What time do we have to be there?' Lucy says buttering a slice of toast.

'Three.' Brian says stirring his tea. 'I'd like us to go shopping first? I don't think I can go there in my old wedding suit with the frayed cuffs and trouser hems.'

'Can we afford it?' Lucy quips. 'Come on, drink up, we'd better get a move on.'

This time they take a cab up into town.

Outside the department store on Regent Street Brian dumps his old clothes in a litterbin.

They get to the hotel fifteen minutes early. In the lobby Brian lifts his chin while Lucy straightens his tie.

'You nervous?' She says.

'A bit.' He nods, 'Are you?'

The girl behind the reception desk reminds Brian of Annabelle at Botherby's.

It feels as if he is just going through the motions, skimming on the surface of some weird reality that he can't get used to. Brian and Lucy act like they are spectators in their own existence. The presentation, the champagne toasts, the flashguns blinding them, the half-genuine smiles hiding envy, all of it, has a dreamlike fell about it. Brian is glad to be outside. He blows through his cheeks and then spotting a cab with its light on he hails it down.

On the back seat Brian says to Lucy. 'I think might have made a booboo!'

'I didn't smell it.' Lucy giggles.

'I mean I might have cocked up.'

'Why's that?'

'Cos I told them they could publicise my win.'

'Does that matter?'

'I guess not.'

It Did!

Brian gets the cab to wait at the kerb in Regent Street. Half an hour later he and Lucy climb back in loaded up with shopping bags. They each now have the latest smartphones, and Brian has a tablet and a laptop. Lucy promises to show him how to use them.

'We should go to a posh hotel.' Lucy suggests.

Brian is nodding. 'Hmm, yeah we could do that, but I fancy going back to the flat and finish what we started last night.' There is a wicked glint in his eye.

'You want to go back to the flat and finish up the cold lasagna?' Lucy says looking at him through hooded eyelids.

At red lights through his rear-view mirror the cabbie smiles at the lovers.

There are tears in Brian's eyes when he says. 'Lucy, I love you to bits and when I get my divorce will you do me the honour of marrying me?'

Lucy's thumb traps the tear tracking down his cheek. Tears sting her eyes. Her chest is heaving. Surely the cab driver can hear her heart hammering against her ribs. Lucy lays one hand on Brian's cheek and whispers, 'Brian I love you so much it hurts, and I would marry you in a heartbeat.'

It was handy, Lucy having a pack of tissues in her shoulder bag. After taking one for herself she hands the rest to Brian.

The cabbie calls out. 'Nearly there mate, call it twenty quid.'

Brian gives the cabbie thirty.

'Be lucky.' The cab driver calls through his open and window and then drives off.

Back in the flat, out in the kitchen Lucy puts the kettle on. In the sitting room Brian flops down on the sofa, puts his feet up on the coffee table and using the remote turns on the TV. Flicking through the channels he reflects on the past few hours. The presentation ceremony wasn't that too much of an ordeal. Thank goodness all that fuss is behind us. We sold the ring, and we got through the Lottery presentation. Now I just want Lucy and I to get our life back to something close to being normal.

That would have been nice... but it wasn't quite how things work out!

Lucy joins Brian on the sofa catching the tail end of the news. Lucy splutters out a mouthful of tea while Brian can't believe what he is seeing.

'Shit!' Brian gasps staring at their faces on the TV. They both look a little squiffy holding aloft glasses of champagne and a cardboard cheque. He thinks they look like rabbits in headlights.

'Oh God, What have I done?' Brian says aghast, 'I never for one moment thought it'd be on the telly!'

When the adverts come on Brian looks round at Lucy, 'sorry I should have thought.'

'Listen, Brian, don't worry, they didn't say where we live, so that's okay,' Lucy is not overly convinced of this.

Eleven o clock, they get woken by the phone on the bedside table.

'Hello.' Brian says sounding groggy.

'Firstly... Brian, may I congratulate you on your fantastic win.'

This sounds like a telesales call but this time of the night?

I am Lucas Wetherby, from Daytime TV. I would like to invite you to join us on the sofa this morning. We can have a car collect you?'

The name rings a bell. Then Brian remembers the jerk always on TV.

'It would be nice if you can make it.' Wetherby goes on as if no one ever says no to going on TV.

'How did you get hold of this number?' Brian says shortly.

Thirty seconds, Brian hangs up. Cross now, he says to Lucy, 'Bloody TV people.'

Climbing back in bed he snuggles up to Lucy. Two minutes later, it's the phone again. Lucy gets it this time. Brian hears her slam the phone down.

'Sorry, Lucy.' Brian says when she lays back down.

Lucy says, 'no harm done Brian, and you looked handsome in your new outfit, anyway, you know what the press are like, we'll be headlines for about five minutes. Something will happen and then we wont be newsworthy, we'll be forgotten about by the morning.'

No they weren't.

For the next two hours the phone hardly stops ringing. After the TV people stopped calling it was the newspapers, then the then the begging calls start up. This continues until they leave the phone off the hook. Now, it is the doorbell. Brian looks out the window, jumps back when a blaze of flashguns almost blinds him.

Exhausted, and unable to sleep, an hour before dawn Brian calls a mini cab company.

Hearing the beep-beep of a car horn Lucy goes to the window. Outside on the High Street figures step out of the shadows, cameras zoom in on her. Strobes of light blind her. At the kerb, she can see a minicab with its lights on and its engine ticking over.

The paparazzi anticipating the emergence of the lottery winners gather at the front door. As one, they check that their cameras and flashguns are fully charged and set to continuous shoot mode.

'Our cab's outside.' Lucy calls over her shoulder.

Brian is just packing the last bits into a suitcase. Brian joins her at the window. 'We'll have to wear a hat or a scarf. Have you got any false wigs?' he jokes. Lugging the suitcase over to the front door he turns to Lucy and asks, 'do know of any nice places where we might hide out?'

'There is a hotel. It's quiet, and it is out of the way. I spent a training day there, and I thought that one day I would love to come back and stay, perhaps overnight. Bound to be quite expensive though for someone, say... like a cheapskate.'

Brian is grinning when he throws open the door.

'Ready?' He says.

'As I'll ever be.'

Lucy has a weekend bag and Brian has a suitcase. She stays close on Brian's heels when he tromps down the stairs. The minute they step out onto the street they are met by a barrage of flashguns.

The cab driver, a man of Asian decent now leaps from his cab and begins to wrestle with the photographers.

'Oi! You two,' the driver shouts at Brian and Lucy, 'get in the back. I will sort these muppets out.'

Moving quickly, Brian throws open the back door and then helps Lucy in. He throws the luggage on the back seat and then jumps in the passenger seat. Through the window he watches the driver chase off two photographers. Two others on the floor are complaining about getting harassed. With the paparazzi now in disarray the cabbie gets back in the car and pushes the pedal to the floor. With a squeal of burning rubber the Ford Focus roars off like the cops are after him.

Lucy and Brian are being thrown around in their seats as the car wheel-spins round corners.

'Crikey, thanks buddy.' Brian says speaking to the grim-faced Asian. 'Are you by any chance a part-time stunt driver moonlighting as a cabbie?' Brian jokes.

After skidding around two more corners now satisfied they're not being chased the cabbie eases off on the pedal. Talking to Lucy through the rear view mirror the Asian says, 'you two film stars, or summink?' Brian smiles, sounds odd the Asian speaking with a south London accent.

'Film stars! Not likely, 'Brian says, 'sorry to disappoint you.'

The cabbie shrugs, 'I don't give a tosh what you are. I've ad em all in my cab. 'ad some big names you know, lousy tippers mostly. As far as I'm concerned, you're a fare, end of.' The cabbie looks round at Brian. 'You laughing at my accent, mush?'

Brian chuckles. 'I was actually. What's your name?'

'Cyril.'

'Cyril!' Brian bursts out laughing. 'Sorry, I shouldn't laugh. Cyril is a good name, better than Brian. It's just you don't look like a Cyril. '

'Nah. I'm kiddin ya, it's really Sadiq, but, you can call me Cyril.'

Looking out the side window Brian is grinning.

'If you don't like my Sarf London accent I can give you a touch of the old bud-bud English.' Sadiq says, 'I usually save that for my Pakistani customers.'

'Bud-bud! What's that?'

'Bud, you vant to go...bud you vant I drop you off.' Sadiq says wobbling his head and laughing aloud. 'Now, I aint got all day mush, where'd ya wanna go?'

Leaning forward on her seat Lucy says, 'do you know the Peacock Hotel, in Wimbledon, Sadiq?'

'Big white 'otel... set in posh grounds, uvver side of the ponds? Yeah, bin there a few times.' Sadiq guns the engine and says, 'buckle up you two.'

Lucy gets a call on her mobile. 'Hello.' She says edgily, thinking this has to be another nuisance call? Who else would call her this early?

'Lucy, it's Charlie.'

'Charlie! Oh, my word. How you feeling?'

Placing one hand over the mouthpiece Lucy tells Brian. 'It's Charlie. He's excited about something. You'd better speak to him.'

'Charlie, me old mate. What's up buddy?' Brian puts the phone on speakerphone.

'Hey Brysie!' Charlie sounds excited. 'The quacks tell me I can go home. Wha-hay! Now, I wont be offended if you say no, but as a small favour I was hoping if you wouldn't mind me crashing at yours for a few days? Only, they wont discharge me if I aint got someplace to go. I promise I wont stay long.'

Lucy, smiling gives Brian the thumbs up.

Charlie says. 'I got a few quid in my locker. So I could get a cab if you tell me the address.'

'I can do better than that Charlie.' Brian says, 'I am sending my driver over to collect you. His name is Cyril... Don't ask questions. Just be ready. And do as you're told. I will see you at breakfast.'

'Breakfast!' Charlie exclaims, 'what the...'

Not wanting Charlie to get too het up Brian ends the call.

Sadiq, curious says, 'not that it's any of my business, if you aint famous why the paparazzi outside your gaff?'

Brian explains the lottery win, says nothing about the ring, there is only so far you can go with people's credibility.

Cyril whistles. 'Nice one.'

At the Peacock Hotel Sadiq insists that Brian and Lucy go into the hotel, get booked in and he will gets the bags.

In the lobby Brian smiles at Katrina, an "Annabelle" lookalike sat behind the reception desk.

Katrina eyebrows arch when the couple book out the entire top floor. The minute the lift doors have closed behind the new arrivals she gets on the phone and calls her manager asleep in his private quarters.

'A whole week!' Sadiq says surprised to hear the couple want to hire his services for at least the next seven days. Sadiq strokes his beard, says. 'Just for you, cos I like you... you get special rates, one week will set you back five undred sovs.' Sadiq raises his eyebrows when the punter says.

'Great. I'll pay you cash. Your first job is a hospital run, Tawny West General. I want to you to pick up a friend, Charlie Parker who is waiting to be discharged. You are to bring him back here but don't tell him about our win, if he aint heard already. I want it to be a surprise.'

Pausing at the door to Brian and Lucy's Presidential Suite Sadiq turns when Brian calls out.

'Don't take any arguments from Charlie Sadiq.' Brian warns. 'He can be a bit cussed.'

Sadiq grins and says. 'Diamond geezer you are Brian and no mistake. Be back in a jiffy.'

The couple manage to get in a couple of hours sleep. They wake and take a shower before heading down to the breakfast room; a huge conservatory overlooking landscaped gardens. Charlie is waiting for them. He puts down his cup of coffee, gets up off his chair, and then pulls them into a bear hug. Worried for his health Lucy tries to calm him down.

'Your discharge requires that you rest Charlie. I want you settled before Brian tells you everything that has happened.'

Settled in one of the cane chairs, no longer shocked by anything that happens to this couple Charlie is tucking into a Continental breakfast and listening to Brian and Lucy tell their incredible story.

A quarter past eleven that morning clusters of white, purple, and yellow crocuses brighten up the rolling lawns. The hotel gardens look delightful. Sitting under an arbor of Wisteria Brian, Charlie, and Lucy watch a friendly Chaffinch picking up cake crumbs.

'Crikey I feel tired.' Brian says after a while, 'I'm going to get some shuteye.'

'I'm coming too.' Lucy says.

'I am staying here,' Charlie says, 'the view is too good to miss.'

'Sure Charlie.' Brian says sternly, 'but don't let me find you camping out in the gardens. Those days are over for you, you hear me?'

'Go... get some rest you two. Stop fussing.

At the door to their suite, Brian has a thought. He turns to Lucy. 'Honey, I need to pop out for a bit.' He takes her hands and looks down into her worried eyes. 'Its okay, I wont be long. I just need to pick up my stuff from my house. Don't worry. I will have Sadiq with me.'

Lucy searches his eyes. 'You come straight back, and you make sure that Sadiq stays with you.'

