by T F Lince
“We all are, Jodie, he was a nice man.” Sarah gave her daughter a kiss on her head before adding, “Right, what time is the big surprise going to arrive at the home, Dean?”
Dean looked at his watch, more as an automatic reaction than to confirm when the minibus would be arriving. He would even look at his watch if someone asked when someone’s birthday was.
“I said about one pm. I have to transfer some money to make some people very happy this morning, including my old friend, Dexter. I’d love to see the look on his face when he gets the mail.”
“Dean, no gloating. Show some class, please.”
Dean transferred the £50 million to Dexter with a lovely email thanking him for all his help over the years and wishing him luck in the future. Dean wrote this email with a grimace on his face as he knew Dexter had stitched him up good and proper, but Sarah was right. It was the classy thing to do.
After paying everyone off, Dean was left with over £30 million. He and Sarah could do anything they wanted, but that didn’t seem right. It wasn’t blood money, but it felt a bit like it was. Both he and Sarah would make a list of worthy causes that could benefit; they only wanted enough to get by.
Sarah had put on some makeup and a nice purple and white polka dot dress.
“Come on then, Dean, let’s go.”
They arrived at Sweet Dreams at 1pm and did the visiting rounds of all the guests before asking the staff to bring Dean’s guides out to the front of the home. James Rhodes stood at the front of the guides.
“We thought that your old bus looked a bit battered and bruised, James, so Sarah, Jodie and I decided you needed a new one.”
As the words came out of Dean’s mouth, a brand new bus in the Sweet Dreams colours made its way into the drive. The driver handed the keys to Dean, who in turn handed them over to James.
“You can’t give us this, Dean, you just can’t.”
Dean asked Sarah for the cheque she had in her handbag.
“Oh, and this is to keep her in fuel.”
James looked at him.
“No, you can’t. Really, Dean, you can’t.”
Sarah caught James’s eye.
“You know how much this place and these people mean to Dean,” she said. The doctor stood motionless, looking at the bus and then the cheque. All of his staff gathered around him.
Dean took Sarah by the hand.
“Come on, let’s go.” They waved at James Rhodes and made their way home.
Over the next eight weeks, the world still revolved as normal, but there were some changes. Dexter lost over half of his senior staff, and a couple of notable junior ones. Dean had set up a small trading company from a new office he had constructed in his back garden, and Oliver, Martin and Jack had all joined him. They were not being greedy, just sensible, and were doing very well out of it.
It was the end of term, and tonight was the Christmas prom at Jodie’s school. Jack, Oliver and Martin were having a beer in the kitchen, talking about the day’s trading. It had been another good day. Dean’s mother had come down from the north for Christmas – Dean remembered how he had hardly spoken to her for years before his accident, and he was putting right as many wrongs as he could. She was sitting in the conservatory, looking through old photographs.
“Hi, Mam, are you OK?”
“Sarah told me all about your car crash, Dean, and Beachy Head. She asked me to come down to see you, but I thought…you know, after not seeing each other for all these years, you wouldn’t want to see me then…” Rosie was fighting back the tears. “You should have rung me before you got so low.”
“I was a mess, Mam. Things all went wrong, but you’re right – one phone call would have put it all right. I know that now.” He smiled at his mum; she had always been there for him and always would be.
“Anyway, get on with it.” Dean looked at the large photo album. “I know you want to show me them.”
“You’ve seen them all, Dean. You haven’t seen these ones, though.”
Rosie Harrison took out a small photo album and passed it to Dean.
“Your dad and I removed these when you got older and we knew.”
“Knew what?” Dean opened the album. There were only five pictures inside.
“We knew that you were special, Dean. Your dad joked that if we left them in and people saw them, they would think I’d had a fling with the mysterious older man at our wedding.”
Dean looked at first picture. It was taken at his mum and dad’s wedding, and he was singing with his dad. The next showed them all on stage at the end – Mr Hawthorn and all the other guests.
“How long have you known, Mam?” he asked as a tear formed in his eye.
“Your dad and I have always known. We knew even more when you broke that glass ship on the mantelpiece like you said you would.” Rosie took Dean in her arms. “We love you, Dean. We never brought it up much, but we both knew.”
“Thanks, Mam. I miss Dad, you know. It was lovely seeing him again.”
Rosie took the pictures back and placed them into safekeeping in her bag as Sarah shouted to them both from the kitchen.
“Dean, Rosie, come in here. I’ve got something to show you.”
As Dean walked in, he saw Jodie.
