It was three o’clock in the morning when Kelvin sat at his PC, staring at the email he had received the previous afternoon. Being up at that time with his face stuck in a computer screen was pretty much a habit of his, a habit he had begun in his early twenties when he came to the conclusion that neither studying at college nor working from nine to five were for him. His preference back then was to sleep for the best part of the day and then to spend the late nights and early hours smoking weed, listening to tunes, and jumping in and out of games sites and chatrooms. Turning night into day, as his father frequently complained.
Those were the good old days. Before his father’s pisshead of a girlfriend turned up. Before the suicide. Before all the drunkenness. Wee daft Kelly was variously staying with her mother or dossing on someone’s couch or sharing a flat with her stoner mates. Whatever, she wasn’t around. So there was just the two of them in the house. The old man fancied himself as a bit of a chef and regularly spent the night cooking up a storm, ending up with trays full of roasts and curries and Chinese dishes. He’d stick most of them in the freezer and the rest in the fridge for eating that week. But the latter never lasted long, not when Kelvin was up during the wee small hours with the munchies. One night he was so stoned he demolished a whole roast chicken and then thought he was doing the old man a favour when he returned the bones to the fridge.
Of course, from time to time the old man lost the rag over his son’s lifestyle and forced Kelvin out to work as his gofer when he had a big roofing job on the go. Those times were short-lived, though, because Kelvin was never a particularly helpful gofer. Well, it wasn’t his fault he was scared of fucking heights, was it?
Anyway, that was then and this was now. The bedroom he had spent all those years in was currently occupied by fat Karoline. She was snoring and farting away in there as usual. But he supposed she needed her beauty sleep before she got up for work in the morning. He was sitting in what used to be his father’s bedroom, where he had decided to set up all his computer and audio stuff. Not having broken the habit of staying up all night, nor wanting to break it, he still visited the odd games site now and again, but mostly he smoked joints, listened to his music, and trawled YouTube for all the weird and wonderful shit that site had to offer. Tonight, though, he was having difficulty doing any of those things. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, his attention kept returning to that fucking email from the bastard Gilbey’s lawyers. He had lost count of the number of times he had read it, but here he was reading it again:
Those were the good old days. Before his father’s pisshead of a girlfriend turned up. Before the suicide. Before all the drunkenness. Wee daft Kelly was variously staying with her mother or dossing on someone’s couch or sharing a flat with her stoner mates. Whatever, she wasn’t around. So there was just the two of them in the house. The old man fancied himself as a bit of a chef and regularly spent the night cooking up a storm, ending up with trays full of roasts and curries and Chinese dishes. He’d stick most of them in the freezer and the rest in the fridge for eating that week. But the latter never lasted long, not when Kelvin was up during the wee small hours with the munchies. One night he was so stoned he demolished a whole roast chicken and then thought he was doing the old man a favour when he returned the bones to the fridge.
Of course, from time to time the old man lost the rag over his son’s lifestyle and forced Kelvin out to work as his gofer when he had a big roofing job on the go. Those times were short-lived, though, because Kelvin was never a particularly helpful gofer. Well, it wasn’t his fault he was scared of fucking heights, was it?
Anyway, that was then and this was now. The bedroom he had spent all those years in was currently occupied by fat Karoline. She was snoring and farting away in there as usual. But he supposed she needed her beauty sleep before she got up for work in the morning. He was sitting in what used to be his father’s bedroom, where he had decided to set up all his computer and audio stuff. Not having broken the habit of staying up all night, nor wanting to break it, he still visited the odd games site now and again, but mostly he smoked joints, listened to his music, and trawled YouTube for all the weird and wonderful shit that site had to offer. Tonight, though, he was having difficulty doing any of those things. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, his attention kept returning to that fucking email from the bastard Gilbey’s lawyers. He had lost count of the number of times he had read it, but here he was reading it again:
We thank you for your letter dated 16th August, 2015, the terms of which have been carefully considered before issuing this response.
The Personal Bond is a valid document of debt in the clearest possible terms. As a result, no background information is appropriate or relevant. Our client is determined to recover the full amount due but hopes to avoid any formal step to that end.
We shall be pleased to receive a formal written acknowledgement from those responsible for the administration of your late father’s estate (or, preferably, agents on their behalf) that the Personal Bond is accepted as a valid charge on the estate to be settled in full out of the estate.
It is acknowledged that there can be many different elements involved in the administration of an estate but we currently know of no general causes of delay. You indicate that you have or will be seeking independent legal advice in relation to your late father’s estate. We hope that you have done so and that we may hear from them in early course.
We shall be pleased to receive your full co-operation in resolving the elements with which our client is involved.
He realised he had provided those hick town lawyers with his email address, but he still couldn’t believe they would actually send him an email instead of a proper letter. It was a fucking insult. And the tone of it was downright fucking aggressive, refusing to supply him with more information, questioning whether he really was the sole Executor of his father’s estate and pooh-poohing his claim of significant delays in the confirmation process. So much for the advice of that useless cunt, Lanky Lenny, eh. And so much for the sweetness and light approach.
