The Winners, page 7
‘Nice place. Things must be going well for you, pal?’
‘I don’t think we were ever pals. Perhaps you could get to the point and tell me why you’re here?’ Although asking the question, Malcolm was sure he knew the answer. His mind hauled him back in time to see himself cowering in the playground as Rapier, the undisputed class bully, stood over him, demanding his dinner money.
Looking into the face of the man before him, it was easy to recognise the same bully with the same smug expression. The memories fast forwarded to a later incident, probably the last time he saw the boy Phillip Rapier when the intimidation had escalated, and Rapier was kicking Malcolm, showering him with verbal and physical blows, ‘Your mother’s going to hang, did you know? Hang by the neck until she’s dead, and good riddance, too!’ The words, delivered in a childish sing-song voice, were, even now, embedded in the depths of Mal’s mind, clawing their way to the fore like a haunting, recurring nightmare refusing to release its icy grip.
Rapier had seated himself on the sofa with his arm stretched along the back tapping his fingers as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Malcolm had to admit that the years had been kinder to Phillip than himself. The man was tall with a full head of hair, unlike Mal’s balding pate.
‘Not even an offer of coffee for an old friend?’ Rapier grinned.
‘As I said, we were never friends, so get to the point, will you? I’m assuming this isn’t simply a social call?’
‘You always were the bright one, and yes, you’re right. We have a little business to attend to.’ His arrogant expression made Malcolm want to punch him, yet instead, he nodded, recognising that the class bully had not changed, only these days, the stakes were much higher than a child’s dinner money.
‘So, you’ve advanced to blackmail, have you?’ Malcolm asked, sitting down in fear of his trembling legs failing to support him.
‘That’s such a dirty word, Malcolm, old boy. Shall we call it a financial arrangement; after all, you have more than enough money for your needs, and I don’t. Look upon it as sharing your wealth; it sounds much more altruistic, and I assure you I’m a worthy cause!’
‘And if I refuse?’
Rapier stood up and deliberately walked to the window where Julie’s cherished family photographs were displayed. Picking up a silver framed photo of Danny, Kate and their families, he ran his finger over the image and asked, ‘Do they know about your past?’
‘Actually, they do.’ Malcolm felt his face flush as Rapier laughed out loud.
‘I don’t believe you. What a happy little family. Your children and grandchildren, I presume? Your daughter is very pretty. Do you think they’ll understand the word matricide? Do they know their granny was a murderer? No, they don’t know, do they? But even if they did, I’m sure the newspapers would be interested. Human-interest stories are always in demand, and a lottery winner with a secret past is quite a scoop. Nothing like a scandalous past to sell newspapers.’
‘That’s your version, not mine.’
‘Ah, but it’s the truth, isn’t it? Murder is murder, no matter what fancy name you think up for it. I happen to have the facts right here.’ He pulled a crumpled envelope from his raincoat pocket, unfolded it and withdrew copies of the old newspaper cuttings. Malcolm stared in horror. He’d never seen these before. Bill Grainger had been careful to keep any newspapers out of the house.
Malcolm clearly remembered their home being besieged by reporters, and his dad drew all the curtains and refused to answer the door. They stayed inside for three days until the reporters gave up and eventually left. Bill tried to make it into a game, but Malcolm remembered being bored at not being allowed outside. Even footie in the backyard was banned in case some enterprising photographer scaled the back gate. It was a confusing and frightening experience for a seven-year-old boy, but worse was still to come.
Malcolm mentally shook himself back to the present. ‘I think you’d better leave!’ He stood and turned towards the door.
‘So soon? We’ve hardly had time to catch up on the good old days, well maybe the bad old days in your case. Don’t be so hasty, pal, while I explain what will happen. I’m leaving these cuttings with you; you might learn a thing or two yourself, and I’ll return in a couple of days at about the same time when you’ve had a chance to think about your position and what you’ve got to lose.’ Rapier nodded towards the family photographs and gave a low, menacing chuckle.
Malcolm was torn, his mind spinning. The thought of paying a blackmailer was abhorrent, but to let this go public was equally distasteful. He needed time, so he remained silent as he opened the door for Rapier to leave.
‘We’ll speak soon then?’ The unwelcome visitor stepped out of the house and whistled happily as he walked up the garden path into the cold but incongruously bright autumn morning.
Malcolm retreated into the house and slumped onto the sofa. His legs were weak, he felt sick, and his body trembled. Rapier had been inside for less than fifteen minutes, yet it was enough to throw Malcolm’s world into complete turmoil. Resting his head on the back of the sofa, he closed his eyes. What would happen to his family if this got into the papers? Would his grandchildren become the victims of bullies as he’d been? And how would it affect his dad? Bill never spoke of their past, and Malcolm had taken his lead. Avoid unpleasantness, avoid confrontation, and don’t rock the boat. He was so good at it, yet it appeared the boat was being rocked from outside the family, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Mulling over possible repercussions terrified him.
Automatically heading for the kitchen to put the kettle on, Malcolm was grateful he’d given up work as Julie had wanted. Feeling sick to his stomach, he could not think straight, let alone go to work. Pouring boiling water onto his tea bag, he stirred the mug, thinking it was precisely what Julie would do in an emergency: make a cup of tea.
