by Trisha Kelly
The stranger took the lift to the second floor. He was going to familiarise himself with the outlay. Locate the safe, enjoy the luxurious bathroom, plan the quickest escape route and all before indulging in the best night’s sleep he had ever had. James Sallow certainly spared no expense in pampering himself. This con wanted a piece of the action, the high life. One way or another, he was going to get it.
The old man was more concerned with filling his face and fulfilling his fantasy than he was anything else in this world. He wasn’t right in the head; you could see it in his eyes. Tomorrow he would be arrested with poison in his possession and charged. He would also face charges for harming his wife with malicious intent. They would find his belongings in the summerhouse and his fingerprints inside James Sallow’s house. He was going to be caught, bang to rights. Together with the copy of the fictional book which anyone could read and plainly see he was trying to copycat. Albert Winston wouldn’t see the light of day and then the anonymous stranger would make his move. Just as they all thought the danger had passed. Too late, they would discover Winston had been working with another, but they would never find him or know who he was. The stranger was working on the finer details. Only one man would face trial and it wouldn’t be him and the deluded pensioner had no clue who he was. There could still yet be a murder or two, if necessary, and the stranger would make it known he was carrying out Albert Winston’s back-up plan. His warped instructions should he fail to do it himself.
~
“I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Can you believe the gall of the man?”
“Mother. You detested him, found him repulsive. He was your doormat, a bill payer, a lodger. You had another man for pity’s sake!”
“Besides the point. He has turned out to be nothing more than a brazen philanderer. And… with that, that woman. Could have been going on for years for all I know.”
“So, what’s really bothering you?”
“He lied.”
“Pot – kettle-black.”
“You know they are making home in that lovely stone cottage beside the river, inside the Garden Centre?”
“The place you hated? Yes, you’ve told me all this already.” Michael yawned with disinterest. “Get back to the point; the point being, we are on our way to see the spoilt brat to con her out of money. You can get back to your care home and bleed the benefit system dry, get free board and lodgings, make a miraculous recovery when it suits you and move to somewhere a lot nicer than the place I have to live in right now.”
“And you will go to Australia. I will never see you again and I’ll be just a lonely, old woman.”
“Spare me the drama. At least you never spent time in a dirty prison cell.”
Mildred was uninterested. “Look, there it is. Wodehouse Bed & Breakfast. Pull up just across the road. This time, we’ll catch her unawares.”
“Don’t forget your walking stick, mother. Pat some more of that white powder across your face. Let’s get this over and done with. Make it good, because we need as much as we can get, and we’ve only got one chance. Play nicely.”
As much as it was going to gnaw at her very innards, Mildred knew her son was right. Not that she intended going away any time soon. She’d also booked a table for two, tomorrow evening at the exclusive Kings Arms. Once again she was going to prey on her ex-husband too. Maybe snag a little something extra, just to keep for herself. Sandra had indeed proven to be a very informative hairdresser. She’d fallen for the spin that Mildred was in the area for a couple of weeks to visit her brother, Walter. Then she didn’t come up for air. Mildred’s thoughts drifted back to that morning.
“Oh, you must be down for the wedding, how lovely! Walter and Jane make a wonderful couple. Rosie and Anna are so excited, they haven’t stopped working on the wedding clothes and the arrangements. I heard Jane lost her first husband when she was very young, such a shame. Of course, the same can’t be said for Walter’s first wife, sounded a bit of an old dragon between you and me, did you know her?”
“We met a few times. I didn’t think she was so bad,” Mildred had responded through clenched teeth.
“How generous of you to say. Of course, Jane will leave her apartment at the B & B. Rosie and Anna have no plans to let the middle floor out. Only natural Jane will be moving in with Walter at his cottage.”
“It’s a lovely Garden Centre,” Mildred lied.
“Isn’t it? A perfect life for the two of them, right next to the river there.”
“I wasn’t sure at first if he was ever going to stay there when his aunt bequeathed him the Garden Centre and Rosie the Bed & Breakfast. I thought he’d toyed with going to Wales.”
