The Last Will & Testament of Norman Fielding

I

At seventy-eight years old and with a net worth of around six million, Norman Fielding had earned the right to take it easy with his life. Days filled playing golf with acquaintances, watching gameshows and various programmes on antiques, going for walks in the lush forests on the edge of the land he owned, sitting by the lake with a good book and pottering around the house doing this and that. And ‘pottering’ was exactly what he was doing with his day today, despite the weather outside being so beautiful with its warm air and blue skies.

Norman was sitting in one of the armchairs in his main living room; a room filled with a large open fire, a 60” television screen hanging from one of the brick walls, comfortable sofa, separate armchairs, oak coffee table with a marble chessboard as a centre-piece. His eyes were fixed on the fireplace, specifically the mantlepiece above it. More specifically than that — his gaze was firmly upon the large clock.

Sitting in this chair, the angle was all wrong. He couldn’t see the clock face as clearly as he would have liked. Had someone asked him the time he could have given a rough answer but nothing more than that.

“That’s no good,’ he muttered to himself as he pushed his tired body up from the comfort of the chair. With stick in hand, he made his way across the living space to the clock. He turned it slightly so it was facing the armchair a little more; only the slightest of turns mind you — had he twisted it more so, it would have made it harder to see from the armchair on the other side of the room.

He walked back to the armchair and took his seat once more.

The time was one thirty in the afternoon.

“That’s better,” he mumbled.

And, with that, he pulled himself up from the chair once more and made his way to the second armchair. He took a seat again and looked upon the clock, content that he could still see the clock face unobstructed.

“Perfect,” he said.

Happy he could see the time from all seating positions in the room, he smiled to himself and let out a long, contented sigh. A job well done but when his butler came in — soon after — he realised that Norman’s time had come and all actions with the clock had been for nothing.

I I

The front door opened and Fred and Jude walked in, both dressed in black. Fred was Norman’s brother. He was eight years younger than Norman but seemed even younger than that — an illusion no doubt helped by having a much younger woman on his arm, in the form of Jude; a woman in her fifties.

“Jesus, look at this place!” Jude said. She had heard stories of Norman — his wealth and his home at least, told through the jealous whisperings of Fred. This was the first time she had seen it though as Norman and Fred hadn’t spoken for many years for reasons not disclosed to Jude. A dirty little family secret resulting in a fall-out of some description.

“It’s ridiculous,” Fred snapped as he removed his sodden coat. Damned British weather had seemingly changed. Last week it was brilliant sunshine and decent temperatures and now it was pissing rain and black clouds with the worst of the last few days being today; the day of the funeral where it so happened they all had to stand outside. Of course Fred blamed Norman, as though he had planned his funeral to coincide with a bad weather front coming in from the west. Part of him even wondered whether Norman’s choice of service was dictated to by the weather; a hot day and they’d all be inside watching him get cremated, a cold day and they all had to stay outside. “Completely unnecessary for just one person,” Fred continued, making reference to the house.

He was right of course. The house was ridiculous for one person. There were six bedrooms, three separate living rooms, a games room with a billiards table, a kitchen bigger than most people’s living room, four different bathrooms, a gym and even an indoor swimming pool built into the glass conservatory at the back of the property. All habited by Norman who had literally spent his time in the one main living area, the master bedroom or one of the bathrooms.

“And he didn’t have a wife or any children?” Jude asked. Because of the family feud, she actually knew very little about her brother-in-law. She knew he lived in a big house, she understood he was rich and that was about it.

Fred didn’t answer her question. He handed his coat to one of the five butlers and asked him, “Where’s the other guests?”

“They’re in the living room just through there, Sir.” The butler turned and patiently waited to be handed Jude’s soaking coat. Fred wasn’t as patient and headed through to the living room where his wife could come when she was ready to do so. He just wanted to get this over and done with so he could return to his life. Potentially — his much better off life…

I I I

Fred hadn’t spoken to Norman in a few years. He had put a business proposal forward to his well-off brother but it had been rejected. Not because Norman didn’t want to lend his brother any money, he just didn’t think it was a sound investment. Of course Fred took it to heart and thought his brother was just being tight. He had all that money and yet he couldn’t give some to his brother to help him out. But why should Norman? He had worked hard to get where he was. He had beaten off competition and he had fought through more than one recession and still managed to hold onto what he had built up. If he was going to lend money out, family or not, he wanted to be sure it was a sound investment. On this occasion, it so happened that it wasn’t.

