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A small group of people sat around the large oak conference room table in silence, readying themselves for the reading of the last will and testament from their beloved relative.
Sylvia was eighty-five when she died. She was a wonderful woman with a great spirit and lively attitude. She had left behind a husband, a son and daughter-in-law, a sister and a few close friends who were all seated around the table. No one looked at anyone else. The solicitor entered and sat at the head of the table. He cleared his throat, readjusted his reading glasses, and started to read aloud from the paper he had in his hand:
This is the last Will and Testament
- of me – SYLVIA MAUREEN WELLINGTON
of 24 Hillside Road, Brogden Falls,
Burlington, BT66 6LP
1. I HEREBY REVOKE all former Wills and testimony dispositions made by me and declare this to be my last Will.
2. I APPOINT my husband FREDERICK CYRIL WELLINGTON and my son HAROLD MARVIN WELLINGTON to be the Executors and Trustees of this my Will (hereinafter called ‘My Trustees’ which expression shall include the Trustee or Trustees for the time being hereof) AND in case any one or more of them shall die in my lifetime or shall refuse or be unable to act in the office of Executor and Trustee then I APPOINT my sister HAZEL MIRIAM ADDINGHAM and my friend MARTHA ALICE JONES in the order named to fill any vacancy in the office of Executor and Trustee hereof that may occur by reason of such death, refusal or inability as aforesaid.
It had been a beautiful service… well as beautiful as a cremation could hope to be. Hymns had been sung, eulogies had been spoken, prayers had been said. And there was the emotional goodbye as the coffin was enveloped by the red silk curtain.
But it wasn’t going to be a beautiful hearing in Freswick, Hamilton and Loftus’s offices. Mr. Freswick Junior was the appointed solicitor. He had an air of dignity about him inherited from his father, the senior partner at the firm. Freswick Jnr was a rotund man; his body shape leant itself naturally to attending any fancy dress as Humpty Dumpty. He was also unfortunately bald and wore his small crescent moon glasses perched delicately on the end of his bulbous nose. He was undeniably professional in his attitude. He coughed again before progressing on what he was certain would cause a little friction.
3. I GIVE the following specific legacies:
a. To my friend, MARTHA ALICE JONES, I give you my husband. He’s a dirty, lying scoundrel. I hope you’re very happy together. You certainly deserve each other.
Martha Alice Jones’ jaw hit the table with a resounding clunk. Her cheeks turned almost as bright as her pillar-box lipstick. Her eyes didn’t know where to focus, as though they were following the flight path of an inebriated bluebottle. There was no point in denying it. She had been seeing Frederick for the last thirty-five years. For the first time in her life she was lost for words, and was sure to be the subject of endless amounts of gossip. Such a frank contradiction, she was usually the one spreading rumours about everyone else.
b. To my son, HAROLD MARVIN WELLINGTON my freehold property (and all of it’s contents) situated at Lot 14, 63 Skipton Road, Brogden Falls freed and discharged from any mortgage debt or other charge affecting the same which I direct shall be paid out of my Residuary Estate PROVIDED THAT if the said HAROLD MARVIN WELLINGTON shall predecease me or fail to survive me by 30 days I give the said legacy absolutely to CHARLES HORACE WHEATLEY, my neighbour at Skipton Road. HIS WIFE, MAUDE JULIA WELLINGTON will receive nothing.
Harold Marvin Wellington’s jaw hit the floor almost as loud as Martha Jones’. But his gawp soon turned into a smile. He was a slight, grey man, most likely henpecked from the overbearingly plump Maude. He suspected his mother had been cooking more than cookies in that place. She certainly couldn’t afford her Royal Dolton figurine collection on a state pension.
Lot number fourteen at sixty-three Skipton Road was nothing more than a shed at the bottom of an allotment patch, but it was the contents of the shed that Harold was interested in. He looked over to his wife, who he had married more for money than love, and stuck his middle finger up in her direction.
4. I GIVE the following pecuniary legacies free of inheritance tax:
a. To my sister, HAZEL MIRIAM ADDINGHAM the sum of TWENTY SEVEN PENCE (£0.27p) free of all taxes AS RETURN PAYMENT for the dress she so begrudgingly brought from Oxfam for my wedding. You looked like a cheap floozy.
