by JL Merrow
Oh well. I hadn’t really wanted one anyway.
“Were you aware of Laura’s rather strange will?” Cherry asked as she sat down again.
“No.” He paused a minute, twitching. “Laura and I didn’t speak after we parted.”
“It must have been difficult for you,” Cherry said with warm sympathy. Or at least a pretty good imitation.
He stared at her for a moment with bloodless eyes. “Not particularly. We weren’t married long. And it was all well over a decade ago, as you know.”
I wondered how many years it took to stop feeling bitter over a failed marriage. How long did it take until you could think of your ex objectively, like they were just an acquaintance or something, just another person you’d lost touch with? I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised Phil still had feelings for the Mysterious Mark.
The tea arrived at that point courtesy of the smiley receptionist, which was probably just as well from Cherry’s point of view. I don’t think she was impressed with Mr. M’s failure to keep to the script. “Cheers, love,” I said as I was handed a cup with a dimple. “I’m Tom, by the way.” I was pretty sure she already knew, but it seemed only friendly.
“Oh, I’ve heard all about you. I’m Jeanette.”
Cherry glared at me like I’d just dropped my trousers and taken a piss in her tea. “Thank you, Jeanette. That will be all.”
Me and Jeanette shared trying-not-to-laugh faces as she left, her high heels making her hips wiggle in her tight skirt. Conversation was reduced for a minute or so to polite murmurings as we passed the milk and offered the sugar, which was probably just as well.
Jeanette had brought biccies anyway, a plate of bourbons. I took one just to see Cherry’s face when I dunked it in my cuppa.
It was a classic: How Can We Possibly Be Related Death Glare #3. I almost did choke at the sight of it.
Fortunately for her blood pressure, Mr. M didn’t seem to notice.
“Now, according to Mrs. Morangie’s will, the codicil detailing Tom’s legacy is somewhere in your house. I don’t suppose you’ve been able to locate it?” Cherry didn’t sound too hopeful.
“Regrettably, no. I understand she wished your brother to search for it?” His mouth was all twisted up like someone had put salt in his tea instead of sugar.
“Yes.” Cherry made a what-can-you-do? gesture with her hands. “I know it seems a bizarre idea, but perhaps she’d become rather…eccentric as she aged.”
“Oi, Aunty Lol still had all her marbles. She wasn’t old enough to be going senile, nowhere near.”
Mr. M looked pissed off too, which, seeing as he had to have at least ten years on Auntie Lol, wasn’t surprising. Nice one, Sis. Cherry seemed to realise she’d shoved her foot in it, as she turned pink and got very interested in her cup of tea for a moment.
Mr. M filled the silence. “I’m sure you understand that I’m not keen to have a stranger invading my house. At my time of life,” he added, with a daggers glare at Cherry. “I thought perhaps we could avoid all the upheaval if I simply made you an offer to renounce all claims.” He named a figure that would have taken a hefty chunk out of the money I owed the mortgage company.
I blinked. Then I frowned. “Hang about. We don’t even know if she left me anything worth a fraction of that. I’m not taking your money if it isn’t due.”
“Nevertheless, it seems to me extremely likely that that is what Laura did. In the circumstances I’m quite happy to—”
“Yeah, but what if I’m not? Happy, I mean.” I sat forward, struggling to think how to put it. “Look, it was Auntie Lol’s last request, wasn’t it? For me to go looking for the…what do you call it, Sis? Coda?”
“Codicil.” It sounded like a brand name for nasal spray.
“So I’m not happy just saying fine, give me the money. It’s not right.”
Cherry cleared her throat. “Actually, the legal situation—”
“Sod the legal situation. I want to do what Auntie Lol wanted.”
“Tom, you’re just being difficult. Mr. Morangie is being very generous here.”
“Not necessarily. What if she left me the deeds to a diamond mine?”
Cherry’s face could have blistered paint. “Oh yes, of course, she always used to regale us with tales of her life in the diamond mines of South Africa.”
Me-ow. “I’m sure you used to tell me sarcasm was the lowest form of wit.”
