Just my luck, p.34
Just My Luck, page 34
52
Lexi
Thursday, 24th October
It made the papers, naturally. Not just a discreet little piece in the Buckinghamshire Gazette – a few column inches, the way Reveka and Benke’s deaths were reported – no, our story was splashed across tabloids and broadsheets for many consecutive days as the trial played out. Of course it was, it had all the elements to titillate the morbidly curious, the wickedly gossipy: a lottery win, an extravagant lifestyle, illicit sex and shocking violence. Our family’s pain was trumpeted. We were exposed. Everyone got to know that my husband betrayed me not once but twice, both women ostensibly my friends. Friends for fifteen years. It was revealed that, more horrifyingly, he placed his child in extreme danger for financial gain. He was the one who hired the thugs who beat her, bound her, starved her for twenty-four hours. He cried in court, sobbed, swore that he hadn’t given specific instructions for any of that; that the thugs went too far of their own accord. He had only asked that they hold her. He had thought they were taking her to a hotel, but the thugs had decided that was too risky and made their own plans. Jake had underestimated the vileness of the people he had mixed himself up with; the underlying throbbing brutality. He begged the judge and jury to believe him. I want to believe him because he would have to be the absolute devil to have planned to put Emily, his own daughter, through such horrors but even if I believe him, I still blame him and can never forgive him. There’s no getting away from the fact that he was the one who was responsible for the loss of her child. The loss of her childhood. And Logan’s come to that.
Jake wanted more. Always more. A wife, a lover, another lover. During the trial it transpired he’d never offered Jennifer and Fred a million to change their testimony; he’d offered Jennifer a life with him and ‘his’ half of the win. But it wasn’t enough for him to walk away with close to nine million, which he would have got if he’d divorced me, he staged the kidnap to siphon off ten million. If we’d divorced, we’d have split what was left, and he’d have bagged the majority of the cash.
But he still wanted more. Jennifer wasn’t enough either.
Carla was in on the kidnapping plan. Patrick continued to protest his innocence. He also continued to insist that he was due a share of the lottery win and that they had never left the syndicate. I went along to watch the trial. It was distressing, humiliating, but how could I keep away? I noticed that when Patrick insisted that they had never left the syndicate – that they were due a share of the money all along – the judge sneered. Judges are supposed to keep their faces entirely neutral, but he couldn’t stop himself sneering. He seemed disgusted by the whole lot of them. I think that is why he threw the book at them. Custodial sentences. Three years for Carla and Patrick. Seven for Jake. The judge was a father of three teenage girls himself. He must have been sickened.
Jennifer, Fred and Ridley have moved away. Somewhere up north. Leeds, I think. They want to start again. They want to try again. I wish them well, but mostly I wish them well away from us. I still have an account with almost three million pounds put aside. It’s Fred’s, if ever he should want it enough. He knows the terms. And if he never claims it, I might give it to Ridley, when he’s old enough to manage that sort of wealth properly.
We’ve put money in trust for Megan and her brothers too. We wanted them to come and live with us, but the social services decided it was too complicated. They are living with Carla’s sister in Surrey; apparently she’s a lovely woman. They are settling well enough. I know they will be taken care of, looked after and loved. Emily has stayed in touch with Megan. Their relationship isn’t as tight as it was, how could it be? But they send one another snaps and messages. There’s talk of a meet-up in London. I don’t know if it will happen. Time will tell whether they can remain close, after everything. It might be better if the friendship fades. If they move on. Like the social worker said, it’s complicated.
My children are doing OK. Considering everything, they are doing brilliantly. They have had to deal with so much. They’ve been hurt and horrified in a way that will take years to heal properly. They’ll never get over what’s happened, but I think they will get through it. I’m impressed by their courage, their resilience. We spent the summer in Moldova at Toma’s school for underprivileged kids. It was just what we all needed. To get away. To climb out of our own lives and skins for a while. The work he is doing there is astonishing. He’s genuinely making a profound difference, offering opportunities through education. Lives will be changed for the better. I love him for it.