As Fred walked into the living room, full to the brim with people milling around, he couldn’t help but wonder — had he stayed closer to his brother — whether he would have known anyone in the crowd of faces before him. As it stood, there were hardly any people he recognised. Could all these people be acquaintances from the last few years only?

“Fred, I’m so sorry for your loss!” a man approached with his hand outstretched. He was wearing an expensive looking black suit and a crisp white shirt with shoes so shiny you could see the room’s reflection within them.

“Thank you, that means a lot.” Fred shook the man’s hand despite having no idea who he was.

“Devastating news!” another man approached — his hand also held out.

“Thank you,” said Fred. Again, he shook, but he paid the two men very little attention. Instead his eyes were darting around the room, trying to find a friendly face.

Not all of the people in the room were strangers to him. He recognised Norman’s solicitor, there were distant cousins who had crawled out of the woodwork at the scent of free money, a few people who’d gone to school with both Norman and Fred many, many moons ago (and had managed to keep in contact throughout), Norman’s bank manager — the mean son of a bitch who’d been present when Fred had put forward his business scheme to his brother — and even some politician-type figures who’d, at some point or other, been backed by Norman when on the campaign run.

Fred couldn’t help but wonder how many people were here because they were genuine friends compared to those who were here because they’d been drawn to the possibility of being mentioned in the Will reading which would, no doubt, be happening any day now.

“Fred! Long time no speak! How the Devil are you?” Of all the people Fred didn’t want to speak to, it was the bank manager, Mr. Clack; the man who had more control of Norman’s cash than perhaps was necessary. The man, sitting in his office, phoning Norman every other day with new and exciting business opportunities.

“Very well, thank you.” Fred only had to be polite for today. Once today was out of the way, arrangements would be made which meant he never had to speak to Mr. Clack again and he couldn’t wait.

“I’m so, so sorry about Norman,” Mr. Clack continued, “he was one of the good ones.”

“Yes. Thank you,” said Fred. Of course Mr. Clack was sorry to see one of his clients pass away. Not only was he a sure-thing for an easy investor but it also meant — with him deceased — there was a good chance the bank could lose the business when they money gets divided between the remaining family members. And Fred knew this and suspected it was why Mr. Clack had come over to offer his condolences.

“So,” Mr. Clack drew a breath, “have they read the will yet?”

Fred simply smiled in response and walked away to see what other parasites had come along to see what they could get, or keep from losing. The gardeners were here, the chef who prepared Norman’s meals, obviously the butlers although technically they were still working, the bank manager, the solicitor, old business partners and clients. Bottom-dwellers, as Fred liked to think of them, all wanting to get their slice of the six million pound pie.

I V

“They’ll all be there,” he had told Jude as they drove from the service to the wake, back at Norman’s house. “They’ll all be there wanting to protect their potential cut. They’ll all be running around pretending to be sad but they’ll just be counting down the minutes until the reading. That’s what they’re really there for.”

Of course Jude didn’t get it, “Maybe they’re there out of respect? Maybe they want to say their last goodbyes?” she had replied.

Fred had turned to her with a look of both disbelief and jealousy on his face. He couldn’t believe she couldn’t see it; human nature at its most greedy. Yet he was also jealous of her; jealous that she hadn’t experienced it before. But then, of course she didn’t know it. Her family didn’t have any money. He just hoped this wouldn’t change her.

“They just want his money. If he didn’t have any there would be less than half the people at that damned service. Well they’re in for a shock,” he’d said, “because I won’t be letting them take anything that doesn’t belong to them. And Mr. Clack — his bank manager — he can get stuffed if he thinks he is keeping the business. That money is coming straight away from his care…”

Jude had smiled, “Do you really think he will leave us the money?”

Fred had snorted through his nose, “Well who else will get it? I am the only living relative.” He had made his own Will less than 6 months ago and — even though his brother hadn’t helped him with his project — he had left him a substantial amount of money. The rest went to his wife. It stood to reason that, with his brother being single and there being no other close family members, he would get a good proportion of what his brother had accumulated over his lifetime. Not that Fred planned to keep it all for himself. Naturally he would share it out as it was the decent thing to do. That being said — he’d ensure the people, who crawled out of the woodwork to try and get a sniff of the prize, would quickly be stamped back down to where they had come from with little chance of return.

Jude didn’t say anything else on the car journey. She just sat there, hoping Fred was right and that he wouldn’t be disappointed.