For the first time, Malcolm truly wished they’d not won the lottery. Life before had been uncomplicated, mundane and peaceful. They weren’t rich yet, had enough to get by, and were happy; why on earth he’d even bought a ticket escaped him. He should have thought through what winning would mean.
It occurred to Mal that he hadn’t even asked Rapier how much he wanted to keep silent, although the money was immaterial. The thought of paying a blackmailer was repugnant, but then so was the alternative.
For a brief moment, Malcolm considered visiting his father but knew in his heart that the old man wasn’t strong enough to cope with the shock. Bill Grainger had spent years protecting his son, and now it was Malcolm’s turn to step up to the mark and protect his father. For once, he would have to face things himself. There were forty-eight hours in which to make a decision, and he would use the time wisely. Seeking peace and solitude, Malcolm slumped on the sofa with his tea. Trixie was beside him in no time and snuggled into his side as he picked up his father’s journal and continued to read.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
July 20th 1967
The reporters left us alone after the expected ‘three-day wonder’ period. Although I expected it, I was devastated when the police officially charged Mary with murder; she never denied helping her mother to take the tablets which they had saved in sufficient quantity to end her life.
The authorities were not interested in the fact that it had been at Joan’s request. Initially, there were discussions with Mr Jenkins about a lesser charge of manslaughter or assisted suicide. They soon realised, however, that it was purely academic as it became apparent Mary had not long to go before her own death. Whether out of compassion or the simple futility of the situation, the police decided not to pursue the case, and during our last few weeks together, we were left alone to manage as best as we could.
One night, from the turn of the staircase, I stood in the shadows and listened to Mary talking to our son. I could picture her in my mind, stroking his forehead, kissing his hair and breathing in as much of him as she could, to remember for eternity. Her words were soft and kind, expressing love and regret for having to leave him. There were silences and muffled sobs as our boy tried to be brave. It broke my heart to listen, yet I was frozen to the spot, torn between running in to join my family and giving way to my stifled tears or allowing them time alone together. Malcolm was forced into understanding things no seven-year-old should have to grapple with. His years of innocent childhood had been cruelly snatched from him, and I would be the only one left to love and protect him. I feel so inadequate, so small and weak; if only I could have the same strength Mary has.
July 25th 1967
Mary is at peace. It is barely a month since we buried Joan, a month of agony and despair and now I have lost the love of my life too. I would have crumpled if it were not for Malcolm, but I must go on for his sake. My life feels like it’s over, but his life is just beginning, and he must have the opportunity to live it well. During those last few weeks, Mary became so frail in body, but her spirit was strong, a spirit she willed into me, attempting to empower me, instructing and encouraging… but I am slow to learn. Yet now her words come back to me in the dark silent hours, those instructions for our future without her, those wise words I cling to in my despair and sorrow.
August 19th 1967
I decided Malcolm should not return to school after that awful day when he was bullied. I kept him at home and gave up my job at the local library. In the days immediately after Mary’s death, I found solace in activity. I spruced up the house with fresh paint, Malcolm being my willing apprentice, and we tidied the neglected garden together before putting the house up for sale. Mary had suggested places where we might move to and there was comfort in knowing we were doing her bidding, so our next task was to seek out a new home.
We settled on Burnbridge, a name at the top of Mary’s list. The town was large enough for me to find employment but small enough to provide a friendly atmosphere to raise our son. Mary had always loved the Yorkshire countryside’s rugged moors, hills and dales. I knew I would feel close to her there and hoped the peaceful surroundings would be a healing balm for Malcolm and me.
September 5th 1967
Mercifully the house sold quickly and we have found the perfect little home to rent in Burnbridge, a two-up, two-down terraced house with open fields at the back and only a five-minute walk to the local school. Malcolm has been so brave, I sometimes catch him looking at me with the same concerned expression his mother had, and I know I am blessed to have my son despite everything that has happened. It is still not long since we lost Mary and there are times when my heart aches at the almost unbearable pain of loss and grief which attempts to swallow me up, but I look at my boy and see his mother’s gentle eyes smiling back at me and I know we will survive.
Malcolm sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. Intruding on his father’s privacy was uncomfortable, yet Bill wanted him to see these journals. The words elicited bitter-sweet memories, yet strangely, this written record gave him a much-needed strength. Through the pages, he gained an insight into the remarkable love his parents had shared, and Mal’s heart swelled with pride to be the child of two such extraordinary people.
Reading his father’s account also caused Malcolm to face, perhaps for the first time, his feelings about his mother’s actions. Phillip Rapier assumed Malcolm would be ashamed of the past and his mother, but the more Malcolm thought about it, the more the opposite became true. Although he was against the concept of taking another’s life, he would not judge his mother for what she’d done. He even felt pride in her courage to do what she thought was fitting by carrying out her mother’s wishes, misguided or not.