'I promise.' Brian says and kisses her on the lips.

Lucy has some difficulty letting go his hand.

Chatting to Charlie, Sadiq is in the breakfast room drinking filter coffee when Brian finds him.

'Come on Cyril,' Brian says, 'I got another job for you.'

'Cyril! I thought your name was Sadiq?' Charlie says looking up at the cab driver now on his feet.

'I'll explain another time Charlie.' Sadiq says before catching up with Brian out in the lobby. Out in the car park Sadiq unlocks his car and says to Brian, 'where we going boss?'

'I'll tell you in the car.'

Settled in the passenger seat of the minicab Brian gives Sadiq directions to his house.

The lottery winner looking out the window seems pensive. 'Bud you vurrying about?' Sadiq asks in his jokey accent.

Brian grins and shakes his head. 'Ah, it's nothing.' Brian is worrying what kind of reception he'll get from Sue? Hostile no doubt... Dodds might even be there.

Outside 42 Acacia Avenue, Brian doesn't bother to get out his house keys. He rings the doorbell. Sue opens the door. The state of her face shocks him. He thinks it's best not to enquire how she got her injuries.

'I'm not stopping long,' Brian says getting defensive. 'I'm only here to collect Jock,'

In the windows across the street, curtains twitch.

Brian's eyebrows arch when Sue throws her arms about his neck. He doesn't know what to do with his hands so he extends his arms out. The last thing he needs is for Sue to get the wrong impression. He has Lucy in his life now. He doesn't need this. What the hell's got into her? Oh God, Sue's heard about my win... probably seen it on the news. That's why she is being all friendly.'

'Oh Brian,' Sue gasps,' I can't tell you how happy I am to see you. I have been such a silly girl. I now know that is only you that I love. Oh! My true love how I have missed you.'

Brian is still trying to figure out what the hell is going on when Sue takes hold of his coat lapels and pulls him into the hallway. Before she shuts the door with her foot Sue flips a middle finger up at the neighbour opposite.

Alma Beatridge steps back from the window. She'd no idea what the gesture meant but out of interest she'll show it to the church flower-arranging group that afternoon.

'Now, hang on Sue, 'Brian says pushing her away, keeping her at arms length, 'I don't want this... I mean I don't want you. To be honest I don't love you and besides, you have Dodds, and good luck with that.'

What with his clothes and other stuff in the over-full bin bags lined up along the wall there's not a lot of room in the hallway. Brian keep the door at his back wants some space between him and his breathy wife who seems keen strangely keen to rekindle their relationship that died a good many years ago. So, he wonders, what's happened? Last time I saw her and Dodds it was at Olga's funeral. They were flying off in his flash car after teasing him about his inheritance. Well, Sue might have learned about the lottery win, but she luckily she knows nothing about the ring, and I prefer to keep it that way, but why is she coming on to me? Something must have happened between her and Dodds?

Brian is resisting Sue's attempts to lure him further into the house. He is keeping his back against the wall and his hands in the air. A movement to his right makes him look round. Dodds.. Jeez! I didn't give him all those injuries? He looks round at the cuts and bruises on Sue's face. These two have been in a car smash. That'll explain why I didn't see his car outside. I couldn't miss that!

Leaning past Sue, his smile looking awkward, Dodds has his hand extended. Brian ignoring the gesture stares at the gap in Dodds front teeth. He'll own up to doing that. Dodds looks mentally unstable.

If the wimp hadn't just won the fucking lottery Dodds is thinking he would cheerfully take up a heavy object and bludgeon the bastard to death. A caustic rage rises up in Dodds throat. Before he does something rash an inner voice soothes his tortured soul. Bide your time... soon.

'It's good to see you mate. I should apologise for our little misunderstanding, what am I like eh?' Dodds hates the whistle when he pronounces his s's. His blazing with suppressed rage and his breath smelling of sulphur, Dodds closes in on Brian.

'Back off Dodds.' Brian warns him. 'I'm here to pick up Jock, and then I'm out of here. One step closer and you'll lose a few more teeth.'

The distorted grin on Dodds face is incongruous with the fury Brian can see behind his eyes.

'No worries, Brian.' Dodds says, like it's no big deal but not quite pulling it off.

Hearing the sound of his master's voice and wagging his tail Jock comes scuttling out the kitchen. He weaves his way through the legs of the humans and sits looking up at his master.

'Hello boy,' Brian says ruffling the dog's head, 'I've really missed you. Go and fetch your lead.' While the little Westie scoots off to fetch his leash Brian isn't taking his eyes off his ex boss who looks more than a little deranged.

Holding up his hands Dodds says. 'Chill, Brian I Just want to be friendly is all.'

Yeah I've seen your idea of friendly.

'Where's your manners woman?' Billy says to Sue. 'Get the man a cup of tea...or... perhaps you might like a glass of champagne, eh Brian?' Dodds says tapping the side of his nose.

There follows an awkward silence. Brian says, 'you've heard then?'

'What, about your good fortune? You bet. It was on the news. Can't keep that sort of thing a secret.' Dodds throws back his head and laughs. 'Ouch!' He winces and holds his jaw. 'Good straight right you have there Brian. You should have taken up the Gentleman's art.'

Picking imaginary lint off the shoulder of Brian's new suit, Sue says, 'How fortunate for you Brian, I couldn't be happier for you. If anyone deserves a bit of luck. '

Dodds shuts her up. 'Thirty seven million smackeroo's! Woo, how do you start spending that?' Dodds gives Brian a knowing wink, 'start with family and friends is what I would do Brian, show loyalty to the people you once needed.'

'People like you?' Brian says pointedly.

The punch to Brian's shoulder, intended to be playful, was anything but!

For a moment, the two face each other like combatants. Brian ignoring the pain in his shoulder is glaring at Dodds. The man looks smaller and weaker than he remembers. The awe he once held for him has gone, vanished! For two pins Brian would flatten him.

Jock is pawing at Brian's leg. He looks down at the little dog with his pleading eyes his tail swishing across the floor. 'Okay, lets go boy.'

Turning to Sue Brian sees she is sucking on a finger. She has on that creepy little-girl-lost pouty face. Like he owns her, Dodds now slides his arm around Sue's waist.

'I'm off. ' Brian says flatly. Just then a movement on the stairs catches his eye. He looks round, sees Sean and Carla at the foot of the stairs only half-awake. As if choreographed the siblings smile and wave. He frowns. Oh God! Not you two as well.

'Hi Brian,' they chorus.

'Hi guys,' Brian says tugging at Jocks lead. 'Lets go boy.'

He'd not got the front door open before Sue is hanging round his neck.

'I'm so sorry Brian. I have been a silly girl. Please, tell me we can we patch things up. It's not about the money Brian, God forbid. It is you that I miss.' Fluttering her false eyelashes Sue closes in on him. He flinches when her hand grabs hold of his crotch.

'For the sake of our children eh Brian?' Sue pleads.

'Your children, Brian is tempted to remind her thinking back to how within weeks of his parent's dying she had seduced him, cynically, in his view just to get her hands on his house. He didn't even know about her two kids until she had moved in. Next thing, he's a step-dad. He pushes her back, keeps her at arms length.

Sue is thinking if she could just get him alone. 'Why don't the two of us go into the lounge, have chat over a cuppa eh Brian?' Sue says tugging on his hand.

She'd seduced him before; taking this house off him was like taking candy off a baby. Brian like all men won't be able to resist her charms. She flicks her head over at Billy who takes the hint and heads out to the kitchen.

'Carla, Sean, go up to your rooms please, your father and I want to talk.'

'He's not my Dad,' Sean reminds his Mum.

'That is not nice Sean.' Sue rebukes her son, 'Brian has been like a father to both of you. Now leave us please. Brian and I are going to have a nice cuppa, just like the old times.'

Brian can't quite figure out why Sue is acting as if she needs his money! Surely by now she'll have got her hands on Olga's reputed treasure, most likely flogged it already. She will have gone through Olga's place with a fine-toothed comb, wont have missed a thing. She has to be rolling in it, a millionairess, several times over! So what am I missing here? Oh my God! His blood chills, it's all gone pear-shaped, she hasn't got the money! Maybe Saxby, blocked the inheritance, learned she was having an affair with Dodds. or.... he wonders, maybe Olga stitched her up! This is not my problem. What do I care? I have a loving girlfriend back at the hotel and right now she will be worrying about me.

'No tea... thanks.' Brian says taking hold of the door latch.

Not one of her best performances Sue begins wailing. 'Oh, Brian, what have I done to deserve this? You could at least let me hear me out. We've been married for eleven fucking years! You owe me two fucking minutes of your time.'

There it is, Brian is thinking, the acting can't hide her true feelings. That is the Sue I know, cursing and scheming to get her own way.

Sue tries one more time. 'Brian. Please,' she begs, 'don't tell me it's too late for us. Please don't say we are over.'

Brian is shaking his head. It's almost funny watching her performance.

'It is over Sue.' He couldn't be plainer.

'Well, can we at least be friends, go away weekends, that sort of thing?'

Brian is thinking I'd better straighten her out. 'Sue, I have met someone else. Someone that I very much love and we intend to marry as soon as my divorce is finalised. Anyway,' he asks curious to know, 'why all of a sudden are you being so sweet to me? Did Saxby block your inheritance? Did he work out you tried to pull the wool over his eyes, pretending we were happily married? Is that what this is all about?'

Sue bites her lip, figures she might as well tell him.

'Blocked it! Shit if only! That fucking old bag Olga shafted me? The house and all its contents are all gone... destroyed in a fire, and the land is a stinking landfill site that I am obliged to pay to have cleared... and you know those fabulous jewels, the ones I found in that tatty old carpetbag of hers, well, turns out they were all fakes, crap, worthless... Oh.' Sue hesitates. 'I never did tell you about those did I?'

'No.' Brian says shaking his head. 'So, you got...what?' Brian asks.

'I got fuck all, and a mountain of debt. And Billy, well, turns out; he is potless, not worth a light. Veronica screwed him over.'

Now, it all makes sense. Brian frowns. This is ridiculous. Why am I still here? Brian opens the front door. He looks down the path and smiles at his neighbours gathered at his gate. When he looks back to say goodbye to Sean and Carla, he see Dodds behind Sue. There is a murderous look about his face and a kitchen knife in his hand. Brian points down at the bin bags.

'Oh, by the way Dodds, I'm not going to need this stuff. Some of it might do you a turn. The carpet slippers are only six months old.'

With a cheerful, 'good morning folk,' Brian follows Jock pulling on his lead weaving his way through the gaggle of neighbours.

Hearing that Brian Fossett is no longer a murder suspect and quite a celebrity, having won all that money, his neighbours feel disposed to be nice to him.

Brian nods in reply to the murmoured, comments, 'nice to see you... how are you Brian... I hear you had some good luck Brian?'

Shutting the gate behind him Brian looks back at the house, hears Sue and Dodds kicking off. 'That'll be Sue,' Brian mutters to Jock, hearing the sound of crockery hitting a wall. Brian climbs in the minicab, Jock on his lap.

'That go alright?' Sadiq asks gunning the engine, watching Brian plug in the seat belt.

'Just got to make a quick phone call.' Brian is punching numbers into his new smartphone. Up till now he hadn't thought that Sue might be at risk of harm. He tells the police there is a domestic dispute at number 42 Acacia Avenue and the guy has a knife. Putting his phone away Brian says to Sadiq, 'home James, and don't spare the horses.'

Had it occurred to Brian to look out of the cab's rear window, he might have spotted two cars behind Sue's car is tagging them. Dodds is behind the wheel.

Tailing the minicab his reckless driving was in danger of killing someone. Dodds heart is as black as coal, and his fists are strangling the steering wheel. He keeps as close to the minicab as he dare.

Stopping his rental car in the driveway of the Peacock hotel, peering through the windshield of Sue's car keeping out of sight, Dodds watches Fossett and Jock climb out the minicab. An attractive female runs up to him and throws her arms round his neck. She kisses him on the lips. Dodds grins and then opens up his smart phone.

'I got ya. And I know what'll flush you out.'

# Chapter twenty-six.

In the Presidential Suite the phone ringing wakes Brian. He looks over at the bedside clock: 8.35 A.M. Sitting up it takes him a moment to get his bearings.

Lucy stirs. She throws off the bedsheet and says, 'what's up?'

'It's the phone,' Brian tells her picking up, 'Hello.'

'Mr Fossett, it's Henry Lassiter. Sorry to wake you but I think you should know that I have the press camping out down here, and there are hordes of people demanding to see you many claim to be your relatives. I am doing my best to contain them in the lobby. I am providing them with coffee and Danish pastries but already they are getting into arguments. I would be very grateful if you wouldn't mind coming down and dealing with them.'

