Warren wanted to be off. There was probably a call on the other line. Andy replaced the phone and began a long and eventually successful search of the drawers in his desk for a padded envelope which would accommodate his play.

  He took Greg to the post office with him as Clare was at work. He didn’t want to go, but he didn’t want to be left alone in the house either.

  ‘Life’s full of difficult choices,’ Andy told him. ‘What do you want for Christmas?’

  ‘A bike,’ Greg replied instantly.

  A bike was the last thing that Andy wanted to buy him. The road outside the house was a racetrack where even pedestrians felt threatened. All attempts to introduce a speed limit had apparently crumbled against the stone wall of local bureacracy.

  ‘We’ll see,’ Andy said.

  When they got home, the doormat was covered with Christmas cards. The change-of-address cards which Clare had diligently sent out were producing dividends. Andy scooped them up and found that one envelope was larger than the others. He also recognized the writing, which came as a surprise. Brad didn’t normally send them Christmas cards.

  ‘I never send Christmas cards,’ he said once, ‘because they only encourage people.’ But Andy knew that when his firm was running he dispatched hundreds, often with presents, to sweeten his clients and people he hoped would become clients. Probably by the time he got home from work he was sick of the whole idea.

  He made himself a coffee and sat down in the kitchen with the post. Greg had gone off in search of a suitably lurid video. The envelope that bore Brad’s flamboyant handwriting, inscribed, by the look of it, with a black rollerball pen, contained no Christmas card. Instead there was a single sheet of Bradley Rowe Images notepaper with the name of the defunct enterprise scored through with two black lines. The large writing of the message filled the page.

  Mr and Mrs Devlin (and Greg) are invited to drink champagne at 11am on Sunday, December 23, with Mr and Mrs Rowe. A chauffeur-driven car will call for you at that hour. Attendance is compulsory. There is a present for you.

  Mystified, he laid the note on the table. His first impulse was to phone Brad, but after some thought he felt that this violated the spirit of the invitation. Mystery was part of the programme.

  He looked through the other cards – from Australia, Ibiza, Hong Kong and Canada – and marvelled at the way people had casually put half a world between themselves and their roots when he found it a financial challenge to get to London.

  twelve

  Standing expectantly at the window, waiting for the mysterious chauffeur-driven car, Andy, Clare and Greg were surprised and impressed when a silver-pearl Rolls-Royce Corniche glided to a halt at their gate. At the wheel was a burly driver wearing a black peaked cap.

  ‘Wicked!’ said Greg. ‘It’s a Roller!’

  ‘A taste of luxury at last,’ said Clare. ‘Let’s go.’ She was carrying a video of Chicago, a present for Brad and Olivia, and, intimidated by Olivia’s fancy couture had put on her best pale blue two-piece.

  They stepped out of the house, admiring the sleek lines of the transport that had been provided, and it was only when the chauffeur emerged to open their door that they realized it was Brad.

  ‘Good morning, people,’ he said. ‘Please make yourselves comfortable.’

  They climbed into the back, intrigued by this development. The smell of new leather filled their nostrils.

  ‘You didn’t have to hire a Rolls to fetch us,’ Andy said. ‘We’re quite happy in a Mondeo.’

  ‘My husband speaks for himself,’ Clare said. ‘I find this vehicle entirely suitable.’ She sat back in her seat, enjoying the luxurious comfort of it.

  ‘I’ve never been in a Rolls before,’ said Greg, staring fascinated at the dashboard.

  The car pulled silently away. They hadn’t even realized that the engine was running.

  ‘What’s this all about, Brad?’ Andy asked. ‘You’re moving in mysterious ways.’

  ‘All will become clear,’ said Brad. ‘First we have to pick up the Prestons if I can find their new home.’

  Clive and Holly were standing outside a drab, grey house with a small neglected front garden. Behind it was a large cemetery. An uneasy truce prevailed between them as they faced the prospect of a rare social occasion together.

  ‘I knew it would be late,’ Holly was saying.

  ‘Here it is,’ said Clive. ‘God, it’s a Rolls.’