“Wales? Oh, no… he moved in right away. Funny thing was, well, I shouldn’t really say it, but Sybil whispered one day his first wife had turned up there and they made out he lived in the stock room! Fancy that, hey! She took her leave and left. Strange weekend altogether, what with the drowning and all.”
Mildred felt the red flush of anger spread across her neck and face. Her foot was tapping against the chair’s footrest. The lying, cheating, grr. She would pay them back if it was the last thing she did.
“Wasn’t she your aunt, too?” Sandra suddenly asked.
“Well, not really, no. You see, Walter is my step-brother.”
“Oh, oh, I see. Aren’t you close?”
“We haven’t seen each other for years, although we do keep in touch by phone and letter. He did send me down a small cheque following the Will. Then of course, I received the wedding invitation. For me and my son.”
“How nice of him. I take it you’re going for the celebration meal at the Kings Arms tomorrow evening too. I’ve heard it’s just for family, like.”
“Yes, of course.”
“There, is that enough off the top?”
It was all Mildred could do, force a half smile and look at the horrible new hairdo. Far too short for her liking. Which in fairness, was her own fault.
“Thank you,” she managed. Her waspy, flushed reflection glared back at her.
“Mother! Are you even listening?” Michael shouted.
“What?” Mildred snapped. She was lost in angry thoughts.
“Start limping or something; look, we’re here.”
The building was a far cry from the first time she’d clapped eyes on it. The gardens were stunning. Gone were the overshadowing trees. It was an impressive building of two halves. To the right was the B & B. The hanging sign said so, flanked with hanging baskets. The left hand-side was a private dwelling.
Without hesitation, Michael pressed the buzzer for Apartment 1. Rosie Wodehouse. Just at that moment, Rosie was in the hallway, on her way out to visit Matt at the Police House. She opened the front door, unaware of her visitors and almost fell backwards.
“Mother,” she gasped. “What are you doing here? I thought you were…” she stopped.
“At home? She should be, Mother isn’t too well,” Michael smiled. “She insisted on me bringing her here to see you, and to beg your forgiveness.”
“Ros-a-lyn, how good to see you,” Mildred uttered in a small voice. “Can we come in?” she barely whispered.
Rosie was stumped. Thrown off-guard. Anna was not home, the very person who would have oozed moral support from every pore. Jane was upstairs with James, talking all things ghosts. The saving grace was - her dad wasn’t in the building. Rosie stood aside.
“I was on my way out, but the least I can do is offer you a cup of tea,” Rosie faltered. Her inner strength and resolve shrinking by the minute. Looking at the frail, pale woman in front of her she didn’t have the heart to turn them away. No matter what they’d done.
There was no doubt she was unwell, not as thin or as gaunt as your typical cancer patient, but she had aged, and she was unsteady on her feet.
Bumble was not impressed with the visitors and spat wildly, her fur stood on edge and she tensed. Rosie always did know her cat had an accurate sixth sense. Had she seen
them coming she would have turned off the lights and hidden behind the sofa. What did they want, money? For they would be out of luck if they’d come here on the scrounge.
They didn’t ask for anything. Mildred had no sarcastic nor waspy remarks. Nothing. After thirty minutes of polite tea-drinking and asking how her and her father was, Mildred got up to go and Rosie fell for the act, hook, line and sinker.
“Wait. Would you like another drink, a piece of cake? I have plenty.”
Michael answered, “if Mum can manage to sit for another little while, we’d love to, it does get very tiring for her.”
Mildred smiled and made a show of grabbing the sofa arm to ease herself back down. Michael followed Rosie into the kitchen.
“Look, Michael. I hope you understand there was no way I could afford £60,000 for her cancer treatment. Besides, I wasn’t even sure who was asking for the money. Matthew, my fiancé, he is in the police force and felt the letter wasn’t even genuine.
“Rosie, I can assure you. I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” The puzzled look on his face even made it seem he was telling the truth. “What letter?”