I love him for many reasons.
The kids have returned to their old school. Logan was delighted; he has a great friendship group and simply slipped right back into it. Emily seems to be getting along very well with Scarlett, Liv and Nella. They are sweet girls.
Sadly, I never went back to CAB. Our family name has been dragged through the mud and I’m basically a reluctant celebrity. Ellie couldn’t in all conscience sanction my return – it would be too disruptive. I miss the Bureau, but I understand. You can’t have everything in life. Besides, I want to offer the kids as much stability as I can and being at home helps with that. I don’t need the money. The police recovered the ten million Jake pretended he’d given to kidnappers. It was spread through various accounts: most in his and Carla’s name, about a million in Patrick’s accounts. The money in Patrick’s account suggested his guilt, no matter how much he protested his innocence. I don’t know if that money was his cut of the kidnapping or Carla leaving him a bit of money to assuage her own guilt, or was it crueller than that? Did she and Jake frame Patrick? I guess that will remain a mystery forever. The money has been returned to me. Emily, Logan and I have spent a lot of time talking about what we might do with it next. Following the experience in Moldova, they both seem keen to set up something similar here in the UK; a trust that gives opportunities, creates light where before there was only despair.
‘Not all of it, though? Right, Mum?’ Emily asked. ‘I mean we can spend some of it on clothes and stuff.’
‘Of course, I promise.’
We ended up staying in the rental longer than I expected; it seemed sensible to stay somewhere gated throughout the trial, to avoid being doorstepped by hungry journos, but we’re moving back into our old home. Whilst we’ve been here, we’ve had some work done on our old place. An extra bedroom, a sunroom. I’m looking forward to going home. To getting back to normal.
53
Saturday, 13th April
‘Not this week,’ announced Jake, looking up from his phone, his face pulled into an expression that approximated a comedic take on disappointment. ‘Not a single number.’
‘Situation normal,’ said Lexi. No one else responded at all. The lull in conversation seemed heavy. Fred had been talking about, oh something or other, Lexi couldn’t recall, his car engine? Tyre pressure? It hadn’t been gripping, but Jake’s interruption to announce they weren’t lottery winners had created an atmosphere. No one liked to be reminded that they’d lost at anything, even if there was never any real expectation of winning. ‘Oh, by the way, it’s time to chip in to the kitty again,’ she said.
‘Why are we even doing the lotto?’ asked Patrick, his face flushed, his voice booming. ‘What’s the bloody point?’
Lexi couldn’t understand why he was suddenly grumbling. He’d hit the bottle of red hard that he’d brought with him. Polished it off before she had even served the main.
‘Well, we do it because we’ve always done it, haven’t we? Since we first met. It’s our thing, our gang’s thing,’ she smiled coolly. ‘Do you remember, we used to say if we won, we’d invest in twenty-four-hour childcare?’ The absolute dream of all exhausted, shell-shocked new parents.
‘That would still seem like a good investment,’ commented Carla with a wry grin. ‘Perhaps not a nanny but a private detective, someone to follow Megan around – I never know where she is or what she’s up to nowadays.’
‘Or a clairvoyant,’ added Jennifer. ‘To read Ridley’s mind. You are so lucky, Lexi, to have a chatty girl. I don’t get more than a grunt out of my son – typical boy.’
‘Is that the best you can come up with? Spending the dosh stalking your kids?’ Jake challenged. ‘If I won the lotto, I’d have much more fun spending it.’
‘You’d buy a Lamborghini and a yacht, I suppose,’ said Fred, with a grin.
‘Absolutely,’ Jake beamed. ‘You?’
‘A bigger house. Several bigger houses, actually. One here, one in London.’
Jennifer joined in, ‘South of France.’
‘California,’ added Carla.