Brian winces when he hears a loud crash. In the background he can hear people shouting and scuffling.

'I must go,' Lassiter says tiredly, 'two of these people are fighting. I have already had to eject one of your cousins who was drunk and abusive.'

'Just a second who...' The conversation ends with an explosion of noise on the other end of the line.

Wearing staff uniforms Brian and Lucy slip unrecognised into the melee downstairs. Brian can hardly believe his eyes. Men, women, children, dogs, old people, wheelchairs, and white walking sticks, are everywhere. People are fighting, each accusing the other of being a fraud. Brian recognises a few of the men as colleagues from the factory. Wayne Tester was there. There are a few of his neighbours, and some of Sue's old acquaintances. Most of them are complete strangers.

Ducking into the manager's office, Brian apologises. 'Sorry Henry, I can only assume someone tipped them off we were staying here.' That was when Brian has a flashback. He recalls seeing a Nissan Micra, not unlike Sue's turn round on the hotel drive and then drive off. He wouldn't mind betting it was Dodds behind the wheel. He must've followed him here?

Shaking his head Lassiter says, 'your presence here has been advertised on almost every social media site.' Brian is nodding. He knows who did that.

Needing a strategy to deal with this situation, in his suite, Brian has his team gather round him. The negative aspect of their sudden wealth now hits home.

They share some ideas and then formulate a plan of action. Brian telephones down to reception and speaks to the hotel manager, says he has a plan, and can he have use of the conference room for about and hour? 'Oh and can you have five coaches here, within the hour, regardless of the cost.'

He turns to Sadiq, 'we need more help. I want you to take a run out, go pick up a couple of girls who hopefully will be on duty under the canal bridge.'

Sadiq raise his eyebrows. 'Do you know what you are doing Brian?'

Brian winks at Lucy.

She knows about these two friends. 'Millie and Nancy?' Lucy says.

'Yup, if anyone knows how to deal with freaks and fraudsters, it's those two.'

An hour later, Nancy and Millie are dancing round the suite of rooms Brian has booked them into. Over tea and cakes in Brian's suite the girls shake their heads listening to Brian and Lucy tell their extraordinary tale.

'This is fantastic news Brian.' Millie says. Nancy says. 'What do you want me and Millie to do?'

Brian tells them what he plans and they immediately get to work.

There are now two policemen turning away new arrivals away at the hotel gates.

Wearing hotel uniforms Nancy and Millie have the rowdy crowd gather into the conference room. Smiling they politely separate the people insisting they are either a long-lost relative, or some old friend, from those wanting Brian to give them money for a life-saving operation that can only be performed in USA.

Forty minutes it takes the Nancy and Millie to isolate the deserved souls from the fraudsters. The genuine ones get sent on their way with a cheque and Brian and Lucy's blessing. The rest, all liars, and cheats, are told to gather up their belongings and board the coaches out in the car park. They are told they are to be taken to a place where there is a little more peace and quiet.

Holding one hand in the air Millie leads the crowd out through the lobby, across the car park and then supervises them as they push and jostle onto the five coaches.

From an upstairs window, Brian, Lucy, Charlie, Sadiq, Millie, and Nancy smile watching the coaches pull away. They turn round and high-five their success.

'Where they going?' Sadiq says.

'The Island of Skye.' Brian says.

'In Scotland!'

'They'll enjoy it, bit of sea air, bit of peace and quiet.' Brian says grinning, ' I have paid for them to stay overnight at a nice Lochside hotel.'

'Then what?'

'They have to make their own way home.' Millie says.

The free alcohol and food keeps most of them from complaining on their long trip up to Scotland. An hour before dawn the ninety-six exhausted people deposited on the freezing dock have to wait for the eight o clock ferry that is due to sail across to Skye in a force eight gale. Within minutes of setting off most of them is regretting partying quite so hard. On the Island, a fleet of buses and taxi's are waiting to take them to their hotel. They eat well and they sleep well. Next day, they learn that Brian Fossett, their host was never coming up, and they are now expected to make their own way home.

By the time the last of these stragglers arrive back home, Brian, Lucy, Charlie, Nancy, Millie and Jock, have left the UK.

# Chapter twenty-Seven.

'Dodds has caused us a lot of trouble. If we stay here we don't know what he'll do next.' Brian says looking round at the others seated round the Peacock's conservatory.

He'd called everyone together to get their views on what they should do next.

'I quite like how we all get along and we work so well as a team.' Lucy says 'can we not stick together for a while, do some stuff. I mean we don't have to stay here.'

'I agree, 'Charlie says, 'I'd like us all to go somewhere so we could get to know each other better. We should stick together if only because that nutter Dodds is stalking Brian and Lucy.'

'I'd like us to stay together.' Millie says, 'it's been fun. How about we go on holiday? Go somewhere hot, like a foreign country, I've never been abroad, never even been on a plane.' Millie admits.

'I've never been on a plane.' Nancy says nodding.

'Me neither, 'Brian confesses. 'I like that idea. Anyone got any thoughts on where we should go?'

'I got a suggestion,' Lucy ventures. 'In this magazine in the dentist's once, there was this article about Grand Cayman which is a British island in the Caribbean. It sounded like paradise, and in the photos it looked amazing. I remember thinking wow, I'd love to go there one day.'

The room had gone quiet until Charlie says, 'great idea. We should go there.'

The next day, they fly out.

They Family as they now call themselves rent a big house on Sunset Bay, nice location on Prospect Point Road, not far from the beach. It has enough rooms they don't step on each other's toes. There are a couple of rented Jeeps out on the driveway.

Four weeks slip by, and no one is talking about going back to the UK. Cayman Island can have that effect on a person.

One night, in bed, Lucy turns off the light. In the dark she asks Brian, 'do you miss England?'

'Not yet.'

'Me neither, I love it here' Lucy says snuggling up to Brian, 'I suppose one day we'll need to think about going home.'

'Yeah but not yet.' Brian says shuddering at the thought. 'Now that you've sold your flat and Sue is living in my old house we don't have a home in England.'

Lucy sighs, 'I guess we could buy a place, it's not like we haven't got the money!'

'That's the problem.' Brian says sounding grave, 'we'd have to buy a house with high walls, electric gates, and security cameras everywhere and frankly I don't much fancy that.'

'Urgh, I'd hate that.' Lucy says and shudders, 'Lets just stay here a bit longer eh?' Lucy yawns, 'I'm in no rush to go back, and I don't think anyone else is either. Maybe give it another six months eh?'

They were taking up two tables outside the Jolly Capstan, a favourite bar-restaurant on Marine Harbour. The family is sharing their thoughts about their stay on the Island. Turns out they were all in favour of doing something other than just lazing around. Taking on Nancy's suggestion they should get involved in community projects over the next few weeks they each get into some voluntary work. Then Brian hears about the schoolhouse over on East Point that two years back was destroyed in a storm. Brian could have just paid to get the place rebuilt but the others said they wanted to be involved in more of a physical sense. Working alongside the trades people and local volunteers, mostly parents, they had the place open in six weeks.

Thinking about it later, Brian can see how the idea of rebuilding the Paradise got started.

They had been driving along the coast road running alongside Seven-Mile beach, the Jeep's top down, when Lucy says to Brian.

'You seen that place?' Lucy points out the boarded-up building approaching on their left.

'Yeah, I noticed it when we passed it the other day. Looks like an old colonial style hotel.'

'There's a For Sale sign up.'

'Yeah?'

'Fancy taking a look round it?'

'Yeah, okay,' Brian says pulling into a layby and then turning the Jeep around and heading back.

There is a large car park out front of the dilapidated boarded up building. Brian can't make out the name on the sign now eroded by the wind and sand. There are tufts of couch grass poking out of the tarmac. The chain link fence all round is too high to shim over. To his thinking the roof looks pretty sound. Ghost orchids, a rare protected species on Cayman clambers up the walls and over the roof. On the sea breeze Brian can detect the scent of the delicate white flowers.

They take a walk round the back.' Got no neighbours.' Brian notes thinking that's good.

'Gosh look at that!' Lucy says awestruck by the view out over the bay tucked between twin headlands. The water, crystal blue, sparkles in the sun.

'What's that out there?' Brian says hoisting his sunglasses up his head and looking out to sea, 'it's some sort of rock formation!'

'Say's here,' Lucy says pointing it out on her map, 'it's called, "Old Man Rock."

From where they stand looking out over the bay sticking out the water some thirty meters high, a couple hundred metres out the rock formation resembles a bent old man.

Turning back to the house and peering through the chain-link fence at the host of Tea Banker plants sprouting out the banks of sand blown up against the walls Lucy says, 'I reckon it's been on the market some time.'

'Probably years judging by the state of the place,' Brian calculates. His engineer's brain is now studying the heavy-duty combination padlock nipping together a chain that it would take an oxyacetylene rig to cut through. 'Lovely old place though, got real character, done up it would look amazing.'

'What, as a home you mean?' Lucy says. 'Be a bit big don't you think?'

'I was thinking more along the lines of getting it fixed up as a hotel. Can you imagine staying in a hotel this grand and looking out at a bay as beautiful as this?'

'Real shame,' Lucy says holding onto her headscarf whipping about her face in the sea breeze 'allowing a beautiful building like this go to the dogs.'

'I'm gonna give the agents a call.' Brian says taking out his phone.

'You thinking of buying it?' Lucy says sounding excited.

'No,' He laughs, 'I thought it might be interesting to see what it's like inside.'

'Be a good project.' Lucy is thinking.

'Well yeah, I suppose it could be.' Brian says holding his phone to his ear.

'Cay-maan I'lund Property Internashun-al?'

There was no mistaking the woman's West Indian accent that Brian has grown to love. 'Lucinda Johnson speaking, how may I help you?'

'Hello, I am Brian Fossett. I am outside the old colonial hotel on the edge of Seven-Mile beach, and I was wondering if it was possible to take a look round it?'

'Of course you can me de-yar. I can be wit you in aboot five minutes.'

'Great. We'll hang on then. I look forward to meeting you.'

Lucy and Brian turn their heads from the sand stirred up by the arrival of the white 4x4 jeep. Long slim legs wearing white knee-length boots step out the Jeep. Brian gives Lucy a nudge. He figures she has to be around thirty years of age. Her jet-black hair piled high on top of her head is held in place with a diamanté comb. The white cut-off blouse exposes a tight brown belly and a narrow waist. Her white hot pants frayed at the hems are cut high on her thighs. If this is Lucinda Johnson, she has just devastated the impression he'd got on the phone of her being a roly-poly, West Indian woman wearing flowing brightly coloured cotton clothes. Lucinda Johnson takes off her sunglasses and greets them hand extended.

'Hello, you must be Bri-yan and you are Lucy?' Lucinda drawls. It is re-yally nice to meet you both. I am Lucinda Johnson. We spoke on de tela-foon.'

From a white shoulder bag the proprietor of Cayman Island Property Intl, produces a bunch of keys.

'It's nice of you to come at such short notice.' Brian says standing behind Lucinda who is scrolling through the numbers on the padlock.

Lucinda says, 'No troo-bal at'al. Truthfully, I am glad to be out of de 'ouse. Tings have been a little slow of late you know so I have only a handful of properties on me books. De owners are an American corpora-shun, you know and dey bought de pleece as an investment and den sadly, dey did nutting to de pleece, which is a sheyam. My grandfather, yer know, he would talk aboot it being de grandest 'otel on the de I-lund.'

Listening to her talk Brian pictures coconuts, white rum, and calypso music.

'De pleece it looks run down but I can assure you de property is structurally sound. It is built entirely from de wood of de Ironwood tree and de beetles dey not trooble it.'

'Thank you,' Lucinda says brushing her hands, allowing Brian to push open the heavy gates backed up with sand. 'De gecko's are its only occupants dees deys, which is good because they dey eat de mosquito's and de flays.'

The wooden veranda that spans the entire length of the back of the building faces the bay. Brian can see him and Lucy on a swing seat watching the sun go down and sipping margaritas. The five wooden steps leading up to the beachside entrance covered in sand feel sturdy enough underfoot. Lucinda unlocks the door that squeals when she pushes it open. 'Needs a little oyal,' she suggests grinning back at Brian.

Running her finger through the accumulation of dust on the reception counter Lucinda says, 'it be only superfeecial you know. De sand and de peeling paint is all dat is wrong with de pleece. You could do it up reeyal nice.'

The reception area feels cool after standing outside in forty degrees. Brian looks about him and goes over to admire the wooden staircase that curves up to a galleried landing.

'De owners are keen to move it on before de gecko's teeks over.' Lucinda says with a chuckle. 'I am cer-tun dey will take an offer on de pleece. I'll wait outside and give you two a chance to look aroond. Take your time and call out if you get lost or have any questions.'