Yes, the email had Brian Gilbey written all over it. It was clear the bastard was determined to recover the amount of the so-called Personal Bond. The cunt didn’t need the money, so what was it, then? Revenge, maybe? Kelvin had been racking his brain, trying to remember anything he had done that might have particularly upset Brian. The only thing he could come up with was that time when he had phoned Aunt Abi to ask for her help with his father.
It was a Friday night in the middle of winter, not long before he and Karoline went off to Sweden. The old man had been working up on a roof in the bitter cold all week, which was not a good idea when you had a heart problem. Anyway, he collapsed in the house that evening and had to be rushed to hospital by ambulance. Kelvin went in with the ambulance and hung about the hospital for hours until the old man was pronounced well enough to return home. That was when he called Aunt Abi, pleading with her to come and persuade his father to stop working – or at least to stop working so much. Well, that was the pretext, anyway. The truth was that he had had enough and needed someone else to step in. And how could Aunt Abi refuse? – her and the old man were like soulmates back then. As soon as she agreed to drive through the next morning, he went off to his bed, content that the responsibility had been passed on.
When he eventually emerged the next day, his father, Aunt Abi and Brian were sitting at the kitchen table, tucking into bacon rolls, Aunt Abi having brought the bacon and the rolls with her. Neither she nor Brian looked very happy, though. The house was freezing cold for a start, so they had to keep their coats on. That was his father’s fault, of course, because the mean old git was reluctant to turn on the central heating, saying the cost of the gas was too expensive. Which didn’t bother Kelvin and Karoline, whose bedroom was always toasty from the electric heater they kept switched on practically permanently.
Then there was the business of the driving. Having only recently passed her test, Aunt Abi had apparently found driving through the ice and snow to Edinburgh “nerve-wracking”. Big fucking deal. All the hours he had been forced to spend in the A and fucking E had also been “nerve-wracking”, to say the least. Anyway, how was he to know that her and Brian lived somewhere in the back of beyond like Callander? No-one had mentioned Callander before. And, of course, Brian didn’t drive at all, the useless prick.
Seeing Brian sitting there still in his coat, a mug of tea in front of him, Kelvin sensed that the man was a particularly unhappy bunny. Which was why he decided to wind him up. Winding people up was what Kelvin did, his speciality.
“Would you prefer a cup of this, Brian?” he asked as he walked over to the coffee machine, smiling.
“No, thank you,” Brian answered curtly and carried on eating.
“Are you sure now? Real coffee. Better than that shit you’re drinking.”
With no response from Brian, Kelvin carried on and made himself a cup of coffee. Then, cup in hand, he headed back to his bedroom, but stopped at the kitchen table.
“Sure you won’t change your mind, Brian?” he asked, smiling again and exaggeratedly sniffing up the coffee aroma.
Brian’s response was to give Kelvin a look. That look. The look that told Kelvin he had overstepped the mark and it was time to make a sharp exit. He left the kitchen, thinking people were right – it was always the quiet cunts you had to watch out for.
So maybe that incident had preyed on Brian’s mind, and now he was out for payback. Or maybe there were other reasons. Kelvin had also overstepped the mark – badly – with Aunt Abi years earlier, and her reaction to him had been cold ever since.
It was only a month or so after Kelly topped herself when Kim, Kelvin’s Thai girlfriend at the time, decided to go on holiday to Bangkok to visit her family. The old man thought it would be a good idea if Kelvin went with her, supposedly to help him “recover” from the trauma of the suicide, so he borrowed money from Aunt Abi to pay for Kelvin’s share of the holiday. But on top of that Abi and Brian handed him a grand’s worth of spending money as a gift. A whole fucking grand! It was like the dosh was coming out of their ears. Anyway, just like moaning-faced Kim, the holiday turned out to be a complete washout, and he was back in Edinburgh without a bean, but desperate to get his hands on a few quid. That was when he decided to prey on Aunt Abi’s sympathy again. He knew where she worked at the West End. He knew the route she took at lunchtime to walk back and forward to her house. And he knew the cashline she often used on the way. So one lunchtime he hung about the cashline and pretended to bump into her by chance as she was returning to work. When he walked with her to the office, he hinted that he was in need of some money. Well, Aunt Abi was clever. She sussed him out in a fucking flash. She couldn’t wait to get away from him and practically ran the rest of the way. And no doubt she related the incident to her bastard husband when she got home. Another motive for revenge, then? Probably.
It occurred suddenly to Kelvin that the amount of the Personal Bond would include the loan for that holiday – and perhaps even the so-called “gift” of spending money. That and the cost of the funeral would account for most of the debt. Well, it didn’t matter what the fuck it included. Because it was never going to be paid by him. And it didn’t matter if Gilbey was out for revenge or not. Him and his lawyers could go and fucking whistle. The ball was in their court now. He was calling their bluff. He would wait to see what they came up with next. And he wasn’t going to lift a fucking finger in the meantime.