“This here, it came a while ago.” Rosie passed the letter over.
“That isn’t my phone number on there. This is my phone here, look at my number for yourself.”
Rosie was puzzled. Also, guilty and ashamed for thinking even these two would stoop that low.
“I just came in here to tell you she has got a few, severe health problems and needs looking after. I couldn’t refuse her a short break here when she wanted to come and see you. We’re only here for four days, then I’m taking her back. The care staff do a good job looking after her. It’s very basic care but I can’t do it.”
“Here. Take this tray of tea in, I’ll be with you in a moment.” Rosie fussed around cutting cake and making a few sandwiches. Just something. She felt a sharp nudge in the back, but there was nobody there.
“Not now, Dorothea!” Rosie whispered. “I know you don’t like her, but… but, I have to do this.” A gust of ghostly wind swept around her ankles at great speed. Rosie looked at the two of them sitting side-by-side on the sofa, heads down. They were forlorn and she just couldn’t do it to them. She grabbed her cheque book from her handbag.
They were laughing all the way back to the holiday cottage.
“You should have been an actor, mother. You always could manipulate her. Spoilt little rich kid. Did you see that building? All her posh furniture. She must be raking it in.”
Mildred was unusually quiet. Michael now had his half of a sizeable donation to ‘help them out’ and he would be off. He’d already insisted she bank the cheque first thing in the morning and pay for special clearance. He couldn’t wait to get out of her life. Still, she had one more ace to play, something all for herself.
“How about we go for a nice celebration meal tomorrow, Michael. My treat.”
He nearly bit her hand off.
Rosie was very quiet that evening. After everything her mother had done, after all their efforts to shut her out of their lives, she’d caved in. But it was always in her gentle nature. There was no way she could have been that heartless. This was going to remain her secret. Nobody had known about the visit, and after all, hadn’t her dad kept it to himself when he’d sent a small cheque?
Now there was the mystery of who had sent that message, the letter. Now she knew it hadn’t been Michael. Hadn’t Matthew and Anna warned her it was a con? Unless, of course, Michael had put somebody else up to it. She’d never know. The cheque had been made out to Mildred and no doubt some of it would find its way to Michael. They’d both changed. Maybe prison did that to a person, maybe Mildred had been genuinely sorry for all the hurt she’d ever caused Rosie. Who knows?
As Rosie drove home later that evening, telling Matt she wanted an early night, James Sallow pulled into the back of the Police Station. He and Jane had just spent a very interesting evening together. Very interesting, indeed.
Saturday morning – the calm before the storm
Before you could say ‘it’s open’, Michael was waiting outside the bank with his mother. The Bromington Town branch was open on Saturday mornings. The cheque could be cleared within two hours if they agreed to pay, in comparison, quite a small sum.
“Yes, that will be fine,” Michael prompted. “So, if we come back, say, two and a half hours from now, we’ll be able to transfer funds?”
“Yes, Sir. That won’t be a problem.”
“Great. Come along, mother. Let’s go for brunch.”
“I’d like to buy myself a new outfit, for our dinner this evening. After all, it could be the last one, for all I know, this time next week you could be in Australia,” Mildred scoffed. There was an undertone of sarcasm in her voice.
“Good idea. A new shirt and a pair of decent trousers wouldn’t go amiss,” he smirked. “Maybe a pair of shoes?”
“Well, in just two and a half short hours you can afford to buy your own,” she replied in a huff. “I will stretch to coffee and brunch.” Even after depositing such a large sum she was in no mood for small talk with her only child. Well, as far as she was concerned. One by one they had deserted her. The girl, the husband, the lover, and soon, her son. At her age she couldn’t even consider emigrating, it wasn’t an option. Perhaps Michael wasn’t aware of that? Or maybe he was. In fact, it seemed his father was a very influential man. Who else could wangle a permanent resident into a country with such strict guidelines? Her son was a convicted ex-prisoner. A man of standing, means… wealth, perhaps? Maybe there was an angle even she had not needed to consider before. Back payments for bringing up their child for all those years without any child maintenance. As these thoughts crossed her mind, she changed her tactics.
