Heavenly Heirs Read online

  The bonuses no longer assuaged my guilt.

  I’m a lawyer, a very good one actually, and my speciality is contract law. I’m extremely proficient at adding (and hiding) time bombs in the small print, little clauses that, unlike Santa, are the gifts that keep on taking, and often from those who can ill afford it.

  I rubbed my chest and once gain found myself facing my reflection in a humongous pane of glass that afforded me a view of the city. Perhaps the Armani suit, the skirt tight to my skin, the jacket a little snug, wasn’t the most forgiving outfit. I looked truly awful. My auburn hair, once vibrant and bouncy, was now lacklustre, listless and lifeless. I was existing in a vicious cycle of long hours, lots of caffeine, no sleep and possibly the worst diet in the existence of man. I was bloated, grey and my bags even owned their own carry-ons. My amber eyes had lost their sparkle and I walked with a slouch, appearing about five foot two instead of my actual five foot seven.

  It was like I didn’t want to be seen.

  I heard a chime from my phone. An email from my Uncle Marcus, the thirtieth one today.

  Damn.

  He was a prick of the highest order and when he wanted something he usually got it, and right now he wanted TechCorp. He wanted it so badly, in fact, he was willing to resort to blackmail, bribery and cooperate espionage to complete the deal, not that I was officially aware of most of these actions, I just read the subtext and then chose to ignore it. He used others in the firm to do his unethical bidding. Sure, I added nasty clauses to legal documents, but that was fair game - any lawyer worth their salt could uncover them. I let my head fall backwards and closed my eyes. I was so sick of using legal logic to excuse my lack of moral backbone.

  The glass wasn’t half empty, there was barely a spit in the bottom. If only I could see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel…

  Unfortunately I think the tunnel I was currently in led to nowhere but a black hole.

  Chapter 3

  Devon

  November 21st/22nd, 2016

  Ten hours later, virtually midnight, I made it home and headed straight for the kitchen, turning on my Keurig. I made a strong coffee and added a nip of whiskey to it; Irish coffee, just what the psychiatrist ordered.

  Like hell she did.

  I added more of the Macallan fine oak 12 year old whiskey to the cup, until finally it tasted more of earthy peat and less of Columbian roast. I gave myself a silent toast. Happy fucking birthday to me. Taking a large gulp I grimaced, not at the heat of the coffee or the burn of the whiskey, but at the fact it was the first happy birthday I’d received that day, and it was from myself. Kicking off my shoes, I rested my feet on the large square coffee table in the lounge and watched the luxury yachts bobbing up and down in the marina.

  The darkness couldn’t hide my shame.

  The thought of the men, women and children who were about to have a miserable Christmas because of my actions, made me want to curl up into a ball and not leave my flat until Elvis and Buddy Holly went on a reunion tour with Sid Vicious.

  It was going to be another night filled with sleepless hours of self-condemnation. If things stayed the same I didn’t know how many more of those nights I could make it through.

  ***

  The next morning I awoke with a humongous crick in my neck and drool sticking to my cheek. I hadn’t made it to bed and smelt foul; half a bottle of the finest Scottish single malt will do that to you. My phone chirped, Angel Eyes blaring out, and as I quickly swiped across the screen to stop the infernal racket that was playing fast and loose with my headache, I frowned. I hadn’t programmed that particular alert tone because I don’t even like Wet Wet Wet. I had been traumatised when at nine years old Juliet, my older sister, listened to Love is All around on infinite loop for fifteen long weeks.

  Hmm, what’s this? I scrolled through the information. An email from Heavenly Heirs confirming my job interview?

  Job interview?

  I hadn’t applied for any job, especially not at a company called Heavenly Heirs. I double checked my appointment schedule and there was no sign of them anywhere, in fact, surprisingly, I was free until eleven am.

  Huh. I’m sure yesterday I was full…

  And yet Celeste D’Angelo seemed to think I was due at her office this morning at nine am. Blimey, I’ve heard of drunk texting ex-girlfriends, was even guilty of it on one occasion, but seemingly I drunk applied for a job last night.