V

After saying a quick hello to a few of his cousins, whom he hadn’t seen since the last funeral, Fred finally managed to get a hold of the man he’d been wanting to speak to since the service began; Fred’s solicitor — Graham Pains.

“My deepest condolences,” Graham said as he shook Fred’s hand.

“Thank you, thank you… Listen…”

“I can only imagine the shock it must have come as,” Graham continued, interrupting Fred. “I was only speaking to Norman a couple of weeks ago. It’s a scary though, isn’t it? One minute you’re here and the next — gone.”

“Yes, it’s terrible.” Fred dismissed what Graham was saying, brushing it to one side with a metaphorical sweeping of a brush. He hadn’t sniped Graham out of the crowd for a conversation about the injustice of death and how short life was. He wanted to know whether Graham had the Last Will and Testament of his brother. More specifically, he wanted to know what it said. Graham — however — was unaware Fred had the potential to be so cold.

“It’s a sad, sad thing,” he continued. “It seems to be that time of the year. People seem to be dropping like flies left, right and centre. Did you know this is the fourth funeral this month alone and we’re not even half-way through.”

“It’s my second,” said another man of similar age. A complete stranger to Fred who’d overheard the conversation and — somehow — deemed it appropriate to join in. “It certainly makes you think about your own life,” the man continued. “I mean — my best friend dropped dead of a heart attack less than a fortnight ago. Poor bastard was going about the office, filing paperwork, and then — bam — out like a light. Admittedly it was one of those bulbs that flickers faintly for a while before finally going out but, yes, he perished on that very spot. Because of that — and without thinking of the consequences — I upped and left right there and then. My friend was always complaining about not doing enough with his life and — for him — it’s too late. Not too late for me though. I always hated that place and I can’t begin to tell you how amazing it felt just to leave like that. Truly amazing. Of course I didn’t think it through one hundred percent — now I’m in that stage of blind panic, trying to find a job before the next set of bills come in,” he laughed.

Fred cottoned on immediately. He didn’t recognise the man because he was a freeloader. Someone who had most likely bumped into Norman once — or twice — through work (possibly) and was here in the faint hope of getting some money from the estate. Clearly the man was deluded if he thought he was going to walk away with any of the prize pot. It would go to Fred, some to the cousins, some to pay off any outstanding debts, some more to Fred, pay the staff off, a little more to Fred and then — finally — the rest to Fred. People like this chap could go to Hell if they thought they’d be getting anywhere near it.

“How did you know my brother?” Fred tested the gentleman.

The man pretended to spot someone he knew across the room and gave them a little wave whilst mouthing the word ‘hello’. With that, he turned to Fred and Graham, “If you’ll excuse me — there’s someone over there that I simply must say hello to.”

Fred and Graham watched the man. He walked straight past the gentleman he had pretended to acknowledge and right out of the main room, passing a bored looking Jude — standing in the corner. It was exactly as Fred had suspected; a damned freeloader.

“That’s terrible about his friend,” Graham said finally.

Fred turned back to him, “Yes. Well. Clearly. Anyway. I was wondering…”

“I’m not sure quitting your job would be the right way to go though, if you were in his situation. It’s all very well saying you’re going to go off and live your life but — well — you do need to ensure your bills are paid, yes?”

“Yes. Obviously.” Fred quickly continued, “And it’s that I need to discuss with you.”

“Oh don’t worry — your brother and I were squared up long ago. There’s nothing owing on his account,” Graham gave Fred a little wink and smiled.

“No. That’s not what I was getting at,” Fred continued, “I was wondering whether you had a copy of the Will and when the reading would be?”

Graham laughed, “I know, I know. I was just teasing you. Yes I do have the Will and there will be a reading. In fact, seeing as you’re not the only one to ask the question — if it’s not in poor taste — we could do it later on?”

Fred bit immediately, “What do you mean I’m not the only one asking? Who else has spoken about it?”

“Oh you know how it is,” Graham said, “someone of wealth perishes and suddenly you find yourself surrounded by people all holding their hands out for what they believe they’re entitled to.”

“Yes I know but… Well… I’m his brother. Who else was asking?”

“You have the staff. Obviously they’re worried about their wages for the month, which is fair enough. Then there are his cousins. One of which he apparently owed money to and has done now for a few years. He was getting quite shirty rambling on about interest etc but I wouldn’t worry about him. There’s no contract that I know of and your brother and I have been doing business now for many, many years. They’re just trying their luck.”

“Great so I’m going to have to deal with imbeciles like this when we do the reading then?” Fred huffed, “Who said it?”

