Million Pound Appointments Read online

  Chapter 1.

  Career criminal Kenneth Webster falls asleep in his favourite armchair whilst a forty-year old black and white documentary plays on a 72 inch plasma screen. He hears a distant voice.

  "I knew you'd fallen asleep."

  "Huh?"

  "I said I knew you'd fallen asleep."

  The voice belongs to Jane. Ken's wife. She went up to bed four hours ago thinking Ken was coming straight up after her. He didn’t. He shakes himself awake, sits up and clears his throat.

  "What? I wasn't." He says rather unconvincingly.

  "Ken, I've been standing here for two minutes. I've been calling you for ten."

  "Good then you'll know I wasn't asleep."

  Jane enters the room and turns the volume down on the plasma screen.

  "It's three in the morning love." She sighs.

  Ken tries his hardest not to yawn, but the contortions his nose is going through trying to hide the yawn gives him away. Jane just raises her eyebrows at him. This isn't the first time that she's had to watch Ken's ears eyes and nostrils all trying to hide a yawn.

  "Ken, just turn it off and come to bed."

  She gets up expecting him to do the same. He doesn't. He picks up the remote control and turns the volume back up instead.

  "People would pay a fortune to have him put his hands on them." He says.

  Jane shrugs her shoulders and screws her face up.

  "Who? What are you talking about?"

  Ken nods over at the plasma screen. An excited crowd are carrying a small Indian boy through the dusty sun baked village of Vapi, India. Children of all ages clap skip and dance around an old Indian woman continually kissing the pads of her fingertips and raising her hands in praise to the heavens. Now fully awake, Ken stands and looks at the screen.

  "I love that bit." He says. "It's brilliant, just brilliant."

  But all Jane sees is a boring old black and white documentary.

  "Have I missed something here?" She asks. "What bit?"

  "Have you missed something here?" He says disbelievingly. "Yes you bloody have. He's just made that old blind woman see again."

  Jane laughs through her nose and expects Ken to start laughing too, but Ken's not about to start laughing because this is his favourite documentary and he believes every single word of it, and Jane's laughter only serves to annoy him.

  "That old woman was blind a minute ago." He insists. "And now she can see as good as you and I can."

  He points to the screen offering up his evidence. Jane's shoulders drop in disbelief.

  "Oh Ken of course he hasn't, it's just a trick."

  "What do you mean just a trick." He shouts.

  "Well look at it, it's in black and white and ancient. People wouldn't fall for that these days."

  "Fall for what?" He shouts. "It's Michael Aspel for fuck sake. He wouldn't do anything dodgy, the man used to be on the Antiques Road show."

  Jane looks at Ken hoping he's just having a late night teasing session, which does happen from time to time. She's about to pour more ridicule on his beloved documentary, when he totally and unexpectedly starts to act out the scene on the plasma screen. Jane's eyes widen and her jaw drops. She watches Ken and the old Indian woman, kiss the pads of their fingertips, raise their hands in praise to the heavens, bend down and pick up imaginary white sticks, and throw them in the air. The little old woman on the screen is no taller than the majority of the overjoyed children dancing around her, and the contrast between the waiflike Indian woman and Ken's six-foot-two muscular frame mimicking her actions, is just a bit too weird for Jane's taste. She's had enough and is about to tell Ken to 'grow up and come to bed' when…

  "They would you know, an absolute fortune. Celebrities. Film stars. Rock stars. You name it."

  She looks around the base of Ken's chair for whiskey bottles or empty beer cans. She knows full well that when Ken says 'I'll be straight up love' it usually means he'll take the opportunity to have a few more whiskeys without getting moaned at.

  "Are you pissed?" She asks him.

  "Oi you, I've had one glass of wine if you don't mind."

  She gives him a contemptuous look that that sentence deserves.

  "Ok and a few whiskies." He concedes after recognising his old friend; The contemptuous look.

  The BBC documentary inserts a before and after photo of the old Indian woman. The before photo shows her with milky white eyes. The after photo shows her with glowing sparkling vivid brown ones.

  "There you go." He says. "Those peepers can see now and I'm telling you they couldn't two minutes ago. So you just think of all the famous blind people he could help."