Tapping his knuckles on a stout beam Brian says, 'the fabric of the building seems sound Lucy. Of course we'll have to get a full survey done. We could live on site and do a lot of the manual work and employ contractors to do the tricky stuff. What do you think Lucy?'

'You serious... live here?'

'For a bit.'

'And not go home?'

'I'm in no hurry, are you?'

When Lucy kisses him on the lips her eyes sparkle with excitement.

'Gosh I'd love that.' Lucy says. 'Our very own paradise hotel! How wonderful.' Sounding serious now Lucy says, 'it will be a lot of work though Brian, and it'd take a few months.'

'The Paradise hotel eh?' Brian muses. 'A good name that.'

Lucy is standing in what she imagines at one time was a grand ballroom. Her footsteps on the parquet floor echo round the cavernous space.

'We can do a lot the manual work ourselves,' Brian says thinking out loud, 'we can clean the place, strip the walls, and varnish the woodwork. We'll have everyone chip in with ideas for interior design, I am thinking Colonial style: bamboo wallpaper, cane furniture, polished mahogany, that sort of thing.'

'Sounds like fun.' Lucy says, 'and when its finished we should open it up as a going concern. That way it can pay for its upkeep and may even pay us a wage. We've always said we don't want to simply live on the interest on the money, so, maybe this is the answer?'

Out in the kitchens, not looking too bad, Brian is now worrying that he and Lucy are getting ahead of themselves? It could be the others won't share their enthusiasm.

Brian calls up the others and gets them to meet him and Lucy at the Jolly Capstan. Opening up his tablet, Brian locates the video of the Paradise the name he and Lucy have agreed on. He sits back and watches it get passed around. The ripple of excitement round the table is a huge relief. Lucy has to smile at Brian who is fast catching up with this whole technology thing. Brian grins at her and under the table squeezes her thigh.

'My idea,' Brian explains is to set up a cooperative to do the work. Lucy and I will buy the place and pay for the construction costs. We will each own an equal share in any profits. We all pitch in with the work and if anyone wants to get out, go back to the UK, or whatever, they will leave with our blessing and a fair share of any profits.'

' I know this place Brysie,' Charlie says tapping the image on the tablet. 'Idyllic location I'd say, right on the beach. It'll take a lot of work though to get it fixed up.'

Brian nods, spreads his hands, casts his eyes around the Family. 'So, who's in?'

He doesn't get a show of hands. The family mob him.

Three weeks later having got the keys to the Paradise grinning Brian along with Lucy and Charlie walk out the solicitor's offices. The others gathered at the locked gates cheer when Brian and Charlie in the Jeep with Lucy waving the keys in the air pull up outside their new exciting venture.

Now, armed with brooms, shovels, and buckets of water the Family get to work. The shutters get thrown open, the gecko's go hide and a fresh sea breeze blows through rooms that have been closed up for far too long. Charlie takes over the supervision of the gang of ground workers hired to clear the sand and the weeds, start reinstating the landscaped gardens and exposing the pathways. Lucy produces a C.D player and the building rings with the sound of people singing along to Beatles tracks.

Having given up the rented house in town, they each choose a bedroom. Breakfast is: fresh fruit, freshly delivered bread, and rolls, with cold meats and salad eaten together on the terrace. Lunchtime, midday they take turns cooking on the beach BBQ. 2 – 4 P.M, is siesta time. They then work through till 6:0 P.M, and then rest up before changing into clothes not covered in dust and filler and then drive into town to eat out at one of the restaurants.

He'd been putting off making the telephone call to Sue. Brian was worried the conversation would cast a dark a cloud over his idyllic island paradise. Got to do it though. He thinks it's only fair that he talks her through the divorce settlement that he'd agreed with her solicitor. Given, the fact she had ended their relationship before he won the lottery, legally he didn't have to pay her a penny. She was more than happy with what she was getting. Via his London solicitors Brian had even bought Follys Bottom from her and then had the toxic land cleared making an unexpected profit when it was eventually sold. He punches in the numbers and listens to the burr at the other end. It wasn't Sue who picks up.

'Hello.' Carla says.

'Carla it's Brian. How are you?'

'Hey Brian, I'm good. Oh my God, it's so good to hear your voice.'

Hearing Carla say something nice about him comes as a shock.

'You too, is your Mum about?'

'Not likely, she don't spend much time home, probably out with the knob-head.'

'Dodds?'

'Yeah the creep.'

'He's not living with you is he?' Brian says worried for her safety.

'No, thank God. Dodds moved out right after him and Sean nearly had a fight. He rents a room someplace.' Carla doesn't want to even think about the guy who she found in her room in the dead of night. Scared the life out of her. Seeing as Brian is thousands of miles away she won't worry him with it, besides Sean sorted it.

'Let's not talk about me, tell me about Cayman Islands. Oh my God, I Googled it and it looks amazing. Is it really that nice?'

Hearing her sounding so mature it's as if in the few months he's been gone she has grown five years.

'It's gorgeous. Better than you can imagine.'

'Mum tells me there is a gang of you?'

'Yep, the "A team,"' Brian says proudly. 'We are doing up an old hotel. You should see it Lucy, it's starting to look amazing....' Brian hesitates thinking him going on about how amazing his life is to her must be tough on her. Carla has no job, a boyfriend who is a waste of space, and then she has her Mum and Dodds to deal with. Even though they treated him like he was a bad smell around the house he can't help feeling guilty that he walked out of Carla and Sean's lives. Hey! He reminds himself, Sue threw you out and Dodds took over remember?

'How's Sean?'

'He's good. He's grown up quite a lot. You wouldn't know him Brian, he even has a job and has given up smoking dope.' Carla goes quiet, 'How is Lucy?'

Brian smiles, that's real nice of her to say that. Sounds as if Carla's been doing some growing up too.

'She's good thanks, we both are.'

'Cayman Island sounds lovely Brian. You're so lucky. I'd love to see it. I've never even been on a plane.'

'I know.' Brian says. They both go quiet as if one or both of them want to end this conversation. 'You could come out... for a week or two, I could pay for the flights, get e-tickets over to you, you let me have your email address?' Brian is already thinking she's going to say no thanks.

She laughs out loud, 'hey get you Brian with all this techie talk?'

'Yeah, I blame Lucy.... What d'ya say?'

'What... I come out there? I dunno Brian I'd be worried what Lucy would think?'

'If you knew her you wouldn't even ask that. She'd love to meet you.'

'Really?'

'Really... you want to come, I don't want to twist your arm, just thought it would be nice to catch up. I cant help that I still care for you and Sean.'

'I dunno Brian, I mean, I'd love to, but I've never been on a plane. If I wasn't on my own...' Carla shuts up.

Brian has a thought. 'Well, if you like, you could ask Tyrone to go with you?'

'No way Brian,' Lucy explodes, 'oh my God Tyrone is so yesterday. He and I split up months ago. Oh my God, he is sooo immature. I was wondering if I could ask Sean, only he's been a bit down lately?'

Brian raises his eyebrows.

Shit! He should have thought to invite her brother too. 'Sean can come out as well. Why not?

After hanging up thinking they probably wont come Brian feels sad.

Three days later, Brian is in the airport arrivals hall quite excited about Carla and Sean coming to visit.

'Carla!' He calls out.

Carla hardly recognises Brian looking so tanned and "with it" in his shorts and fillip-flops and his hair almost blonde from the sun. She drops her bag and runs straight into his arms. 'Why the hell am I crying?' She sobs into his shoulder her arms around his neck.

Brian holds her at arms length. It has been four months - Carla seems to have grown... what...five years? Suddenly Sean piles in and the three of them get into a group hug.

'Hello Brian.'

He spins about. Looking sheepish and standing ten feet away he sees Sue.

'Sue?'

'Sorry Brian, I couldn't let my babies fly all this way without me. I'm not going to be a nuisance and I plan to find a hotel room, so I wont get in the way. You look good by the way.'

He didn't need to hear that. He doesn't want her here! What's he supposed to do, tell her to catch the next plane out?

'I need to talk to Lucy.' Brian says taking out his mobile phone.

'Of course you do. I can understand that. She sounds like a nice person Brian.'

Brian walks out of earshot and calls up Lucy leaving sue biting her lip.

'Hya Brian, Sean and Carla get here okay?'

'Yeah they're both here Lucy... but... I got some bad news, Sue is here with them.'

The line goes quiet and then Lucy says, 'that's okay Brian? You and I are solid. You should ask her to stay with us we got plenty of rooms. We could even do up the boathouse if you don't fancy having her around the hotel?'

He hadn't thought of that. Brian could kiss her. 'Lucy, you have to be two people, you are too lovely to be one person.'

Going back to Sue, Brian takes her to one side. ''Lucy says you should stay at the Paradise with the rest of us.'

'Wow, that would be lovely Brian. Lucy sounds like a lovely girl. You are a lucky man.'

'Yeah I know that, but Sue... if you cause me any trouble.'

'Me!' Sue says as if such thing is inconceivable. 'Trust me Brian,' Sue makes some kind of weird heart-crossing motions, 'you wont even know I'm around.'

'Before I agree,' Brian says looking fierce, 'you should know that in two weeks time, Lucy and I are getting married on our beach and I don't want you causing any trouble.' Sue now adopts that irritating little-girl-lost look.

'Moi?' Sue protests.

'Yes you!' Brian says forcefully. 'You cool with that?'

'Of course I am.' Sue says, 'what a lovely idea, truly, I am really happy for you both. Do I get an invite?'

'Don't push it Sue.' Brian says not smiling.

Brian and Lucy getting married don't bother Sue in the least. She never loved Brian, she loved his house of course, and marrying him was only ever about getting her hands on her inheritance. Brian, well... he was convenient. Billy thinks Brian must have had a hand in with what happened over at Follys Bottom. It was Brian's fault, the house burned down, it was Brian's fault, his marriage went off the rails, and he is now homeless, and potless. As long as Brian honours the eye-watering divorce settlement he has agreed to settle on her, he can marry the Pope if he wants. In the meantime Billy... well, the lazy slob can cool his heels for a bit.

Lucy greets Sue and Brian's step-kids on the veranda. Initially, it all felt a bit awkward but by the afternoon, drinking wine on the beach, it all came good.

One week after the beach wedding Brian was painting the hull of his little boat the Lucky Lucy when Sue approaches.

'Brian, can I talk to you for a minute please?'

'What's up?' It's still there, the distrust. Her saying, "please" for a start.

'Believe it or not Brian I am lonely.'

He looks at her like he doesn't believe it. 'With all of us around, how can you be lonely?'

Normally Sue doesn't do embarrassed. 'You know what I mean... lonely!'

Brian's eyes widen when he says, 'I am not going to have a discussion with you about your sex life Sue.'

'That's just it. I don't have one.' Sue says like it's his fault.

'And what am I supposed to do about that hmm. Oh no! Don't even go there Sue, you and I...'

'Hey you stop right there Brian,' Sue interrupts looking horrified, 'I don't want to have sex with you.'

I'm glad to hear it, cos it will never happen Sue.'

'I am in a roundabout way wanting to ask you a big favour.'

Brian can feel himself backing off already. 'Go on.' He says defensively.

'Billy called yesterday, says he's lonely too.'

Brian is thinking, where the hell is this going? 'Yeah I can just imagine.' Brian scoffs. 'With you out here, I imagine he'll be banging anything he can get his hands on. Come on Sue, you know he will.'

'Truthfully Brian, Billy and I, we are not like that now. We are more like a... like a married couple... and I really miss him.'

Brian knows where this is heading and the thought horrifies him. 'What are you saying Sue? You want me to say, yeah, the man that almost killed me can come stay with us?'

'Brian, trust me. Billy bears you no grudge. He learned from the beating you gave him. He is changed, more modest, less angry, humble even.'

'Yeah right Sue.' Brian scoffs.

'It'll be just a holiday Brian, he can stay with me in the boathouse.'

He could shake her. Stupid woman. How's that ever going to work? 'You are joking Sue. Dodds come out here, what stay here with us. The only way that can happen is if he rocks up and finds himself a hotel room.'

'In the boathouse, you wouldn't even know he was there. Come one Brian, where's that old forgiving nature of yours?' Sue sits down on a lobster cage. She blows her nose and then dabs at a tear forming on her eyelid. 'It's alright for you Brian, you have Lucy, and Carla, she has new boyfriend Thomas, and Sean, well he's out all day helping out at the Turtle rescue centre... I need some adult company.'

Stepping off the veranda Lucy can tell something's up. Brian has stopped painting the boat and is looking annoyed at Sue. 'What's up?'

'Sue here,' Brian says pointing, 'is suggesting that we allow Dodds to come out here and stay in the boathouse.'

