Trentbridge Tales Box Set

by Lee Wood

  On the back row are two young men dressed in Superdry sweatshirts and jeans. They seem to only be around thirteen and are probably playing truant from school.

  Sitting in the row behind me is a man who looks to be in his forties, he’s very overweight and short. In the row opposite is an attractive young lady, probably around eighteen, who spends all her time texting.

  We set off and I soon understand why we’re not in the company of the winner of the ‘Driver of the Year’ award. He doesn’t wait for people to sit down before he races off. One lady nearly falls over as he pulls away the instant she’s paid her fare.

  Ten minutes later and I’m outside a betting shop on Pickstone High Street. As I look around I see several more that are part of the high street. I have to be careful because around eight years ago I had a serious gambling addiction which got so bad I started getting into debt. If my superiors had found out I probably would have been thrown out of the police force because it opens you up to temptations such as taking bribes or doing favours for villains. Luckily, it didn’t quite get to that stage.

  After two years of betting on virtually anything that moved my wife Miriam gave me an ultimatum: either I go to Gamblers Anonymous or she would leave me. I started off with a newcomer’s session and then attended regular main meetings. I’ve been ‘clean’ for the past four years but I’ll never be totally cured. As long as I avoid betting shops and casinos I can stay on top of it. And luckily, being homeless I wasn’t tempted by all the adverts on TV for online gambling.

  So having £168 million in the bank, I’ll need to be extra careful.

  I decide to take my mind off the subject. I’m feeling a little hungry – this sensation is one I had forgotten about, one which has only returned since my change of fortune. When you are homeless you learn not to think about regular meals, it’s as though your hunger system gradually turns itself off.

  I soon notice the reason for my sudden urge to eat. Across the street I can see – smell actually – a local branch of Greggs, the bakers. I cross over and walk through the front door. I study the menu displayed on the wall and order a cup of tea and a toasted cheese sandwich. I pay, and the person behind the counter serving me hands me the cup of tea and tells me he will bring the sandwich over to my table when it’s ready.

  After a couple of minutes, the man comes over with a medium sized plate with a toasted cheese sandwich and places it on the table in front of me. The sandwich is hot and quite tasty. It goes down well with the cup of tea and three sugars.

  Ten minutes later and I’ve finished. The restaurant is starting to get busy and the other tables are now being used so I vacate so someone else can make use of it.

  Upon leaving, I turn right and walk along the high street to not only get a feel for the area, but also to fill some time until my two thirty pm appointment. I pass two second-hand shops with used furniture and household goods spilling out onto the pavement and a pawnbrokers with a large sign offering to buy unwanted gold jewellery. As I walk further along, the number of shoppers seems to be decreasing, probably because some of the shops are vacant.

  Just before the end of the shopping parade, I notice the young woman with her two children who were on the bus. She’s looking in the window of a shoe shop.

  As I approach, her back is turned away from me and she’s speaking to her five year old. “I’m sorry, Emily. I know you need new shoes, but Mummy can’t afford them at the moment. I promise I’ll get some for you soon.”

  By this time, I’m behind her pretending to look in the shop window. She’s busy with her two children and hasn’t noticed me yet. I place my right hand into my trouser pocket where I know I have two fifty-pound notes. I feel the notes and pull one of them from my pocket. I make sure the young woman is not looking, and drop the note to the ground.

  Turning to the girl, I say in a clear voice, “Excuse me, miss, but I think you just dropped something,” and point towards the note.

  The girl turns, first looking at me and then to where I’m pointing. “It’s not mine.”

  “It certainly isn’t mine, and it is right where you’ve been standing. I don’t see anyone else around so I’m sure it belongs to you.”

  The girl looks directly at my face and with the instinct of a mother looking out for her children, seems to read the message in my eyes.

  “Perhaps you forgot you were saving up,” I continue.

  The girl understands. “God bless you,” she says with genuine gratitude.

  “And you,” I reply, and it’s gratifying to see the girl walking into the shoe shop saying, “Today’s our lucky day. Which pair would you like, Emily?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  DAVE

  “Good morning, Curtis, Jackson & Dean.”

  “Let me speak with Mark Jackson,” growls the voice on the other end of the phone.

  “I’m sorry, but Mr Jackson won’t be in the office until nine fifteen.”

  “Then get him to phone Dave Rex the instant he gets in,” the voice demands.

  “Certainly, sir,” replies Janet, the receptionist, who is well versed in dealing with angry and stroppy clients. “Does he have your phone number?”

  “Yes, and make sure he calls me without delay.” With that the phone line goes dead.

  Ten minutes later, Mark Jackson walks into reception and they exchange their usual good morning pleasantries. Janet hands him a neatly written memo note with the message to call Dave Rex urgently.

  Once seated behind his desk, Mark consults his office diary. His first appointment is at ten so he has time to make the call. As he sits back to review the day ahead, his phone rings.

  “Hello, Mr Jackson,” says Janet. “I have Dave Rex on the phone again for you.”