  "Famous blind people?" She asks at the same time as trying to think of some. "Like who?"

  "What do you mean like who? There are hundreds of them, in fact there's probably thousands of them out there."

  Jane's not getting this; she's not getting it at all. She just wants to go back to bed and hopefully with Kenneth. For as much as she adores her duck-down feather pillows, her gorgeous heavyweight Egyptian cotton duvet wrapped around her, they're no match for Ken's muscular hairy chest smelling of Amber Pour Homme.

  "Well the only one I can think of is Stevie Wonder." She says.

  "And that one that plays the piano."

  "Yeah. Stevie Wonder."

  "No not him the other one, the black one."

  "I think we should get that little Indian boy to take a look at your eyes Ken. What colour do you think Stevie Wonder is?"

  "Oh I can't think of his name at the moment." He says dismissively.

  "I can. Stevie Wonder. Now can we please just go to bed?"

  Ken suddenly puts his hands on Jane's shoulders and turns her so she's facing the screen. She's about to protest when…

  "You just wait until you see this." from Ken stops her.

  The young Indian boy has his hands on a goat's head as it lays motionless on the sun baked ground. Jane turns to look at Ken and she's thinking 'perhaps he's gone mad?' Ken silently claps his hands in a childlike manner making Jane look back at the screen.

  "What am I missing now?" She asks.

  The young Indian boy starts to gently rock back and forth on his knees. The crowd have their hands up to their mouths, including Michael Aspel. Suddenly the goat's legs jerk. The young Indian boy quickly gets to his feet and stands back. Silently the crowd stand and watch. Most of them are poised as though waiting for an imaginary official to fire a starting-pistol. Then it happens. The goat jumps to its feet and bang the pistol is fired. The goat runs stumbling through the crowd who all fall over each other trying to avoid it. They don't want the goat touching them, because they're afraid of it. Most of them saw it get run over and killed by one of the BBC's vehicles as they rolled into the village. Ken's smiling face turns to Jane with a look that says 'I rest my case' Jane just laughs in disbelief.

  "Oh please, you don't actually…"

  Ken's not listening. He's made his mind up and cuts in.

  "I'm going to find that little boy and bring him over here and put the little bugger to work."

  Jane has a half-cocked waiting smile on her face. She's waiting for Ken to say 'only joking' but 0.5 of a second is far too long to wait, so she asks instead.

  "Ken… you are joking."

  "No. I've never been more serious in my life girl."

  "Ken its total rubbish what are you doing?"

  "I have to find four million quid thanks to Larry. Two million wasn't a problem but four is."

  Jane sighs with frustration.

  "Oh not that again Ken, just tell Mr…"

  But Ken's ears are closed to wonder or debate, and he marches on.

  "And little Mowgli ther
e might just be the answer."

  "Ken this is ridiculous, just tell Mr. Rae you need more time he'll understand."

  "It doesn't work like that with us two, you know that."

  Jane picks up the DVD box and reads the front and back covers and can't stop herself from laughing.

  "What are you laughing at now?" He says in a huff.

  Jane now knows it's all a joke and Ken has been ribbing her all along. She laughs.

  "You bastard."

  "Eh?" He says somewhat surprised.

  "You really had me going there for a second."

  "Going? Going where?"

  "Ken, that little boy will be in his fifties by now."

  "He's forty-seven actually."

  Jane's jaw almost hits the floor this time. That was the last thing she was expecting to hear. If Ken knows the little boy is forty-seven, it means he's already thought it through, which also means he's deadly serious about finding him. Deadly serious about going to India. Deadly serious about bringing him back. She can't think straight. She needs to come back with something, but what? The next ten seconds seem to go on for ten minutes. Then she has it; sort of.

  "Well don't think I'm traipsing around India with you looking for him because I'm not. Your gay Gavin said it was like an oven out there."

  "He's not my gay Gavin." He shouts. "Will everyone stop calling him my gay Gavin. He's my nephew Gavin, and for your information all they've done is buy a house together. That's all. What's so wrong with that?"