Yes, the email had Brian Gilbey written all over it. It was clear the bastard was determined to recover the amount of the so-called Personal Bond. The cunt didn’t need the money, so what was it, then? Revenge, maybe? Kelvin had been racking his brain, trying to remember anything he had done that might have particularly upset Brian. The only thing he could come up with was that time when he had phoned Aunt Abi to ask for her help with his father.
It was a Friday night in the middle of winter, not long before he and Karoline went off to Sweden. The old man had been working up on a roof in the bitter cold all week, which was not a good idea when you had a heart problem. Anyway, he collapsed in the house that evening and had to be rushed to hospital by ambulance. Kelvin went in with the ambulance and hung about the hospital for hours until the old man was pronounced well enough to return home. That was when he called Aunt Abi, pleading with her to come and persuade his father to stop working – or at least to stop working so much. Well, that was the pretext, anyway. The truth was that he had had enough and needed someone else to step in. And how could Aunt Abi refuse? – her and the old man were like soulmates back then. As soon as she agreed to drive through the next morning, he went off to his bed, content that the responsibility had been passed on.
When he eventually emerged the next day, his father, Aunt Abi and Brian were sitting at the kitchen table, tucking into bacon rolls, Aunt Abi having brought the bacon and the rolls with her. Neither she nor Brian looked very happy, though. The house was freezing cold for a start, so they had to keep their coats on. That was his father’s fault, of course, because the mean old git was reluctant to turn on the central heating, saying the cost of the gas was too expensive. Which didn’t bother Kelvin and Karoline, whose bedroom was always toasty from the electric heater they kept switched on practically permanently.
Then there was the business of the driving. Having only recently passed her test, Aunt Abi had apparently found driving through the ice and snow to Edinburgh “nerve-wracking”. Big fucking deal. All the hours he had been forced to spend in the A and fucking E had also been “nerve-wracking”, to say the least. Anyway, how was he to know that her and Brian lived somewhere in the back of beyond like Callander? No-one had mentioned Callander before. And, of course, Brian didn’t drive at all, the useless prick.
Seeing Brian sitting there still in his coat, a mug of tea in front of him, Kelvin sensed that the man was a particularly unhappy bunny. Which was why he decided to wind him up. Winding people up was what Kelvin did, his speciality.
“Would you prefer a cup of this, Brian?” he asked as he walked over to the coffee machine, smiling.
“No, thank you,” Brian answered curtly and carried on eating.
“Are you sure now? Real coffee. Better than that shit you’re drinking.”
With no response from Brian, Kelvin carried on and made himself a cup of coffee. Then, cup in hand, he headed back to his bedroom, but stopped at the kitchen table.
“Sure you won’t change your mind, Brian?” he asked, smiling again and exaggeratedly sniffing up the coffee aroma.
Brian’s response was to give Kelvin a look. That look. The look that told Kelvin he had overstepped the mark and it was time to make a sharp exit. He left the kitchen, thinking people were right – it was always the quiet cunts you had to watch out for.
So maybe that incident had preyed on Brian’s mind, and now he was out for payback. Or maybe there were other reasons. Kelvin had also overstepped the mark – badly – with Aunt Abi years earlier, and her reaction to him had been cold ever since.
It was only a month or so after Kelly topped herself when Kim, Kelvin’s Thai girlfriend at the time, decided to go on holiday to Bangkok to visit her family. The old man thought it would be a good idea if Kelvin went with her, supposedly to help him “recover” from the trauma of the suicide, so he borrowed money from Aunt Abi to pay for Kelvin’s share of the holiday. But on top of that Abi and Brian handed him a grand’s worth of spending money as a gift. A whole fucking grand! It was like the dosh was coming out of their ears. Anyway, just like moaning-faced Kim, the holiday turned out to be a complete washout, and he was back in Edinburgh without a bean, but desperate to get his hands on a few quid. That was when he decided to prey on Aunt Abi’s sympathy again. He knew where she worked at the West End. He knew the route she took at lunchtime to walk back and forward to her house. And he knew the cashline she often used on the way. So one lunchtime he hung about the cashline and pretended to bump into her by chance as she was returning to work. When he walked with her to the office, he hinted that he was in need of some money. Well, Aunt Abi was clever. She sussed him out in a fucking flash. She couldn’t wait to get away from him and practically ran the rest of the way. And no doubt she related the incident to her bastard husband when she got home. Another motive for revenge, then? Probably.
It occurred suddenly to Kelvin that the amount of the Personal Bond would include the loan for that holiday – and perhaps even the so-called “gift” of spending money. That and the cost of the funeral would account for most of the debt. Well, it didn’t matter what the fuck it included. Because it was never going to be paid by him. And it didn’t matter if Gilbey was out for revenge or not. Him and his lawyers could go and fucking whistle. The ball was in their court now. He was calling their bluff. He would wait to see what they came up with next. And he wasn’t going to lift a fucking finger in the meantime.