Kimberley Chambers 3-Book Collection: The Schemer, The Trap, Payback. Kimberley Chambers

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      CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

      On the morning of his stag do, Wayne was awake at the crack of dawn. He turned onto his side and stared at Stephanie, who was still asleep. She had calmed down over the past few days over the hen-night fiasco, but had vowed never to speak to Angela ever again. ‘For as long as I can remember, all I have ever done is given love and support to Angela, but received nothing in return. In my heart, I will always love her and I shall miss her not being part of my life, but by cutting her out completely, at least she can’t hurt me any more,’ Steph had tearfully decided.

      ‘You’re up early,’ Steph whispered, as she heard Wayne get out of bed. She always slept lightly in case the children were ill or needed her.

      ‘I’ve got shitloads to do today, babe, so I thought I’d make an early start.’

      ‘Come back to bed and give me a cuddle first. I’ve barely seen you this week. You’ve been running around like a blue-arsed fly, and seeing as you’ve got your stag do tonight, I probably won’t see you again until tomorrow evening.’

      Wayne got back into bed and put his arms around Stephanie. Feeling himself becoming aroused, he immediately pulled away from her and lay on his back.

      ‘Somebody’s very excited this morning,’ Stephanie said, tenderly stroking Wayne’s penis.

      Wayne sighed as Stephanie kissed his chest, then moved her mouth further down his body. As her lips locked around the tip of his manhood, he let out a huge groan of pleasure. ‘Kneel on all fours,’ he ordered, huskily.

      Stephanie did as Wayne asked, then gasped as he entered her doggy style. Their sex life had been crap just recently, but as Wayne shafted her harder and faster than he had for many years, Stephanie allowed herself a wry smile. Finally, Wayne’s libido had returned. And it was back with a vengeance.

      Jake’s solicitor was a Jewish chap called Hymee Michaels, and it was he whom Jake had appointed to be executor of his will. Marlene knew very little about the formalities of such a procedure, but she was quietly confident that she was travelling to Bermondsey as a poor woman, to be told that she would soon be very rich.

      ‘So, did you ring this Mr Michaels yesterday to ask him if we were going to be the only ones here today, like I told you to?’ Marlene asked her son.

      ‘I did ring him, Mum, but Michaels was out of the office all day yesterday. His secretary sounded like a proper dimwit, but the one thing that I did find out off her is that this is actually a formal will reading, which apparently Jake insisted on. It’s written in his own words, so she reckons.’

      ‘I thought everybody who had money had a formal will reading. I’ve seen ’em on telly loads of times,’ Marlene said.

      Barry shook his head. ‘I dunno about America and places like that, but they’re pretty unusual over here. I’ve seen ’em on TV and in films, but that is usually just to dramatize the effect. Will readings spoken in the words of the deceased are fictional. They ain’t reality, Mum.’

      ‘So, why is Jake having one then?’ Marlene enquired, becoming more confused by the second.

      ‘Your guess is as good as mine, but you can bet your bottom dollar that me and you ain’t the only ones there. There is no way he would have demanded a proper reading where his actual words are spoken by his brief if it was just us two involved.’

      ‘Well, who else is gonna be there then? We were the only real family the old fucker had. You don’t reckon he’s left any dosh to any of his mates, do you?’

      ‘I don’t know, muvver, but do me a favour. If any of his other family are there, please don’t kick off and make a complete show of us, will you?’

      Suddenly feeling anxious, Marlene fished around in her handbag for the small bottle of brandy she kept in there for emergencies. The thought of anybody else coining in on her hard-earned inheritance had left a bitter taste in her mouth, and the quicker Marlene gargled it away, the better she would feel.

      The pawnbroker looked at Wayne in amazement as he emptied the contents of his bag onto the counter.

      ‘Christ, you certainly have some nice pieces of jewellery here, but I won’t be able to take that amount off you unless you’ve got some receipts or identification,’ he said, fingering an extremely heavy gold chain with glee.

      Over the years, Wayne had sort of collected gold. He had taken it as payment if anybody had owed him money and, back in the Eighties, when gold was the height of fashion, he had often treated himself to a chunky ring or necklace whenever the mood had taken his fancy. ‘There’s my ID,’ Wayne said, showing the pawnbroker his driving licence, ‘and there’s two utility bills with me name and address on ’em as well. I’ll be honest with you, mate, I own a gym in Leytonstone which is struggling at the moment and I’m also getting married next week. Being the decent chap that I am, I have promised to buy my СКАЧАТЬ