Mr. Morangie rattled his tea-cup loudly in his saucer. Cherry and I turned as one to glare at him, and he leaned back with a worried expression as if he was trying to escape through the back of the chair. “Ah. It’s, ah, commendable that you want to follow my late wife’s wishes, but really, I have my doubts the codicil will ever be found.”
Why? Had he found it already, and chucked it on a fire? I frowned and opened my mouth, but he beat me to it.
“As you can imagine, I’ve already made a thorough search of the property, and I’ve been unable to locate it.”
“Yeah, well, fresh pair of eyes and all that,” I said breezily. I wondered if Cherry would mention my special talent for finding stuff, but apparently my thing was still on the list of unmentionables. Fair enough: he probably thought we were weird enough already. And if he didn’t expect me to find it, he wouldn’t bother getting a shift on with trying to find and destroy the thing before I got there. “So when can I come round? Sooner I start, the sooner I’ll finish and get out of your hair.”
Mr. M made a face like he was chewing on a cockroach and was too polite to spit it out. “I’ll have to consider the matter. I was given to understand we would be able to come to an arrangement.” He put his teacup down on Cherry’s desk, as if getting ready to leg it.
Cherry wasn’t giving up that easily. “Please wait, Mr. Morangie. Perhaps if I had a private word with my brother—”
“You’d be wasting everyone’s time,” I interrupted. “Sorry, but I’m not budging. What’s the bloody point of leaving a will if everyone’s going to bugger up your final wishes?”
Mr. M and I stood up at the same time like we’d planned it that way. Which was a bit unfortunate, seeing as we’d have to walk out together now. Maybe we could talk about the weather or the crap state of English football. We might even be able to agree on those subjects, although I doubted it.
“I shall have to consult my solicitor,” he said. His tone should have carried a warning for mild threat like you get on kids’ films.
“Then I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” Cherry said politely. “Tom, would you wait a minute, please?” Her tone was definitely the sort some small children might find upsetting.
It was a toss-up which was the least inviting prospect: small talk with a pissed-off Mr. M, or a lecture from a pissed-off Cherry. On the other hand, if I didn’t let Cherry vent now, she’d only bend my ear about it later on the phone. I sat back down, and while she ushered Mr. M out, did the modern equivalent of twiddling my thumbs. Gary had tweeted Bellringers do it with ropes and Darren had replied Market traders do it in public. I was still trying to think up a really good one for plumbers when Cherry said my name in that annoyed tone of voice people use when they have to repeat themselves.
I put my phone away hurriedly. “Gone, has he?”
“Yes. I don’t know why you had to be so obstructive.”
“Yeah, you do. So what happens now?”
She sighed. “I’ll give him a day or so to cool off and then give him a call. Hopefully someone will be willing to be reasonable by then. Anyway, that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“No?” I tried to think what the hell else she might want to talk to me about, and worry tickled the back of my neck. “Mum and Dad are all right, aren’t they?”
“They’re fine.” I waited. Cherry took a deep breath. “Gregory and I are going to be married.”
“Bloody hell, that’s a bit fast, innit?” I stared at her. Was it something in the water round here? First Gary, now my sister.
; Cherry went pink. “It’s not fast at all. Just because you’ve only just met him…” Another deep breath. Maybe she should see a doctor about her lungs. “Anyway, we’re having a party on Friday.”
“What, this Friday?”
“You know, you could congratulate me.” Her mouth tightened.
“Er, right. Sorry. Congratulations and all that.” Bloody hell, I was going to be the only one left on the shelf. “Going to be a church do, then?”
“Well, obviously. We’re hoping to be married by the bishop,” she added, sounding a lot less miffed. “It’ll be in the cathedral, in any case. Gregory wants to invite all the regulars to fill up seats.”
“Surprised he’s not planning to prop up that little ‘family’ of his in the pews.”
She tsked. “St Leonard’s doesn’t have pews.”
“Course it doesn’t. Silly me. Should’ve remembered.”
“Oh? I didn’t know you’d been there.”
“Er, yeah. Just for a quick visit.” Fortunately she didn’t ask when that’d been or who’d provided the guided tour.