'It'll only be for two weeks at the most.' Maybe an appeal to another woman will work. 'I promise you Lucy he wont cause you any trouble. He's changed, we all have. I am lonely Lucy, surely you can understand that.'

'Gosh Sue,' Lucy says flicking her ponytail back over hers shoulder and looking caught here. 'This is difficult, Brian and I couldn't off our own bat agree to that. You would have to take it to the group. There will have to be a vote on it. I really don't think they'll agree, but by all means you can give it a try. Just don't build your hopes up.'

'Can you believe that?' Brian says turning to Lucy after Sue had gone back to the boathouse.

'I do feel sorry for her Brian. You've seen her sitting around on her own. It's as if she doesn't know how to mix with us.'

'Yeah but Dodds!'

'We can make it clear to them both that it can only be a holiday,' Lucy suggests thinking on her feet 'and that never steps foot in the Paradise.' Lucy shrugs. 'Two weeks and he'll be gone. Then with any luck Sue will go with him, and that wouldn't be so bad.'

Sue going back'd be something to celebrate. Lucy has a point. Brian thinks.

That night, Sue takes her proposal to the syndicate seated round the table on the veranda. Briefed already there are a lot of grim faces watching her before she gets started. In line with the syndicate rules the vote will be a secret ballot and the decision is binding on everyone.

Brian watching her appeal is thinking either Sue is genuinely upset, or her acting skills have really come on. After making her pitch Sue retires to the boathouse to await the Family's decision. The voting slips allow for just one response, "nay," or "yay."

There is no discussion after the slips are counted. Charlie expresses his disgust by walking off into the night.

Brian suspects Lucy and the other women, like him, had all voted yes.

Just as well Sue didn't jump for joy, when she gets called back to hear the result, it wasn't one of those moments. Sue tells the group thank you and then heads back to the boathouse and makes a phone call to the UK, tells Billy that as long as he behaves, he can come out for a holiday.

The gentle slap of wavelets on the wet sand and their slow retreat back into the ocean almost hypnotizes Brian lazing on a sunbed. He smiles hearing Lucy in the Paradise singing a Beatles tune. Turning over onto his tummy he pushes up on his elbows.

'Don't forget to clean the inside.' Brian calls out to big guy cleaning his car wearing baggy shorts and a frayed straw hat.

The man turns and waves. Soapy water runs down his thick arm, soaks his sweat-stained shirt. Turning his back to Brian, the man's mirror sunglasses hide his vengeful eyes.

Brian frowns when under a cloudless sky a shadow chills his body. Rolling onto his back Brian squints up at the outline of Charlie the anger in his eyes unmistakable. Brian already knows what's on the old guy's mind. He asks anyway.

'What's' up Charlie?' Brian says sitting up. The old guy just won't let it go. Little else consumes him these days.

'What do you think? Dodds has been here six weeks. I wanna know when we plan to throw his arse out.'

Rarely saying more than two words to anyone Dodds carries out the duties allocated him with calculated indifference. He eats alone, doesn't spend time on the beach and he sleeps in the boathouse.

The moment Dodds arrived Charlie started acting weird. He has now isolated himself from the group and people are wondering where he goes, what he's up to.

'Best leave him be,' Brian addresses the concerns of the others, 'Charlie's fussing over the fact we haven't thrown Dodds out. Dodds won't stay much longer and the minute he leaves, Charlie will go back to being his old cheerful self.'

The Family got talking about how Sue was now hanging out with the family again, as if she and Dodds had had a falling out. This was confirmed when she asked if she could take a room in the Paradise, saying she doesn't want to spend time with Billy no more. When Brian and Lucy asked her why, she just said she didn't want to talk about it.

Obsessed with keeping an eye on Dodds, Charlie wearing a camouflage vest, and a calf-holster and a bowie knife, armed with flares, a medic pack, and night-vision binoculars has been hiding out in one of several dugouts round the headland where he has a clear view of the bay, the Paradise and the boathouse. Dodds goes anywhere or does anything Charlie will know.

The Paradise is now ready to start taking in paying guests except no one seems in a hurry to cut any ribbons. The project has engendered a spirit of harmony in the community. Each member of the Family has in different ways moved on, maybe not settled in a permanent, physical sense, but happy just the same. Occasionally there is talk of life back in the UK. No one talks of returning, least of all Brian and Lucy, who have this dread of living in a gated community, patrolled by private security.

Here on Grand Cayman, they have the Family, the Internet - most times! English newspapers, British banks, and even a British copper called Frank. And, now, thanks to all their hard work they have a potentially thriving hotel enterprise. All in all, life is pretty good.

With no one in the Family having any direct experience of working in the hotel trade, the jobs were allocated on who fancied doing what. They had much to learn and there were many mistakes to make. It had been a giggle getting outfitted in the posh uniforms which got unwrapped, tried on and then hung on hangers in a cupboard to be taken out again if, and when, the Paradise ever gets around to taking in paying guests. Charlie was to be the Maintenance Manager, Billy, for now at least, would continue to wash cars and keep the pathways clean. Sue and Carla were to be the Housekeepers, while Lucy was tasked with looking after the hotel finances. Sean, who was mostly working at the Turtle sanctuary, would help out wherever he was needed. Nancy and Millie were to manage the reception desk, deal with group bookings, and the hire of the function rooms, and Sue, was to take charge of corporate functions, should they ever get any. Brian... well, he took over "strategic thinking" which was an activity that took place out in the bay with a fishing pole in the Lucky Lucy. Twice a day, on the dot: 11:00 A.M, and then again at 4:00 P.M, Brian would push the Lucky Lucy out into the shallow waters, fire up the little outboard motor and taking along his fishing pole, his MP3 player, and a flask of iced water, he would steer his tiny craft out into the calm azure waters of the cove to do some serious thinking before he would fall asleep while listening to rock music through his earphones. Brian doesn't approve of hurting fish, so the hook has no bait.

Needless to say the others are not reliant on his fishing skills for food.

Charlie had warned him, 'listen, if you must go out in the bay on your own Brian, for goodness sake vary your times and locations, don't you see you are advertising your movements to the enemy!'

'Okay Charlie.' Brian says, "I'll try and remember.'

'And don't patronise me Brian, I'm being serious.'

Charlie's dire warnings of Dodds malicious intentions hadn't materialised. On the surface it would appear Brian's old nemesis has settled in, albeit, in a lurking, secretive manner. The Family was in no doubt that soon the social isolation would drive Dodds off the Island.

It was Charlie who requested the extraordinary meeting. Without resorting to slamming his fist down on the table he wants the Family to agree Dodds should be asked to go, arguing that his persistent sullen behaviour is casting a black cloud over the hotel.

Charlie was happy when the unanimous vote goes his way. Brian volunteers to tell Dodds he has to leave the Island.

'I'll give him till the end of the week. If need be my friends in the consulate and the police will see he gets off the Island.'

Certainly, it isn't Sue or this shitty, boring life in the dust that was keeping him here. He can't wait to get out of the place, and that will happen only when his lust for revenge has been sated. Brian Fossett has ruined his life, destroyed his reputation, his marriage, his career, and now his sex life. Now, the wimp must pay.

Billy Dodds is slowly going insane. In the dead of night taking with him all his belongings Dodds sneaked out unnoticed by Charlie, who he'd known all along had been watching him. He had a hire car, hidden some way from the Paradise. At the airport he parked up and then caught an early direct flight to Mexico City.

# Chapter twenty-Eight.

When Charlie marches into the boathouse and discovers that Dodds, along with his belongings has gone he turns his anger on himself. How the hell did you allow that to happen soldier, asleep on duty were you? Now go find out where that fucker has gone.

Charlie finds the others at the breakfast table.

'Dodds and his stuff have gone.' Charlie tells the Family, 'I can't believe that I let him slip away godammit!' Charlie then slams his hand down on the table.

'Don't be hard on yourself Charlie,' Brian says. 'The sly bugger must have sneaked out during the night.'

'Good riddance.' Sue says.

Lucy turns to Sue. 'You are glad to see the back of him.'

'I am, I couldn't be happier. I just wished I never asked he could come out, Stupid woman.'

'Most likely he'll be back in the UK by now.' Nancy fancies.

'No.' Charlie says emphatically. 'I checked with the airport. There's not been any flights to the UK.'

'Perhaps he took off for the States.' Millie offers up.

'Just as long as he's gone.' Sue adds edgily.

Must have been something serious happened between them? Brian wonders. I'm not going to ask. Wanting to lighten the mood he says, 'cheer up you guys, Dodds being gone is something to celebrate.'

Charlie's not celebrating. This is no time to lower his guard. Dodds, he's certain, has gone to ground. Must be hiding out somewhere and preparing an attack. Adjusting his leg sheath, and with his binoculars round his neck, his face as grim as death Charlie heads back out to his dugouts. In his books, an enemy you can't see is far more dangerous than the one you can.
Chapter Twenty-nine.

Quite certain that Charlie won't have seen him, a little before sunup Billy Dodds throws an overnight bag in the back of the hire car he'd kept hidden in a secret location and heads off to the airport. His plan relies on no one back at the hotel giving a toss he's gone.

Wearing dark glasses and his trademark straw hat Dodds catches the 6:10 short-haul to Mexico City Airport. Midday sees him clear of Mexico customs.

In the crowded arrivals hall Dodds catches sight of the swarthy looking Mexican wearing dark glasses and carrying a card that reads: "Senor Doddles".

'Senor Doddles?' The Mexican asks the big guy, his face pink despite the fringed straw hat.

'The name is, Dodds. Are you are Carlos?'

'Si Senor, I have a car waiting outside.'

'Take me to this address.' Dodds says handing over a slip of paper.

Carlos raises his eyebrows. 'Santa Rosa! This is no a safe town Senor. I take you somewhere nice. We go find Senorita's with big titties?' Carlos says rolling his hands over his chest.

'Just–take–me–to–that address.' Dodds says irritably swatting at the flies round his face.

The Volkswagen Beetle circa 1970 runs on liquid gas and the bottle rolling around in the boot at the front of the car is scaring Dodds. Forty sweating minutes later he is glad to get out the car. He stretches his back and looks around him. 'Where do I find the Miguella Cantina?' Dodds says waving $50 US under the nose of the driver.

Casting his eyes about Carlos says, 'down there.'

Dodds looks to where he points. 'Down that alley?'

'Si Senor, halfway down, on the right.'

Dodds looks where he is pointing and thinks about getting back in the car, go back to Grand Cayman and come up with another plan, one that doesn't involve him getting mugged in a back alley in Mexico City. Dodds squares and watches the driver kiss his rosary. Pulling his fringed straw hat lower over his face he watches the taxi take off in a cloud of choking of dust.

The three men sitting in the shade of an ancient olive tree and playing dominoes watch the gringo turn and step in a pile of donkey shit.

Watching him scrape the crap off his shoe on the hem of the statue of Saint Maria dominating the town square Dodds is making no friends in this town.

Crossing the market square he steps out the way of tumbleweed in a hurry looking like it's heading out of town. The cracked church bell clangs dully once. He turns to the sound of someone whistling a plaintive tune he'd heard someplace, maybe in a movie. The whistling stops and an eerie silence descends on the square. Over by the pristine white church under a cloudless azure sky stands a man in a coloured woolen poncho. Dodds watches the stranger strike a match on the heel of his boot and then light the cigarillo, hanging out of his thin lips. He doesn't see how he can, but he feels he knows the man, like he's met him someplace.

Anxious he is getting noticed Dodds steps over the mule shit and heads off down General Zogova Street. The street narrows at one end and the buildings either seem about to succumb to the pull of gravity. It seems every doorway leads into a gloomy bar of some sort. The air is thick with flies. On the other side of the narrow cobbled street smoking crack are four men leaning against a beat-up Subaru 4x4. He stays on this side means he has to step over the splayed legs of a guy sitting with his back to the wall. The Mexican, his chin on his chest and his sombrero hiding his face has a knife in one hand. Tied to the bumper of a flatbed Ford parked up at the kerb a back-broken mule brays at his approach. Dodds kick the guy's boots. The Mexican slides onto his left side smearing his brains on the wall. There is a neat blackened hole, dead centre of his eyes.

'Shit!' Dodds says, taking the knife and cutting the mule free. Without looking back he hurries on.

Outside the Cantina Miguel Transsexual hooker Mademoiselle Fifi, smoking a joint watches the sweating gringo hurrying his way.

Dodds eases up when he approaches what imagines has to be a hooker with little idea how to apply face makeup. He/she stands awkwardly on her five-inch heels. The blonde wig is ridiculous. It costs Dodds fifty bucks to get Fifi to fuck off.

