‘He asks for some cheap flowers, a firm nudge from his huge sons, then asks for a respectful and expensive bouquet for his dead lifelong friend.

  ‘At the graveside, he places the bouquet, and starts to complain about his old friend, a whack from his sons. Then he lists the things he’ll miss, his big sons leading him off.’

  ‘Great, but you’re not in it.’

  ‘Next sketch with me in, I send nice flowers from your shop assistant, my mum’s birthday, then pop into a shop and buy a small cactus.’

  They laughed.

  ‘Ongoing story,’ they smiled.

  The boss said, ‘I like the old man sketch, but with Ricky coming out of the shop.’

  ‘I can do that cheaply for you,’ I assured them. ‘And we can shoot three sketches in a day. I can find the two big sons, you need a small old man, a comedy actor.’

  An hour later, they were happy and we were released, ready to be called back after video editing. Trish came to the hotel with us, for a spot of lunch and a chat, and she showed me the American Mercedes residuals, a staggering sum for a young lad like me.

  After our late lunch, and wrapped up warm but looking like spies in our sunglasses, I took Olesya to Buckingham Palace for a few tourist shots, and I snapped her with two London policemen that were happy to oblige.

  In a taxi, we headed to Parliament and took snaps like a holiday couple, soon on the bridge and photographing Big Ben. She wanted to be snapped coming out of a red London phone box, and she posed – but it smelt of piss inside.

  Back in the hotel room we needed warm drinks, and a rest, the excursion’s cold air and walking having sapped our strength.

  At 5pm Trish called, Interflora happy, and they would look at the next two sketches very soon. But they also wanted posters, and they had seen the one I was selling, so they wanted a hybrid – that same poster but with “Interflora” all over it, for shop windows.

  ‘Don’t be cheap,’ I told her. ‘But a fair price. How many?’

  ‘About eight thousand, or less. Not that many shops, two or three posters in each.’

  ‘Work something out, something fair.’

  In the morning we sat around waiting, and these days the manager would let us check-out any time we liked. Interflora were happy, but there could have been requests from the video cutters, so we waited.

  Midday I called Trish, no calls from the video editors, so I escorted Olesya to Heathrow, soon getting the same look back as she passed through Security. And again I missed her, and her beautiful blue eyes. And her cute accent, and her great arse.

  Back in work on Monday, I had fewer emails to check than usual, a few call-backs to make, so I headed around to the printers lunchtime. The two fulfilment girls were still hard at it, but they shocked me with a new poster mock-up, myself coming out the water in Jamaica; I had forgotten that Rolf had sent it to Trish.

  To the printing boss I suggested, ‘Best way to sell it would be a letter to existing clients, but that will cost us.’

  ‘A letter would be up to twenty-six pence each all in, so ten thousand letters would be two and half grand from the profits.’

  I considered that. ‘Try the usual adverts first. But if anyone buys a poster, put a miniature of this one inside maybe. How much would that cost?’

  ‘Small leaflet, could do a thousand for fifty quid.’

  ‘Do that please. But tell me, is the quality of the poster OK?’

  ‘Yes, it was 120mm roll film, good crisp image. Background is not crisp, but that doesn’t matter, your expression is right in it.’

  I asked the two girls if they liked the new poster, and did it look OK? They admitted to having copies at home already.

  A call in to the twins, and they now stood at sixteen thousand posters sold, more than me.

  ‘When did that happen?’ I asked, surprised.

  ‘We print more, send more, and the shops sell more of them. Now shops in Denmark, Holland, Belgium, Germany and France. Oh, and Italy. And we add two photo from Seychelles.’

  ‘Did Olesya’s hotel concert show in Sweden?’

  ‘Saturday night, but not a main channel. She has lesson with the man, Kurt, regular now.’

  ‘Did Harvey in America get the concert video?’ I asked.

  ‘He did, yes, very happy, they talk once a week.’

  ‘My agent sent the printing company your father’s photo, of me in Jamaica coming out the water. We’ll try and sell it, I need to catch up to you.’