“So are you coming, then?”
“Well, yeah.” Did she really think I’d miss my only sister’s wedding? “You want me to bring Phil, right?”
There was just the tiniest pause before she answered. “Of course. But, um, just the two of you,” she added, going even pinker.
I frowned. “Well, I’m hardly going to turn up with a whole crowd of blokes from the pub, am I? So when is it? You haven’t said, yet.”
She huffed. “Yes, I did. Friday. At Gregory’s. Starting at seven.”
“What?” Surely even Cherry couldn’t organise a wedding that fast? I did a quick mental gear change as I finally realised we’d been talking about two different things. “Oh, you mean the party. Right, yeah, we’ll be there. You sure you’ve got time to get it set up? Want me to bring anything?”
“Oh, we’ll be fine. Gregory’s going to get some of the cathedral ladies to do some finger food. And if we left it any later, Gregory would be all caught up in Alpha Courses and Confirmation Classes. He barely has an evening free before Easter.”
I nodded. “No rest for the wicked. Bit of a quiet time for me, as it happens—a lot of people put off the nonessential jobs until they’ve had a chance to recover from the Christmas bills. And the sales spending.”
“Oh.” She paused, and I was just about to get up again when she spoke. “Is work going okay? Are you, well, all right for money?” She brushed furiously at some biscuit crumbs on her desk. At least I assumed that was what she was doing, although, come to think of it, she hadn’t actually had a biccie with her tea.
“Yeah, I’m all right. Can’t complain. Er, you?” It was probably a daft question, looking at the wood grain on that desk of hers, but it seemed a bit rude not to ask, seeing as she had.
Cherry looked up sharply. “Oh, yes. Of course. Right, well, that was all I wanted to talk to you about. Unless you, er…?”
“Nah, I’m good,” I said, standing up. “I’ll see myself out.” I grinned. “I’m sure if I go wrong, Jeanette’ll set me straight.”
Cherry actually sort of laughed. Maybe it was more of a snort. “I’m sure she’d be only too happy to set you straight, but I always thought it wasn’t supposed to work like that.”
Bloody hell. That was almost a joke.
Maybe the Irreverently Reverend Greg was actually good for her.
Chapter Eight
Thursday night, Cherry rang me again. The land line probably thought my mobile had done a runner. I was home on my own—I hadn’t seen Phil since the night before last, and even the cats had buggered off somewhere.
Not that I was moping or anything. I made sure my tone was nice and cheery as I said, “Hello?”
“Tom?”
“Yeah, it’s me. You all right?”
“Fine.”
“Is the do still on for tomorrow?” God, I hoped she hadn’t gone and got unengaged in the twenty-four hours since we’d last spoken. I couldn’t think of any other reason she’d be ringing me so soon after I’d seen her.
“Of course. Actually, I’ve spoken to Mr. Morangie again.” Oh yes. That reason. There was a frustrating pause. Had Mr. M taken out a restraining order banning me from getting within five miles of his precious house? Set up barbed wire and a minefield? “He’s agreed to allow you into his home. We need to have a serious chat about how you’re going to do this.”
“Oh. Right. Nice one, Sis—how’d you manage that?”
“I spoke to his solicitor. A Mr. Wood. He was very reasonable about it all, especially when I explained how your, um, thing works, and that you wouldn’t have to rummage through the whole place. Actually, he said he’d quite like to see you in action.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her, sorry, only Phil gets to see my thing in action these days, but that might just have been a quip too far for dear old Sis. “Tell you what, why don’t we put up a poster and sell tickets? We can donate the proceeds towards Mr. M’s legal fees. Or buy you a really nice engagement present. Matter of fact, you got any ideas on that? Any fish slices or toasting racks you’ve got your eye on, or would Greg be just as happy with a nice bit of roadkill? I saw a fox out by Brock’s Hollow only this morning, looked in pretty good nick.”
There was a pause. God, I hoped she wasn’t seriously considering it. It hadn’t been in that good nick, and I didn’t much fancy having it oozing maggoty innards all over the back of my van.