Dodds pushes open the slatted swing doors and tentatively steps inside a bar so dark it takes his eyes a minute to make out the half dozen round tables with candles, half-burned down in empty tequila bottles. At least the inside feels cool. Straightaway he is annoyed at the squeaking fan wobbling on its axis. Over to his right is a bar, ten feet long, the front old wagon wheels. Behind the bar, on shelves is a collection of bottles, all tequila, seems you don't like tequila...tough. 'Hey anyone home?' He yells into the shadows.

'Wadda you want gringo?'

'Fuck!' Dodds gasps when the Mexican behind the bar seems to bleed out of the shadows.

The Mexican spits on a glass and wipes the inside with the dirty kerchief he pulls out his waistband.

'Jeez, you scared the shit out of me.' Dodds says feeling his heart racing.

'You meester Doddles, eh?'

'Yeah.' Dodds can't be bothered to correct him. At least the message he sent ahead got through, he's thinking, so far so good. 'I am supposed to meet two guys here... dos hombres.' Dodds says holding up two fingers

'Uh huh.' The barman mutters and then spits in another glass. Holding this up to the light from a bulb hanging on a length of frayed flex the barkeep now says, 'you got a name... for these, dos hombres?'

'Er, a senor Burro, and a senor, Taco.' Dodds says.

The barman almost chokes laughing.

Just about managing to stop from throttling the guy Dodds yells, 'hey, fuck-nuts, I'm running out of patience with you, you know these guys?'

The Mexican is grinning, exposing a row of gold teeth when he says ' 'Senor's Taco and Burro, they are old friends. You want I should get them eh?'

'You think I like being in this shithole?'

'Okay,' says the barman bringing out a bottle from under the bar, one he reserves for strangers, the cops, the Mayor, 'sit down I bring you a bottle of my best tequila.'

'You got a beer?'

'No, I got tequila.'

Dodds shrugs, looks about him, and pulls out a chair, sits so he can see the doorway and the bar. The barkeep comes over, slams down a half-empty bottle, and one glass, heavily stained.

'I go now, you wait here eh?'

He doesn't go out the front door. The barman goes out a back way, behind the bar.

Turns out he Tequila is tourist shit. If he weren't so nervous he wouldn't touch the stuff. Dodds is sweating like a pig and waving his straw hat at the flies going in and out the door back of the room with a crudely painted toilet bowl on it. Half hour watching the candle wax pooling on the grimy wooden table and Dodds has had enough. Before he gets up off his chair, two men appear from some place behind the bar.

The taller of the two men goes straight over to the doorway and stands guard.

Beneath his sweat-stained shirt Dodds can feel the handle of the knife he took off the dead guy.

The shorter of the two Mexican's with a Charles Bronson moustache comes over. Dodds expected to hear the ching of spurs. The guy pulls out a chair the other side of his table, turns it about, and sits astride it. Now, the barkeep arrives, puts down a second bottle, different label this one, and two glasses, and then goes back behind the bar.

'You Taco, or are you Burro?' Says Dodds casting a look over to the guy looking out at the street.

'I guess I must be Senor Taco,' the Charles Bronson lookalike says, 'my nervous friend at the door, the one with the scar on his face is Senor Burro.'

Dodds is thinking they'd show him a bit more respect if they knew they were dealing with the one-time, South London Heavy weight Boxing Champ.

'You got my package?' Dodds says flatly.

'I got your message Senor Doodles.' Taco says and then glugs down a quarter of the upturned bottle. He then wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

'You have the bomb?' Dodds say lowering his voice, leaning forwards.

'Take a drink hombre,' Taco says offering him his bottle, 'this is not something that we should rush. Your message, regarding the bomba, did not specify what kinda bomba you are looking to buy.'

'What's this bullshit,' Dodds hisses, 'a bomba... I mean a bomb! Is a bomb right?'

'What you did not specify, in your message Senor Doodles, was whether you wanted an eempacta bomba, or timer controlled bomba.'

Dodds sees the seated Mexican exchange a look with the one over by the door. 'Hey, you two,' Dodds shouts out suspecting he has walked into a sting, 'I wouldn't try nothing funny okay? I am a boxing champion.'

Taco, eyes the Gringo up and down, checks out the gringo's gut overhanging his belt, says to his compadre, 'hey, Senor Burro, gringo here thinks that you and I should be careful eh?'

'He's the one wants a bomba.' The guy at the door says with a shrug of his shoulders.

'Do I get the bomb, or do I walk?' Dodds says having had enough of this crap.

Dodds watches Taco twirl the silver skull and crossbones ring on his right index finger. Now, Taco gets up off his chair and without another word turns and walks into the shadows behind the bar.

When Taco comes back, he has in each hand two almost identical parcels, brown paper wrapped. Sitting back down, very carefully he places both packages on the table in front of the gringo who stares at them and then leans back in his chair.

'You ask for a bomba... I have here two. Each of these is very dangerous. I ask you a simple question: you want an eempacta bomba, or would a timer bomba?'

'Jeez, how the fuck'm I supposed to know that?' Dodds says swatting at flies now, wiping the sweat running in his eyes.

'Gringo, perhaps let us look at your seetuation. Ees it a politician that you want to keel,' Taco spits on the floor, 'or do you wish to take out a 'usband, or maybe even a loover eh?'

'Not a politician.' Dodds say shaking his head. Last thing he needs is to be hunted down as a terrorist.

'Then,' Taco says glancing over at Burro who is not taking his eyes off the street, 'you wish to keel a lover?'

'Yeah.' It makes no difference. Fossett is a parasitic worm. They wouldn't understand. Dodds says. 'Can it be arranged, I mean with either of these bombs that I can watch it happen?'

Taco's eyes widen... the guy at the door looks round. There is a glint of something close to madness in the gringo's eyes.

Picking up one of the packages, Taco says, thees bomba has timer device. Mostly it is useful if you want to be somewhere else, somewhere safe when it goes off.' The gringo is shaking his head. Taco puts this parcel down and picks up the other one.

Dodds watches the Mexican heft this package in his hand.

'Thees one is an eempact bomba. See thees leetle key, you turn that and the bomba it ees armed yeah? Now, very important amigo you see thees leetle red button poking out the end? If you touch that... 'BOOM!' Taco yells causing Dodds to almost topple off his chair.

Dodds thinks he might have had a heart attack, the way he jumped.

'I'll take that one.' Dodds says straightening up his chair and tugging on his frayed straw hat.

'The eempacta bomba gringo, eet ees very dangerous.'

'I know it is, it's supposed to be, fuck-nuts.'

Taking great care the Mexican places the bomb in an empty shoebox and then lays it in the bottom of a carrier bag for life. Taco counts the $1000 and then hands Billy a folded slip of paper.

'Thees are the instructions. They are very seemple, even a gringo can understand them.'

Picking up the bag containing the package and sweating profusely, Dodds says 'I can go now?'

Taco shrugs, 'of course, be careful now.'

Outside Dodds looks both ways, the crack-smoking dudes have gone, the mule has gone, only the stiff hasn't moved. Hurrying into the Saint Maria Square Dodds sighs when he sees a cab waiting. "For Hire" the sign on its roof says.

'Aero Porto, por favor.' He barks slamming the car door behind him.

'Si, Senor.'

The taxi pulls away, now waving his hat in front of his face Dodds turns to look out the back window. No one is tailing him.

Back in the Miguella Cantina two braying Mexicans clink glasses.

'A toast to you Senor Taco, you miserable piece of tortilla.'

'And a toast to you Senor Burro, you stinking mule.'

'Let us hope the gringo doesn't blow himself up eh?' Burro laughs.

The lone Customs officer reading his newspaper at Grand Cayman airport doesn't notice the sweating man wearing a tatty straw-hat hurry through the customs hall. Out in bright sunlight Dodds says under his breath, Brian Fossett, you fucking useless worm, your days are numbered.

# thirty.

Convinced that Dodds must be keeping his powder dry and hiding out nearby Charlie doesn't share the Family's sense of relief over Dodds sudden disappearance.

While the rest of the Family gets on with their lives, chatting, laughing, and singing, Charlie is in one of his dugouts scanning the cove and the headlands through his night-vizz bins. He has a problem. Just recently Brian has taken to sailing round the headland into the next cove where he likes to hand feed the Green Sea Turtles. Charlie had warned him he couldn't be watching both coves at the same time. Brian wont be told.

'Charlie, give it a rest will you.' Brian says exasperated, 'Even if Dodds was still hanging around, and even if he did intend me harm, he couldn't get to me out in the bay. Sorry Charlie, I am not going to stop doing what I want to do.'

Grand Cayman for Charlie heralded a new start to his life. After The Falklands war with an Argie machine gun bullet sitting right up against his brain he was medically discharged from the Marines. "It is un-operable," he was told by the medics who signed his discharge papers. They said he should get on with is life because there was no telling when the bullet would move, and that would be the end. When that Argie machine gunner took him down on Goose Green with seven hits, he should have died right there and then. Years later, on that park bench, the Argentine gunner nearly got his way when after days of excruciating pain, he almost died. Brian finding him at deaths door and getting him into hospital had saved him. At the time Charlie wouldn't have thanked him for getting that ambulance to him, death would have been a blessed relief. The pain was getting too much and after Helen, his wife of twenty-seven years, died he'd given up on life. He took to sleeping rough in the hope that this would end his miserable existence sooner.

Him coming over to Cayman Island was like a new beginning. Sure, he'd lost a few years, gained a few pounds. The gym that he and Brian fixed up in one of the garages that he uses every single day helps to get him trim again, and sometimes he and Brian like to workout together.

The others didn't understand why he would want to work that hard just to get fit again but then they hadn't lost the years he had. Only Brian, who was sworn to secrecy, knew that he had once been a Royal Marine in the SBS¬, the Special Boat Services, an elite body of men that only the fittest, the toughest was allowed to join. There is only one way to train and that is to push your body to the limit of its endurance and that was how he survived the toughest training in the world. The proudest moment of his life was when he was the only candidate selected to join the SBS out of the twenty fit young men who might have died on the Brecon moors in the coldest winter in living memory.

Although he was justifiably proud of the many covert missions he'd been engaged in he never spoke of those experiences.

Whilst he is nowhere near as fit as he wants he is getting there.

Island folk would stare at and comment on the crazy old guy with the silver hair who in this heat would run thirty miles a day. Local fishermen, way out in the ocean, have learned to keep a wary eye out for the lone swimmer.

When he checks his appearance in the mirror Charlie can see the flabby gut and the loose skin has all but gone. There is now definition to his muscles.

Chewing on dried mango Charlie pulls the peak of his cap down and ignores the flies. Even his cramped squat cannot distract him from the task.

'I know you Dodds,' Charlie growls quietly to himself. 'I saw that look in your eyes. I might be getting old but I aint farting dust yet! You'll be back, and when you do, I'll be ready.' Catnapping when he needs to Charlie routinely checks the nearby bays, the outbuildings, the hotel building, and his night traps.

He is watching the Paradise, sees Lucy on the veranda hand Brian a bottle of iced water. Nearby, Millie and Nancy are chatting on a swing-seat. There is a movement at the edge of his vision.

He swings the binoculars about and focuses in on the doorway this time. He can see Sue pointing. She seems to be having another barney with Carla who is out of sight inside the building. Charlie checks his watch: 4:06.P.M, he growls when he sees Brian has completely disregarded his warnings and is about to set off down the beach heading for the Lucky Lucy. Routines are dangerous Brian. He'd told him, I don't want to nanny you, but you must be careful.

Charlie knows how this will play out: Brian and Lucy will kiss on the veranda– Brian will step out into the sunshine, fully expose himself to a sniper attack, and then he will haul his little boat down to the water's edge–Lucy will wave from the shade of the porch and watch him steer the Lucky Lucy out across the bay. He will then and go round the headland and drop anchor in Turtle Bay. Charlie swings his binoculars about and stares into the shadows of the palm trees that fringe the cove. 'Too much cover,' he growls.

BRIAN:

'Catch you later guys.' Brian calls out to the kitchen where the others are preparing tonight's meal. At precisely 4:09.P.M, Brian drags the small boat down to the waters edge. He checks the petrol level in the small outboard motor. This afternoon, like every other afternoon Brian plans to pootle out into the bay and then swings around the headland and drop anchor in Turtle bay where the protected Green Sea Turtles would get hand-fed at this time of day.

He hears Lucy call out. He looks back to the house.

'Brian wait.'

Lucy is running down the beach towards him. He begins walking towards her. She reaches him and breathless throws her arms around his neck.

'Lucy! What's the matter?' Of late Lucy has been a little edgy, clingy even. He thinks this might be due to the change in her hormones.

'Be careful Brian, you are precious to me.' Lucy says and then kisses him on the lips.

Gently, Brian pulls her into an embrace.