“Tell me all about your real father, Michael. Where he lives, what he does, his family. I’d be very interested to know.”
Michael had been waiting for that one, it had just taken a little longer than he anticipated. Still, he didn’t have to play nice for too much longer. His suffocating mother could look elsewhere for her next meal ticket.
During their conversation he made up elaborate lies, one after another. Playing down who his father really was, until in the end he sounded nothing more than a chancer, a bent crook, a wife-beater. Someone who needed his support and not the other way around.
Mildred wasn’t swallowing any of it. Had the two of them been sitting across from each other at a poker game, the bluffs would have been thick and fast. They were like two peas in a pod. In fact, the more Michael spun his yarns, the deeper her interest grew.
She remembered his surname was Fernsby and that was all. After all, it was a drunken one-night stand and she couldn’t quite remember his first name. “So, how is, Stephen?” She enquired, stabbing in the dark at a first name.
“He’s going through a bad patch. His wife divorced him, and he paid her off, half his estate and she kept the house.” Lies dripped from Michael’s tongue, very easily. His mother didn’t even know his father’s first name. She wasn’t even close. There’s no way she’d find him.
Mildred sipped at her coffee. She thought it was something like that. Stephen, Stewart, Simon, for sure she remembered it began with an ‘S’.
Timothy Fernsby, was in fact, nothing like the picture Michael painted. He was a respectable man and he owned four shops. He had friends in high places and the last time Michael had written to him from inside the prison – which he swore were charges totally fabricated, he happened to mention his mother was dying. He would have to update that next week, to deceased. It would ensure him a faster passage to his new life and home with a position managing one of the shops. He was playing on his father’s sympathy.
The remainder of the morning passed in a blur. With a disinterested Michael nodding his head at Mildred’s choice of new clothes. As soon as he had his bank transfer, she could get a bus home. It would be his turn next and he didn’t want her hanging around for a moment longer than
necessary.
What he really wanted at noon was to jump around and punch the air. How he contained himself was anyone’s guess. It was there, in his bank. His half of the scammed money from Rosie, ‘rich kid’ Wodehouse. Ten big ones. As hard as it was, he would go for this meal tonight and be as reasonable as was possible until he took his mother back to the care home. He was leaving this miserable, wet country on the first available flight.
Not once had it crossed his mind who had sent his sister the letter or the unknown phone number. Since the night before his only thoughts were pound signs. Ten thousand of them. Waving goodbye to his mother laden with shopping bags, who had decided to take a cab rather than a bus, he strode off. The least amount of time he spent with her before their evening meal the better.
Three hours later he made his way back to the car. Sporting a new haircut and all the extras, smelling of expensive aftershave and carrying a suit, shirt, tie and leather shoes. He had also purchased plenty of casual clothes and a new suitcase. All of it now tucked in the boot. All of it to give the right impression to the father he had yet to meet.
~
“What’s your name?” Albert asked the man who was standing in James Sallow’s kitchen cooking a full English. He was still wearing gloves and still had his face covered.
The man turned around, carrying his full tray towards the lift. “Eat your breakfast, drink your tea and use the bathroom. I will be back downstairs in fifteen minutes. Be ready to leave.”
Upstairs in the large, sumptuous bedroom, the ex-con gobbled his food, drunk his tea and packed the crockery and cutlery into a bag. He rolled up his sleeping bag with built-in headroom. The bed looked untouched. He wiped every surface down in the bathroom and replaced his gloves.
It was very early in the morning and he had plans to waste the day further along the coast. His table reservation was for eight o’clock that evening. A quiet table for one in a secluded area. He didn’t want to be seen. He wouldn’t be there at all, but he wanted to witness the arrest when it happened. Then he would go back to Bromington Heights and wait. The rest of his plan was simple, yet effective.