  Brad stuck his head out of the window. ‘Holly, come in the front. There’s plenty of room for Clive in the back. Where’s Charlotte?’

  ‘She wouldn’t come,’ said Holly. ‘She’s having one of her moods. I thought you were a chauffeur in that cap.’

  ‘I am a chauffeur,’ said Brad. ‘Do get in.’

  Clive got in the back. It was surprising how much room there was. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

  ‘Buggered if I know,’ said Andy. ‘Nice wheels, though.’

  They drove back to the area where they had all recently lived. The low December sun was in their eyes and Brad pulled down the peak of his cap. Bare trees lined the almost empty roads.

  ‘I feel I should wave to people,’ said Holly, ‘but there’s nobody to wave to.’

  ‘They’re all indoors wrapping their Christmas presents,’ said Brad. ‘You get a lot of that sort of thing at this time of the year.’

  ‘I have your present here,’ said Holly, producing a video of Chicago from her bag. ‘Olivia will love it.’

  Clive stared mournfully out of the window. Recent events had not equipped him for cheerful appearances at social gatherings, which demanded a geniality and joie de vivre that he couldn’t quite manage.

  ‘You’re getting a bit flamboyant for somebody whose business has just gone down the pan, aren’t you?’ he asked sourly. ‘What did it cost to hire this motor?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Brad replied cheerfully. ‘I didn’t hire it.’ He took a turn that none of them had expected.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Andy asked. ‘I thought we were heading for your house?’

  ‘We are,’ Brad assured him.

  The unanswered questions were left to hang in the air as they turned into a small enclave of luxurious new homes. Brad drove past the first few, which were all empty, and pulled into the wide drive of number 1, where curtains in the windows and smoke from the chimney suggested occupation. One door of an impressive triple garage was open, revealing a new maroon Mercedes. Some of the questions which arrived now were answered when Olivia opened the front door holding a bottle of champagne.

  ‘Brad,’ said Andy, ‘is there something you haven’t told us?’

  ‘Quite a lot,’ Brad said, getting out of the car and removing his chauffeur’s cap. ‘Welcome to my new home. And by the way, the car’s mine.’ He ignored their confusion and marched towards Olivia while the others followed, exchanging baffled glances. A flurry of air-kissing greeted them on the doorstep.

  ‘I haven’t seen you for ages, Clare,’ said Olivia. ‘How’s the new house?’

  ‘Bloody horrible, thanks,’ said Clare. ‘I prefer this one.’ She produced the video. ‘We bought you a present, but it seems that Holly has chosen the same one.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Olivia, leading them in. ‘I promised to get one for my sister.’

  She began to pour the champagne while they looked round the room. Everything in it was new – the dusty-pink carpets, the furniture, the new red glass chandelier that hung over this opulence, a silver mirror hanging above the roaring fire.

  ‘What will you drink, Greg?’ Brad asked.

  Greg was staring round the room in wonderment.

  ‘Do you have coke?’

  ‘There’s some bought specially for you in the kitchen. Come with me and I’ll show you my snooker table.’

  Brad was wearing a new double-breasted blazer – an image change. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and led him from the room in a way that made Andy wonder whether he wished he had children.

  Olivia was lacquering a six-foot Christmas tree in the corner of the room, and talking to Clare and Holly, who had been enviously studying the new four-seater sofa.

  ‘How’s Clive taking redundancy?’ Olivia asked.

  Holly grimaced. ‘I think he’s fading away. He’s so unobtrusive these days that even the automatic doors in supermarkets don’t register his presence. They keep slamming shut in his face. It tells you something, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Can’t he get another job?’

  ‘I’ve recommended suicide bomber, but he lacks the mechanical know-how apparently.’

  Andy and Clive were standing in the middle of the room with their drinks, bewildered by this transformation in the Rowe family’s fortunes. Clive looked as if he wasn’t quite sure why he was there, like a spider in a bath.

  ‘What do you make of it?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m waiting for an explanation,’ said Andy. He called to Olivia: ‘What have you done with the other house?’

  ‘Brad’s left tenants there,’ said Olivia.

  ‘My God, has he got a lieutenant as well?’