Hazel Miriam Addingham folded her arms and shuffled uncomfortably in her chair. Some seven years younger that Sylvia and her last surviving sibling, Hazel was expecting a great deal more than that. ‘Well at least I can still get in that dress,’ she muttered under her breath straightening the lemon and lilac floral print dress she brought some fifty-two years ago.
b. To my husband, FREDERICK CYRIL WELLINGTON the sum of SEVENTEEN POUNDS (£17) free of all taxes TO INVEST in a crossword dictionary from Waterstones. I don’t know a seven letter word for convalesce, but I can tell you what something ‘u’ something ‘k’ ’y’ something ‘u’ could be.
Frederick Cyril Wellington loved crosswords. Crosswords were his life since retiring in nineteen eighty six. He was quite good at them too. In the last three years alone he’d won a new car (but he couldn’t drive), a cruise (but he didn’t like the water), a ski trip (but he hated the cold), and a nice hamper from Sainsbury’s (but he was wheat intolerant, diabetic and allergic to nuts). The one he really wanted to win was a trip in a hot air balloon. He just didn’t know what a seven letter word for convalesce was.
c. To my friends at the GOLDEN GATE SATURDAY AFTERNOON BRIDGE CLUB, the sum of FIVE MILLION POUNDS (£5,000,000) free of all taxes. Go on treat yourself girls!
There was nobody from the Golden Gate Saturday Afternoon Bridge Club present at the hearing. They were too busy playing bridge, seeing as it was Saturday afternoon. But they knew what the Will contained. They knew all the dirty little secrets of Frederick and Hazel and Harold and Martha, and most of the community of Brogden Falls. But they were all of the impression that keeping ones ears open and mouth shut was always handsomely rewarded.
‘Eight Nightmares Away from Sanity’
(Adapted from a traditional Japanese tale called ‘The Fortune Telling Doll’ by Mimi-Bukuro circa. 1700’s)
‘Nihongo ga wakariamsen’ was something Joe learned to say very quickly. He thought it obvious; to look at him with his sandy blonde hair and ice-blue eyes and just over six foot, he looked completely out of place. In his emails home he referred to himself as an iceberg in a sea of black hair.
He was in Japan on a three-month placement, teaching eight year olds English. He enjoyed the work; he just missed home. He missed popping down the pub, or going to the cinema, or going to the gym. But it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he was making the most of his stay.
On the surface he could have been staying in any city in the world. Mido-Suji Avenue resembled New York’s Fifth Avenue with it’s Louis Vuitton’s and Ralph Lauren’s, but around the next corner and places like Matsuyamachi were the exact opposite of the spectrum – an area seeped in traditional and eastern culture.
Joe liked walking through Matsuyamachi; he enjoyed getting to know the true Japan, not the neon tourist façade that the world sees. He would meander through the tiny streets, getting lost in the eastern culture. His true passion was painting, and Matsuyamachi provided an abundance of inspiration. Most afternoons he would spend with his canvas and oil paints, painting a crowded street scene or the tranquillity of the River Yahagi.
One afternoon, as he sat on the banks of the river, something caught his eye, sparkling in the later afternoon sun. As it got closer he could see it was a small wooden board, floating on the gentle ripples like a boat. Lying on top of the board was a beautifully carved doll, dressed in a traditional kimono. She was like nothing he had seen before, her face looked like porcelain and her robes were silk. He looked around to see if anyone had lost it, but he was alone. Rather than see this beautiful doll consigned to a watery end, he took it.
That night, Joe dreamed an unusual dream. In his head he heard a beautiful voice in the dark. It told him that good fortune would come his way if he went back down to the river.
‘O jama shimasu.’ Kiyoshi said as she poked her head around the door to his room. ‘Breakfast is ready, if you’re hungry.’ Kiyoshi and Diachi were the couple Joe was staying with. They were both patient with his lack of knowledge about their culture and would help him as much as they could with his Japanese.
‘Arigatou.’ Joe replied with a smile. He stirred from sleep, blinking away the night and letting in the light of the morning. He tried to shake off the dream as nothing more than that, but something deep inside of him was telling him it was something more.
The dream played on his mind for the majority of the day. On his way back from school, he detoured to the spot where he found the doll. When he saw nothing, he smiled. He sat his canvas down and continued the painting from the previous day.
As he turned to leave, he noticed a briefcase hidden in the bushes. Gingerly he took it and opened it, the words from his dream resounding in his head. The case was stuffed with money. He still had little concept of the value of the Yen, but he was sure it was a substantial amount. The doll had been right. As usual, his conscience ruled his mind and he took it to the police.
For the second night in a row, Joe dreamed. This dream wasn’t as pleasant as the previous nights. He dreamed the river flowed red and the trees were on fire. The beautiful voice in the dark told him to go to the river again and witness the vision, but not to be worried.
