Chapter 33
Leaving chambers early, Holly approached her son’s school with trepidation.
The headteacher’s office window directly overlooked the playground where parents waited to collect their children.
Of course, there was no reason why she shouldn’t have been in the hotel the previous evening, it was a public building after all, but leaving a bedroom not long after midnight, with tousled hair and smudged make up, wearing clothes very different to her normal school pick-up wear.
Well, it didn’t take a genius to work out that she’d met someone for sex.
The teacher on door duty appeared. The infants always left the school first. A second teacher joined the first and both looked in Holly’s direction.
She was being paranoid. No way could Mrs Milton have made the leap to Holly being a paid escort, but if Chris was as good as his word, if he followed through on his threat to expose her, then having been spotted in a compromising situation would be seen as cast-iron proof.
Especially for people who didn’t like her anyway.
Holly felt panic rising. No one would want a publicly disgraced barrister representing them in court. She’d never work again. Tim would sue for custody and win. She’d lose Charlie.
As usual, the other mums were keeping their distance.
God, they’d love it when they found out.
Holly the Whore. The pictures would be passed round at coffee mornings, and it would only be a matter of time before the kids found out.
Charlie would be tormented with pictures of his mother’s naked tits and ass for the rest of his school life. Children killed themselves for less.
Holly knew at that moment that she’d give Chris his money; she had no choice. But the amount he wanted was eye-watering and she had no illusions that it was a one-off request. She’d be working for him from now on. Her old friend had become her pimp.
Her son came through the doors and set off at a run towards her. He never normally did that. He was usually the last to leave, hanging around till the other kids were safely away.
Knowing she would pay Chris was one thing; finding the money another.
Holly had spent much of the previous night awake, going through her finances.
She had nearly fifty grand in her savings account but that was for Charlie’s secondary school.
Fees would be a little over fifteen grand a year.
With another five or so on top for extras, she only had enough to fund three years out of the seven he’d need.
And then university. It already wasn’t enough and Chris, demanding three grand a month, would go through it like a swarm of genetically engineered locusts.
Nor could she fund Chris out of her income.
What was left over after she’d met her own and Charlie’s needs went to pay for her father’s care and to top up her savings.
Her dad cost her eighteen grand a year and he was still in his late fifties.
He could live for years yet, and his needs would only escalate.
Charlie dropped his bag at her feet and beamed up at her. ‘Mum, guess what?’
Holly bent to pick the bag up. ‘I never will so you’ll have to tell me.
’ It was their standard response to a question they’d long ago agreed was impossible to answer.
She even risked putting a hand on his shoulder as they walked to the car.
Normally, Charlie didn’t like to be touched, but he seemed in such a good mood, and she so badly needed to feel her son right now.
‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory has come true.’
The Roald Dahl book had been his favourite since he’d been tiny. Aged four, he’d found it impossible to believe there were other little boys in the world called Charlie. So, obviously, the book was about him.
Holly opened the car and held the door for her son to climb into the passenger seat. She joined him, turned on the ignition and indicated to pull out.
‘You and five friends are going on a VIP tour of the local chocolate factory?’
‘No, silly. And it would be four friends. Five kids get the golden tickets, not six. I don’t mean it lit – lit …’
‘Literally?’ she suggested, proud as punch that even at ten years old, Charlie was starting to grasp the concept of literal versus figurative. So many autistic kids never came close.
‘No, not literally. But almost the same. This very rich man, like Willy Wonka only real, has sent out some golden tickets. Nobody knows how many. But whoever gets one will get a share of his money when he dies. And he’s really, really rich.’
The lights changed as Holly reached the end of the road and the traffic came to a stop. She glanced sideways.
‘Well, that sounds fun. Hold on, how do you get hold of these tickets? Is this a ruse to get me to buy endless supplies of chocolate?’
He took her seriously, as usual. ‘You don’t have to buy anything. They come in the post. A girl’s mum at St Barnabus’s got one. She got a letter from some solicitors.’
‘And a golden ticket?’
‘No, a token.’
Her mind still on the Chris problem, Holly took a moment to register what her son had just said. ‘A what?’
‘A token. Like a coin, only gold. Actually, it might not be gold. Someone else said it was silver. With some odd writing on it.’
Somewhere behind them, a car horn sounded.
‘Bronze,’ Holly said. ‘They’re bronze, or they seem to be. And the writing is Latin.’
Charlie looked at her curiously. He was rarely sensitive to her moods but even he could hear the tone of her voice had changed.
‘So, you did know about it?’ he accused.
The horn sounded again. Holly glanced up to see the lights had changed. She drove forward.
‘Sweetheart, I don’t think it can be real. I think it’s probably a joke. A mean one, I agree, but a joke all the same.’
Charlie understood the concept of jokes; he just couldn’t spot them for himself. ‘No, it’s real. It’s been on the radio and everything. And the man is a real man. A real billionaire.’
‘Wow.’
‘What? What is it, Mum?’
Holly took a deep breath and made a decision. ‘When we get home, I need you to help me search through the bins.’