  ‘We sell more,’ Rita teased. ‘And we have eight poster to choose from.’

  At 4pm a work email arrived with attachments, for the glass company in general but mentioning me, the email coming from someone in Belgium. The attachments were of an old showroom and the plans for a new showroom. I stepped into my uncle’s office. ‘Would you sell to Belgium?’

  ‘If the money was right we could drive it, not sure what the law is - about fitting it over there. And warranty is an issue.’

  I emailed back the client, a Van Burgen, that we could supply but maybe not fit nor offer frame warranty on-site.

  Before I left for the day a reply came. ‘I can come see you. My wife is from Wolverhampton, my daughter in Birmingham University.’

  ‘Sure, but check I’m here. PS, does your wife or daughter want posters of me?’

  I waited.

  ‘Both!’

  In with my uncle, I told him that the Belgian prospective client would visit us at some point.

  Wednesday in work, and my local reporter came to visit, for a private chat outside. As we walked, she began, ‘I think I can link Roger Pearson to several rapes that the police somehow never investigated, and that led to unwanted children.’

  ‘DNA test would prove the link,’ I puzzled.

  ‘Yes, but who would insist that it’s done? And who could get a court order against him for the DNA test – he’s too powerful.’

  ‘It would have to be an outside force, and they’d need solid proof. If you got me the child’s DNA, and somehow got me Roger Pearson’s DNA, I could run them in Sweden on the quiet.’

  ‘I can get two of the kids I think, getting his would be tricky.’

  ‘He’s married?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Kids?’

  ‘Three. One is a druggy I think, the black sheep of the family, moved to Birmingham they said and tucked out the way.’

  ‘If you can get the DNA of the druggy it would prove a link, a sibling link.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I can try.’

  ‘Get me the son’s details, I know some bad boys that will get him drunk and get a blood sample.’

  Pete Granton called that night. ‘Those Mercedes ads are doing well over here, you must be making a few dollars.’

  ‘Quite a few dollars, yes.’

  ‘Would you visit?’

  ‘Visit, maybe. Work there, probably not.’

  ‘That job in Malaga is now ready to move forwards.’

  ‘Me and the twins?’

  ‘Yeah, statics around the pool and in the room.’

  ‘Can you fix a date?’ I asked.

  ‘Anytime soon, say this weekend and after, I have the contract.’

  ‘Lump sum or residuals?’

  ‘Lump sum, twenty thousand euro. But you get a free room and food.’

  ‘I’ll get back to you.’ I called the twins. ‘Can you do Saturday, Sunday and Monday, in Malaga, Spain?’

  ‘We have a shoot next week, from Wednesday, so yes. Olesya as well?’

  ‘No, they want me and the famous beautiful twins. Check with your parents and tell me tomorrow if you can do it.’

  ‘We are famous and beautiful?’ she teased.

  ‘No, I made that up to make you feel better, you have legs like a duck.’

  ‘Like a duck!’

  I cut the call whilst smiling.

  The twins called me back the following evening, and the trip was not clashing with anything, Rolf to travel down for a mini holiday and to get away from the snow – and that they did not have legs like a duck.

  A call made to Pete Granton, we firmed up the dates, and he gave me the address and local contact, so I booked myself a flight the next day in work, a cheap flight to Malaga, Rolf also booking flights.

  Thursday, and Belgian man Van Burgen turned up at the offices after calling ahead, and I welcomed in a short round man, getting the kettle on in my uncle’s office.

  Van Burgen began, ‘We’ve used British companies before, and I drive back and forth. My wife has family here, my daughter in university. I’ve also bought materials here, but not declared them for VAT at customs, it just looked like I was fixing my house.’

  ‘And how did you hear about us?’ I asked.

  ‘My wife is a fan,’ he quipped, rolling his eyes. ‘She heard you worked here, then I found your phone listing, and it fits well. But I might ask a favour.’

  ‘Me posing in the new showrooms?’ I quipped.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If you buy the glass I’ll pose naked for your wife.’