  “Okay, Janet. Put him through.”

  “Mark!” bellows the voice. “I’ve been cheated and I need you to take care of it for me. The bastard has robbed me of millions and I want justice. I want him thrown in jail.”

  “Perhaps you could start at the beginning so I can understand the situation and advise you accordingly,” replies Mark.

  He listens to the story of how Dave believes the Lotto tickets became mixed up and how this homeless ‘bum’ is now living the ‘life of Riley’ with Dave’s money.

  Mark listens and advises his client that the best way to deal with this is through the courts. He’s well aware of his client’s reputation and knows that if Dave decides to take matters into his own hands, the other person could end up in hospital with his client facing serious criminal charges or even a murder charge. But in the back of his mind, Mark’s not really sure whether his client is listening to a word he’s saying.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ASBURY PARK

  I arrive at twenty-seven Foundry Road for my appointment with Daniel from the estate agents at 2.25pm. It’s the road that leads into Asbury Park and it comprises thirty-two houses built in the thirties for the Asbury Foundry Company to house their key workers. Each one is a semi-detached property with three bedrooms. There are currently seven up for sale at prices between £52,000 and £56,000. None of them have been sold within the past six months.

  In the south of England, such properties are selling for upwards of £300,000 and usually sell within a matter of days.

  Foundry Road leads into Asbury Park, which is owned by the council and consists of 880 houses. It’s been a thorn in the council’s side for years and they are now in the process of trying to sell it off. They tried years ago but no developer wanted to spend a small fortune building the bridge and road structure needed to connect it with the town centre and make it a viable proposition.

  A council official had revealed that a local consortium led by Dave Rex had put in an offer to the council. It’s a sealed bid so other than the bidder no one else knows the amount. The council have set a deadline and asked other bidders to come forward before their next Planning Committee meeting.

  Opposite the house I’ve come to view are several which a
ppear to be vacant. They look fine from the outside, but the gardens are full of rubbish and have become a dumping ground for fly tippers. Old mattresses and items of furniture are strewn around together with black bags of rubbish which have split open and their contents left to rot.

  Right on time, the estate agent pulls up in his silver Peugeot 208. He parks on the other side of the road, gets out, locks the car and walks over to greet me with his hand outstretched.

  I reach forward to shake his hand and thank him for being punctual.

  “No problem,” comes the reply. “Shall we go inside?” He unlocks the front door and we both walk in.

  “As you can see, it’s in quite good condition. The previous owner was an old man with time on his hands and good at DIY. He took pride in the appearance of his home. Sadly, he went into a nursing home a few weeks ago and passed away. His family want a quick sale, hence the low asking price.”

  I look around, beginning with the living room, the kitchen and finally upstairs where I find three bedrooms. Two are of a decent size and the third is smaller, but still a good size for a child’s or teenager’s room.

  “Unlike the more modern properties on Asbury Park, these homes were built in the nineteen thirties,” explains the estate agent. “The rooms are a good size; there is central heating, double glazing and a decent size garden. Although they are semi-detached, you won’t hear any noise from the neighbours because the walls are quite thick, unlike the ones developers build today.”

  I look out the back bedroom window and notice that the garden is approximately a hundred feet long.

  “What do you think of the house?”

  “I like it and subject to a survey, I would like to put in an offer. I’m a cash buyer so perhaps we can get things underway?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll speak with my boss when I get back to the office and contact you as soon as we receive a reply on your offer.”

  During our conversation I must have mentioned to Daniel I came on the bus as he asks me if I’d like a lift back to Trentbridge. I tell him I’m fine, so we shake hands and he gets into his car and drives off.

  It’s now just after three pm and I walk along the street to Asbury Park and look at the houses which the council are planning to sell off. The bus I plan to catch back to Trentbridge leaves Pickstone at 3.48pm to arrive back at three pm, so I don’t have enough time to see all the houses on Asbury Park. However, the ones I do get a chance to see look fine from the outside and the gardens seem a reasonable size.

  Growing up as a kid in a first floor council flat, it would have been nice to have had a garden.

  Once I’ve had a brief look, I walk back along Foundry Road and then onto Trentbridge Road and walk the ten minutes to the pedestrian-only bridge crossing the river back over to Pickstone High Street and the bus stop.

  It’s 3.43pm and I have one more place to visit today.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  JAMES

  By the time I arrive at the library on Ascham Road, it’s 4.40pm. I walk in and see Miss Heffer sitting behind the counter. I only notice two people in the library and both are busy choosing books, so I walk over to the desk.

  “Hello. Remember me?” I ask, giving her a smile.

  There’s a puzzled look on her face and it takes her a few seconds to work out who I am. She smiles and says, “My, you certainly look better than the last time I saw you. How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you for all your help.”

  ‘It was my pleasure. So how can I help you today?”

  “I want to form a Housing Trust charity to help people. I need some advice and I was hoping you could help me.”