  I headed for the shower, ignoring the beeps warning me of incoming messages and emails, and stood underneath the tepid water willing it to cleanse my soul. It didn’t of course, it barely cleansed the odour of stale alcohol, but I felt more awake and less hungover. Dressing slowly, I finally figured the email must have been sent to the wrong person. I checked my phone again. Nope. It was definitely meant for me, the email had a copy of my C.V attached.

  I picked up my two bags, my two extremely heavy bags, and headed out of the door. I turned off the lights and checked. No, I hadn’t forgotten anything.

  Except, apparently, the job I’d applied for.

  Hefting my laptop bag over my shoulder and balancing the other two bags carefully, I managed to lock my door in an amazing feat of contortion. I needed a donkey to cart all this paperwork. Or maybe I should just open a donkey sanctuary. Australia was out. Maybe Devon… Devon’s Devon Sanctuary? That worked. Maybe Celeste D’Angelo wanted me to work with animals?

  Angel Eyes blared out again and I blushed. I wasn’t one for gimmicky ringtones and several other residents heading to their cars clearly heard it and were probably thinking ‘blood shot eyes would be more appropriate.’ Once inside my Range Rover curiosity got the better of me, and I quickly googled Heavenly Heirs. The website was sharp and professional and the three member team appeared warm and welcoming… with my thumb and forefinger I enlarged the picture for a closer look.

  Hannah Goodman.

  I sat back. That was why the webpage was so good. Hannah was an IT guru who briefly worked with me at Flood and Williams. Maybe she’d referred me for the job? But I’d had no contact with her since she’d left over three years ago, and we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  My SUV’s engine began to growl and I pulled out of the underground car park, coming to a stop at the end of the street, where muscle memory took over. The computerised voice from the console advised me to turn left for work, so I did. I followed each and every command I was given until I reached a dark street in one of London’s less fashionable districts, miles from where I was supposed to be.

  I looked around and saw a plaque on the wall.

  Heavenly Heirs Third Floor.

  The building was a bright beacon; yes it was grey and yes it was grungy, the years of exposure to soot and exhaust fumes layered on the bricks made it appear almost black in places. But the lights twinkling in the windows portrayed a warmth my soul was crying out for. I gripped the steering wheel as the Clash started playing on the radio.

  Should I stay or Should I Go?

  Chapter 4

  Rachel

  Wednesday December 7th, 2016

  I never need an alarm to wake me, even though I habitually set one. Most mornings the sound of the city does the job, whether it’s the binmen clanking and crashing, or the wail of a siren rushing to someone’s aid. Occasionally, it’s the cooing pigeons resting on the rusted metal balcony outside of my second floor flat. This morning, however, it wasn’t a familiar sound which woke me; it was a feeling in my stomach, the butterflies in a blooming summer meadow type of feeling, the feeling that something important was going to happen, or perhaps something dangerous. It made me uneasy and uncomfortable and any other un word you can think of that suggests a shit storm is coming. I’d only ever had this particular wriggling sensation once before, and the consequences… I felt a prickling in my eyes. It was coming up to seven years and still the very thought broke my heart.

  Most of the night before I’d had the weirdest d
reams, a mosaic of memories of Christmases past. Henrietta and me scoffing trifle; Louise, my sister, pulling a cracker with her husband Tommy only for the plastic prize to go flying into the gravy with a resounding plop; Ruth, my daughter, sitting on Santa’s lap for the very first time and asking him for a sleeping bag for Ted the Tinker’s dog because she was worried he’d be cold. Good memories until the last few minutes when I saw Louise and Tommy’s lifeless bodies and woke up feeling as if my world was once again being ripped apart.