  ‘Well, let’s not go that far, eh,’ he laughed. ‘I am jealous of course.’

  ‘How many panes?’ I asked.

  ‘Thirty-two, each one eight metre by three metre.’

  My uncle did the maths, and it was a lot of glass.

  I told our guest, ‘We would need some money up front, it’s a lot of glass, and we don’t know you.’

  ‘Of course, we can do something, and I have a bank account here and a reference. Our parent company is huge, they run ships, they’re worth billions of euro.’ He handed me their details, and we would check them out.

  ‘Other showrooms to look at?’ I nudged.

  ‘There are five in the group, and I know that two are old, they could be replaced soon. We all sell cars straight off the ships, straight from Asia – that’s the selling point.’

  ‘I’m away this weekend, photoshoot, but when I’m back I can meet your family in Birmingham.’

  ‘That would be great, yes, they have been nagging me.’

  It was a done deal almost, and we shook as he left, my uncle set to make good money, which would add to my commissions.

  Leaving working early, I headed to the bank and asked to see a manager. That manager was a bit surprised to see me, despite me being a regular customer.

  In a side office, I told him, ‘I have more money than I know what to do with, so I was thinking that I buy an apartment and rent it out. Some of that money comes to my private bank account, some to the Ltd company, so … which is the best way to do it?’

  ‘You could consider a mortgage either way, or buy outright.’

  ‘I’d pay a big deposit and want a mortgage probably.’

  ‘Problem is, you’re young and they don’t give mortgages out that easily.’

  ‘Buy outright then. Thirty grand.’

  ‘What do you expect to make as your first years income?’

  ‘Two hundred thousand at least.’

  His eyebrows went up. ‘You are doing well.’

  ‘If there are tax things that I should be doing, let me know.’

  ‘Buying to rent could be done from the company, yes,’ he told me.

  ‘I would buy more apartments as time went on, and rent them out.’

  ‘Then the best way would be to buy, renovate, have them certified and then put them in the hands of a rental company, all tax deductible – furniture and paint.’

  I nodded. ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  Thanking him, I walked next door, and to a rental agency, the girls shocked to see me. I cornered the lady manager. ‘I was thinking of buying a few apartments and renting them out.’

  ‘We can handle everything,’ she assured me.

  ‘Can you find me a suitable apartment or two?’

  ‘I can find you four in a block, two up for sale now. Block is just down the road, Macey’s Florist below them.’

  ‘I know it.’

  ‘Some work is needed, but the location is great. Each apartment would go for twenty-eight thousand, current market price.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll buy them,’ I told her.

  ‘Solicitor?’

  ‘No, but I’ll get one very soon. I have an accountant already.’

  ‘He can do some of it.’

  At home that night my father gave me the name of his solicitor, and he would contact the man to chat about the apartments.

  Timeshare and climate change

  Friday afternoon, 4pm, and I took off from Birmingham Airport, a short flight south, two hours to Malaga. I landed in the dark, my name being held up on a card outside as “Roskom”, and the man led me to a taxi, luggage soon in the boot.

  A twenty minute drive east, away from the tacky tourist area of Torremolinos, and I arrived in the dark at a huge timeshare complex that looked like a hotel. At reception I gave my name, and they gave me directions; Floor Ten, apartment Thirty.

  Knocking on the door, Rita opened the door. ‘Do you bring gifts, Mister?’

  I pushed inside, kissing her on the forehead. ‘I am the gift.’ I hugged Frieda as I found Rolf coming out from a bedroom.

  He told me, ‘Two bedroom, nice view, nice apartments these.’

  Sat with a nice cup of tea, I told them about the apartments I wanted to buy in Leicester.

  Rolf suggested, ‘Best way is the company you have, and that the agent does everything, even upkeep of furniture in the future, all tax deductible. Aim is to make money from an increase in value, less so from the rental income.

  ‘The first year will see a good tax loss, things bought, decorating done. If the apartment is made to be robust, same with the furniture, then the tenant will have less to damage.