“Jodie, you look amazing.” She was in a pink halter-neck dress and black high heels, and her hair was a mass of ringlets down her back.
“Do I scrub up OK, then, Dad?”
“Jodie, you look so grown up. I’m so proud. You look stunning – a beautiful young lady.”
Dean’s eyes started to well up, but Jack had beaten him to it and was in floods of tears.
“You look lovely, Jodie,” Oliver added. He was turning out not to be a prick after all. Maybe he had just needed a dash of reality in his life to realise how it all works.
The doorbell rang.
“Well, are you going to get it, Jodie?” Wiping away a tear, Dean pulled himself together and stood with an arm around Sarah and his mum.
“Hi, Kyle, come in.”
Kyle had a suit on with a pink tie to match Jodie’s outfit. Doreen was with him.
“Let’s have a picture of you two lovebirds,” Doreen said, thrusting a camera in their faces. Jodie hated having her picture taken, but was willing to make an exception today.
Dean shook Kyle’s hand and pulled him in for a manly hug.
“Make sure you look after her, she is very special. If you don’t, I’ll…” Dean stopped, “Oh, never mind.”
“I know she’s special, Mr Harrison. I promise I will.”
His little girl was growing up, and Dean was going to enjoy this moment. It was then he noticed the black flower in the back of Jodie’s hair.
“I’ll never forget Benjie, Dad, he brought you back to me. And don’t worry about Kyle – I’ll kill him if he doesn’t look after me.”
Jodie walked off hand in hand with Kyle to the taxi, Dean and Sarah watching her walk away. She turned as Kyle opened the door for her and flicked her hair around her shoulders as she blew a kiss to her parents.
There was a tattoo of a clown’s face with Benjie written underneath on the back of her shoulder.
“Jodie!” Dean shouted.
“Shit!” Jodie said under her breath. “Come on, Kyle, we need to get out of here.” She added a further three or four ‘Shits’ as they climbed into the taxi.
“Did you know she had that tattoo?” Before Sarah could answer, Dean’s question turned into a rant. “I can’t believe she’s got a tattoo! She’s only fifteen. Did you know, Sarah? I wouldn’t let her have one and she knows that.”
Sarah put her hand to his lips. “Dean, there are more important things in life to worry about. Anyway, it’s a mother and daughter thing.”
“What! You knew she had it? I can’t believe it, Sarah, you let her get a tattoo?”
Sarah lowered the top of her dress. “Dean, you can’t have a Benjie without a Bobo.” There was a tattoo of a clown on her shoulder with Bobo written
underneath. “And you’re the best Bobo I have ever met,” she added.
Dean started to laugh. “I love you, Sarah.”
“I know, Mr Harrison. This is your second life. Not many get more than one, so I think you need to chill out a bit, don’t you?”
“She’s still in trouble when she gets in.”
Sarah gave him the smile that had melted his heart all those years ago when they first met, and still did today.
“No, she’s not, Dean. We both know she’s not.”
They waved at Jodie and Kyle as the taxi slipped out of view.
The End
Acknowledgements
Claire Lince (My Wife)For chess element and book cover idea
Alison Jack (Editor)For turning water into wine
Julia Gibbs (Proofreader)For ensuring the wine was not corked
Readers who I forced to read it early on and contributed;
Martin GibbCredit for Molly and her dog
Loretta GeorgioCredit for Sarah’s back story
Phil LinceFor reading and feedback
Jenifer LinceFor reading and feedback
Ian HutchinsonFor reading and feedback
Greg OpenshawFor reading and feedback
Iva BrunningFor reading and feedback
Gary MillwardFor reading and feedback
Paul CarterFor reading and feedback
Ian & Diane VartFor reading it on our holiday
Pierre RoetsFor reading and feedback
Early reviewers;
Michelle RylesAKA on Twitter - @thebookmagnet
Meggan TurnerAKA on Twitter - @MegsTyas
About The Author
Trev Lince originates from Marske-by-the-Sea on the north-east coast of England, but now lives in Darlington with his wife, Claire. Their daughter, Annie, is a very good guitarist and is setting up a band, playing every pub in the north-east that she can. She’s so rock and roll, living the dream while her father is approaching his mid-life crisis.
A keen golfer and frustrated Middlesbrough FC fan, Trev gets to as many matches as work and leisure time allow. He writes in what little spare time he has, when not working as an IT Consultant for a major oil company in Surrey.
Room 119 – The Whitby Trader is Trev’s first book and he really enjoyed the experience of writing it. Who knows? He may have a few more stories bursting to get out of his head.
He would like to thank you for reading his debut novel.
