Matt Shaw - A Sting in the Tale - A Collection of Short Stories

“That’s no good,’ he muttered to himself as he pushed his tired body up from the comfort of the chair. With stick in hand, he made his way across the living space to the clock. He turned it slightly so it was facing the armchair a little more; only the slightest of turns mind you — had he twisted it more so, it would have made it harder to see from the armchair on the other side of the room.

He walked back to the armchair and took his seat once more.

The time was one thirty in the afternoon.

“That’s better,” he mumbled.

And, with that, he pulled himself up from the chair once more and made his way to the second armchair. He took a seat again and looked upon the clock, content that he could still see the clock face unobstructed.

“Perfect,” he said.

Happy he could see the time from all seating positions in the room, he smiled to himself and let out a long, contented sigh. A job well done but when his butler came in — soon after — he realised that Norman’s time had come and all actions with the clock had been for nothing.

I I

The front door opened and Fred and Jude walked in, both dressed in black. Fred was Norman’s brother. He was eight years younger than Norman but seemed even younger than that — an illusion no doubt helped by having a much younger woman on his arm, in the form of Jude; a woman in her fifties.

“Jesus, look at this place!” Jude said. She had heard stories of Norman — his wealth and his home at least, told through the jealous whisperings of Fred. This was the first time she had seen it though as Norman and Fred hadn’t spoken for many years for reasons not disclosed to Jude. A dirty little family secret resulting in a fall-out of some description.

“It’s ridiculous,” Fred snapped as he removed his sodden coat. Damned British weather had seemingly changed. Last week it was brilliant sunshine and decent temperatures and now it was pissing rain and black clouds with the worst of the last few days being today; the day of the funeral where it so happened they all had to stand outside. Of course Fred blamed Norman, as though he had planned his funeral to coincide with a bad weather front coming in from the west. Part of him even wondered whether Norman’s choice of service was dictated to by the weather; a hot day and they’d all be inside watching him get cremated, a cold day and they all had to stay outside. “Completely unnecessary for just one person,” Fred continued, making reference to the house.

He was right of course. The house was ridiculous for one person. There were six bedrooms, three separate living rooms, a games room with a billiards table, a kitchen bigger than most people’s living room, four different bathrooms, a gym and even an indoor swimming pool built into the glass conservatory at the back of the property. All habited by Norman who had literally spent his time in the one main living area, the master bedroom or one of the bathrooms.

“And he didn’t have a wife or any children?” Jude asked. Because of the family feud, she actually knew very little about her brother-in-law. She knew he lived in a big house, she understood he was rich and that was about it.

Fred didn’t answer her question. He handed his coat to one of the five butlers and asked him, “Where’s the other guests?”

“They’re in the living room just through there, Sir.” The butler turned and patiently waited to be handed Jude’s soaking coat. Fred wasn’t as patient and headed through to the living room where his wife could come when she was ready to do so. He just wanted to get this over and done with so he could return to his life. Potentially — his much better off life…

I I I

Fred hadn’t spoken to Norman in a few years. He had put a business proposal forward to his well-off brother but it had been rejected. Not because Norman didn’t want to lend his brother any money, he just didn’t think it was a sound investment. Of course Fred took it to heart and thought his brother was just being tight. He had all that money and yet he couldn’t give some to his brother to help him out. But why should Norman? He had worked hard to get where he was. He had beaten off competition and he had fought through more than one recession and still managed to hold onto what he had built up. If he was going to lend money out, family or not, he wanted to be sure it was a sound investment. On this occasion, it so happened that it wasn’t.

As Fred walked into the living room, full to the brim with people milling around, he couldn’t help but wonder — had he stayed closer to his brother — whether he would have known anyone in the crowd of faces before him. As it stood, there were hardly any people he recognised. Could all these people be acquaintances from the last few years only?

“Fred, I’m so sorry for your loss!” a man approached with his hand outstretched. He was wearing an expensive looking black suit and a crisp white shirt with shoes so shiny you could see the room’s reflection within them.

“Thank you, that means a lot.” Fred shook the man’s hand despite having no idea who he was.

“Devastating news!” another man approached — his hand also held out.

“Thank you,” said Fred. Again, he shook, but he paid the two men very little attention. Instead his eyes were darting around the room, trying to find a friendly face.

Not all of the people in the room were strangers to him. He recognised Norman’s solicitor, there were distant cousins who had crawled out of the woodwork at the scent of free money, a few people who’d gone to school with both Norman and Fred many, many moons ago (and had managed to keep in contact throughout), Norman’s bank manager — the mean son of a bitch who’d been present when Fred had put forward his business scheme to his brother — and even some politician-type figures who’d, at some point or other, been backed by Norman when on the campaign run.

Fred couldn’t help but wonder how many people were here because they were genuine friends compared to those who were here because they’d been drawn to the possibility of being mentioned in the Will reading which would, no doubt, be happening any day now.

“Fred! Long time no speak! How the Devil are you?” Of all the people Fred didn’t want to speak to, it was the bank manager, Mr. Clack; the man who had more control of Norman’s cash than perhaps was necessary. The man, sitting in his office, phoning Norman every other day with new and exciting business opportunities.

“Very well, thank you.” Fred only had to be polite for today. Once today was out of the way, arrangements would be made which meant he never had to speak to Mr. Clack again and he couldn’t wait.

“I’m so, so sorry about Norman,” Mr. Clack continued, “he was one of the good ones.”

“Yes. Thank you,” said Fred. Of course Mr. Clack was sorry to see one of his clients pass away. Not only was he a sure-thing for an easy investor but it also meant — with him deceased — there was a good chance the bank could lose the business when they money gets divided between the remaining family members. And Fred knew this and suspected it was why Mr. Clack had come over to offer his condolences.

“So,” Mr. Clack drew a breath, “have they read the will yet?”

Fred simply smiled in response and walked away to see what other parasites had come along to see what they could get, or keep from losing. The gardeners were here, the chef who prepared Norman’s meals, obviously the butlers although technically they were still working, the bank manager, the solicitor, old business partners and clients. Bottom-dwellers, as Fred liked to think of them, all wanting to get their slice of the six million pound pie.

I V

“They’ll all be there,” he had told Jude as they drove from the service to the wake, back at Norman’s house. “They’ll all be there wanting to protect their potential cut. They’ll all be running around pretending to be sad but they’ll just be counting down the minutes until the reading. That’s what they’re really there for.”