  ‘Your jokes don’t get any better, Andy,’ said Olivia disdainfully. She rarely laughed.

  When Brad returned he insisted on giving them a tour of the house. Not all the rooms were furnished yet, but those that were exuded luxury.

  ‘The house is bigger than it looks,’ said Clare.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Brad. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ Clare said sadly.

  ‘Let’s go downstairs. I’ve got a present for you.’

  ‘You mentioned that on your invitation.’

  ‘Here it comes,’ said Brad.

  Downstairs he refilled all their glasses and then took the centre of the room. He raised a hand to silence his wife, who was explaining to Holly that the picture on her car’s television disappeared for safety reasons when the car was in motion.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Brad said. ‘As it’s Christmas, I have bought you presents. One for the Devlins, one for the Prestons.’

  Warming himself by the fire, Andy wondered what sort of present could justify this portentous build-up. Presents, in his experience, were passed over in a much more self-effacing manner.

  ‘The only question,’ Brad went on, ‘is who gets which present? I’ve decided that the matter will be resolved by the toss of a coin.’

  ‘I’ll get the electric toothbrush,’ said Andy. ‘I never have any luck with tossed coins.’

  Brad had already produced a fifty-pence coin from his pocket. He spun it into the air, caught it, and slapped it on the back of his hand. Andy and Clive looked at each other, waiting for the other to call.

  Clive eventually broke the silence. ‘Tails,’ he said.

  Brad looked at the coin and showed it to them. ‘It’s tails.’

  ‘I knew it,’ said Andy. ‘I couldn’t back the winner in a walkover.’

  But now they were all looking at Brad, waiting for the production of these much-heralded presents. He returned the coin to his pocket, and rubbed his hands together in an expression of imminent pleasure.

  ‘You all have to come outside,’ he announced.

  ‘Outside?’ said Andy. ‘I’ve won the bloody wheelbarrow, haven’t I?’

  They filed obediently out of the house and seemed at first to be heading for the triple garage. But Brad marched past this and ended up on the drive of the house next door. He pointed at the house, and then at the next one.

  ‘You won the toss, Clive. Do you want number 2 or number 3?’

  Clive stared at him. He wasn’t in the mood for jokes, but felt a guest’s obligation to play along.

  ‘Oh, I’ll have number two,’ he replied dutifully.

  ‘Right,’ said Brad. He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the front door. ‘Come in. It’s yours.’ He handed the key to Clive.

  Clive looked at Holly, who shrugged, as puzzled as he was. But Brad was in the house now and they all followed him in, awaiting an explanation.

  ‘Very nice,’ said Clive. ‘It’s like yours.’

  ‘Identical,’ said Brad. ‘Andy, you get number 3.’ He tossed him a key.

  ‘It’s a good game, Brad, but I don’t quite get it,’ Andy said, looking at the key. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I’ve bought you both a house,’ said Brad. ‘I was missing you.’

  ‘You’ve bought us both a house?’ said Clare incredulously. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve got the deeds in my office. They haven’t been filled in, or whatever you do with deeds, because I didn’t know who would own which house.’

  ‘Is this a joke?’ asked Holly. ‘Because if it’s a joke it’s not all that funny.’

  ‘No joke, sweetheart,’ said Brad, putting his arm round her. ‘You’ve got yourself a new home.’

  Olivia stepped forward and gave Holly a hug. ‘It’s true, kid. You own the house. Brad’s bought it for you. And you, Clare.’

  Clare looked confused. ‘I think I’m losing the plot,’ she said.

  Clive took Andy’s arm. ‘Are you believing any of this?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘None of it,’ Andy told him. ‘But it’s fun to imagine. Would you like to see my place?’ He was clutching the key that Brad had thrown to him, and he led the others out to number 3. He was faintly surprised when the key opened the door. They all walked into the empty house with its bare floors and curtainless windows, and tried to imagine it furnished. Greg, untouched by the pervasive scepticism, broke away from the group and went off to find his own room.