Joe done as the dream suggested. After school, he went to the riverside. Sure enough, the river flowed red and the trees burned, but the late afternoon sun was responsible for these images, reflecting on the river and shining the trees creating an orange glow.
‘I think I’m going crazy.’ He told Kiyoshi when he returned home. ‘I seriously think that I’ve lost it.’
Her eyes looked over every inch of his face as if they were trying to read his thoughts. ‘Lost what?’
‘My sanity! I think this doll is talking to me.’
‘You have got an over active imagination, that is all. You saw the effects the sun was having on the environment when you were down at the river the other day, and you dreamed about it. Images are more powerful in dreams because we have no control over them. I’m sure that is all.’ She smiled, but something was concerning her.
He wasn’t particularly comforted by her words. He could sense there was something she wasn’t telling him.
Every night for the following week Joe dreamed. Each night the images were more and more intense and horrific. On the fifth night, the voice told him of a murder. On the sixth night, he was shown a suicide. Every day he would visit the river, and every day these dreams would come true. This was more than coincidence. This was more than dreams.
His mind was fragile at the best of times. Being away from home in a strange place was bad enough, now he was questioning his own sanity. Was he even seeing these things the dream told him, or was it nothing more than his over fertile imagination? He didn’t tell anyone what he saw. He didn’t call the police, he didn’t tell anyone at school. The only person he considered talking to was Kiyoshi. Would she think him mad? She already through he was strange, the way he spoke, the way he ate. How on earth could he begin to tell her what he was seeing… or what he thought he was seeing.
On the eighth night, Joe dreamed a man was hung from a bridge, his body swinging in the soft autumn breeze, the river below flowed red with his blood and two people stood on the riverbank crying. As the dream progressed, he saw the hanged man was himself. Joe woke in a cold sweat, fearing, as he had the other times, that this vision would come true.
‘The Japanese people believe strongly in reincarnation.’ Kiyoshi pulled a chair away from the table and motioned for Joe to take a seat.
Joe had no friends in Japan to speak of, and no one else to talk to. He shown Kiyoshi the doll, but she didn’t want to see it.
‘When someone dies in an horrific circumstance, like a murder, a curse is born. That curse gets stronger and stronger and anyone that comes in to contact with it is consumed by its fury. You need to take this doll as far away as you can.’
‘You don’t think I’m crazy?’
She smiled and put her hand on top of his. ‘Iie, Joe. No, I don’t think you’re crazy. Legend says that the Shizuoka people are sorcerers, and they used the spirits of those that died in rage and locked them away into these dolls to protect people from the curse. The eighth day, the curse will die yet it must continue. It needs to find itself a new curse. Wakarimasu ka?
‘You’re telling me I’ve got a hold of the demon seed of Chucky?’
She shook her head and frowned.
‘Never mind. You’re saying that this thing is possessed?’
She took a deep breath, and struggled to find the right words. ‘This doll, although still a doll with a dolls heart, it has the soul of the curse inside of it.’ She refused to look at the doll, despite it sitting on the table.
‘How do I get rid of it?’
‘You must do as the previous owner did, and put it respectfully on a wooden board and place it in a stream, like a child would a toy boat. This is a doll with a doll's heart, and you must play with it like a little child playing with a toy doll and comfort the doll's heart. Then you must turn your back slowly and let it go on the stream, pretend to be distracted. Go back slowly, without looking back to see the doll off. In this way you can accidentally lose the poor doll in the stream the way a little child might. If you do this, the magic doll will believe it has been lost by accident. It will forgive you and not bring misfortune to you.’
The sides of Joe’s mouth turned upwards into a smile. ‘You’re shitting me?’
She looked directly at him. Her dark eyes burning with passion. ‘Do you want to stop what is happening? Then you must do as I say.’
It didn’t make a lot of sense, but Joe done as instructed. Following his talk with Kiyoshi, he took the doll down to the river, lay it down on the small piece of wood, comforting it as he done so. He distracted himself and let the doll drift along the river for someone else to pick up.
That night Joe didn’t dream and he felt as though a great burden had been lifted from his soul.
SWEAT
‘Come on in, Tom… nice tee-shirt.’
‘Thanks, it’s from their 1987 world tour.’
‘Riiiiiight. Take a load off for a second before we get started… I know your file’s here somewhere… oh, here it is…. Ok, Tom Bennett, thirty-six, is this your first time?’
‘Yeah… well kind of?’
‘Kind of?’
‘I’ve dabbled once before, but nothing serious… so treat me as a first timer.’