“Oh it really doesn’t matter. Like I said, there’s no contract so — if they’re not mentioned in the Will — they won’t get a penny anyway.”

“I have had enough of this,” Fred snapped.

Without any warning he jumped up on the settee and addressed the room, “Listen — whilst it is nice to see so many people here… What is not nice is the fact that some of you are here for the wrong reasons; not to pay your last respects but rather to try and freeload some of the money. Well listen up and listen carefully — you will not get a penny of it. As his only brother — and the closest family member he has — I won’t allow my brother’s wealth to be split between people who do not deserve it. Now obviously we haven’t done the reading yet but, when we do, I will tell you this much… I will of course be paying out money to the staff for hours worked, as part of your usual wage. You worked hard for my brother and I am sure he is grateful. You will not be getting more than what you’re owed though. This was your job. You are employees only. Nothing more and nothing less. But — with your final wage — I shall also take this time to wish you the best of luck in securing work elsewhere.” He paused a moment and listened to the rumbled moaning of the disappointed. “If my brother owed you money for any reason — this too will be paid back to you on receipt of a valid contract. No contract, no money. That is the way business works.” A few more people moaned. “To Mr. Clack — thank you for your years of service but my brother’s money will be transferred to another account with another bank. I have not used your establishment, nor do I plan to. Again, thank you for doing your best at steering him in the right direction, over the years, even if your direction wasn’t necessarily the one I would have opted for. Okay, if you fall into any of the above categories — now would be a good time for you to leave, thank you.” Fred stopped and waited.

One by one people slowly filtered from the room. Staff, Mr. Clack and a few other faces Fred didn’t recognise. It still left a room full of people he didn’t know though.

Fred continued, “Charities. I’m sorry but — at this time — we will not be making any donations. That may change in the future when I have gone through your policies and exactly what you do with the money obtained. I will not be harassed into this decision and nor do I need counsel as to how you operate. I will make the informed decision on my own. Thank you for coming. You know where the door is.”

A few more people left.

Fred looked around the room. There were still a number of people hanging around but he hoped these were the genuine people; those who were wanting to show support for Fred and Jude as well as pay their final respects to a man they had known personally and liked, or loved. Fred nodded a nod of satisfaction at a job well done and jumped down from the settee before walking back over to Graham, “Well that should make things easier,” he said.

Graham smiled, “Did you want to do this now then?” he asked. He reached into his pocket and withdrew an ivory coloured enveloped, closed via the use of a fancy looked red seal made of melted wax. Fred beamed. Of course he wanted to do it now. He was about to be the sole proprietor of six million pounds. Had he had his way, he would have done the reading first. At least that way he could have skipped on going to the service.

“I think it would be good to wrap these things up,” he smiled.

“Very well.” He ripped into the envelope. It wasn’t the way proceedings usually went but — technically — it was Fred’s choice when it happened. In this instance, Graham was simply the message boy. “If everybody could please take a seat,” he shouted out.

As the majority of the people in the room took a seat on whatever they could find, Fred walked over to the mantlepiece and leaned against it with an expectant look upon his face. Jude went and stood by his side. She too was smiling, aware that this was the moment her husband had been waiting for. He was going to be rich. They were going to be rich.

V I

Not many people cheer when they find out a loved one has died and yet that is exactly what Fred had done. He had put the phone down and let out the loudest cheer you could imagine. A roar so loud that it actually burned the back of his throat — and very nearly gave his wife, Jude, a heart attack of her own.

He explained to Jude what had happened; his brother had dropped dead whilst faffing about in his home and jumped immediately to the beautiful fact that they were rich. Even before the Will had been read, Fred had counted upon the money being his. And who was Jude to argue? Neither one of them had presumed that, considering Norman and Fred hadn’t spoken properly for a couple of years, the money could end up going elsewhere.

And yet…

V I I

“What?” Fred screamed out, causing Jude to jump. Slowly she took a side step away from her fuming husband. “Re-read it again! Check the name at the top! You did remember to bring the right piece of paperwork? This isn’t one of your other clients? You did say earlier that it wasn’t the first funeral you had been to this month. Did you get the paperwork mixed up?” He stormed over to where Graham was standing, addressing the room, and snatched the paperwork right from his hand. He turned his back on the watching eyes and scanned through the document once more; his eyes darting from side to side with startling speed and his heart pounding heavily in the back of his throat. “Fuck!” he screamed.

There — spelt out in clear English and black ink — it said it very clearly with very little room for misunderstanding; the whole estate was to be broken down and sold with all proceeds going to the local cattery.