'Do you want me to stay home? I don't have to go out to the office today,'

'No. It relaxes you, gives you a break from us women. You go. I just wanted a kiss is all.' Lucy wishes she had the courage to be weak, and insist that he stays home. The ache in her gut, nothing to do with her condition feels like a warning. Lucy is possessed with an awful premonition that something bad is about to happen to her new husband, the father of their unborn child. She keeps those thoughts to herself. She doesn't want to sound feeble, pathetic even.

He kisses her on the forehead. 'I wont stay out long. I promise. I love you.' He places his hand on the tiny bump in her tummy.

She smiles. 'I'm only four months Brian, you won't feel any movement yet.'

For some reason he is feeling antsy. Watching her turn and walk away heading for the veranda he has a word with himself. There's nothing to get all het up about. I bet all expectant parents go through this.

He calls after her, 'be careful Lucy, don't go lifting things!'

Brian couldn't say how or why but something in that brief exchange he found troubling. He waits until Lucy reaches the shade of the veranda and returns her wave.

LUCY:

Lucy stands under the shade of the veranda. Against the vastness of the ocean the Lucky Lucy looks tiny, vulnerable even. I shouldn't have let him go, I should have insisted he stay home.

Biting her lip she unconsciously twirls her new wedding ring. Their wedding took place two weeks ago on this very beach, just ten days after Brian's divorce was finalised. The Paradise, the venue for the wedding breakfast had looked amazing. With many of the islanders present to a reggae band they danced till daybreak.

Lucy smiles recalling how she had taken Brian aside to give him the news she was to have his baby. Brian had cried, not wept, he just lost it a bit.

She can tell how happy he is here and she likes to encourage him to do the things that he loves, sometimes these are small things, like taking that little boat out to the next bay where he would hand feed the Green turtles. Getting him out of the house, away from all these women was good for him.

There is not a wisp of a cloud in the blue sky that falls seamlessly to the sea. The monsoon season is months away and she's heard no mention on the news of a hurricane, so why am I so worried? She looks back at the house, at the others chatting. She hears Mille teasing Nancy, hears that funny braying laugh of hers. She looks out to sea. The cawing gulls swirling on the thermals tell her all is as it should be.

Down at the waters edge there is hardly a ripple and the bay is as still as a millpond. A sudden breeze rattles the leaves on the Banana palms.

On the swing chair Millie and Nancy budge up to allow Lucy to join them.

'You okay honey?' That was Millie.

'Guess so.'

'Bit flat after the excitement of the wedding maybe?' Nancy says patting Lucy's thigh.

'Most likely hormones.' Lucy laughs wryly.

BRIAN:

Old Man Rock is straight ahead. Soon he will steer the lucky Lucy off to the left of that ancient remnant of volcanic activity. The gulls swirling overhead look down on the man in the tiny boat. Turning in his seat whilst holding a steady course Brian looks back at the Paradise. On the veranda one hand shielding the sun from her eyes and looking out into the bay he can just about make out Lucy. She waves at him. Something like a fist grips his heart. His instincts tell him to go back to her but if he does that he doesn't know that tomorrow, the day after, he will be able to go back out in his little boat and feed the turtles. Perhaps, after the baby is born? Except that will be the hurricane season and the turtles will be gone, headed off in search of food. He decides he won't stay out long today. He'll feed the turtles; get a little peace and quiet and then head back to the Paradise. He waves back but he doesn't think that she'd seen it. He has his back to the bay when Brian steers a course that will take him well wide of Old Man Rock.

BILLY DODDS:

This time of day the far side of Old Man Rock is in shadow and the water is cold. Dodds has been in the water an hour and his limbs are tired of having to tread water. Trying to keep a grip of the barnacle-encrusted surface in the swell of the Ocean has left his fingers cut and bleeding. He looks down at the droplets of blood floating on the water diluting and spreading out. He's heard that sharks five miles away can smell blood. Dodds is now looking out to sea for dorsal fins. The putt-putt of Fossett's little boat reminds him there's no time to be worrying about such things. Low in the water he watches it skim by.

If all goes to plan Fossett will steer the Lucky Lucy around the headland. In Turtle Cove he will drop anchor and then lie back in his boat and then fall asleep. Dodds is thinking if he can climb a little higher he'll get a grandstand view of the conclusion to his deadly plan.

Right on cue, in the exact spot Dodds wanted him to Fossett drops anchor. Perfect. Now being ultra-cautious Dodds finds in the bottom of his waterproof backpack the remote controlled model boat. Earlier that morning in a hotel bath, with the bomb now taped to its deck he had tested the boat to make sure it would remain afloat. From the bottom of the backpack he retrieves the remote controller that he'd thought to attach a loop of cord to. He slips the cord over his head and turns the unit on. To steady his nerves Dodds takes a deep breath. This the tricky bit. Holding the boat at arms length he flicks a switch. The red pulsing light tells him the bomb is armed. The red button protruding beyond the bow is the detonator: "touch that, and you are dead amigo!" Senor Taco had warned him. Dodds places the boat down in the gentle swell and points it in the general direction of the Lucky Lucy. Dodds imagines at 200 metres he's out of harms way. Taking the remote in both hands and treading water he sends the little boat on its way. It takes a bit of getting used to, steering the little craft. Dodds sighs when the boat heads off on its deadly mission. Dodds now worries about Charlie. He'd better stay hidden. That old bastard could really screw up his plans

His fingers find a crack in the rock face. Now his toes get a grip. He feels the sting of salt water in the cuts. Looking down he can see his blood mingling with the seawater. He remembers the sharks and then hauls himself out the water. Not comfortable by any means he finds a ledge to perch on. At least he is out the water and both hands are free to work the remote.

Other than the gentle slop of the ocean smacking the rock there is total silence. Peering out from under the tatty brim of his old straw hat Dodds watches the steady progress of the model boat packed with C4 explosives.

BRIAN:

In Turtle Bay out of sight of the Paradise, 200 metres from Old Man Rock a swarm of iridescent fish inspect the anchor.

Above the slipslop of wavelets pattering on the hull Brian can hear the plaintive cries of seagulls swirling high in the stunning blue sky.

Brian takes out his fishing pole and drops the un-baited hook into the clear water. He looks over the side and watches the hook spin lazily down. Several small inquisitive fish check it out and then head off elsewhere.

Odd, no sign of the Green Turtles! Where can they be? Never known them not greet me!

Thinking they'll show in a bit, Brian adjusts the cushion in the stern, tugs off his tee shirt, and then lathers his skin with sun cream. Taking out his MP3 player he finds his Bon Jovi tracks, plugs the headphone buds into his ears, lies back, and with a sigh closes his eyes. I will give this an hour and then head home for tea.

Lucy:

Why am I feeling like this? Lucy is unable to remove her eyes from the spot where she'd last seen the man she loves. Fearful of something intangible Lucy is biting her lip. She tells herself she is being irrational, most likely hormonal? She'd heard how women, during pregnancy are able to access primeval instincts, survival resources that can make them almost prescient. Is that what this is? Am I sensing something about happen? She is thinking she needs to do something... but what? Rooted to the spot in the shade of the veranda Lucy aches to see Brian and his little boat come into view.

'You are being really silly!' She berates herself.

BRIAN:

Unusually, for Brian, the rock music blasting through his headphones isn't holding his attention. His mind won't keep from worrying about Lucy. He is thinking about how happy they are and how amazing their beach wedding had been. The icing on the cake was when Lucy told him he was going to be a Dad. That had felt like every Christmas ever, had arrived at once. Life is so blissful he sometimes wonders if he has died and gone to heaven. His mind starts going over the list of baby names they are considering. This leads on to him thinking about how well Charlie and the two life-toughened street girls have settled here. Even Sue and her two kids seem happy. Now that Dodds, thank God, has left, the Paradise is back to being blissful. Bon Jovi has stopped singing. Without sitting up he turns off his MP3 player, settles his head back on the cushion and sighs. This is heaven.

Right now, he couldn't be closer.

The warming rays of the sun, the gentle bob of his little boat, and the slapping of the waves on the hull hypnotize his senses. In no time at all Brian is fast asleep.

The scene is set:

Crouched in one of his dugouts Charlie is scanning the bay through his binoculars. He is worried. On the veranda aching to see the little boat come around the headland Lucy is on the edge of the swing seat. Sue, having noted Lucy's odd behaviour nods at Millie and Nancy. They nod in reply.

Passing the headland, too tiny to be seen from the Paradise, the model boat carrying the bomb is closing in on the Lucky Lucy. Like a beached crab Dodds is clinging to the rock face. He grins thinking that nothing can now prevent the tragedy about to take place.

Not everything however, is set in stone. Questionable, is the veracity of the

Bomb Dodds had purchased from the Mexicans. It is entirely conceivable Senor Burro and Senor Taco has sold him a mud brick!

CHARLIE:

Charlie is not happy about Brian being out of sight in the next cove along. Better jump in the Jeep and drive up to the headland.

From the drivers seat of the Jeep parked up on the headland Charlie has a perfect view of the Lucky Lucy sitting in a sea as still as a millpond.

What was that? On the periphery of his vision a movement catches his eye. He swings the binoculars back, focuses on Old Man Rock. That is when he sees Dodds clinging to its rocky surface. What the fuck is he doing? He seems to be watching Brian. Charlie's lips form a scowl. He'd been expecting Dodds to try something, possibly a sniper attack, but he doesn't appear to be armed, what's that he has in his hand? Looks like some kind of remote control device!

He swings the binoculars over to where Dodds is fixated. He can't believe he missed it? Tracking through the placid water, bucking the occasional wave is a small model boat that is headed straight for the Lucky Lucy. It looks a little odd, weighed down by some kind of package. The blinking red light focuses his mind. In the SBS, he has used such devices. Focusing his binoculars on Brian, Charlie can see that he has his earphones plugged in. Most likely he's asleep. No point in yelling out a warning. With no boat to hand, he is going to have to swim out there. His brain now calculates the distance, and then the speed of the little craft.

The Jeep bucks and wheel-spins all the way down to the bay. Leaping out the 4X4 Charlie races down to the shore, tearing off his tee shirt and throwing aside his leg sheath and knife as he runs. He hopes that over the years he hasn't forgotten how to triangulate gunnery positions. As he runs full-pelt across the hot sand that same skill now calculates the distance and the trajectory that he needs to follow if he has any hope of intercepting that bomb.

LUCY:

Pacing the veranda Lucy can't relax watching Jock acting weird, barking at the sea, up to his tummy in the water when he hates getting wet. She shakes her head when Sue offers her a glass of fresh orange juice. 'No thanks Sue.'

'You okay honey? Sue enquires now genuinely concerned.

Moving quickly now, Lucy goes across to the radio and switches it off. The others watch her move to the edge of the veranda. Jock's barking has stopped he is now staring out at Old Man Rock and growling.

Over on Lucy's right there is a blur of movement. She catches her breath when she sees Charlie running full stride across the hot sand. Without breaking stride he pulls off his binoculars and then his shirt, throws them aside and then plunges head first into the sea.

Lucy is now running down to the waters edge.

Out in the bay cutting a diagonal course his arms working like pistons Lucy can see Charlie ploughing through the water. Lucy finds her voice. 'Charlie! What's happened?' He wouldn't have heard.

Sue, and Millie, followed by Nancy, catches up with Lucy who is now ankle deep in the water and staring up at the sky. The others look up.

'What are you staring at? Lucy, you are scaring me now.' Sue says looking up at the sky.

Lucy points up. 'It's the gulls' she says fear evident in her voice. 'They have gone. Something must have spooked them.'

They see what she means. At this time of day the Family would be preparing the food for tonight's meal and the sky would be full of them looking for scraps all the while swirling and cawing. Now, not a single gull is to be seen.

Taking them by surprise Lucy is off and ploughing deeper into the water all the while crying out, 'Brian.... Brian.'

Carla is the first to react. She catches up with Lucy takes hold of her arm. The others wade in. Now they stand waist deep in the lapping waves. Lucy can feel her heart hammering against her ribs. Her mouth is dry when she cries out, 'Charlie... where's Brian?'

Now, Nancy spots Charlie swimming past Old Man Rock. She points him out, yells, 'hey look! There's Charlie.'

Sue now has her arms around Lucy's waist holding her back. She says, 'what's he doing?'

Every cell in Lucy's body is telling her that something bad is about to happen and all she can think of is this has to be connected to Brian, who is out there, alone in that tiny boat. Lucy screams louder, 'Brian... Brian!'

It takes two of the women to prevent her walking out of her depth.

BRIAN:

An annoying flying insect, probably attracted to the scent of his suntan cream is buzzing about his face. Without opening his eyes he swats at it.