  Coffee would wake me up, and keeping busy would deflect the sadness that caught me a little unawares this morning. I followed a routine most days, not a very exciting one I’m afraid, but one I observed religiously otherwise I’d end up in the doo-doo. So as I sipped my first coffee, cheap instant but it did the trick, I set the table for breakfast and put a chicken casserole in the slow cooker for tea. I had to be organised in the mornings because once my tornado of trouble woke I’d get very little done. Picking up a white feather from the floor I smiled and glanced at the red and white plastic clock on the kitchen wall. Go me, I was finished five minutes faster than normal, so I grinned and did a dorky happy dance. Five minutes of silence to do absolutely…

  “Mum?” Ruth was stood in the doorway wearing her Ghostbusters pyjamas and sleepily rubbing her eyes.

  “Morning, sweetheart.” She climbed into my lap for a cuddle and my heart swelled. What would I rather have, five minutes of peace or hold my sleepy child in my arms?

  No brainer really.

  I stared down into her familiar face, her blonde ringlets curling into a messy halo around her head. She was a gentle thing with a kind heart who’d come home from school more than once upset about some injustice visited upon those less fortunate.

  She’ll either grow up to be a lawyer – or god forbid or a politician.

  We were joined by the pathetic meowing of our cat, Badger. I know, the name was unusual, but weren’t unusual names de rigueur?

  North… Rocket… Apple… need I say more?

  Ruth chose the name for a very good reason; Badger owned similar markings to Mr Badger from a copy of The Wind in the Willows that we’d found in a second hand shop the day before we brought him home from the animal shelter. He was in a good mood this morning, thankfully. When he wasn’t, my legs were his prey and he’d attack whenever I’d pass by, or he would lull me into a false sense of security and jump onto my lap, purring like a Porsche engine. Once there, he’d dig his claws into my thighs as he kneaded them like a frantic contestant on the Great British Bake Off.

  “Mum, we’re going on a trip next week, can you come?” Ruth’s voice was still filled with sleep and dreams. The school was frequently going on these things, which don’t get me wrong was great because it meant Ruth saw lots of interesting places. However, they were rarely cheap, and even though I could have applied for the hardship fund to help out, I never did. There was only a limited amount in the coffers and I knew of several families worse off than we were.

  And trust me when I say if they were worse off than us they needed the money, badly.

  “What day? I’ll speak to Eli and see if I can work some magic with my hours. And where are we going?”

  “The Science Museum.” Ruth jumped from my lap, now more awake, and carefully poured some cornflakes into her bowl. “We’ve been learning ‘bout the moon. It’s really fascinating.”

  “The Science Museum?” She nodded and I thanked whoever was looking down on us – and not for the first time. A free trip! I only had a few quid in the kitty and thankfully this trip wasn’t going to eat into it. “I’ll speak to Miss Harrison when I drop you off. Now finish brekker, I’m going to get dressed.” Ruth hungrily attacked her cereal, she needed no more encouragement than that.

  The shower was my alone time, it’s where I did my thinking. Ruth knew, unless it was mega important, she could not bother me once I stepped under the water. I picked up the plastic boats, superheroes and slightly damp storybook she’d taken into the bath with her the night before, and let the tepid spray finish off what the coffee had begun an hour before.

  I ignored the crash in the kitchen. It wouldn’t be a Wednesday morning without a little spilt milk.

  Kids.

  Some days you just can’t live with them, but most days?

  You definitely can’t live without them.

  Chapter 5

  Devon

  Wednesday December 7th, 2016

  I arrived at the Heavenly Heirs office at seven am, my mind and body still set to wake ridiculously early each day. There was one window allowing a sliver of amber street light into the reception area, and the dark green shag pile carpet was mottled and worn in places. I tried not to think what had caused the darker stains, even though it made a pretty pattern on an otherwise non-descript flooring.

  The door into the main office was half cheap varnished plywood and half bevelled glass; Heavenly Heirs was stencilled in bold black lettering and took up most of the pane. The small reception area reminded me of a forties private investigator’s office. I half expected to change from colour to black and white the moment I stepped through into the main offices.

  I only needed the trench coat and fedora because I had the disenchanted attitude down pat.