“That’s very kind, but we’re not having engagement presents. We’re asking anyone who feels moved to do so to contribute to the Cathedral’s mission fund instead. Anyway, you’ve made me lose track. Mr. Wood suggested a few times that would be convenient for Mr. Morangie.” She started to rattle off a list.
“Hang on a sec, let me get my work diary.” We eventually settled on a date and time—there were a couple I could have done, but I worked on the principle the sooner the better before he changed his mind again, and plumped for next Monday at ten a.m. I wondered if the solicitor really would be coming along to spectate, and if I’d be able to stop myself from greeting him with a cheery “Morning, Wood!”
Friday night, Phil came round to mine before Cherry’s do so we could share a pizza before we went. There was no telling how much food would be on offer tonight, and I wasn’t going to take any chances. If the cathedral ladies were doing the catering, that could mean anything from a couple of cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off to several truckloads of homemade quiche.
“Are your mum and dad going to be there tonight?” Phil took a bite of Americano.
“Doubt it. Dad’s been feeling his age.” Ever since I’d been born, as I recalled, although he’d only been in his late forties then. “Doesn’t like parties and stuff. Mum might go on her own, but I doubt it. Richard might be there, though.” I chased a bit of coleslaw around my plate.
“That’s your brother, right?” The last of his slice of pizza disappeared. I was going to have to get a move on if I wanted to get my fair share.
“Yeah. God, I haven’t seen him in ages. He’s two years older than Cherry, so we were never exactly close.”
“You must have seen him at Christmas.”
I put my fork down. “There a law about it or something? No, as it happens. We’ve never really done the big family get-together thing. Richard and Agatha always go skiing that time of year.”
Phil huffed. “Wish I could get out of family Christmases. It’s a three-line bloody whip round my mum’s house.”
“Yeah, you said.” Back when I’d finally plucked up the nerve to ask him what he was doing that day. “And I kind of noticed I was eating Christmas dinner on my own.” It was the first time I’d admitted it. He’d asked how my Christmas was the next time I’d seen him, I’d said, “Fine,” and we hadn’t gone into details.
“You were on your own? You should have said.” Phil frowned down at his plate. Maybe he was annoyed with it for being empty. “You’d
have been welcome to come along with me.”
“Jesus, could you have said that with any less conviction? Don’t worry, I had Merlin and Arthur to help me eat up the turkey.” I sawed viciously at a stubborn bit of pizza crust holding two slices together.
“Christ, you’re touchy. I just didn’t reckon you’d want to go. I didn’t want to go. Told you, it’s a bloody nightmare. Everyone gets pissed on cheap sherry, and it’s not Christmas if no one storms out before the turkey’s cold.”
“Sounds like an episode of EastEnders. Anyone get divorce papers as a Christmas present?”
“No, but that’s only because the solicitors all close for Christmas.” There was a pause. “Mark always hated it.” Phil glanced up and narrowed his eyes. “And don’t look at me like that. Of course he bloody went. We were married, weren’t we? If I’d turned up without him, Mum would’ve slammed the door in my face.”
“From the way you’ve been talking, wouldn’t that have been a pretty good result?”
He huffed, bulky shoulders moving expansively. “It’s family.”
Like that was an explanation for anything. Still, he wasn’t under any obligation to invite me round to his family get-togethers. After all, it wasn’t like I’d ever asked him to come along and meet my family, was it?
Oh. Wait. What were we on our way to?
Still…
“Come on, don’t we need to get going? Thought this do started at seven?”
When we got to St Leonard’s, we had to park halfway down Cathedral Close. The Old Deanery drive was already chocker with cars, and they spilled out onto the cobbles too.
“Looks like the Rev’s pretty popular,” Phil commented as we got out of the car.
“Either that or one of the cathedral ladies does killer vol-au-vents. Course, they could all be Cherry’s mates.”
Phil shoved his hands in his pockets. Fair dues, it was a bit nippy out. “No offence, but your sister didn’t exactly strike me as the life-and-soul-of-the-party type.”
“Nah, you’re right. God, for all we know there could be half the Church of England in there.”