In those days, assisted suicide was almost unheard of, although it most probably still happened. The debate was so much more open today, with sympathies from both sides. Would Mary have been called a murderer today, or perhaps a mercy killer? Whatever. Malcolm’s memories were of a loving, caring, patient mother who showed strength and courage in her actions; how could he be ashamed of such qualities? How could anyone judge her actions if they had not been there and never walked in his mother’s shoes?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Julie arrived at her sister’s home early, keen to share Susan’s enthusiasm as she prepared for her trip to Canada. Susan had wasted no time telling her son Stephen the exciting news and he promptly booked an open-ended ticket for his mother to Canada. The plan was for her to stay over Christmas, giving her a chance to bond with her grandson and spend quality time with her son. It was only three days until her departure, and she could barely contain her enthusiasm.
‘I can’t express how grateful I am to you and Mal for your kindness,’ Susan said, her eyes welling up with tears. ‘Stephen’s also indebted to you. He was planning to save up for a ticket for me, but now he has family responsibilities, so it wouldn’t have been until next year at the earliest.’
‘You don’t need to keep thanking us.’ Julie smiled. ‘You’d have done the same had you been the one to win the lottery.’
The sisters sat at Susan’s small kitchen table, coffee in hand, chatting about their upcoming trips. ‘It’s strange, isn’t it? We’ve never been big on travelling, but look at us now – you’re heading to Canada, and we’re going to Florida, as long as nothing comes up to stop us. Danny is still upset with his dad, but he’ll come around eventually.’
Julie had shared Malcolm’s revelations with Susan, who was surprised but understanding. ‘The past can’t be changed,’ she’d said wisely. ‘Malcolm wouldn’t mean anything by keeping it from you. He was probably protecting you in his way, and you know what it’s like – as time passes, telling the truth becomes harder.’
‘You’re right. I should be more sympathetic. I have to say I’m seeing Bill in a different light, too. We don’t know what people suffer, do we?’
Susan poured more coffee. ‘Have another biscuit.’ She pushed the plate towards her sister.
‘No thanks, I’d like to lose some weight before we go away. It’s been years since I wore a swimsuit, but it’ll be so hot I’ll enjoy a swim.’
Susan had no such qualms and helped herself from the plate before her. Changing the subject, she asked, ‘Have you had any more of those awful letters?’
‘Yes, loads! I thought things would settle down and they’d stop. There aren’t as many as at first, but some are awful. It makes me sick how many women have sent disgusting photographs of themselves to Malcolm, offering to make all his dreams come true! It’s unbelievable how they throw themselves at him just because he’s rich. I’m not letting him open them anymore. To date, he’s had four pairs of knickers gifted to him! Can you believe it?’
‘You’re kidding. Why on earth would they do that?’
‘Some people will do anything for money. Mal laughs it off and says they’re after his charisma and good looks, not the money. I burn them all now. The sob stories are the worst, especially ones involving sick children. Danny checked a few out and found only a handful of genuine cases. I can’t believe the bare-faced lies people tell to get our money. The worst part is that the genuine ones miss out because you become suspicious and don’t trust anyone.’
‘You should employ a secretary to open your mail,’ Susan suggested laughingly.
‘It might come to that. Fancy a job?’ Julie joined in the laughter, finished the dregs of her coffee, and changed the subject. ‘How about we have a last shopping trip before you go away? It’ll be lovely to have some new clothes to take with you. I love shopping without having to look at the price tags.’
‘You’ve given me enough, Julie. Spend your money on Kate and Danny and your lovely grandchildren.’
‘Susan, the money isn’t going to run out and part of my enjoyment is in sharing it. Shall we go now or tomorrow? There are only two shopping days until your flight.’
Susan grinned. ‘No time like the present!’
Ten minutes later, arms linked and giggling like schoolgirls, the sisters set off for the town centre to enjoy their good fortune and indulge in some retail therapy.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Malcolm and Julie’s daughter Kate was still recovering from the shock of her father’s revelations a few days earlier. It was fair to say that her dad was never one to talk about his past and wasn’t a great communicator even under the best of circumstances. She had known he was relatively young when his mother died and had assumed he had very few memories to share; how wrong she had been. It was heartbreaking to realise the depth of the harrowing ordeal that both her dad and granddad had endured.
Kate was furious with her brother for walking out and wasted no time after the event ringing him to tell him so. Typically, Danny shrugged her comments off. He was always a bit of a hothead, yet there was no excuse for treating their father in such a way. Having made her feelings known, she thought it was best to leave Danny to stew over the incident. He usually saw sense in the end.
A few days later, Kate met with Julie, who was visibly upset. Julie confided that she was hurt Malcolm hadn’t trusted her enough to share his past. She had always believed there were no secrets between them, and this revelation had shaken her.
Julie’s sadness was evident and she admitted she didn’t know what to think. Though she insisted her loyalty to Malcolm hadn’t wavered, Kate could tell the truth had unsettled her mother more than she was willing to admit.
The next day, Kate’s mind buzzed with all these thoughts as she stopped by the supermarket on her way home. That morning, she had argued with Geoff, and he had left early again – a habit that was becoming far too frequent. Lately, Kate wondered if he was deliberately avoiding her and Daisy. The baby had been up half the night teething, adding to the strain, and home life felt anything but peaceful. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind – first the lottery win, now these unexpected revelations. Where would it all end?