  The offices were located in the penthouse suite. At least, that was how it was advertised. In reality we were in the attic so it was cramped and the only saving grace, allegedly? The open floor plan and a large hexagonal sky light bathing the room in warmth and light. Even on the worst of days, it was never dreary.

  My own miniscule office was just off the main area. I had a few personal items around me, my degree from Oxford, a couple of photos of me and my grandmother, but that was about it. The desk was an antique, the one thing I brought with me. It had been murder to get it up to the offices because it didn’t fit in the lift, so the removal men had to lug it up several flights of stairs.

  I definitely won’t be on their Christmas card list this year.

  The green blotter in the middle of the dark mahogany screamed expensive, but I wasn’t going to feel guilty over the one luxury I afforded myself when I started my new job.

  I twirled in my seat and stared through the blinds. The buildings opposite were in disrepair through years of neglect. It was one of the first things I’d noticed when I came to Heavenly Heirs, that this part of London was, basically, the business equivalent of the black hole of Calcutta. Jane, one of my new colleagues, explained Celeste wanted to keep costs down, therefore more money could go to the deserving.

  I’d carefully scrutinised some of the files she’d given me as background into the company, and it appeared that the only people who ever gained an inheritance from us were of the admirable kind. For some people, the money they received was enough to fix their car which they used to take their sick neighbour to hospital. For others, it helped build a dog run at their animal shelter. But in nearly every case, the inheritance went to, essentially, good people. Maybe that’s why the company was called Heavenly Heirs.

  Things were going well, and at that I chuckled. They were going well now, despite my first day being less than auspicious…“Right everyone, into the gap, I have an announcement.” Celeste’s clear tones rang throughout the offices and I followed her slowly, and not a little self-consciously. My first day and Celeste decided to throw me to the wolves, I mean in at the deep end, I mean… well you know what I mean. “I’d like you all to welcome Devon Williams. She will be joining our team as of today and will be responsible for legal research amongst other things.”

  “You’re fucking jokin’ me!” Hannah’s tones were just as clear as Celeste’s, if not, I’m afraid to say, clearer. Seemed she hadn’t forgiven me for firing her three years ago and clearly hadn’t recommended me for the job.

  “No, Hannah, no joke. If I was joking I would begin with knock, knock and you’d reply…”

  Celeste left it open and I instinctively replied, “Who’s there?”

  “Spoilt up her
arse bitch face?” Hannah asked.

  “That’s enough, Hannah!” Celeste scolded.

  “No, it’s alright, I deserved that,” I said quietly and in my own precise way. “Perhaps this was a mistake, Ms D’Angelo.”

  “No mistake, Devon, no mistake at all. I’m giving you into Jane’s capable hands for the next week. Listen and learn. Hannah, I’d like a quick word.”

  Things quickly improved, although if I’m honest, they could hardly have gotten much worse.

  Jane was the mother I’d always wanted. She was remarkably sharp and intelligent, but with a warm way about her that encouraged and nurtured you. Her whole demeanour was like a hug but better. Hannah was initially a problem that I resolved with a bottle of scotch and a Chinese take-out. We talked about our past, argued about the present and looked forward to the future. She was still as loopy as a march hare, but secretly I was glad I’d given her the boot; she would have curled up and died if she’d remained with Flood and Williams.

  I’d been working here for just over a week now and it had been my salvation, literally.

  I was already sleeping better and felt more energised every morning. I was eating heathier too, and was spotted at the gym once or thrice. The instant result was I now looked how I did about ten years ago, rather than what I was going to look like in fifteen years. I chuckled a little. Mentally I’d accused myself of being Scrooge, and maybe the three ghosts of Christmas had visited my subconscious through my many troubled nights of sleep. I had taken heed of the warning, but unlike Ebenezer I still wasn’t warm and cuddly, not even close. Trust me when I say it was easier that way. Why let someone in, only to have them rip your heart out and stamp all over it? That went for friends as well as lovers. No, it was simpler to be alone.