BILLY DODDS:

On the craggy face of Old Man Rock Dodds is trying to improve his foothold. If he can only get a little higher this'll give him a better view of the approaching event. Unfortunately one of the rubber beach shoes that he sensibly chose to wear snags and then slips off his foot and then tumbles down into the water.

'Shit!' He says. He now has to put all his weight on the foot with the remaining shoe. This proves disastrous when loses his balance. ''Whoah!' he cries and throws himself at the rock face. 'Fuck!' Dodds curses when the cord around his neck tied to the remote control snags on a jagged bit of rock and breaks. He watches the device tumble down the rock and land with a soft splash in the sea where it slowly spirals out of sight. 'Fuck!' he curses again. Managing to clamber a little higher he looks out across the bay. He grins. He won't need the remote. His bomb is dead on target. 'Shit!' Dodds curses. He sees Charlie out there in the bay swimming furiously and headed for the model boat. Dodds relaxes a little. You old fool, you haven't a hope in hell of reaching it in time. He smiles, 'keep going you old fucker, and I might just kill myself two birds with the same bomb.'

Most likely it was this premature celebrating that caused Dodds to lose his concentration and then his footing. 'Whoah!' He cries out and tumbles painfully down Old Man Rock. The big man hits the water with a splash and resurfaces choking on seawater. He figures that the stinging pain on his shin has to be another bloody injury. The water around him is fast turning red. Panicking now, thinking about those sharks out there that may already be closing in for the kill, in three strokes he has a handhold on the rock. Before he hauls himself out the water he reaches out and snatches up his straw hat.

Feeling a little safer out the water he examines the cut on his right shin. It will need stiches he reckons. This is all Fossett's doing, that motherfucker! I got to watch that piece of shit get his comeuppance.

Dodds looks to the summit and then back down at the water now dark red. He gasps when dark shadows emerge from the deep to transform into a pair of Tiger sharks. He watches their shiny grey dorsal fins slice through the water as they circle the rock. 'Fuck!' There's two more now, no... four more!

I'm in trouble now. These guys will hang around a while and I still have to swim back to the beach. Except... he is thinking, they'll have plenty to gorge on when the bomb blows Fossett to pieces. That'll be my chance to make a run for it. He is thinking, how ironic. Killing Fossett is actually going to save my life. He grins. Dodds likes that kind of Karma. Even more urgent now is the need to watch the Lucky Lucy getting blown to smithereens. Got to be careful though, better keep your head down. There's no telling how big the blast will be and getting your own head blown off isn't part of the plan!

Dodds hugs the rock and waits for the bang.

CHARLIE:

Gasping for air, his arms ploughing relentlessly through the water and looking up every five strokes to check he hasn't swam off course Charlie knows the prospects of rescuing his friend are diminishing by the second. Charlie's arms and legs are now hurting but he doesn't slow. He lifts his head out the water. He shakes off a rising swell of defeat when he sees that the bomb seems to be winning the race. Even in this gentle ocean swell Charlie is finding it hard to keep track of the tiny craft. The pains in his arms and legs are nothing to the ones he is getting in his chest. He daren't think about having a heart attack. His legs are low in the water, his arms are slowing, and he can't do a thing about it. If he gets leg cramps now, he is done for. He stops to get his breath and treads water for a second or two. There it is... twenty yards away. He can't see Brian. He figures he must be in the bottom of the boat, most likely asleep. He yells, 'Brian... Brian.' He gets no reaction. Treading water wasting time and the bomb is closing in, fifteen yards off its target now. Charlie, is cursing his aching limbs, and his failing eyesight. 'Get going you old fucker.'

Charlie'd seen Dodds clinging to Old Man Rock but that wasn't a priority right now. He gets out of this alive he'll settle that score, permanently.

BRIAN:

Lying in the bottom of the Lucky Lucy Brian is in a deep sleep. The batteries in his MP3 player are dead. Despite having his earphone buds plugged in he wakes to what sounds like a flying insect. His eyes remain closed when he thinks, Odd, that irritating noise is getting louder!

CHARLIE:

The gleaming white hull of the model boat with its deadly cargo cutting through the calm waters is in no particular hurry. The heavy package taped to its deck slows but cannot check the lethal inevitability of its mission.

His lungs are fit to burst, and his limbs are burning with pain when Charlie pauses to check where the bomb is. When he sees the bomb is now just feet from the Lucky Lucy from some hidden reservoir of energy and summoning up a burst of adrenalin he strikes out again. He can feel the muscles in his arms and legs about to cramp up. If that happens, it's game over for him, and for Brian. He is now low in the water and fighting for air. He looks about him and can't see the model boat. He starts to panic. It's here, it has to be, I saw it seconds ago. Like a leaking ship Charlie is now taking in seawater. He is gagging, choking. A searing pain in his head is blinding him. He is no longer swimming. He is drowning.

Charlie is hallucinating. His ears are about to burst and his feet are useless treading water. His arms so weak he can hardly move them. He is so tired all he wants to do is give up and allow the ocean to take him. Like a fish gasping for air only his mouth is above the water. He is weighted down, drowning. Tears, unbidden, mix with saltwater. This is the taste of bitter failure.

His mind scoffs at his stupidity, all that dumb training... for what? Just so's you can swim out and here and drown! What was he thinking, racing round the Island, and hauling rocks around? Stupid old fool. That fit young soldier, the one who earned those bravery commendations in the Special Boat Services, that warrior seems set to become another dead hero.

'Get up... get up and fight you old git!' A voice in his head demands. 'You got to get home to Helen. Keep your head down Parker, zigzag, look about you, do it for those men who never made it back home.'

He silences the voices in his head so's he can concentrate on a buzzing noise close by. Turning his head his eyes widen. Before he can take a lungful of air and only just in time he sinks beneath the water and feels the tiny twin propellers of the model boat part his hair. Lungs fit to burst he resurfaces in time to see the model boat is now within inches of the hull of the Lucky Lucy. He takes a risk, lunges forwards, and snatches up the model boat that rested in the palm of his hand feels bigger, heavier than he imagined. Like some captured wild animal the model boat, its propellers now out of the water whirr furiously in Charlie's hand.

Treading water Charlie can take a breath. He weighs up his options, looks over at Old Man Rock. Reminded of the blue whale hunter Captain Ahab on the Sequad Charlie's eyes blaze at the sight of Dodds standing upright on the summit.

LUCY:

One hand clasping her tummy Lucy is looking out into the bay. She cries out, 'something bad has happened to Brian. I know it!'

'Look at me... look at me.' Nancy says taking hold of Lucy's hands. 'He's fine Lucy, it's just you know, hormones and stuff, and...' She didn't get to finish the statement.

The explosion out in the bay bowls them over in the water like skittles. Choking on seawater and struggling to remain upright the Family stare in disbelief at the column of water and debris falling out the sky. Now a wave of tsunami proportions bowls then over. Lucy is the first to regain her footing. Waist-deep in the water she can't believe Old Man rock had gone! Fearing this has to be connected to what she had been feeling, fearing, she cries out, 'Brian!'

Sue and Millie reach her side. Nancy appeals to her, 'Lucy, think of the baby, let's go back to the house.'

Crying uncontrollably Lucy sags in the arms of Millie.

Those of a more delicate disposition might wish to avert their eyes whilst reading how in that sleepy hollow an event of grisly proportions occurred.

BILLY DODDS:

Keeping his head low so it doesn't get blown off and clinging to the treacherous rock face Billy Dodds; ex-pro boxer-one-time contender for the British Light heavyweight title can't understand why the bomb hasn't gone off! Last time he looked, it was bang on course and no more than a dozen feet from its target. The only conceivable explanation he can think of is the bomb must have missed its target by a whisker. It couldn't be that Fossett had moved the boat, no; he'd have heard the outboard motor. Most likely, it's now heading out to sea and might even take out one of those Cruise liners. Wanting to see what's happened he climbs a little higher. He pauses to look back down at the encircling sharks. Now, he studies the nooks and crannies looking for somewhere to place his foot. He stops and cocks one ear. What is that familiar buzzing noise?

He makes it safely to the summit. Standing tall with his fringed straw hat flapping in a breeze Dodds no longer cares if Charlie or anyone else sees him. Out in the bay, sitting pretty as a picture he can see the Lucky Lucy and the sleeping form of Brian in the bottom of the boat.

That annoying buzzing is getting louder. His eyes widen when he makes the connection.

Frantic now, his eyes scan the water in search of the model boat. His body chills when he spots the red pulsing light and the protruding detonator of the bomb just feet away. The encircling sharks now number twenty. He lifts his eyes, thinking this can't be happening when out there in the bay he sees Charlie swimming for the shore. He faces Hobson's choice, he could dive into the sea and get eaten alive by the sharks, or he can shake his fist at the heavens. He does the latter.

BRIAN:

When the boat bumps into this ancient landmark the remnants of Old Man Rock shoot skyward. Simultaneously the Lucky Lucy is lifted bodily out of the water. Now being showered by seawater, debris, stunned fish, and dead crabs Brian uses his cushion to shield his head. The Lucky Lucy almost capsizes when it lands with a jolt on the water. Brian fires up the motor and leaning on the tiller he spins the little boat around in an arc. Thinking he has to get back to Lucy, sitting atop a six-foot high wave he steers the craft around the headland and heads straight for the shallows where Lucy and the others are waving frantically. Jock is running around in circles barking. He doesn't even notice Old Man Rock has gone.

Now, waist-deep in the water Lucy is calling Brian's name. After killing the engine, Brian leaps from the boat and in the swollen tide he takes Lucy in his arms and holds her while she sobs into his neck.

The Family step out of the foam. The hot sand underfoot feels reassuring.

Ten feet from the veranda Brian looks back. 'What the hell happened to Old Man Rock?' Now, he sees Charlie, looking unwell and struggling up the beach. Leaving the women to help Lucy he hurries over to Charlie. 'Jeez, Charlie, are you okay?' Brian helps his old pal sit down on the sand. 'You been swimming out there,' He points to the bay, 'where that a massive explosion just happened, and look, Old Man Rock has gone.'

Charlie's chest is heaving. Every cell in his body hurts. Brian is staring into his face. 'What?' He says.

Brian eyes narrow. He sees that glint in his eyes. 'You know something about this don't you? You sly old fox.'

'Me? What makes you think I had something to do with it? I'm just an old git.' Charlie's hair a little long feels cold on his shoulders.

Stretched out on the hot sand sitting right alongside his old buddy Brian joins Charlie in a moment of reflection. Out in the bay the sea has settled down. Brian mentions, 'I suppose it could have been a WWII floating mine?'

'Could have been.' Charlie nods.

'Nothing to do with you then?'

'Me! Nah.' Charlie shakes his head.

Turning his head so he can look into those ice blue eyes, looking so sharp now, focused Brian doesn't believe a word of it. He looks back over his shoulder at the Paradise and says to Charlie, 'You okay mucker?'

Charlie gets to his feet, stretches his back, and groans. 'Brysie, I tell you; I'm getting too old for this malarkey. Fancy a beer?'

Charlie and Brian climb the Paradise steps and then cross the veranda to sit alongside Lucy. The old war veteran sees Brian put one arm round Lucy's waist when she nestles her head on his chest. He draws an arm across his eyes.

Three days later the Family are having a celebration BBQ on the beach when Millie cries excitedly, 'Hey look guys. Isn't that Billy's hat?'

They look to where she is pointing at a battered old fringed straw hat bobbing on the water and heading out to sea.

Five months later Brian and Sue become the proud parents of twin boys.

# Epilogue:

Six weeks after the incident that relegated Old Man Rock to the stuff of folklore Sue writes back home.

Percival Font frowns when he sees the Cayman Islands stamps on the letter. The perfume on the outside of the envelope evokes a memory of the time that friend of Elizabeth's had stayed over. Sue it was. His wife had this silly scheme to make him the bad guy in their subsequent divorce. Well, turns out they do get divorced, and he did get to lay Sue. Great sex as he recalls, in his shed and then several times in the guest bedroom while Lizzie, hung-over, slept in her own room. That was some month's back and yet whenever he goes in that shed he gets aroused. 'Can't be her?' He thinks.

Dear Percy,

I have been thinking about you, a lot! I was wondering if you would like to come out here for a visit, stay a few weeks, no strings attached? I have a little boathouse on the beach where we could be "alone." It's just I would really like to have my red knickers back.. and, please, I would much prefer to see them hanging from the end of your finger than have them arrive in a package!!!

I ache for your touch honeybuns. Do come soon.

Love and lots of kisses.

Sue

xxxx

There he is. Grinning and pulling a suitcase through the crowded arrivals hall Percy looks as sexy as she remembers.

Sue waves at him and has to giggle. Hanging on the end of his finger is her red panties.

# THE END