  "Ken, I know you didn't go… sorry, wouldn't go, to their civil partnership, but I did."

  "I had a bad stomach."

  "You said you had a bad back."

  "Yeah brought on by the bad stomach."

  "You've never had a bad back or a bad stomach in your life man."

  "They only did that civil nonsense for tax purposes."

  "Oh and sticking their tongues in each other's mouths at the end of the ceremony gets them a bigger tax rebate does it?"

  "That doesn't mean anything. I've kissed men."

  "No you haven't."

  "Vincent, he always greets me with a kiss on both cheeks."

  "Vinnie's Italian! Your gay Gavin's from Grinstead."

  Ken snaps his fingers in Jane's face making her jump.

  "Ray Charles."

  Jane closes her eyes and sighs the mother of all sighs.

  "Oh God." She says under her breath. She opens her eyes and looks at Ken. "What about Ray Charles?"

  She closes her eyes again hoping she isn't going to hear that Ray Charles, is the other one, that Ray Charles, is the other black one, that Ray Charles, is the other one that plays the piano. Ken doesn't answer. He picks up the remote control and pauses the DVD.

  "Sod it; I'm going to do it." He says forcefully. "Get me the phone."

  She opens her eyes and without thinking hands Ken the telephone.

  "Kenny, I don't mean to piss on your parade, but Ray Charles isn't just blind you know... the man's stone fu..." She suddenly gasps at the sight of Ken dialling and grabs the telephone back. "What do you think you're doing?" She shouts. "You can't call someone at three in the morning."

  He snatches it back.

  "No? You just watch me girl."

  Fifty-Five Years Ago.

  Lewisham District Hospital. South East London. Dick Whittington ward. A new born baby takes its first breath. Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence finally have a baby son to add to their six daughters. Mrs. Lawrence is insisting on naming her bundle of joy, Larry, after her favourite actor Richard Burton, who she always thought had the face of a Larry. Knowing full well it isn't going to get him anywhere, her husband argues…

  "But that will make him Lawrence Lawrence."

  "I don't care, we're calling him Larry and we're not changing our minds."

  Mr. Lawrence sighs and drops his shoulders. He had the same problem with the birth of their third daughter Florence, named after Mrs. Lawrence's favourite actress, Lucille Ball, and although he was a much younger man then and put up a far pluckier fight, when you overhear the midwife whisper to your exhausted worn-out wife, who has just spent nine hours in labour 'you're going to need a few stitches down there my dear' you have a tendency to give in.

  Today. Three hours later.

  Lawrence Lawrence (55) Ken's right hand man is at the airport with Ken and Jane. Jane gives Ken a kiss and heads for the shops.

  "A reporter who wants to do a follow up story?" Yawns Larry.

  "Yeah and don't forget you're a close personal friend of Michael Aspel."

  "But I'm not. How am I going to pull that off? I've never met the man in my life."

  Ken hands Larry a large wad of cash.

  "When you find little Mowgli give him that".

  "Are you sure he's not dead?"

  "Who?"

  "Michael Aspel."

  Larry looks down at the large wad of cash in his hands. Before Ken can answer Larry's comment regarding Mr Aspel Larry asks…

  "Can I take this much cash on a plane?"

  "Of course you can it's just money. Now listen..."

  "Are you sure? How much is here anyway?"

  Ken gives Larry a look. Larry knows that look and shuts up.

  "Give him that and tell him he'll get another five grand…"

  "There's five grand here?"

  Ken gives him the look again. Larry shuts up again.

  "Give him that and tell him he'll get another five grand over here when it's all finished, but he has to come here."

  Larry has had to do some dire things for Ken in the past, but going to one of the biggest haystacks in the world to find a single needle has to be the worst yet.

  "You fucking dickhead, he could be anywhere." Larry thinks he thinks.

  Larry suffers from What's Up With You? Syndrome. The symptoms being, he thinks aloud. Sometimes very aloud and has absolutely no idea he does it. Which isn't a good thing if Ken might overhear his thoughts; like he just did.

  "Do what?"

  "India's massive isn't it? Where do I start?" Larry actually says this time.