‘I get a lot of first timers, so don’t worry about… and there’s no need to look so scared. I’m not going to bite.’
‘Yeah, I know, but look at you.’
‘Meh, it’s all for show. I’m a pussycat underneath.’
‘Yeah, but you’re huge.’
‘Thanks. First of all have you got any injuries that I should know about?’
‘Not really. I’m healthy… comparatively so, anyway.’
‘OK, what do you do for a living?’
‘Is that important? What are you writing?’
‘Sure, it’s all important, and it’s all going into your file. I keep a note of anything and everything… just so I can refer back to it at a later date. It helps, you know. I’ve got a memory like a gnat. Don’t worry, no one but me will see this file. That cabinet over there is full of my files and I’ve got the only keys.’
‘Do you have a lot of…’
‘Clients? Yeah, I’ll see up to ten people a day, five days a week. More if I decide to work Saturday.’
‘That’s a lot of people.’
‘I guess so, but you should see Marie; she’s saving up for a holiday in Kenya, and at the moment she’s seeing twelve people a day and she’s coming in at weekends too.’
‘Wow, THAT’S a lot of people; you’d wander where she gets the energy.’
‘You obviously don’t know Marie… So, your job?’
‘Oh, I’m in administration.’
‘Administration?’
‘Yeah, you know files, computers, fax machines, photocopiers, that kind of thing.’
‘So you work in an office, and it’s safe to say that it’s a pretty sedentary occupation?’
‘I’m up and down all the time. I’m the only bloke in the office, so I’m up and down all the time, seeing to irate customers or getting boxes and things from the top shelves. I guess it’s mostly sitting on my arse though.’
‘OK, I’m just trying to build a picture here… family?’
‘I live on my own. Surely that’s not important.’
‘You’d be surprised, partner?’
‘Julie.’
‘Does she come here?’
‘Oh God, no, and she’d probably kill me if ever she found out that I was coming here behind her back.’
‘She’ll find out eventually.’
‘How?’
‘You’ll change, obviously, and she’ll want to know how.’
‘Oh yeah, I didn’t think about that. But I’ll deal with that when it happens.’
‘Why not just tell her?’
‘The cost, really. We’re saving up to get married, and if she thought that I was… never mind. So, what happens now?’
‘I need to take a few measurements.’
‘For the file?’
‘Sure, but no one will see it. So I’ll need to you stand on that over there, can you take off your shoes and socks?’
‘How does that work?’
‘You need to undo the laces first…’
‘Smart.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘Is it hot in here?’
‘Yeah, it is a little, don’t worry, it’s more comfortable out of the office… OK, height?’
‘Five seven, give or take an inch?’
‘Benefit of the doubt, you’ll be five seven… OK… uh-hu… OK, good, you can step down now.’
‘Is that good?’
‘I’ve seen worse, let’s just say that. Smoker?’
‘Occasional, social, I guess.’
‘Uh-hu.’
‘Are you writing that down too?’
‘Yup, it helps with your profile. Trust me.’
‘It’s too hot in here. I’m starting to sweat.’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll be doing plenty of that in a few minutes… oh you can put shoes back on now. Do you drink much?’
‘No more than anyone else.’
‘OK, that’s fine, I’m not here to offer quit smoking advice or tell you how many pints you can down at night, but I can suggest. But that’ll come later. We’ve got to get you sweating now… Oh, can you put this on?’
‘What is it?’
‘It measures your heart beat.’
‘Why?’
‘Well if it gets too high we need to stop.’
‘Stop? That’s not what I’m paying for.’
‘Alright, then slow it down a bit. I heard about this one old bloke that kept on pushing and pushing and had a heart attack.’
‘Didn’t they do anything?’
‘He said he was fine, but that was before we had these things. It goes under your shirt, Tom, like this one.’
‘Christ, look at your stomach… sorry, didn’t mean that to sound gay or anything.’
‘That’s alright. Is that what you’d say your target was, to get a six pack?’
‘I guess so and big arms.’
‘That’s fine, it’s all obtainable, but you’re going to have to put in a lot of work yourself too. We’ll spend an hour a week together, but you’ll need to get down here to the gym as often as you can. I’ll help you to devise a plan for when you’re here alone, and once a month we’ll have a weigh-in day to monitor your progress. What you’ll find is you’ll lose quite a lot for the first two weeks, it’ll then start to balance out and then you may even put some weight on, but that’ll be lean weight not fat weight… step up on here. Have you ever used one before?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll stick it on to walk first of all, then we’ll go from there.’
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