  “That sounds a wonderful idea. It’s a little difficult to discuss things here, so perhaps it might be better if you came over to my house. I can cook a meal and we can talk without the interruptions. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds really good.”

  “Okay. If you’re free, how about tonight?”

  “Tonight would be fine.”

  “I finish here at six, so seven thirty? I’ll have everything ready. My address is fourteen Gilbert Road. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yes, I do. I didn’t realise you would live around there.”

  “When you come over I’ll tell you a few things you probably didn’t realise about a poor librarian,” she smiles. “So I’ll see you later. I must get on; there are things needing to be sorted.”

  “Yes, sorry to interrupt you from your work. I’ll see you at seven thirty.”

  With that, Miss Heffer turns to a lady waiting to take out three books.

  As I arrive back in my room at the Premier Inn my mobile rings. It’s the estate agent to say my offer has been accepted on twenty-seven Foundry Road and the party concerned is happy to go ahead as soon as possible. I inform him that I have the money in place and will speak with both my solicitor and surveyor the following morning to begin the process. I already have the details of a solicitor who deals with this sort of thing. He was introduced to me by the people from the Lotto Company. I’ll phone him tomorrow.

  At 7.27pm the taxi turns into the driveway of fourteen Gilbert Road. It’s a large detached house on one of the better roads in the Cherrywood area. This is widely regarded as an area where the rich and successful live. I didn’t think a librarian’s salary could stretch to this.

  I ring the front doorbell and wait. After a few seconds, Miss Heffer answers and I’m invited in. She shows me through to the beautifully decorated and furnished living room. There’s a stunning cream leather sofa with two matching recliners as the centrepiece of the room, set in a U shape with an Ercol coffee table in front of it.

  On the facing wall is a large flat screen TV. The far wall has a long section of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, which you might expect in a librarian’s home. The other two walls have a range of modern art paintings by artists I’m unfamiliar with. It is obvious that a lot of thought and design have gone into the layout and furnishings.

  The lighting in the room is modern and bright, but not overly glaring. The whole atmosphere is very contemporary, but also warm and relaxing.

  I’m offered a drink.

  “Just a glass of water, thank you.”

  “Please, make yourself comfortable,” says Miss Heffer, pointing towards one of the chairs as she disappears in the direction of the kitchen, before returning and handing me a tall thin glass. “The starter will be about ten minutes.”

  We chat about things in general and touch on the subject of the Lotto win. I’m starting to feel a lot more comfortable in her company.

  Finally, she asks, “So tell me what you have in mind?”

  “I’ve brought some plans to show you. I want to buy the council properties on Asbury Park, restore them to a good condition and then rent them out at reasonable cost to families currently in expensive private housing. I did some research and found that when it was originally built, the idea was to build a bridge over the river into Trentbridge town centre. If this were included with the plans it would make the area very convenient for people. I need someone who’s a logical thinker to help me put everything in place and you’re the best person I’ve ever met who could help me do this. I have to say the ideal scenario would be if you were interested in coming in on this full-time, but I realise you’re dedicated to your career.”

  Miss Heffer, listening intensely, smiles. “Perhaps there’s something I should mention. The council has decided to close the library. They say government cutbacks mean they can’t afford to keep it open and they’re selling off the land to developers. If it goes ahead I’ll be made redundant in about two months, so perhaps your offer has come at a fortuitous time for both of us. When we spoke at the library, I told you there was a little more to me than you knew. For a start, you’re probably wondering how I can afford to live in a large house like this. My father was a successful property developer and when he died I inherited this house plus his property portfolio. My first love has always be
en books and I had the good fortune to be educated at a private school and then Oxford University. For the past twelve years, in my spare time, I’ve helped out at a couple of local voluntary organisations for people with housing problems, so you see I might be able to help you in more ways than you initially thought.”

  “That’s incredible. You’ve got the job. When can you start?” I ask with a wry smile.

  We both laugh.

  “I think our food is ready. Let’s go through to the dining room. I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Mmm, Spaghetti Bolognese, my favourite. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that,” I reply.

  “By the way,” says Miss Heffer, “please call me Susan.”

  I show her my plans concerning Asbury Park, including the idea for the bridge and road connection which was abandoned in the eighties owing to a lack of funding. She studies the details and then says, “It’s a very bold idea, but if you can pull it off many families will be able to enjoy living there.” She looks up and smiles. “Houses with gardens where they can start out and bring up their families. It’s just what people need.”

  Susan tells me she knows a lawyer who specialises in setting up charity foundations and making sure that everything is done in the correct way. All we have to do now is come up with a highly detailed plan, put a bid into the council and make sure ours is the highest.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  DAVE

  Dave has spoken with the Lotto Company and, although courteous in spite of his shouting and swearing, without proof they are not prepared to get involved. His solicitor, Mark Jackson, has taken advice from two high-ranking barristers who have advised he might have a case. But with their fees of between £775 and £1,000 per hour, and a case which could drag on for months, the final legal bill could be in excess of a million pounds. However, they state that in their opinion he does have a good chance of winning.