‘What about you, Patrick? Would you invest in property?’ Lexi couldn’t stop herself sounding challenging. Not considering all she knew. Patrick had a lot of property already, most of it wasn’t fit to keep an animal in. Lexi had found it difficult to sit at the same table as Patrick tonight, to feed him. Considering her suspicions. She now was fully aware that he was a slum landlord – her investigations with Toma had uncovered as much. She was waiting on one more piece of information to discover if he was the slum landlord. The one that murdered Reveka and Benke. She would know for certain next week. Everything would change next week.
‘Maybe,’ said Patrick, he yawned. He looked bored.
‘Or would you perhaps just make improvements on the places you already own?’ she asked hopefully, desperately. Part of her wanted to keep the show on the road. They had all been friends for so long. If they weren’t friends, what would they be?
‘Oh no, not that,’ he chuckled. His big belly, the result of too many indulgent work lunches, shook. ‘Don’t want to spoil the tenants.’ Lexi felt sick.
‘I think I’d send Ridley to a posh sixth form. Marlborough or Eton,’ chipped in Jennifer.
Jake excitedly took up the mantle. ‘I’d want swimming pools in all my properties. I’d only ever fly first class from then on in.’
‘I’d dress entirely in haute couture, even to do the housework,’ said Carla.
‘You don’t do the housework,’ muttered Patrick. ‘We have a cleaner.’
‘Wouldn’t any of you do anything good with it?’ All five pairs of eyes swivelled to Lexi who had asked the question.
‘Good?’ they chorused.
‘Give to charities? Sent up trusts or foundations?’
‘Oh, yes, yes, of course,’ they hurried to reassure her.
‘I’m just saying it would be great fun to spoil oneself, you know totally,’ commented Carla. Patrick looked irritated. As far as Lexi could tell, he did a good job of spoiling his wife as it was; the woman could be so greedy. Did she have any idea how others lived so she could wear Jimmy Choos, so her husband could get fat? Surely not. Lexi hoped not. If Carla knew about the state of the properties, that would be too much. That would be unbearable.
‘I’d buy a really decent watch for every day of the week,’ said Jake. ‘You know, a Patek Philippe for Monday, a Chopard for Tuesday, a Rolex for Wednesday—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, man, grow up,’ Patrick snapped.
Startled, Lexi and Jake turned their heads towards him, the others all dropped their eyes to their plates. Lexi felt something in the air, a chill. ‘Will you cut the crap. All this talk about lotto wins is doing my head in. That’s not how you make money in this world. You need to graft.’
‘Patrick, playing the lotto is only a bit of fun,’ said Lexi, in what she hoped was a placating tone.
‘It’s crass,’ he muttered aggressively. Lexi felt the hairs on her body stand in revolt. Crass? Coming from him? She wanted to slap him. But she also wanted to preserve what they had around this table. Fifteen years of friendship.
‘It’s a few quid, man, what are you making a fuss for?’ Jake asked with a laugh that may have been designed to mollify but sounded a bit insistent.
Patrick looked uncomfortable, shifted on his seat, fingered his collar as though his tie was too tight, although he wasn’t wearing a tie. ‘It’s not the money, of course it’s not the money.’ He paused and then added, ‘It’s what it says.’
‘What it says?’
‘About us.’ No one was making eye contact. Lexi thought about offering pudding or another drink, but she didn’t bother.
‘What does buying a lotto ticket say about us, exactly?’ challenged Jake. He held his smile but it didn’t reach his eyes.
‘Come on, mate, you know what I’m saying.’
‘I really don’t.’
‘It’s for losers. Even the winners are losers,’ Patrick sniggered to himself. ‘You know how it goes. Someone wins a huge amount and they buy a big house or two, fancy cars, just as you’ve described. They snort a fortune up their nose, go on flash holidays and in less than a few years they are back riding the bus, living in a rented house. They can’t hack it, these people.’
‘These people?’
‘And the sad thing is, they’re not as happy as they were before, because they’ve tasted the high life, seen how the other half lives.’ Patrick reached for the whisky bottle that Lexi’s mum had given Jake for his birthday. Patrick poured himself a generous measure. Then with some bitterness added, ‘The wrong sort always wins. Statistically they have a better chance because it’s idlers and doleys that buy tickets.’