“He doesn’t even like cats!” Fred screamed as he tossed the paperwork up in the air. “This isn’t right,” Fred continued, “I’m going to contest it. He can’t leave me with nothing! He can’t! We were brothers! He owes me this money, that selfish idiot! He owes me! You hear me?” People were looking at Fred with raised eyebrows but he didn’t care. He found the whole thing incredibly embarrassing and insulting to say the least. Since hearing of his brother’s death, he had already counted on that money. More than that, he had spent pretty much every penny in his head. He’d mentally purchased property overseas, a whole new wardrobe of designer clothes, expensive holidays, new furniture, more property, more clothes, a garage full of expensive to buy (and expensive to run) cars and all of the latest gadgets and tech. Everything he had ever wanted, he would now own. That was the plan at least. Instead, his brother screwed him. “We had a cat when we were growing up! He never fed him. He didn’t even pet him. And — let me tell you — when that cat died… I cried for about a week. Norman just asked mum when we were getting a puppy. No. No. This is a joke. This is wrong. This is…”

“A test.”

Fred fell silent immediately. He froze to the spot. The whole room was hushed. Had one dropped, you would have heard a pin fall to the floor. That was Norman’s voice. Slowly Fred turned around.

“Norman?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re alive?”

“That’s correct.”

“But… But… How? Why?” Fred spluttered as his face continued to grow redder and redder.

V I I I

Norman leaned down to the clock on the mantlepiece and looked closely at it. There — right in the centre — he could see the tiny hole in the face. Nestled on the other side, the latest in surveillance equipment staring right back at his face. With a buzz of excitement he hurried from the room and retired to one of the spare rooms; a room so infrequently used he often kept it locked.

Inside the room was a full set up of monitors — each capturing a different part of the house from the front door right the way through to the rear of the property. Wherever someone was, he would be able to keep an eye on them and — thanks to the audio recording equipment — he’d be able to hear them too. A cunning plan to see — and hear — what people really thought of him; a plan devised with the help of his solicitor when he admitted to struggling about what to do with his Will.

“There is one thing we could do,” Graham had said, “but you might think it somewhat extreme. It all depends on how desperate you are to ensure the money goes to the right person,” he continued.

Graham had helped Norman obtain the equipment and he even helped arrange the fake funeral and send out the invitations to the wake. Some of Norman’s most trusted staff — such as the butler — being on hand to help out too; the promise of a bonus payment in their monthly wage if they kept the whole thing secret. Graham — and some of the staff — had been instrumental in the keeping up of appearances and all for a very modest fee.

Norman didn’t mind paying the fee. It meant he got to see how his ‘guests’ behaved at the funeral. It gave him the opportunity to decide who to give the money to and who to cut from his life completely; clear the freeloading scum out, so to speak. And — with the final camera set up in the clock — it was time. All he needed to do now was ‘die’ and go away for a bit. The butler made the call to the families whilst Graham made the necessary arrangements with the funeral home and cemetery to ensure all were paid off and happy to go along with the scheme.

It couldn’t have gone any better. It was like a well-oiled machine. A well-oiled, well-financed machine at that.

I X

Fred was sitting in his beat-up car. Jude was sitting next to him. Neither were saying anything; both lost in their own little worlds, staring through the car windows. Fred’s mind was contemplating what he was going to do now. He had counted on that money to pay off some debts and live his life, never really finding his own success. He presumed that — one day — it would land in his lap. He just needed to be patient. That chance was gone now. His brother had made that very clear when he booted Fred — and the other freeloaders — from the house informing them they’d never receive a sniff of what he had to offer in the Will; superseded with a long lecture about how he’d been watching the reactions of the guests in the other room. Norman had referred to them all as parasites and bottom-feeders and then promptly kicked them out, telling them they were not welcome back. Fred had lost the money. Fred had lost his brother. The cash upset him.

Jude’s own little world — the one she was lost in now — had been much simpler when she had first met Fred. He had been drinking in the bar she waitressed at. He was as drunk as a skunk, moaning about his millionaire brother not helping him out with a business plan he had thought of. A drunken ramble wishing for his brother’s demise so he could inherit the money and do with it as he saw fit. Seeing the state he was in, Jude had helped him home that night and ended up staying with him — listening to stories of what he would do with that cash as his hands ran over her tight body.

Now — with no chance of the money coming their way — her mind consisted of the one nagging thought, How much does a divorce cost?




T H E E N D

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