  ‘And you could buy furniture from your home and claim it for the apartments, a new toaster, things like that.’

  ‘I’ll buy one apartment and then get used to the process, but the American residuals will be a lot of money.’

  ‘Money in the new company is growing rapidly, I shall soon stop the girls pocket money.’

  ‘Pocket money?’ they puzzled as Rolf smiled.

  ‘Ten euro a week for sweets,’ he suggested.

  ‘It was ten euro when we were eleven years old,’ Rita noted.

  ‘How many costumes will you keep?’ I asked the twins with a smile.

  ‘Some we don’t like, some for Olesya. But we still have thirty for us, thirty each.’

  ‘Is there a restaurant here, or bar?’

  ‘No, not officially, but there are some close by. This is not a hotel,’ Rolf told me.

  ‘I still don’t get the whole Time Share thing,’ I complained.

  Rolf began, ‘You pay money to stay here for two weeks each year, chosen weeks, and you pay lump sum money like a lease. You also pay maintenance charges, which adds to the annual cost, often a trick.

  ‘The idea is that in twenty years you could sell your lease, which will have gone up in value, and in the meantime you get to stay here each year.

  ‘But most people get bored of the same place and don’t come, which means that you’re losing money. This building is targeted at pensioners, or people over fifty-five, a tie-in with the cruise ships, because you can swap your weeks here with weeks on a ship.

  ‘Or the company will rent out this place for two weeks and you get four weeks on a ship.’

  I nodded. ‘That sounds like a better plan.’

  Rita asked, ‘You will live in an apartment in Leicester?’

  ‘No, it would be too difficult, people could just knock on my door in the middle of the night and ask for an autograph. For now I’ll live with my parents, and we do travel a lot with work.’

  After a shower we headed out, and to the nearest nice restaurant, a few faces turning our way, but the guests left us alone as we ate and chatted.

  Back in the apartment we sat on the balcony, a cool winter wind blowing, but it was far better than being in the UK, or in the snows of Sweden.

  When Rolf went to bed we did as well, soon whispering.

  I whispered, ‘No sex,’ but that came with some complaining, so I had them promise to be very quiet. First, licking Rita, and she came quietly into a pillow, followed by Frieda cumming quietly into a pillow.

  Stood at the edge of the bed, the lights low, I wanked my stiff cock as I looked at them with an appreciative grin, soon waving them closer. Rita sat and sucked for a minute, swapping to Frieda, but I inched back and wanked myself as I looked down at the boobs.

  Just about to finish, I shoved my end into Rita’s mouth and stifled my moan, and holding her hair I slowed mouth-fucked, a gentle motion.

  ‘You do this to Olesya,’ Frieda noted.

  ‘My god, do you girls discuss everything?’ I hissed.

  ‘Yes,’ the both said with cheeky smiles.

  Washed up, we snuggled up.

  I began, ‘I worry about Olesya, that she may care for me.’

  ‘She does care for you.’

  ‘And I care for you two, you are my first choices.’

  ‘We share, she is like a sister.’

  ‘Sisters don’t normally share,’ I pointed out.

  ‘But we’re twins. Why do you worry about her?’

  ‘I worry that if I’m with you she’ll be hurt or jealous.’

  ‘She can find many men, she is beautiful, but she is afraid. She trusts you, so she will wait for you, she doesn’t want a boyfriend in Stockholm.’

  ‘No romantic dinners?’

  ‘No, she has problems with that sort of thing.’

  ‘Oh. Well I want romantic dinners, and walks in the park.’

  ‘You are big softy.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘This is why you sell well to gay men,’ they giggled.

  ‘Fuck off,’ I whispered.

  In the morning we met the photographer and director, both Spanish, and the girls changed into swimwear, myself as well, and we would brave the cold water. Fortunately, none of the resident wrinkly old pensioners were swimming, and few were around the pool at the moment.

  Standing, sitting, lounging, and we finally had to get wet, the water bloody freezing. The girls were OK, but I let out a scream and a curse, my nipples erect.