Jake snorted. ‘Does anyone say doleys anymore?’
‘I just did,’ replied Patrick, seriously. ‘It’s such a waste. Those people aren’t used to having money, they don’t know how to deal with it. How to invest, how to spend, how to save, most importantly. Losers.’
‘Well, dreamers,’ Lexi suggested.
Jake laughed. It was a strained, overly dramatic laugh. ‘If you think this way, why have you been doing the lottery for fifteen years?’
‘To humour you.’ Patrick grinned, coldly. ‘You seem to enjoy doing it. You like a flutter.’ He paused over the word ‘flutter’, his tone mocking, derisory.
‘Well, you don’t have to be part of the syndicate,’ said Lexi. ‘You’re under no obligation.’
‘Fine. I don’t want to be a killjoy, but…’
‘But?’
‘We’re going to pull out.’
‘OK.’ Lexi nodded. She felt a flush of shame rise up her chest and neck; she hoped it wouldn’t reach her face. She wasn’t absolutely certain what she felt ashamed of. Something intangible. She suddenly felt accused. Accused of what? She wasn’t sure. Had she and Jake press-ganged their friends into coughing up every week? Into doing something they didn’t want to do? But it was just a few quid. Why wouldn’t they want to do it? It was fun. And for it to be Patrick of all people to judge her. He had no right. Yet she felt insulted, hurt.
‘It’s not as though we’re ever actually going to win,’ chipped in Carla.
‘No, but—’ Lexi clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t want to say that she valued the tradition, the fact it was a thing, their thing. A bit like watching the fireworks together on Guy Fawkes Night or seeing in the new year; something they’d always done. If it needed saying, it wasn’t true; it wasn’t ‘their thing’ if only she believed it to be so.
‘It’s common like taking your shirt off in public or having a tattoo,’ Patrick said.
Jake bristled. Jake had a tattoo on his shoulder. They all knew as much, it had been the centre of discussion when they first went on holiday to Lexi’s mum and dad’s place in Spain, years ago, and in fact the tattoo had been centre of discussion every holiday since.
The silence throbbed.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake. It’s just a few quid, if it makes you happy,’ said Carla. She reached for her handbag, scrabbled about in her purse. ‘Here’s our fiver. We’re in.’ She hated it when her husband became pig-headed, caused a scene. Patrick rolled his eyes. ‘All right, Patrick,’ said Carla, her voice was steel. ‘We’re happy to carry on with the lottery, aren’t we?’
‘If it makes you happy,’ he said, and then downed his whisky.
Fred quickly followed suit. His jacket was hung on the back of his chair, he dug out his wallet, threw in a tenner, picked up Carla’s fiver as change. ‘Us too, Lexi. It’s just a bit of fun, isn’t it? No need for us to fall out about it.’
Jennifer smiled, her eyes on Jake. ‘You never know your luck, our numbers might come up next week and then all our lives will change forever.’
Acknowledgements
Dear Reader, prepare yourself for gratitude overload. I am always pretty profuse with my thank yous but on publication of my twentieth novel I have an especially huge amount to be grateful for.
Thank you, Jonny Geller for years of continual support, advice and true friendship. How lucky that we found each other, way back when. Mark Twain said, ‘Success is a journey, not a destination. It requires constant effort, vigilance and re-evaluation.’ That’s certainly been our journey, I’m glad we have walked every step of the road together.
I never know where to start with my thanks to my publishers, Kate Mills and Lisa Milton, who are two of the most incredible women I’ve ever had the joy to work with. You are quite simply brilliant; oozing resolve, enthusiasm, ingenuity and business acumen. I’m so incredibly fortunate to have you. I have such enormous respect for you both.
Thank you to Charlie Redmayne for being an interested, encouraging and inspiring CEO. You captain a great ship!