  Ken shakes the notion that Larry just called him a fucking dickhead from his mind; he wouldn't be that daft.

  "I don't care if it is massive, this is all your fault anyway. Find him or make India your new home. Got it?"

  "I don’t think it'll be as easy as you think Ken. I haven't really got much to go on have I?"

  "I said, have you got it?"

  "Yes. I've got it." Larry sighs.

  "Good. Don't come back without him, and make sure you call me every day to let me know what's going on."

  Although not intentionally, Larry knows that it is all his fault and he desperately wants to come back with something but wisely decides against it. An announcement is made for Larry's flight. Ken walks away without saying goodbye or good luck, leaving Larry huffing and puffing. He grabs his hurriedly packed suitcase, and joins a long snaking queue of mostly Asian passengers. Larry puts on a silly high pitched voice.

  "Safe journey Larry, have a nice time Larry, good luck Larry."

  An Indian man and his daughter standing in front of him, feel uncomfortable with this mad Englishman behind them talking to himself. The man tries to move down the queue but only manages a couple of inches. Larry gives a worried sigh as he watches Ken walk off into the distance, and then his unfortunate ailment of thinking aloud gets him into more trouble.

  "India? I bet it's a right shit-hole. I'll hate the place hate the people hate everything about it. I just know I will."

  The Indian man puts his hands over his young daughter's ears and looks at Larry in disgust.

  "What's up with you?" Asks Larry.

  Ken and Jane are driving out of the airport. Ken has a sarcastic tone to his voice.

  "We were there for what, an hour, hour and a half maybe?"

  "I got you something as well."

  "I should hope you fucking did the amount of money you've just spent."

  "You said I could Ken."
r />   "No. Treat yourself to a little something while I talk business with Larry is what I said."

  Ken is going to win this argument and Jane knows it, so she settles into her seat and plays with the diamond earrings in her ears, the same diamond earrings which have upset him.

  "Buying jewellery at an airport; they better be real." He moans.

  Feeling insulted she sits up straight.

  "What do you take me for? As if I wouldn't know real diamonds when I saw them."

  Ken knows they're real diamonds, he's just annoyed they've cost him nine thousand pounds. He needs to make money at the moment not spend it.

  "Well if anyone asks we got them in Hatton Garden or Bond Street. Ok?"

  Jane smiles and thinks to herself 'Oh I've won that one after all' and settles back in her seat. Ten minutes and six miles later, Ken can't wait any longer.

  "Did you really get me something?" He asks.

  Jane loves buying presents for people and she especially loves buying presents for Ken, and Ken loves receiving them. She'll see something in a shop window, in a magazine, or Amazon or EBay, and think to herself 'Oh Kenny would love that' She reaches into the foot-well for her bag and takes out a small box.

  "Who's your favourite actor?" She teases.

  "You know who it is, why?"

  If there's one thing Ken likes it's a good Bond film, but it has to be a Roger Moore Bond film. He'll tolerate the other Bonds but you wouldn't want to watch one with him, because he'll moan and slag them off from start to finish, and continue doing so for a good couple of hours after that. She smiles and raises her eyebrows up and down.

  "He's only gone and made his own aftershave." She says as she very slowly opens the box making him wait before she reveals the bottle inside. Ken gasps and her wait is over. It's that gasp that she loves to hear. It's always that innocent childlike gasp that thrills her so. No matter what she buys him he always does it; except that one time when he tore the wrapping paper off a dog basket containing an English Bulldog puppy. That was a completely different gasp altogether. The Vet said that she had wrapped the dog basket up so well, that the poor thing had suffocated to death. What Jane doesn't know though, is during the fraction of a second that gasp takes to inhale, Ken is transported back to when he was an eight, nine, or ten year old in Lemon Street Shoreditch, East London, looking at his Christmas presents stacked ten deep around a gaudy decorated Christmas tree. She knew she'd get the gasp when she revealed the bottle and she did. For this isn't just any old bottle, oh no, this is a silver coloured bottle in the shape of a number seven, with a silver lid in the shape of two zeros. 007. As soon as she saw it 'Oh Kenny would love that' kicked in. She begins to read the box.