  When the party drifted back to Brad’s house for more champagne, a mood of silent bemusement had descended on it. Holly and Clare, reassured by Olivia, were beginning to believe that they had suddenly acquired wonderful new homes, but didn’t dare say so in case they looked foolish. Andy and Clive, on whom the ways of the world had bestowed a cheerful cynicism, could not overlook Brad’s capacity for deception. They still suspected a joke, although they could see nothing that deserved a laugh.

  By the time they sat down with their drinks, Brad had been upstairs and returned with two large brown envelopes. He sat on the sofa, the envelopes on his lap.

  ‘I have the feeling that you guys don’t believe me,’ he said. ‘I’m driven to this conclusion by the fact that nobody has said thank you.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Clive, looking embarrassed. ‘The fact is, it’s too incredible to believe.’

  ‘But it’s true, Clive,’ Olivia exclaimed. ‘Brad wants all his little friends around him. All boys together.’

  Andy gave her a quick look. He detected a hint that even if this amazing thing had actually happened, and the houses were theirs, Olivia didn’t entirely approve of the purchase. Another thought struck him.

  ‘Even were it to be true,’ he said, ‘there are other factors that float into your mind. What does it cost, for instance, to live in a house like this? We can hardly pay the expenses on the slum we’ve got now.’

  Brad smiled broadly. ‘I’ve thought of that,’ he said. ‘The answer and the deeds are in the envelope.’ He handed one each to Andy and Clive. ‘Have a look.’

  Andy opened the envelope and pulled out a large document which he saw was the deeds of the house.

  ‘There’s something else in there,’ Brad told him.

  Andy peered into the envelope. There was a piece of paper at the bottom and he pulled it out. It was a cheque for £500,000.

  ‘Christ!’ he said, and passed it to his wife. But his reaction, he found, was that the cheque confirmed his suspicion that this was an elaborate and seemingly pointless hoax. The cheque was a step too far.

  Clive, who had withdrawn a cheque for the same amount from his envelope, had evidently been pushed in the same direction.

  ‘I’m more confused than ever now, Brad,’ he said, showing Holly the cheque. ‘Are you going to explain?’

  ‘I will explain,’ said Brad, ‘but you must treat what I tell you in confidence.’

  ‘You’ve robbed a bank,’ said Clare. ‘Your secret’s safe with us.’

  ‘As good as,’ Brad told her. ‘I won eleven million on the Lottery.’

  The relief in the room was sensational. Suddenly it all made sense. The houses were real. The half million was real. The room exploded. People were on their feet, hugging each other, shaking hands, and, in Clare and Holly’s cases, kissing Brad.

  ‘Bloody fantastic!’ Andy shouted, hugging Olivia who wasn’t entirely at ease with such public emotion. Clive, showing his first genuine smile in weeks, was kissing Clare on the cheek.

  Brad stood there watching this spontaneous outpouring of love with huge satisfaction. His friends had found little to smile at lately, but suddenly here was pure joy. Andy was striding round the room repeating, ‘bloody fantastic!’ Clive was rubbing his face and muttering, ‘I can’t believe it.’ The women were laughing as they contemplated the new homes they were going to create.

  ‘Does this mean I can have a bike for Christmas?’ Greg asked.

  ‘And a computer,’ Clare told him, giving him a kiss and a hug.

  Brad, smiling permanently now, was opening another bottle of champagne.

  ‘Can we accept it?’ Clare asked, as they lay in bed that night. She asked the question dispassionately despite the fact that Andy was nibbling her thigh.

  His head appeared from the duvet. ‘Of course we can accept it. A starving man takes what he’s given.’ He felt more relaxed than he had for months.

  ‘It’s an odd situation though,’ she said.

  He pulled himself up the bed. ‘Enjoy it,’ he said. ‘God knows, you deserve a break. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. I’ll put the cheque in the bank first thing, and then you can go out and spend what you want. I’ll get Greg a computer. The bike can wait until we move to the safer surroundings of our new home.’

  ‘And when will that be?’

  ‘As soon as possible. We can choose carpets tomorrow, and I’ll talk to the removal people. I wonder if they work on the 27th?’

  He was anxious to be off. A brighter life would start when they had moved. There was a new world waiting.

 

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