called Hymee Michaels, and it was he whom Jake had appointed to be executor of his will. Marlene knew very little about the formalities of such a procedure, but she was quietly confident that she was travelling to Bermondsey as a poor woman, to be told that she would soon be very rich.
‘So, did you ring this Mr Michaels yesterday to ask him if we were going to be the only ones here today, like I told you to?’ Marlene asked her son.
‘I did ring him, Mum, but Michaels was out of the office all day yesterday. His secretary sounded like a proper dimwit, but the one thing that I did find out off her is that this is actually a formal will reading, which apparently Jake insisted on. It’s written in his own words, so she reckons.’
‘I thought everybody who had money had a formal will reading. I’ve seen ’em on telly loads of times,’ Marlene said.
Barry shook his head. ‘I dunno about America and places like that, but they’re pretty unusual over here. I’ve seen ’em on TV and in films, but that is usually just to dramatize the effect. Will readings spoken in the words of the deceased are fictional. They ain’t reality, Mum.’
‘So, why is Jake having one then?’ Marlene enquired, becoming more confused by the second.
‘Your guess is as good as mine, but you can bet your bottom dollar that me and you ain’t the only ones there. There is no way he would have demanded a proper reading where his actual words are spoken by his brief if it was just us two involved.’
‘Well, who else is gonna be there then? We were the only real family the old fucker had. You don’t reckon he’s left any dosh to any of his mates, do you?’
‘I don’t know, muvver, but do me a favour. If any of his other family are there, please don’t kick off and make a complete show of us, will you?’
Suddenly feeling anxious, Marlene fished around in her handbag for the small bottle of brandy she kept in there for emergencies. The thought of anybody else coining in on her hard-earned inheritance had left a bitter taste in her mouth, and the quicker Marlene gargled it away, the better she would feel.
The pawnbroker looked at Wayne in amazement as he emptied the contents of his bag onto the counter.
‘Christ, you certainly have some nice pieces of jewellery here, but I won’t be able to take that amount off you unless you’ve got some receipts or identification,’ he said, fingering an extremely heavy gold chain with glee.
Over the years, Wayne had sort of collected gold. He had taken it as payment if anybody had owed him money and, back in the Eighties, when gold was the height of fashion, he had often treated himself to a chunky ring or necklace whenever the mood had taken his fancy. ‘There’s my ID,’ Wayne said, showing the pawnbroker his driving licence, ‘and there’s two utility bills with me name and address on ’em as well. I’ll be honest with you, mate, I own a gym in Leytonstone which is struggling at the moment and I’m also getting married next week. Being the decent chap that I am, I have promised to buy my wife her own beauty salon as a wedding present, and seeing as I haven’t worn gold since the late Eighties, I thought I might as well shove it in here to get some readies to pay for my Steph’s little dream. I can come and collect it as soon as things have picked up for me again.’
The pawnbroker smiled. ‘Do you want to go and grab a coffee while I work out a price?’
Wayne shook his head. ‘I ain’t got time to arse about, mate. I’ve got a business meeting up town at one o’clock, then tonight I’ve got my stag do. You and I both know that what you’ve got there is worth at least five grand. Just give me half of that for the lot to save time, eh?’
‘I’ll have to check the hallmarks out first, and if I’m paying that sort of money, I’ll have to charge you a higher rate of interest. Is that OK?’
Wayne grinned and held out his right hand. ‘You’ve got yourself a deal, pal.’
Marlene glared at Jake’s ex-wife and his two daughters as she sat herself down. As usual, Marlene had chosen her outfit carefully for the occasion. Today, she had on her black leather miniskirt, black basque, fishnet stockings, suede ankle boots, and to finish the look had worn her beige fur jacket and put a red bow in her hair to match her lipstick. Marlene might have celebrated her fortieth birthday just a month before Jake’s death, but in her eyes, she was still a stunner. ‘I feel like Cinderalla sitting here with them two,’ Marlene whispered to Barry, pointing at Miranda and Isabelle. ‘They’re definitely the two ugly fucking sisters.’
‘Just shut it, will you?’ Barry hissed.
‘Are we all comfortable? If so, I shall begin,’ Mr Michaels said.
‘Excuse me, Mr Michaels. Can I ask you a question first?’ Marlene piped up.
‘Yes, of course, and please call me Hymee.’
‘Why are we having one of these formal will readings, Hymee? My son said that they only have ’em on the telly and in America,’ Marlene enquired, feeling rather pleased with herself for asking such an intelligent question.
‘I didn’t say they had ’em in America; I said I didn’t know if they did,’ Barry said, embarrassed. His mother could never just sit there and listen. She always had to put her two penn’orth in and make a complete show of herself and him at the same time.
Hymee Michaels smiled at Marlene. He knew all about her. Jake had given him lots of information about the woman he lived with, and Marlene was exactly how Hymee had imagined her to be. ‘Readings like this are fairly unusual, but I have performed two in the past. Jake was a man of few words when he was alive, and I think there were certain things he wanted to say to people which he felt unable to. I’m sure that’s why he was insistent on a reading of this kind. He would never want to pass over to the other side with so much left unsaid.’
Marlene nudged Barry. ‘Pass over to the other side. What fucking other side?’ she said, laughing.
‘Put a sock in it, will you, muvver?’ Barry snapped, embarrassed.
Anne, Miranda and Isabelle glanced at one another, but said nothing. They had far too much class and respect to get involved in another argument with a foul-mouthed old tart such as Marlene.
Hymee picked up the papers in front of him and smiled wryly. When he had helped Jake write this over an extremely boozy lunch, they had had a right old laugh over it. Hymee had liked Jake. He was a funny character, one of his nicer clients, and Hymee was determined to do his old friend proud today. Clearing his throat, Hymee adjusted his reading glasses.
‘To Barry Franklin, who I always classed as the son I never had, I leave my beloved classic Jaguar car and my bar in Spain. I know and trust Barry will take good care of both for me.’
‘How comes he got the fucking bar? It’s called Marlene’s, so surely that should have been mine?’ Marlene yelled, callously.
Barry was shocked. The bar didn’t make fortunes, but it was certainly worth a few bob if he ever decided to cash in and sell it.
‘What have I got?’ Marlene asked Hymee.
‘I was told by Jake to read this in a specific order, Mrs Franklin, so I’m afraid you will have to wait your turn,’ Hymee replied. ‘To my daughters, Miranda and Isabelle, I leave my property in England and fifty thousand pounds each. Both of my—’
‘What? You’re having a fucking laugh, ain’t ya?’ Marlene shrieked, stopping Hymee mid-sentence.
As his mother went to stand up, Barry grabbed her by the arm. ‘Sit down, shut up, and stop being so bloody rude. Let the man finish what he’s saying, else I’m walking out and leaving you ’ere.’
When Marlene sat back down, Hymee nodded, then continued. ‘Both of my daughters are very dear to my heart and I truly regret all the wasted years that we spent apart. I am so glad that we managed to put our differences to one side and become friends again, as I would never have been able to rest in true peace if we hadn’t been able to achieve