‘I thought I’d have a little nostalgia tour without being bothered by anyone. Remember how things were. How they began. Who I was then.’ Something in that riled her further, that he could have forgotten. And still no mention of her. He seemed wistful, then he remembered himself, snapping back into teasing mode. ‘Obviously I hadn’t counted on Ghostbusters being here. Nor all the baggage it apparently requires.’ Tiff looked around at her baggage a.k.a her life, but Mike did not. He was gazing at her. Perhaps she hadn’t fooled him at all. ‘You were never a very good liar, Tiff,’ he said, quietly.
‘And you never knew when to shut your gob,’ it exploded out of her. Who the hell was he to throw her lie in her face? That was it. The bleeding limit. She had reached the precipice of her self-control after days of utter awfulness and this, from him, was the final straw that flicked her deftly over the edge. The anger she felt in the pub had merely been a warm up compared to the rage now surging through her. She gripped the banister both for support and to tether her down.
‘How nice for you to be able to swan in here and ponder how life used to be, to cast your eye over us poor underlings who never escaped, who never got their chance at international stardom. How very nice that must be. Did you give your heat magazine dolly-bird a tour of the stepping stones to your global success?’ As the words seared off her tongue, Tiff didn’t want to think about all the hours they’d lain on her bed, daydreaming a future, together and far away from Kingsley. The travelling, the mansion, the yacht. They hadn’t got down to the small details – like how they were going to fund it all – but they’d been firmly agreed on the plans. God, she really hoped he didn’t have a yacht. ‘How gracious of you to think of it, to bestow a visit on the old place, to peruse your humble beginnings. How blessed we surely are. And what do you see Mike, anything good? No. It’s still a shithole. You could have Googled it, saved yourself the effort.’
Mike was looking at her like she was totally off on one. She wished her left leg would stop shaking with the raging; it undermined her poise.
‘Calm down a minute—’
‘No! No, you calm down,’ she cut him off, faintly aware he was perfectly calm, which wound her up even more. She was beyond stopping. Without the pub crowd to witness her making a fool of herself, she had nothing left to lose. And much as she would’ve chosen root canal treatment over seeing Mike again, he was the perfect target upon which to unleash the ten years of bile roiling around in her gut. Boy, it felt good.
‘What the hell are you really back for, Mike? I can only think it’s to take the piss out of me. You got the hell out of this place without a backward glance, you’re living the dream – our dream – and now you feel the need to return and rub it in my face. Well, I tell you what, you can shove it. You’re the one who’s a poor liar. You can bite me with your nostalgia; I know gloating when I see it, and that makes you the bad person. I do not need your pity, I don’t want you to give me one single thought. Ever.’
‘I wasn’t—’ His forehead was furrowed and for the first time Tiff saw him look anything other than confident.
‘I don’t want to hear it. Not one word. Nothing to come out of your mouth is worth the breath you spent on it. Do whatever lording it was you came here for, but don’t expect me to watch. Then you can let yourself the hell out, and if it’s not too much to ask of your lordship, I’d appreciate it if I never saw your smug battered mug ever again.’
Tiff and the baby unicorns stomped back up the stairs, pretty sure he understood the dismissal. That’d be the last she saw of him.
Job done.
E.J. Leonards Solicitors was a proper old-school firm spanning five generations. Now on the brink of retirement himself, Leonards had conducted many will readings, yet still approached each with trepidation. On one hand, not unlike when watching Antiques Roadshow, there were joyful moments when he’d surprise the unsuspecting, announcing a windfall they’d never dreamed of. Those were his Fairy Godfather moments – he hoped the deceased wouldn’t mind. There were the cases which baffled him, where fortunes were left to cats, while the relatives gained an ornament bordering on the grotesque. He always suggested Antiques Roadshow in those cases. And then there were the wills he immediately sensed would be contentious. With Blackie’s he had a niggling feeling it might be a mix of all three, and Leonards always trusted his niggling feelings.
Whilst few people had been invited to the reading, the room felt quite full. The second Mrs Black sat with her son Aaron, Leonards felt he’d be reluctant to meet him in a dark alley. He’d seen enough of human nature in this job to not judge a book by its cover, but in this case the package, dirty tracksuit and all, appeared to match the attitude. They sat whispering about the will contents. Leonards’ hearing aid was always turned fully up on these occasions.
Leonards looked steadily at the young man. Mid-twenties with a prison record. He’d been jailed for beating up a girlfriend. Clear-cut case of vicious domestic abuse. Blackie had wanted to clout the boy black and blue, but Leonards had talked him down, convincing him to let the court mete out the justice. That lad had got everything he deserved. Nasty piece of work, that one. Leonards wanted the chair wiped clean once this reading was over.
Then there was Tiffanie Trent of course. She fidgeted at the side, attempting to smooth out the multiple creases in her skirt. A pile of accounts folders sat at her feet.
‘They’re all here and up to date, Leonards,’ she’d assured him on arrival.
‘Oh, I don’t need those, my dear,’ Leonards said cheerily, but seeing her face fall, added ‘however it’s lovely to have them.’
He liked Tiffanie, she was an unassuming girl of whom Blackie had been very fond. Leonards enjoyed the fact she felt her presence was simply to account for the book-keeping. For all her family’s problems, she wasn’t one of life’s spongers, unlike some he could think of. Shrewd as he was, he noted Tiffanie was deliberately ignoring the side of the room where Mike Fellner sat. Her appalled scowl when the boxer had appeared was unmissable and a fair clue of some history there. Old people were often dismissed as unperceptive. Not so Leonards, who recognised that the last week had been difficult for Tiffanie, not just regarding Blackie. While unaware of the details, the solicitor knew a troubled soul when he saw one.
Mr Fellner was accompanied by a much younger woman, introduced as his girlfriend, Verity. Leonards’ hearing aid had disclosed that while she was curious to hear why he’d been invited, she was keen for it not to last long; she was having her eyelashes extended at lunchtime.
‘We’re all here, so we should start. I’m sure you’re all busy people with jobs to do.’ At huge personal effort he managed not to fix Aaron with his beady eye. He had it on Blackie’s authority the lad suffered from chronic laziness, complicated by an acute case of entitlement.
‘Blackie was not without means, in spite of his past divorce, where his funds were significantly diminished.’ Leonards did not look up, although having watched Blackie being fleeced, he would’ve relished the opportunity to have his say on that. His professionalism won out. ‘He was, as we all know, a hard worker and fought to regain his wealth, living frugally, whilst showing a generosity to the youth of this town that I believe is well recognised and appreciated.’ Both Tiff and Mike were nodding their heads. Mrs Black sneaked a sly look at her watch, while Verity drummed her perfectly-manicured fingers on Mike’s thigh.
‘As it turned out, Blackie has a sizeable estate to leave – primarily the boxing club with its buildings, contents and profits – and so you have been asked here today, as beneficiaries.’ He was tickled to see Tiff look confused and Mike surprised, which was more than he could say for Mrs Black and her son, who were sporting a keen shade of smug.
Leonards then began the preamble that Frank Black, being of sound mind, did leave the following:
‘Firstly, to